A Marquess and a Secret: Regency Romance (Gentlemen and Brides) Page 7
He let her go at once, pushing himself away. Taking in her swollen lips, the tears in her eyes, Jonathan shook his head. “I suppose that if I asked you to marry me, you would turn me down in an instant.”
She crumpled in front of him, her arms hugging her waist as she leaned against the wall. “Michael, please do not—”
“I saw you in the ballroom, dancing with your many, many suitors,” Jonathan interrupted, angry with himself for kissing her when he knew it to be a lost cause, angry that he had taken what his heart had desired in that moment. “I know that you will not so much as look at those who will not meet your standards. You are quite determined to marry a man with a title and a great fortune, is that not so?” His voice was louder now, filling the room. He waited, as she wiped at her eyes, seeing just how much she struggled to look at him.
“I cannot marry a man without a good fortune,” she whispered, her cheeks pink with shame. “But please, Lord Michael, if you would just let me explain—”
“There is nothing to explain,” Jonathan interrupted, his heart breaking into small pieces as he spoke. “You are just like all the rest, desperate to make as good a match for yourself as possible. As much as you say you shun society’s ways, I see that you are still willing to do all you can to gain a husband of both wealth and title. You do not care one jot for matters of the heart or for the character of your chosen gentleman.”
She began to cry in earnest, a shadow of the lively young lady he had first met this evening. “Please, I—”
Unwilling to let her give him her excuses, Jonathan made for the door, flinging it open wide. “To think that I had begun to think of asking to court you,” he said over his shoulder. “How glad I am that Lord Taylor warned me about your ways before I completely lost my heart. Good evening, Miss Richards. I doubt we shall meet again.”
He left the door ajar as he strode from the room, ignoring the quiet sobs that followed him along the hallway. He was angry with both Miss Richards and himself, struggling to find a way to express what he felt. He should never have kissed her, but he had found himself desperate to know just what she felt for him. And now, given how she had responded, he had no further need to ask.
Miss Richards did care for him. Mayhap she could have come to love him, had she allowed herself to look past the fortune she thought he carried. But the truth of it was, she would never have allowed herself to give in to her feelings because he was not the kind of gentleman she had decided she would wed. As Lord Michael, he did not have the title nor wealth that she required.
“Just like all the others,” Jonathan spat, hurrying down the stairs and making his way directly to the front door.
Calling for his carriage, Jonathan strode up and down the gravel path, trying to contain his anger and upset. There would be no more of London for him, no more of society and all its wonderful occasions. Lord Michael could remain here for as long as he wished, under the guise of being Marquess Rivenhall, whereas he would be able to return to his estate and never again allow Miss Richards to dog his mind.
His heart was still sore as he climbed into the waiting carriage, urging the coachman to get him home as fast as he could. A sensation of grief rippled through him, bringing tears to his eyes.
Rubbing a hand across his face, Jonathan set his jaw, his eyebrows furrowing. Miss Richards meant nothing to him now, not when he had seen her as she truly was. Once he was back in his estate, he would simply throw himself into his responsibilities there, choosing not to think of her again, not even for a single moment. He had been duped into believing that she might care for him, and he was even beginning to think seriously about courting her.
How grateful he was for Lord Taylor’s advice. It just proved to him that all the eligible young ladies amongst the ton were just as he had thought, and as hard as it was to admit, that included Miss Richards.
10
The following afternoon Jonathan was in the same clothes as the prior evening, albeit without the jacket and cravat, lying on his bed in a state of melancholy. He had every intention to remain in his bedchamber for most of the day, if not all day, until his head stopped paining him so badly.
It was more than just a simple headache, for the pain spread to his chest and all through his limbs, forcing him to curl into a ball with the sheet pulled over him.
He had yet to make the arrangements to return to his estate, but given that he could barely think of anything other than what had occurred with Miss Richards, Jonathan concluded that he might make such arrangements in a few days’ time. He could drink just as much good brandy here as he could back at his estate, after all. The bed here was just as comfortable, the solitude just as quiet.
According to the maid, who had come with his lunch tray only half an hour ago, Michael had gone out for a walk, possibly around Hyde Park. Not that it mattered. Jonathan was not ready to talk to anyone, least of all his friend. Michael was quite taken up with his life and the lovely Miss Carron. Jonathan was not about to dim such happiness simply because of his own misery.
A knock at the door forced him to rise, stumbling towards the chair by the fire as he called for the butler to enter. The man came in at once, holding a silver tray with a note on it.
“You have a letter, my lord.”
Jonathan saw the slightly confused expression on his butler’s face as he was handed the note, seeing that it was addressed to Lord Michael.
“This is for Lord Michael,” Jonathan replied, making to hand it back to the butler, only for him to shake his head.
“I did try to give it to him before he left the house, my lord, but Lord Michael told me it was for you,” he replied, with a small shrug. “Something about the writer accidentally using the wrong name.”
Quickly realizing what Lord Michael meant, Jonathan nodded and took back the letter, asking the butler to open the drapes so that he might read it.
