The Marriage Lesson Page 17

  They would suit well together as man and wife. Certainly she wasn’t what he’d originally had in mind, but was that, in truth, so bad? She would at least fit in well with each and every Effington female. Hell, she was cut from the same cloth. And if the marriages in his family were tempestuous, they also seemed remarkably happy.

  No, he could do much worse than to wed Marianne Shelton. Indeed, he wanted to marry her. The thought pulled him up short.

  When had that happened? Or had the idea hovered unnoticed all the while? Growing as he’d watched her with those suitors she’d never consider or during their late nights together over his poems or when he’d take her in his arms?

  It wasn’t love, of course, but then love had never played a role when he’d considered taking a wife. And perhaps what he shared with Marianne was better than frivolous emotion, anyway. He truly liked her and he’d never especially liked a woman before.

  Marrying her would resolve any questions of honor. And, as an added bonus, would delight his mother and probably Richard and Gillian as well. A match with Marianne would please everyone.

  Except, of course, Marianne herself.

  Still, how difficult would it be to convince her?

  He might not love her, but he did want her. It was startling to realize just how much he wanted her. In his bed. In his life.

  He needed a plan. A good plan. He ignored the realization that his plans had never been especially successful where Marianne was concerned, but there was much more at stake now.

  No, he didn’t just need a plan.

  Perhaps, this time, he needed help.

  Chapter 13

  . . . therefore he has asked for my hand, yet I am reluctant.

  In spite of my fallen state, do I truly wish to tie myself to a man for whom I am nothing more than an obligation of honor? Do I wish to spend my life in a match that is nothing more than a fulfillment of responsibility?

  I know full well the prospects for my future are bleak without marriage. Still, regardless of what lies ahead, I cannot agree to wed without affection on his part. I cannot condemn myself to such a fate.

  And I cannot do it to him. . . .

  The Absolutely True Adventures of a Country Miss in London

  “I’ve asked you to meet privately with me this morning because I have a matter of some importance to discuss.” Thomas firmly closed the doors of the parlor and turned toward the girls. It was time to admit defeat and accept the inevitable. He couldn’t succeed on his own.

  It had been eight days, and eight glorious nights, since Marianne had first shared his bed, and Thomas hadn’t managed to drag her one inch closer to the altar. She acted as if the passion they shared under the covers had nothing whatsoever to do with the rest of their lives. As if they could go on night after night . . . He steeled himself against the too delightful thought and forced a cool note to his voice. “And I need your assistance.”

  Becky and Jocelyn sat on the sofa regarding him with similar expressions of guarded interest. Even Henry, lying at Becky’s feet, stared with a look of idle curiosity.

  He drew a deep breath. “I wish to marry your sister.”

  “Marianne?” Jocelyn’s voice was skeptical.

  “Why?” Becky said bluntly.

  “Because I think we will suit well together.” His words were short and clipped.

  The girls traded glances.

  “We thought you wanted someone rather less outspoken than Marianne,” Becky said. “Someone a bit more biddable and reserved.”

  “I have changed my mind.”

  Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “I like your sister a great deal. We are well suited to one another.”

  “You said that before,” Becky pointed out.

  “It bears repeating.”

  “It bears scrutiny.” Jocelyn studied him curiously. “Marianne doesn’t want to marry.”

  “I know that.” He huffed in frustration. “That is why I need help to convince her.”

  Jocelyn shrugged. “Perhaps in time, if you are indeed as charming as your reputation, you can convince her, but I certainly wouldn’t wager on it.”

  “I would prefer not to wait.”

  Becky shook her head. “Marianne is not particularly interested in marriage. We love her dearly, but she is rather odd in that respect. No, she plans to travel the world and have interesting experiences—”

  “And adventures,” he said sharply, waving away her comment. “Yes, yes, I know all that. I intend to change her plans. And you both should want it, too. Since you vow you won’t marry before her.”

