The Spinster Bride (16 page)

Charles gave his servant and friend a withering look. “No, I did not. And what the hell were you thinking, bringing Lady Marjorie in here when you knew I was unclothed?”

“You were unclothed, sir?” Prajit raised one eyebrow, but otherwise his expression remained deceptively submissive.

“And you damn well knew I was.”

“Yes. Perhaps.” Prajit went about straightening the room, placing a book back upon a shelf, picking up an empty teacup. “You seem in better spirits.”

“I'm not in better spirits,” he said, even as he knew he was. Having a woman bring one to heaven would likely help any man's mood. “It was not well done of you to leave her in here with me. I know you are unused to English society, Prajit, but if we were discovered together alone, with me half-dressed, it could have ended very badly.”

Prajit raised his brows in question.

“She would have been compromised. She's an unmarried woman and unmarried women should not be alone with half-dressed men. Hell, they shouldn't be alone with fully dressed men.” Charles looked at Prajit's carefully blank expression. “Which I am certain you know. Why am I telling you this? Just don't do it again.”

Of course, Charles would have to ask for her hand, a prospect he found a bit daunting. He'd been in battle, he'd debated with generals, he'd nearly died. But he was, frankly, terrified to meet Marjorie's mother. Something about that woman made his blood freeze.

 

T
he Ascot races were the highlight of the season. Five days of races attended by the highest levels of British society, including the king and queen. Dorothea had been to many Ascot races, but never had she so looked forward to this one—and appreciated being part of a great family. Because her father was a marquess, she and her family were allowed the privilege of sitting in the Royal Enclosure, an area along the racetrack reserved for the titled. It was one of the few times each year when they were all together, though this year only her parents and Dorothea were present. Her sisters, all married, had begged off.

She and her mother were staying with their dear friends, Lord and Lady Chesterfield, for the week. They lived just outside Berkshire, where the races were held, and had the most lovely carriage to arrive in. Dorothea was friends with their daughter, Esther, though she was now living in Cambridge with her husband and three children.

Soon, Dorothea thought, she herself would be a married lady and too busy to attend the event.

The morning of the first race, Tillie smiled in satisfaction as she placed the final hatpin into her coif. “Lovely, my lady, truly.”

“My dear, it's true. I have never seen you look so pretty.” Her mother stood in the doorway, contemplating her daughter as if she'd never seen her before.

Dorothea gazed at her reflection in near wonder. How could a hat transform her so? Of course, she had lost some weight and her hair was perfection, but Dorothea gave most of the credit to the hat. It was almost as if it were magical.

They arrived at Ascot at one in the afternoon, a full hour before the Royal Procession, and gathered in the garden to await the king and queen. Dorothea, feeling a wonderful new confidence, found herself chatting easily with old acquaintances, gaining looks of approval from her mother. But no matter whom she spoke with, she was always keenly aware of Lord Smythe.

He wore a dark gray morning suit and top hat, and once in a while she could hear his laugh, deep and masculine. Dorothea was desperate for him to notice her, to look at her with widened eyes, to finally
see
her. She tried to stay facing in his direction, and when it appeared he might be looking her way, she smiled brilliantly at whatever was being said. Nearly an hour of smiling brilliantly was beginning to take its toll, and Dorothea was beginning to think he would never notice her.

And then, as if by some divine providence, the crowd separated between the two of them, and he looked at her. There was that stunned and puzzled look she'd dreamt of. There was that smile that made her want to throw herself at him and make a total fool of herself.

Instead, she smiled serenely back at him and nodded her head. He took a step toward her and her heart nearly burst. It was happening, just as she'd prayed it would. Oh, it was happening!

“That's my hat. Where did you get it? Where?”

Startled, Dorothea turned to see a girl—for she was no older than seventeen—glaring at her hat beneath a hat that was the mirror of the one on Dorothea's own head.

“That is
my
hat.
My
design. How dare you!”

“Yours doesn't suit your coloring at any rate,” Dorothea said, looking at the child with derision.

The girl's eyes widened, her cheeks turned a deep red, and then, without warning, she reached up and pulled Dorothea's hat from her head, flung it to the ground. And stepped on it, ruining it entirely.

Twenty-eight years of proper behavior, of remembering to do everything with dainty grace, of never losing her temper in public, were crushed along with her beautiful, beautiful hat. She hardly remembered doing it, but Dorothea launched herself at the girl, and before she knew what was happening, they were both on the ground, tumbling and hitting and pulling as the crowd of spectators grew.