Light streamed into the room, and as Jonathan turned the letter over, he saw Lord Richards seal on the back.
His heart stopped.
There was no doubt as to who had sent this letter, for it could only be from Miss Richards. Lord Richards would not write to him in such a way, and certainly not with such delicate handwriting.
His fingers slid towards the seal, considering whether or not to break it and read the contents. His heart warred within him. He both wanted to read it and wanted to refuse it. Would she be questioning his actions from the last evening? Would the letter be dripping with her apologies, written out numerous times in an attempt to prove her regret?
“No.”
The word came out a trifle more firmly than Jonathan had intended, making his butler start just a little.
“Have this letter returned at once,” he continued, getting to his feet and handing the butler the letter. “I will not read it.”
His butler, who never questioned a thing, simply nodded and left the room, closing the bedchamber door behind him.
Once the letter had been sent away, Jonathan tried not to consider what her reaction would be on receiving it, remembering how she had cried in front of him last evening. His heart tore just a little, underneath the burden of pain he carried within him. She had admitted that her heart blossomed with affection for him, so he had not been wrong to believe that her warmth towards him had meant more than a simple kinship. But to know that she pushed her own feelings away simply because she thought he did not carry the title and fortune she had decided she required, broke his heart. Her actions were shallow and cruel. She had taken what he had offered her, even as Lord Michael, and had trampled on it as he watched.
“Rivenhall?”
Jonathan jumped at the loud knock on the door. He got up from his chair in order to ask Lord Michael to leave him, only for the man to burst through the door regardless, pulling a rather scared-looking Miss Carron with him.
“Whatever is the meaning of this?” Jonathan exclaimed, as the girl looked up at him, her cheeks pale. “What are you doing with Miss Carron?”
“Michael, no!” Miss Carron exclaimed, clutching his arm. “Do not leave me!”
“I must,” Lord Michael replied, turning around and taking her hand in his. “I must be seen all about town, to ensure that your father does not suspect me.”
Miss Carron shook her head. “He will suspect you. This is the first place he will look.”
Jonathan held out his hands, silencing them both. “Will one of you please explain what on earth is going on?” Growing rather aware of his rumpled state, he shook his head and drew in a calming breath. This was not what he needed.
“Can I ask that you both return to the drawing room? I will make myself a little more presentable and join you there.”
Much to Jonathan’s surprise, Michael shook his head firmly. “We are trying to keep her presence here a secret. Only the butler saw us enter, and I know he is a trusted servant.”
Realizing that his friend was concerned that Jonathan’s staff would make Miss Carron’s presence here known through their usual gossiping, Jonathan smiled tightly. “I will ensure that the staff does not breathe a word of it, I promise you. In fact, I shall speak to them now. Please go to the drawing room, and I will be with you in a few minutes.” He folded his arms across his chest, keeping Michael’s gaze with a firm eye.
He watched as Miss Carron’s hand slowly loosened its grip on Michael’s arm, her cheeks now a little less pale.
“Very good,” Michael replied eventually, reaching out to shake Jonathan’s hand firmly. “Thank you, old chap. You have not let me down.”
Jonathan smiled and nodded, waiting desperately for them both to exit his bedchamber before throwing himself into a chair and groaning aloud. Whatever it was Michael intended to do with Miss Carron, Jonathan knew it would not be easy. To hide a lady from a father desperately searching for her—whatever his intentions were—was somewhat difficult.
Another groan escaped from his lips as Jonathan leaned forward and pressed his head into his hands, his elbows on his knees. He had not wanted this. All he had hoped for was a few days of solitude, a few days for his heart to stop paining him so terribly, before returning to his country estate. And now, here he was, caught up in whatever Lord Michael and Miss Carron intended.
Not that he could blame Michael for wanting to look out for the lady. She did have something of a tyrant for a father, and that in itself must be rather trying. Frowning, Jonathan got to his feet and went to wash and change his clothes, thinking that he ought to at least attempt to look presentable.
As he dressed, Jonathan caught sight of himself in the mirror, and he was forced to pause as he drew in a sharp breath. When had he become so haggard? It was as though all the happiness had been pulled from him, leaving him with nothing more than an empty shell. It was rather sobering.
“All Miss Richards fault, of course,” he muttered aloud, turning away from his reflection.
In a way, he was rather jealous of what Lord Michael had found in Miss Carron. There had been an instant attraction between them both—that was clear to see—and Michael had clearly never struggled to find a way to share those feelings with the lady.
Jonathan had never truly believed that such a deep connection could be formed between two individuals. Yet, the evidence was now directly before him in the form of Lord Michael Astor and Miss Carron. The way she had clung to him, trusting him to care for her, had spoken to Jonathan’s heart. Lord Michael had been tender, yet firm in his speech, reassuring her that all would be well and that he would be by her side throughout. Was it so wrong to desire such a thing for himself? To have a touch of envy over what Michael had so easily found, whilst Jonathan had been left floundering?
A rueful smile touched his lips as he finished buttoning his shirt, wondering what Miss Richards would say were she to discover that he was, in fact, the sort of man she had set her sights on. She would probably have accepted his marriage proposal without any kind of hesitation, giving the appearance of a true affection. He would have never known whether she truly cared for him or whether her affection was for his title and fortune.