  “You seem rather more desperate than most men who simply wish to marry.” Becky studied him carefully, then her eyes widened and she jumped to her feet. “Good Lord!” She pointed an accusing finger. “You’ve—you’ve . . . ”

  “I’ve what?” A sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

  “He’s what?” Jocelyn said curiously, rising to join Becky.

  Becky grabbed Jocelyn’s shoulders and turned her sister to face her. Her voice was low but he could still make out the words. “Think for a moment, Jocelyn. What is the latest development in the Country Miss stories?”

  Jocelyn frowned. “Why, Lord W has . . . ” She sucked in a shocked breath. She turned a scathing glare on him. “You beast!”

  “You fiend!” Becky’s contemptuous look mirrored her sister’s. “You’ve ruined her, haven’t you?”

  Henry growled.

  “I daresay, this is not the kind of thing one usually discusses candidly. Especially not with the sisters of the—”

  “Ruined?” Jocelyn shot.

  “Fallen?” Becky snapped.

  “I was going to say bride,” he replied dryly.

  Jocelyn collapsed onto the sofa and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically. “I cannot believe this. I knew her strange views about marriage and virtue and what women can and cannot do in this world would bring nothing but disaster.”

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Becky said to her sister. “You do realize, if this gets out, she’s not the only one whose reputation will be shattered? Her actions will reflect on us as well.”

  “And we’ll all be as good as ruined. Damnation.” Jocelyn leapt to her feet and advanced toward Thomas, fire in her eyes. He prudently backed up. “This is your fault. You ruined her. You have to—”

  “Fix her.” Becky moved toward him in a threaten-ing manner. “I mean fix this.” He took another step backward and smacked into the mantel. “Marry her, Helmsley. Now!”

  They pinned him with twin accusing glares. At once he realized how a fox felt when trapped by menacing hounds.

  “I want nothing more than to marry her.” He glared back. “She will not marry me.”

  “That is a problem.” Becky crossed her arms and paced. “But it shouldn’t be insurmountable.”

  “She can be extremely stubborn.” Jocelyn mimicked her sister’s pose and paced in the opposite direction. “And she’s adamant on this particular subject.”

  “What would make her wish to marry?” Becky’s forehead furrowed.

  “If she was sensible, a great deal of money and a lofty title would do it.” Jocelyn gave him an assessing look. “At least you have that in your favor.”

  “Thank you,” he murmured, wondering why wealth and a respectable title abruptly sounded less than admirable.

  “If there were a child involved . . . ” Becky stopped and looked at him. “She isn’t—”

  “No,” he said quickly, although that was certainly within the realm of possibility. “Not . . . now.”

  “However,” Jocelyn said thoughtfully, “if you were to get her with child, even Marianne would accept that she had no other choice but to wed.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. It was definitely a plan, although, like any of his other plans regarding Marianne, not a very good one.

  “I don’t believe—” he started.

  “Probably not.” Jocelyn sighe
d.

  “Definitely not.” Becky nodded firmly. “We have to think of something else.

  The girls continued pacing. Thomas watched them warily. He did hope they could come up with something, because he hadn’t been able to thus far.

  Abruptly Jocelyn stopped and clapped her hands together. “I’ve got it. What does Marianne want more than anything?”

  “Blasted adventures,” he muttered.

  “And excitement and travel to interesting places.” Becky blew an impatient breath. “We already know that.”

  “Of course we do, but what makes her want that?” Jocelyn paused, waiting for an answer.

  Becky and Thomas exchanged puzzled glances.

  Jocelyn grinned. “She wants all that because that’s what she’s filled her life with. Stories. Books.”

  Thomas shook his head. “I still don’t see—”

  “I didn’t think you would.” Jocelyn rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

  “I do,” Becky said slowly. “The way to capture Marianne’s hand is to make what she’s only read about come true.”

  “Not what she’s read about, exactly.” Excitement colored Jocelyn’s voice. “But who she’s read about.”

