“I’ve never wanted another.”
The duchess did not respond. Silence filled the chamber like a funerary gloom.
Finally, Elizabeth spoke. “Am I correct in guessing that Lord Finchley is in need of your dowry?”
Margaret nodded.
“I am so sorry. I fear you will end up with a broken heart.”
“I know he doesn’t love me now. I am prepared to wait. Years, if that’s what’s needed. I hope that one day he
will
value me and the good wife I’ve been to him. His grandmother told me that underneath his rakish ways, he’s a good and noble man. I believe her.”
“I will own the dowager countess is a wise woman, but her affection for her only grandchild might colour her perception of Finchley.”
“Only time will tell.”
“I fear your brother will be angry that he was not consulted. He’ll be angry that the deed is already done and angry that you’ve married a notorious gamester and rake.”
“I know.”
Elizabeth’s gaze lifted to regard Margaret. “I suppose you want me to break the news to Philip?”
Margaret nodded. “You know my feelings toward Lor- - -, my husband. You’re the only one I’ve ever told. I believe you will be able to convey to Aldridge how besotted I am with the man I’ve married. And . . . remind him that I’m of age.”
“Philip will dine with us tonight. I’ll see him privately before the meal and convey to him the disappointing intelligence.”
Margaret stood. “Thank you.”
As she left the duchess’s malachite-coloured study, she felt as if the weight of Gibraltar had been removed from her shoulders. Even her trembling subsided. She was relieved that she had not been forced to tell a single falsehood.
Now she had to tell Caro.
* * *
She and Caro had always shared a room. There were but eleven months separating them in age, and they were often mistaken for twins. It was really the oddest phenomenon that it was the younger sister who was the dominant one. Even as toddlers, meek Margaret had always deferred to her baby sister. While Margaret had been slow to speak, Caro was speaking in sentences just after she celebrated her first birthday.
The speaking had never ceased. Margaret was content to fade into the wallpaper while Caro's lively personality sparkled.
They were exceedingly close to one another and had shared everything. Everything except Margaret's infatuation with Lord Finchley.
She had known Caro would disapprove. Because Caro loved Margaret more than anyone, she wished always to protect her sister against unsuitable men. And everyone considered the wastrel Lord Finchley unsuitable. Even if he was an earl.
Margaret entered their bedchamber. Caro looked up from the chair where she was reading a rather thick book. "I disapprove of your going out after this morning's illness. You might have taken lung fever!"
"I assure you, dearest, I've never been better."
Caro regarded her thoughtfully. "I will own, there's a certain . . . liveliness in your countenance. Where have you been?"
"There's much I have to tell you," Margaret said somberly as she dropped into a chair that was separated from Caro's by a small candle table. She drew a deep breath. "I've been with my husband."
Caro's book slammed shut. Her mouth gaped open. Her eyes widened. For the first time in her entire life, Caro was the mute sister.
After several moments, she said, "You are jesting."
Margaret shook her head. "I secretly married Lord Finchley."
"Not him!" Caro winced as if she'd just been pierced by an arrow.
"I think we will suit very well."
Caro's brows lowered. "You could not have picked a worse man!"
Margaret straightened her spine and spoke with uncustomary authority. "I will not permit you to malign my husband!"
"Dear God, don't tell me you're in love with the . . . the profligate!"
The elder sister's eyes narrowed. "I will not tolerate abuse of the man I've married."
Tears began to gather in Caro's eyes. She buried her face in her hands and wept.
Margaret understood all the conflicting emotions that must be inflicting turmoil on her beloved sister. Marriage would mean they would be separated from one another. They had never been parted since the day of Caro’s birth. There was also the shock of the announcement coming so utterly unexpectedly. And lastly, Caro would join all Margaret's loved ones in fearing that this marriage to a notorious rake would bring Margaret nothing but grief.
How it upset her to see Caro's shoulders heaving with her sobs. She left her chair and came to comfort her sister. "Please don't cry. I cannot convey to you how happy I am to be Lady Finchley."
Caro's reddened, tear-slickened face lifted. "Why him? Of all men. I didn't even know you were acquainted with him."