“Anne,” a man's sharp voice called out. Within seconds, it was over. A man, likely the young girl's outraged father, was removing the girl from atop Dorothea.

Dorothea sat up, stunned, in dawning horror of what had just happened. She heard a giggle, and looked down to see one breast fully exposed.

“Oh!” she cried, trying in vain to pull up her tattered dress and cover herself.

Hot tears filled her eyes as she struggled to gain her feet. A pair of strong hands helped her up, and she felt herself being wrapped in a man's coat. When she got the strength to look up, she saw the lovely blue eyes of Lord Smythe looking at her pityingly. “No one saw,” he said softly.

By his side was Lady Matilda, the girl her mother had told her Lord Smythe was courting. “I think the hat looked lovely on you,” Lady Matilda said with a tentative smile.

Dorothea looked at her and burst into tears. She wanted to hate Lady Matilda, but how could she when she was so kind?

Her mother arrived, wrapped her arm around her, and drew her quickly to their carriage. Dorothea sat back, her hands still clutching Lord Smythe's coat to her, desperately aware of the scent it carried, of him, of all her lost dreams.

“It's just as well you're going,” her mother said softly. “People will forget, my dear. At least I hope they do.”

People might forget, Dorothea realized as the carriage brought them back to the Chesterfield estate. But she never would.

“Who was that girl, mother? I don't even know her.”

“Lady Anne Wadsworth. She's the daughter of Lord and Lady Dunlop. What a disgrace she must be to her parents.”

Anne Wadsworth. No, she would never forget.

“N
o.” The word was as sharp and final as the crack of a rifle.

While Charles was not surprised by Lady Summerfield's response to his question, he was surprised by the jagged slice of disappointment he felt. It
hurt
. Quite a bit. Did he care for Marjorie more than he'd realized? Good God, he was a bloody fool. It was clear he loved her and just as clear, standing in this ugly parlor facing a frowning Lady Summerfield, that he would not be able to marry her.

“I love her, my lady. And I do believe Lady Marjorie loves me.”

Lady Summerfield lifted her chin. “Unless there is a reason other than
love
for a marriage between the two of you, my answer remains the same.”

“I don't understand. I know I don't have a title, but my father is a viscount. I come from the finest of families—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Your family is none of my concern. My daughter, however, is my concern. And she will not marry you. Most importantly, she will not know of this conversation. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Good day, sir.”

“But—”

“John,” she snapped, and a large footman appeared almost instantly. “Please escort Mr. Norris to the door.”

Stunned and feeling a bit numb, Charles followed the footman out. Not five minutes after he'd arrived, Charles found himself standing on the steps of the townhouse, staring at his carriage. He closed his eyes and tried to release this awful ache. It would do no good to wallow in it. Wallowing had never worked before. He had to move on, to dismiss Marjorie from his mind and pray he could as easily dismiss her from his heart.

 

“Here, could you post this for me?” Not thirty minutes after his conversation with Lady Summerfield, Charles handed Prajit the note to Lady Caroline asking her to accompany him to the zoo. He wanted to take a look at Jumbo the elephant.

In truth, he hoped Lady Caroline was frightened of the animal so she would sidle close to him. Or perhaps a lion would roar and she would press against his side. That had been the idea, but now it seemed silly and he really didn't want her pressed up against his side. Not with Marjorie there.

Prajit glanced at the address posted on the sealed note and frowned.

“Lady Marjorie and her brother are also coming along.”

“Ah, that is good.”

“Lord Summerfield is a good chap,” Charles said, ignoring the true reason Prajit thought the idea good. Somehow, Prajit had taken a liking to Marjorie. Maybe he'd been impressed with her bravery, entering a gentleman's home in the middle of the night that first time. Prajit would never say anything aloud to him, but he sensed his disapproval of any woman other than Marjorie.

“Prajit, I thank you for your interest in my romantic affairs, but you should know that Lady Marjorie cannot marry me. Her mother would not allow her to marry an untitled gentleman. So you see, your subversive efforts to throw us together are futile.”

Prajit looked immediately affronted. “I would never presume to interfere with your personal life, my lord.”

Charles stared at him for half a beat, then nodded, not believing a word his valet said.

 

The Zoological Gardens in Regents Park held a marvelous collection of animals, mostly from Africa, those large and exotic creatures a fascination to a population used to horses, foxes, and small woodland creatures.