  He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What?”

  “Not what, who! You have to be a hero from a book.”

  “Exactly.” Becky took her place beside her sister. “You have to be the kind of man she’s always dreamed of. The kind of romantic, adventurous man she wants. It’s an excellent idea.”

  “And it could actually work.” Jocelyn looked at him as if judging him and finding him wanting. “If he can do it, of course.”

  “He’s not terribly imaginative.” Becky shook her head.

  Jocelyn shrugged. “Well, he will probably need help.”

  “Would you stop speaking of me as if I were not in the room?” He’d had quite enough. “You have given me an idea and I think I can take it from here.”

  The girls cast him identical looks of doubt.

  “You needn’t stare at me like that,” he said indignantly. “I am not perhaps the kind of adventurer that fills her books, but I have certain skills.”

  Jocelyn snorted.

  “Oh?” Becky scoffed. “What?”

  “I realize you have no confidence in me whatsoever, but I assure you . . . ” He clenched his jaw. “Answer me this: In addition to explorers and the like who people her stories, are there not heroes who are simply dashing and romantic?”

  “Of course,” Becky said.

  “I can be dashing and romantic.”

  “Really?” Jocelyn snickered. “We’ve only seen you stuffy and overprotective.”

  “I have another side,” he said loftily.

  “You’d better,” Becky muttered.

  At once confidence filled him. He might not be precisely what Marianne thought she wanted, but when it came to the arts of seduction, and indeed romance, he was second to no man. He had won far harder hearts than hers.

  He started to leave, then turned back. Something they’d said earlier stuck in his mind. “By the way, I am curious: Why did you mention the Country Miss stories?”

  “No reason, really,” Becky said quickly.

  “None at all,” Jocelyn chimed in, her expression innocent. “It just seemed similar.” Overly innocent.

  He studied them carefully. He’d read the latest installment, of course, and had wondered idly how much wagered money had exchanged hands with the revelation of the innocent’s ruin. Now the ridiculous chit was refusing to wed Lord W, and it seemed to him . . .

  Sweet, sweet madness.

  He sucked in a hard breath. It couldn’t be.

  Do I truly wish to bind myself to a man for whom I am nothing more than an obligation of honor?

  No, surely he was wrong.

  I’ve written a bit myself.

  Becky and Jocelyn bolted toward the door, Henry right at their heels.

  A journal of sorts.

  “Stop right there.” His command echoed in the room.

  All three skidded to a halt.

  “We really should go,” Becky said.

  “We have any number of things to take care of,” Jocelyn added. “You wouldn’t want us to keep Aunt Louella waiting.” They inched toward the door.

  “Not another step!”

  He’d never seen two females, and even the dog, look quite so guilty.

  “I have a terrible suspicion you know something I should know.” His gaze slid from Becky to Jocelyn and back. “Please, please tell me Marianne is not the author of the Country Miss adventures.”

  “Very well.” Becky smiled weakly. “She’s not the author.”

  “I want the truth,” he roared.

  “Make up your mind,” Jocelyn snapped. “Either you want the truth or you don’t. And I very much suspect you don’t. So why not leave it at that and we shall all be much happier?”

  “I don’t want to be happy!” What had he done, to be saddled with a house full of irritating women? “I want the truth!”

  Jocelyn pulled in a deep breath. “We thought she was going to make it all up.”

  “We thought she had made it all up,” Becky added.

  “At least the parts about the kisses,” Jocelyn said.

  “And the, well, rest of it,” Becky murmured.

  Jocelyn shrugged. “Of course, we did help her with Country Miss a bit. And Lord W.”

  “It was my idea to make her an orphan,” Becky offered. “And him a rake.”

  Jocelyn shook her head. “No, those were my ideas. You suggested he ruin her.”

  “Oh, dear, you’re right.” Becky winced. “How was I to know she’d actually do it rather than simply write about it?”

  “She did want it to be accurate.” Jocelyn sighed.