“And now I must forget her,” he murmured to himself, glad that he now appeared much less rumpled than when Lord Michael had appeared in his bedchamber. Making his way from the bedchamber, he marched down the stairs, only to come face to face with his rather astonished-looking butler.
“Gather as many staff as you can,” Jonathan declared, ignoring the shock on the butler’s face as he continued below stairs. “I must speak to you all.”
“Of course, of course,” the butler said at once, hurrying to do Jonathan’s bidding.
It was a rather strange affair, warning his staff not to gossip about the lady who was currently alone with Lord Michael in the drawing room. By the looks on their faces, there were well aware of the consequences that would come if they were to do so. Jonathan made it more than clear that there would be no references given to anyone who disobeyed his orders. That in itself was enough to keep even the chattiest of maids silent.
His job done, and the tea trays ordered, Jonathan returned back up the stairs, slowly making his way towards the drawing room. Whatever had happened with Michael and Miss Carron, Jonathan recognized that he was going to have to put his own feelings and his own difficulties to the side for the moment. He would do all he could to help his friend. After all Michael had done for him—both in the army and over the last few weeks in town—it was the least Jonathan could do.
11
Now,” Jonathan said, the moment the maid set out the tea trays for them. “I have spoken to my staff, and I can promise you both that nothing shall be said about your presence here, Miss Carron. Although, given that it is the late afternoon, I do not think that many people would be surprised that you are calling.”
“Calling unaccompanied,” Michael reminded him, with a lift of his eyebrows. “I happened to meet Miss Carron and her friend in Hyde Park. We had a moment together, and she was able to tell me her distressing news. I knew I had to act.”
“We wandered the paths of Hyde Park for some time, far away from the fashionable set,” Miss Carron interjected, her voice rather wispy. “Then Michael hailed a hackney, and we came here.”
“I do not think anyone has come in search of her yet,” Michael continued, frowning heavily. “However, I do not think it will be long.”
Miss Carron bit her lip, her eyes worried. “My father will have noticed my absence, I am quite sure. I said I would only be gone an hour.”
Jonathan nodded and tried to smile at the lady reassuringly. “I am quite sure you will be safe here. Should your father come knocking, intending to search the house, I have a few places you can hide. Not that I expect he will go from room to room in search of you.”
“Then you underestimate my father,” Miss Carron replied softly. “He intends for me to do exactly as he wishes.”
Recalling that Lord Michael had mentioned something about distressing news, Jonathan turned his attention back to his friend. “Now, what was this news you found to be so upsetting?”
Lord Michael’s eyes widened. “Oh, of course. I quite forgot you did not know.” He leaned forward, his voice low. “Miss Carron’s father has put an engagement notice in the paper.”
“To Lord Baxter,” Miss Carron replied with a small sob.
Jonathan frowned, a little concerned that their plan had not gone as well as he had expected. “But I thought that if Michael continued to pretend to be me, then your father would change his mind about Lord Baxter.”
“I hoped he would,” she replied, her voice heavy with emotion. “He has not, unfortunately. When I questioned my father about his choice, mentioning that Lord Rivenhall had asked to court me, he told me that I am to be used as payment of a debt. A long-standing debt, I believe. Instead of the debt being paid with coin—which my father has rather
little of at the moment—I am to be given its place.”
“It is truly sickening,” Michael said softly, taking her hand. “I know that Lord Rivenhall will understand your plight.”
Utterly disgusted at the idea of a lady being used as something to be bought and sold, as well as being wed to man about the same age as her own father, Jonathan shook his head. “I shall never understand the ways of such men. They have no compassion for anyone, caring solely for themselves.” He looked at Miss Carron and saw the worry in her eyes, as though afraid he might throw her from his house. “I will do all I can to help you.”
Miss Carron’s eyes filled with tears, and as they began to flow down her cheeks, Michael handed her his handkerchief and wrapped one arm around her shoulders.
“Oh, thank you, Lord Rivenhall,” she sobbed, her tears flowing every faster. “Michael said we could rely on you.”
Jonathan made to answer, only for the door to fly open at that very moment, crashing into the wall.
Starting with surprise, he turned to see none other than Miss Richards, letter in hand, storming into the room, her face red. The butler came immediately behind, apologizing loudly, but Jonathan immediately sent him away. Miss Richards was here for a reason, and it would not do for the butler—or any of his staff—to hear what Miss Richards had to say.
“Miss Richards,” he began, “I—”
“You would not even read it?” she shouted, her eyes wild and blazing with fury. “After kissing me, you refused to even read my letter?”
Jonathan’s mouth fell open, heat rushing up his neck as he stared at the wide-eyed spitfire before him.
“I…I thought it best to—”
“How dare you?” she shouted, her eyes fixed on his, as she stepped ever closer. “How dare you treat me so?”
There was nothing Jonathan could say. He was rendered entirely speechless, far too aware of Lord Michael and Miss Carron’s presence.