It was an overly warm day, the sun beating down on the visitors who walked along the graveled paths. Women holding frothy parasols and men in their straw hats strolled from exhibit to exhibit as the animals, bored and fat, ignored them. Marjorie had seen a few small private menageries but had never ventured to the zoo. Her mother thought such an activity far too pedestrian. In fact, she thought Marjorie and George were viewing an exhibit of Italian masters at the Museum of Art. Strange how lying to her mother had become almost second nature. It was better to lie than to face the wrath and scorn of Dorothea. She and George had been doing it for years.

They waited, she and George, at the south entrance near the Lions House for the arrival of Charles, Lady Caroline, and her mother. From time to time, the air would rumble with the exciting sound of a lion or the trumpet of one of the elephants. Despite her reason for being here, Marjorie looked forward to the day and told herself it had nothing to do with the fact she would see Charles. He would, after all, be with another woman.

“There they are now,” Marjorie said, her stomach giving a funny little twist at the sight of Charles with Lady Caroline. Lady Warwick walked happily beside them, no doubt already assembling her daughter's trousseau. Lady Caroline looked utterly charming in a white gown with pale blue accents, the perfect dress for an overly warm, late May day. She was as fresh as a newly bloomed pink rose, whereas Marjorie felt more like the rose that had opened and already lost a few of its petals.

Why had she agreed to this meeting? Why did she go on pretending indifference when she knew her heart was fully engaged?

“Good afternoon, Lady Caroline, Lady Warwick. I'm so glad for such fine weather for our outing. Have either of you been to the zoo before?”

Lady Caroline smiled at Marjorie beneath her white and pale blue parasol. The sun shone through the thin material, giving her an almost ethereal glow. “When I was very small,” she said. “I hardly remember a thing except that I was very afraid of the ostriches. Wasn't I, Mother?”

“You were very afraid of everything,” her mother said, chuckling.

“Where shall we start?” Marjorie asked, leaning over to look at the map of the zoo George held. “The lions are first if we go to the left.”

“Oh, yes, the lions,” Lady Caroline said with a happy little bounce. “I had a cat when I was a girl who looked just like a lion. Well, not just, but the same coloring. She had two little white paws, though, and I don't think lions have white paws. I remember one time that naughty kitty climbed the curtains in Papa's library and ruined them. Then we had to keep her outside. What was her name, Mama?”

“Ginger.”

“Oh, yes. Ginger. Because of the color. I do like a black cat. I never had one. Perhaps someday. Have you any pets, Mr. Norris? I think a home needs pets of some kind. We've always had pets, haven't we, Mother.”

And so she went on, one sentence after another, so quickly that Marjorie wondered if she would faint from lack of oxygen. Throughout her monologue, Charles walked silently, nodding occasionally. As the day went on, he gave Marjorie more and more progressively panicked expressions. He hadn't uttered more than two syllables in twenty minutes; he couldn't with Lady Caroline's nonstop chatter.

George peered over the map constantly, stopping to read the plaques at each exhibit, which slowed things down a bit, but no one seemed to mind. He was fascinated with every detail of the animals, and read aloud each plaque to enlighten the rest of the group. Lady Warwick had attached herself to Marjorie, allowing the “young couple some privacy.” As if Marjorie were a co-conspirator in their love. Even though she was supposed to be, Marjorie couldn't help but feel more than a bit resentful of her role.

From time to time, Lady Warwick would give Charles and her daughter a knowing look, and then turn to Marjorie to make certain she was catching how wonderful and charming and perfect they were together.

The elephant exhibit was the final destination, as it was opposite the entrance. Marjorie had no doubt why, for the zoological society had, in her opinion, saved the best for last. Jumbo was aptly named, for he was a massive creature, looking even larger standing next to the zoo's only other elephant, Alice. He stood in the center of his compound shoving straw into his mouth while a man, dwarfed beside the beast, patted his sides as if he were a pet dog.

“He's from Paris, you know,” Charles said, finally able to utter more than a grunt because the sight of the elephant had made Lady Caroline, thankfully, quite speechless.

“Really?” Lady Caroline asked, eyes wide. “They have elephants in Paris? I've been to Paris and I've never seen . . . oh, you're making sport of me.” She batted him playfully on the arm and Marjorie wanted to smack her hard. Good Lord, why had she agreed to this? Charles stood there, devastatingly handsome in his light brown jacket and cream-colored pants, looking precisely like a gentleman should on a jaunt to the zoo. His hard features softened when he gazed at Lady Caroline, and Marjorie could hardly stand to look at him. When she did, all she could remember was how his mouth felt against hers, how he'd touched her. His low groans of pleasure, his seductive words as he'd moved his hand beneath her skirts.