  “It appears she based her Absolutely True Adventures, at least loosely, on her absolutely true adventures.” Thomas paced the room. “Bloody hell, how could she? How could you let her?”

  “We had little to say about it,” Becky said.

  “You should have stopped her.”

  “Come, now, my lord,” Jocelyn said, “do you really think we could have stopped Marianne from doing exactly what she pleased?”

  “Still—”

  “And furthermore, you needn’t blame us. Her Absolutely True Adventures wouldn’t be so absolutely true if you had kept your head about you,” Jocelyn snapped. “In point of fact, this is more your fault than anyone else’s.”

  “What?” This was his fault? “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . ”

  “Look.” Jocelyn nudged Becky with her elbow. “He’s sputtering.”

  “Marianne mentioned that he sputtered.” Becky smirked. “But I don’t think it’s as endearing as she does.”

  “No.” Jocelyn shook her head thoughtfully. “Although you must admit he does turn an interesting shade of crimson.”

  “More like a scarlet—”

  “Quiet,” he bellowed. “Isn’t it enough that one of your family is doing all in her power to drive me insane? Must you join her?”

  He drew a deep breath and forced a calm note to his voice. “Now, then, aside from the two of you, who else knows of this?”

  “No one, as far as we know.” Becky paused. “Of course, Mr. Cadwallender does, but—”

  “He’d never tell,” Jocelyn cut in. “Besides, he doesn’t know her real name.”

  “That’s something, at any rate.” He blew a long breath. “If her true identity is discovered . . . ”

  And I shall not rest until I find her.

  Berkley!

  The man was determined, and who knew how close he was to the truth. If Berkley found out, all of London would know in no time. Berkley had never been good at keeping his mouth shut. And if Marianne was identified as the country miss, it would be assumed Thomas was Lord W. Which, like it or not, he was.

  The scandal would be of epic proportions. Not that the Effingtons hadn’t weathered more than their share of scandal
through the generations, but the girls would be ruined. Any possibility of decent marriages for Jocelyn or Becky would vanish regardless of their dowries. And it was his responsibility to protect them.

  Without doubt the first thing he had to do was cease the publication of Marianne’s stories. He couldn’t simply ask her to stop, of course; she’d never consent. No, he’d have to approach Cadwallender immediately. Whatever kind of man he was, a man, any man, surely would be more reasonable than Marianne.

  “Now that you know everything, I was just wondering . . . ” Jocelyn hesitated.

  “What now?” he said.

  “This won’t affect our plans to attend your grandmother’s party in the country, will it?” Jocelyn said hopefully.

  “We are quite looking forward to it.” Becky’s voice was eager. “Even Aunt Louella.”

  Damnation, he’d quite forgotten about the dowager duchess’s party. Only war, death or absence from the country was a legitimate excuse for missing the annual event. Besides, Effington Hall, and its extensive park, was an excellent place for a dashing romantic hero.

  “No, of course, we’ll go as planned at the end of the week,” he said absently, already wondering what he could offer Cadwallender to entice him to stop printing Marianne’s work.

  He’d contact his solicitor at once to see what could be learned of the printer, and with luck Thomas would be able to call on the man this afternoon. Thomas would do whatever he had to do.

  One way or another, the country miss’s adventures were over.

  * * *

  Marianne finished the last line of the newest Country Miss adventure with a flourish and set the pen down. She’d posted the previous installments, but this one she’d take to Cadwallender in person.

  Thus far, the amount she received for each installment had risen. If gossip alone was any indicator, the Country Miss stories were selling quite briskly. She could scarcely encounter one group or another at a soiree or rout where there was not some discussion about the unknown author and the still-unidentified Lord W.

  She stood and stared down at the paper. Now it was imperative to speak to Cadwallender directly, to determine how much she could expect over the course of the next month.

  When the season ended and Jocelyn, Becky and Aunt Louella returned to the country, Marianne would not be with them.