Authors: Heather Cullman
“You!” She furiously snapped her fingers at Sophie. “Stoo-pid . . . stoo-pid girl! This is all your fault.”
Snap!-Snap!
“Explain yourself this very instant!”
Sophie cast Nicholas a helpless look, who returned it with a faint smile. Before he could speak up in her defense, however, his father boomed, “Come, now, Helene. Time enough to discuss this matter later, after you’ve calmed yourself.”
“I assure you that I am perfectly calm,” she retorted, clearly resenting his intrusion.
“Nonsense, girl. You look as if you could do for a glass of brandy. Indeed, I daresay we could all do for one.” His father paused to smile at Sophie. “You, too, my dear. What say you to joining us?”
“What!” Helene’s face turned an exceedingly unflattering shade of purple. “How dare you invite her — ”
Snap.’-Snap!
at Sophie ” — to join us? Need I remind you who I am?”
Nicholas gazed at her, not even bothering to disguise his dislike. “I can assure you that we are perfectly aware of your exalted station, Helene. You have been exceedingly vigilant in pointing it out at every opportunity.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “Indeed? Well, then, in that instance, I can only assume that the invitation was meant as an insult.”
“Insult? Poppycock!” his father exclaimed. “Sophie is a lady born and bred. In case you haven’t heard, her father is a baron.”
“Oh?” Helene’s full red lips twisted into a sneer as she transferred her gaze to Sophie. “Tell me, Miss … Barton, is it?”
Sophie nodded. To her credit she remained unperturbed.
“Yes … Barton.” Helene studied her face for a beat, as if trying to place it, then dropped her gaze to sweep her length. As she did so, her expression turned positively frigid.
And no wonder, Nicholas thought, noting her appearance as well. Not only was her gown askew, her hair had come down and her lips were swollen in a way that bespoke of ravishment.
Certain that he looked the part of the ravisher, he glanced at himself. Bloody hell! As if it weren’t damning enough that he wore neither coat nor waistcoat, his shirt was half pulled out and his trousers were awry, probably from Sophie grasping his buttocks. Then, there were those telltale scruffs on his boots —
“Tell me, Miss Barton,” Helene purred. “Exactly which baron’s by-blow are you?”
Something inside Nicholas snapped when he heard Sophie gasp and saw the color drain from her face. It was his fault that she was in such a state, and he’d be damned if he’d let her suffer for it. Eyeing Helene coldly, he bit out, “I can assure you,
my lady,
that Miss Barton’s birth is every bit as legitimate as yours.” “Perhaps even more so,” his father injected.
“What!” Helene spat, rounding on him. “How dare you imply such a foul and wicked thing. You, sir, are even less of a gentleman than your — ” she gestured wildly at Nicholas ” — whoremongering son!”
Despite his fury with the girl, Nicholas couldn’t help but pity her when he saw his father’s expression. Had it been he who he glared at in such a manner, he’d have jumped on his horse and ridden hell-bent for London. In truth, he would rather face the devil than his father when he was in such a mood.
“Unless you wish to pursue our present conversation, my dear, the conclusion of which I assure you shan’t be to your liking, I suggest that you return to your rooms and calm yourself.” Despite his mild tone, the threat in his father’s voice was unmistakable.
Unfortunately for Helene, she was either too stupid to detect it, or too arrogant to heed it. Casting him a look that clearly conveyed her contempt for him and anything he might say, she snapped, “I assure
you
that both my birth and my parents’ morals are above reproach … something which cannot be said for some people.” She uttered that last while gazing pointedly at Sophie.
“Are you so very certain?” his father drawled. “Utterly.”
“In that case, you shan’t mind if I inquire as to the date of your birth?”
“Of course not. I was born September 23, 1789.” “And your parents were wed … when?”
“A year or so before, I suppose.” She shrugged. “I never thought to ask.”
“Then, I suggest you do so.”
“Why ever would I — ” Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. To her credit, she instantly regained herself and countered, “Even if it turns out that I was a six-month babe, what does it matter? It simply proves that my parents loved each other too much to await the reading of the banns. Just because you cannot understand such a love, my lord, does not make it wrong.” “Try a three-month babe,” he shot back, “and your father never even set eyes on your mother until a month before their wedding. He was rather desperate for funds, you see, and your mother happened to be a very wealthy widow in need of a husband.”
She gasped. “I don’t believe it … I shan’t believe it! Next you shall try to tell me that I’m the by-blow of a commoner.”
“Oh, you were sired by a nobleman, though which one is anyone’s guess.” His father seemed to consider the matter, then shrugged and shook his head. “Your mother enjoyed the, er, consolation of so many gentlemen during her bereavement for her first husband.”
If looks could kill, his father would be dead from the one Helene shot him. “You are a truly vile man,” she hissed. “And I refuse to remain beneath your roof a second longer than it takes to pack my bags. No doubt my mother shall be eager to leave as well when I tell her of your filthy lies.”
“No doubt,” his father uttered dryly.
Casting both Nicholas and Sophie a venomous look, Helene crushed Ming-Ming to her heaving breast and turned on her heels. Furiously snapping her fingers, she commanded, “Come along, mademoiselle. You must pack my bags immediately.”
Mademoiselle shrugged. “You sacked me. Pack them yourself.”
“How could you, Harry?” the marchioness berated, glaring at her husband. “Suzanne is my oldest and dearest friend. Whatever possessed you to say such dreadful things to her daughter?”