This was unbearable. Even now, she could feel the warmth and heat of arousal. How could he be so completely unaffected by what had transpired between them? How could he be so utterly callous as to flaunt his desire for another woman
one day
after holding her in his arms? The zoo required quite a bit of walking and she could tell he was beginning to suffer for it. She couldn't quite bring herself to care.

“He was brought from Paris when he was just little,” George put in, as he read the plaque in front of the exhibit. “But originally, he's from Africa.”

“Do you like elephants, Mr. Norris?” Lady Caroline asked, looking up at Charles as if whatever the next word he said would be wonderful and witty.

He seemed startled to realize she was actually waiting for his answer. He glanced Marjorie's way, and she could see him visibly relax. Suddenly, all bitter thoughts were erased. He might be with Lady Caroline, but he
needed
her. Why that depressing thought was comforting, Marjorie couldn't fathom.

“I find them grand and majestic creatures, and part of me is pained to see such a fine animal put on exhibit. But he seems happy and I've read he is a gentle giant, even allowing people to ride upon him. Would you like me to hoist you aboard, Lady Caroline?”

“Goodness, no, Mr. Norris. What if I fell?”

“I would most certainly catch you,” he said grandly, earning a beaming smile from both Lady Caroline and her mother. Marjorie braced herself for another knowing look from Lady Warwick and was not disappointed. “I think you'd look grand riding the lion, too, but I fear you would be too tempting a meal for the beast.”

Oh, good God, Marjorie thought. But Lady Caroline giggled, delighted with his teasing.

The rest of the afternoon was much the same. Lady Caroline would say something, Charles would respond wittily, and Lady Caroline would giggle. The repetition of it was extremely tedious. Every once in a while, Charles would shoot her a grateful look, and she was tempted to ask him what he planned to do when they were married and he was tongue-tied and she was not around to give him courage.

The incessant chatter of the happy pair was grating, and Marjorie couldn't wait until the tour was over. No doubt Charles felt the same (but for an entirely different reason), for by the time they made their way back to the south entrance, he was limping noticeably. She told herself she didn't care. And she didn't, until she saw he'd broken out into a sweat that had nothing to do with the warm day. Indeed, the sun had given way to clouds and the temperature had dropped rather dramatically. It looked as if rain was imminent as Charles handed the two ladies up into their carriage.

“George, I'll meet you in our carriage. I need to speak with Mr. Norris privately, if you don't mind.”

“Of course. Good day, Mr. Norris.”

“Good day, Summerfield. We'll see you tomorrow night.” When George was gone, he turned to her. “Thank you. That went swimmingly, did it not?”

“I quit.” She hadn't realized that was what she was going to say, but there it was. She quit. She simply could not suffer another day like the one just endured.

“You cannot. Not now. Why?”

“I've done what we agreed. I've found you a bride.”

His brows instantly drew together. “I think that's a bit hasty, to be honest. I'm not certain we suit.”

“You're perfect together. Good day and good-bye, Mr. Norris.” Despite her departing words, she didn't turn to her carriage, even as the first raindrops began to fall. She immediately snapped opened her parasol.

“This is about yesterday, isn't it?”

Marjorie lifted her chin. “I've no idea what you mean.”

“Because of what we did. What I did. I am sorry. I take complete responsibility. I should have made you leave, turned my back, done something, anything, to prevent what transpired between us. It was wrong.”

“What
transpired?
” she asked, for some reason affronted by his using that sterile word to describe something she thought was wonderful. “You are correct. What
transpired
should never have happened and will never happen again. It was meaningless and will not be repeated. Ever.”

He stiffened. “Of course not.”

Marjorie ignored the pain and disappointment those words wrought. “So you see why I can no longer assist you.”

“Quite the opposite, my lady,” he said, looking and sounding angry. “If what transpired was meaningless, which is apparently how you see it, then we should have no problem at all continuing on as before. We should be able to revert to our business relationship without conflict. I place the blame firmly on myself. I flirted with you. I kissed you. I—” He stopped suddenly, and looked away. “I, perhaps, gave you the wrong impression of my intentions.” This last was said softly and perhaps hurt the most.

“You did not,” she said, proud that she sounded so certain and strong. “However, I feel it is in both of our interests that we have no relationship, business or otherwise.”