"I know it's a shock for you. It's wrong of me to have concealed from you my adoration of Lord Finchley, but I knew you would never approve of him, and I never dreamed that anything this . . . this wonderful could come from my fondness for him."
"How could you conceal something like that from me? I've blathered incessantly to you about every man to whom I've ever taken a fancy."
"I knew you would disapprove."
"Indeed I would! You can do so much bet- - " She was overcome by another sob.
Margaret patted her sister's heaving shoulders. "Please don't think of my marriage as a bad thing. It's made me uncommonly happy. And it's not as if you and I won't see each other every day still. Finchley House is close, and I will continue going to Trent Square with you."
"If only you'd confided in me." Sniff. Sniff. "I could have dissuaded you."
Margaret stiffened. "Exactly why I did
not
confide in you."
Caro continued crying, and when she finally gathered her composure, she looked up at Margaret. "I shall miss you."
"I will own, not living with my dearest sister will be difficult, but we've always known we would eventually marry."
"That's true. And you are certainly of age. Have you told Aldridge?"
"Elizabeth's to tell him today."
"He's going to be angry."
The very thought of her brother's disapproval sank her even lower.
* * *
Two days after he had agreed to Lady Margaret’s proposal, John found himself trembling as he walked into the Duke of Aldridge’s library. With every step he took into the darkened chamber, he cursed himself for ever embarking on that wretched scheme which had resulted in that disastrous ceremony at St. George’s.
Hanover Square
. Why or why had he not specified which St. George’s? Why oh why had he ever concocted such a flimsy scheme in the first place?
He was vaguely aware that the Duke of Aldridge rose as he entered the chamber. A fire blazed in the hearth and a single oil lamp burned upon the desk. Even the walls in this ominous chamber were dark. No doubt they were paneled in walnut or some such wood.
“Will you not sit by the fire, Lord Finchley?” The duke's voice lacked warmth, but at least he wasn't outwardly hostile.
John effected a mock bow, nodded at the duke, then dropped onto a red velvet sofa. Aldridge strode to the fire and stood, his steely gaze boring into John’s. Tall and dark and powerful, the Duke of Aldridge projected a most severe countenance.
“I will begin,” Aldridge said. “I am aware that my sister is of age and is free to select a mate of her choice, but I will not conceal from you my disapproval of your stealthy wedding. I submit to you that you rushed my sweet-natured sister into such a clandestine affair because you knew I would never approve of you for Margaret’s husband.”
John was powerless to do anything but nod in agreement with the duke. “Yes, I knew you would do anything in your power to prevent Lady Margaret from uniting herself to the likes of me.” John was rather pleased with himself that he’d not told a falsehood. Yet. How in the devil, though, would he speak of this marriage to which he had been so opposed? He could hardly vow to be a devoted husband to the man’s sister. That would be an outrageous falsehood. Nor could he proclaim to be in love with Lady Margaret.
“I am aware, Finchley, of the large sums you owe and am convinced you’ve secured Margaret’s hand in order to gain her dowry.”
“I will not deny that was a strong enticement, though you must realize Lady Margaret is a fetching creature. What man would not wish to unite himself to her? I must be enormously fortunate to be the man so singularly honored by . . .” He started to say
Lady Margaret
, but for effect said, “my wife.” Again, John was satisfied that he had continued on without resorting to telling lies.
“Why so sensible a girl as Margaret wished to wed you is beyond my comprehension,” his grace mumbled.
Truth be told, John had wondered the very same thing. John was satisfied that, unlike other young ladies, Lady Margaret really did not aspire to a romantic marriage.
The duke’s gaze went to the papers clasped in John’s hands. “I see you’ve brought the papers my man of business delivered to you yesterday. Do you have any questions regarding the marriage contracts or settlement?”
“No, your grace. It's very generous.”
“You’ve signed it?”
John nodded.
Aldridge’s eyes narrowed to slits as he stood there, the raging fire at his back, regarding John with open hostility. “I warn you, Finchley, if I learn that you’ve squandered so generous a dowry on Lady Luck or ladies of the night I will do everything in my power to see that you’re ruined.”
If the duke’s countenance had been stiff moments earlier, it was menacing now. John believed the duke wished him dead. His throat went as dry as burnt toast. “It is a very generous dowry, your grace, and I assure you I do not intend to squander it. It is true, though, that I have many creditors who will be most gleeful at the settling of their accounts.”
The duke was speaking to him in much the same way as Grandmere did. John stretched his memory to recall those things his grandmother always stressed when she summoned him for a good set-down. “I believe marriage to your fine sister will bring me a maturity I have heretofore lacked. I need to follow pursuits other than those which have contributed to my reputation as a . . .” He swallowed. “A rake.”
“I shall believe that when I see it,” Aldridge said, his voice like that of a stern father. He drew a deep breath, his dark gaze never leaving John’s. “I have other demands of you, demands that were not put in writing.”
Despite the fire, John felt as if ice water were seeping down his spine. “What kind of demands?”
“If I ever learn that you have not treated my sister with respect, I will ruin you. You will not
ever
hold her up to ridicule. No opera dancers. No week-long gaming or drinking binges. If you ever hurt her—physically or emotionally—I will chase you to the ends of the earth and do my best to kill you in a fair fight. Even if it means destroying the man my sister loves.”
John felt as if he’d just been slapped in the face. What the devil had he gotten himself into? Had he not wanted the lady’s dowry in order to pursue those very things of which the duke wished to deprive him?
Good Lord, no opera dancers
? What gave that sanctimonious duke the right to dictate John’s behavior?
The two men glared at each other, their hostility palpable.
After several moments, the duke spoke. “I believe my demands are in harmony with those of your grandmother.”
John nodded.
“You are young still. Marriage and fatherhood can make a fine man of you—if you allow it.”
Fatherhood?
Good Lord, he wasn’t planning to bed Lady Margaret! She wasn’t his type. Not in the least. She was not possessed of one of those voluptuous bodies he so admired.
After seeing the generous marriage contracts, John had come here today relatively content. But now he felt as if he were entering a prison designed to strip him of every pleasure life had to offer.
He’d never felt lower.
“If you are so greatly opposed to this marriage, your grace, perhaps you would wish to end it.” John lifted a hopeful brow.
A thundering expression came over the duke’s face. “I will never consent to anything so disagreeable, anything that would subject Margaret to notoriety. Of all my sisters, she is by far the most sensitive.”
A bloody sensitive female was the last thing in the world John wanted. “Very well, your grace.”
“You’re agreeing that you’ll be an exemplary husband?”
John’s stomach roiled. “I doubt I will ever be as exemplary a husband as Lord Haverstock or you, but your strong marriages will serve to guide me.” Again, he was proud that he had managed to answer without telling an outrageous falsehood.
Once more, the chamber went silent, the only sound the hissing of the fire. Then John recalled the duke's words. "
Even if it means destroying the man my sister loves
." He was not sure which part of that sentence was the more distressing. The part about being destroyed by the powerful duke—or the part about Lady Margaret being in love with him.
Surely she could not be. They were complete strangers. It then occurred to him the lady had told her brother she was in love in order to sway him to placid acceptance of the marriage. John had to hand it to her. She was clever.
A pity he had never admired clever females.
"So," the duke finally said as he stood. "I understand Margaret's things have been sent along to Finchley House?"
John got to his feet, facing Aldridge. "That is so.” It still made him ill to think of being forced to share his home with a woman—a woman he had no desire to bed, a woman who was a complete stranger.
"At least she's not going to be off in the provinces like my eldest sister. I shall miss Margaret."
"Your grace's loss is my gain." That wasn't exactly a lie. He
was
gaining a permanent occupant of his home.
"So you've come to collect your bride?"
"Indeed I have."
"I'll have a footman fetch her."
It was dashed embarrassing that he’d had to accept usage of the Duke of Aldridge’s coach in order to bring his bride to Finchley House. Now that he had received her generous dowry, one of his first purchases was going to be a coach for her. He didn’t give a tuppence if he had a coach, but he could hardly ask the daughter of a duke to be conveyed around London in a public hack.