The marquess shrugged unrepentantly. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
“True?” She sniffed. “Fiddlesticks! Those old rumors about Suzanne being a wanton are nothing but rubbish. She was — “
“Seduced by an unscrupulous rogue during her bereavement,” he finished for her. “Yes, I know. So she claims.”
“Well, I for one believe her, and do not hold any part of the unfortunate affair against her. The poor dear was distraught over the death of her husband, and the scoundrel took advantage of her heartbroken state. She confided everything to me when she found herself with child.”
“Everything but her seducer’s name.” He shook his head. “Don’t you find it even the least bit queer that she refused to name him? Most women would be eager to expose such a man for the knave he is.”
“Well, Suzanne isn’t like most women. She’s a dear through and through. She refused to tell out of pity for his wife.” A sigh. “Sweet, noble Suzanne. Always thinking of everyone but herself.”
The marquess couldn’t help snorting at his wife’s misguided view of the woman. “Saint Suzanne didn’t name Helene’s father because she didn’t know who he was.” She snorted back. “Rumors. Spiteful rumors. I shall never believe that gammon about her taking a dozen lovers the month her husband died.”
“Believe it. I could name at least that many men who had her during the first week. Could have had her myself had I been so inclined.” Though he hated to shatter his wife’s illusions about her so-called friend, it was high time she learned the truth.
“What!” She stared at him in stunned disbelief. “Surely you’re not suggesting that she made a play for you?”
He chuckled, trying to soften the blow with levity. “Why so surprised? You always say that I’m the handsomest man in England.”
“You are. Of course, you are. You always shall be. But — ” she shook her head ” — I simply cannot imagine Suzanne doing something so very loathsome as to try to steal you from me.”
“Oh, she didn’t want to steal me, she simply wished to borrow me for a night or two. Since you two used to share everything from secrets to trinkets, she no doubt decided that you wouldn’t mind sharing me as well.” “No. Oh no!”
“I’m afraid so, my dear. Worst yet, she tried to share me again just last night. She was most concerned about the state of my manly needs, what with you ailing and all.”
“Oh, Harry. Why didn’t you tell me the first time she made advances?” she exclaimed, looking every bit as ill as she wished everyone to believe her to be.
“Because I love you and didn’t wish to break your heart,” he replied, rising from his chair to move to the bed. Smiling all the love he felt inside, he lay down beside her and pulled her into his embrace. Gently stroking her hair, he murmured, “The one thing I try to avoid at all costs is breaking your heart.”
She nuzzled against his shoulder, the very place she’d laid her head every night for the past thirty-two years. “You, Harry, are the dearest and most considerate man in the world.”
“Don’t forget handsomest,” he teased.
She smiled. “That goes without saying. Still — ” her smile faded and she grew solemn again ” — I do wish you’d never said anything to poor Helene.”
It was all he could do to keep from grimacing at her referral to the horrid little termagant as poor. Struggling to keep the distaste from his voice, he said, “I rather think that I did the girl a favor. At least now she shall be prepared for the rumors she will undoubtedly hear during her Season.”
“I suppose.” She sighed. “Poor girl. I do hope the rumors don’t spoil her chances to make a good match. She’s such a winning creature. Indeed, I found her so agreeable that I’d have welcomed her into the family, in spite of her mother’s faults.”
“Not I,” he declared, shuddering at the thought of Colin shackled to such a shrew. “I’d have forbidden the match under threat of disinheritance.”
His wife lifted her head from his shoulder to glare at him. “Why, Harry Somerville! Don’t tell me that you would hold Suzanne’s sins against her daughter?” “Come, come, now, Fanny,” he murmured, kissing the end of her nose. “You know me better than that. I shall gladly give my blessing to Colin to wed whomever he pleases, provided that I’m convinced she will make him happy.”
“And what makes you so certain that he wouldn’t be happy with Helene? As I said, I found her perfectly charming.”
“Well, I found her insufferable. Can’t recall the last time I met such an ill-natured chit.” He shook his head. “No. Helene would never do for Colin. The man who marries her shall spend his life plagued with misery and servant problems.”
“Servant problems?” She frowned. “Whatever are you going on about now, Harry?”
“You would know exactly what I meant had you put aside your deathbed charade and actually spent time with the chit.”
“For your information, I truly am ailing,” she exclaimed indignantly. “And please do stop being cryptic. I still have no idea what you meant by your last remark.” “Fine. Then, I shall put it bluntly: There isn’t a servant at Hawksbury who’d have remained in our employ had Colin married Helene. She behaved most abominably toward them, insulting and criticizing them at every turn. Why, she even went so far as to slap little Agnes, the under-housemaid, and all the poor girl did was wish her ladyship a good day.” He shook his head grimly. “I say good riddance. And if we never see either her or her mother again, well, hurrah!”
“Hurrah, indeed,” she agreed, relaxing back against his shoulder. After a beat she sighed. “Ah, well. TTiere is always Lady Julianna. She and her mother are to arrive in three days. Perhaps she shall prove more suited to Colin.”
It took his every effort not to grin. “I wouldn’t throw too much hope in that direction if I were you.”
She made a frustrated noise. “If you know something, please do just say it. Your riddles are making my head ache.”
“Do you want me to be blunt again?” he inquired playfully.
“Present it anyway you wish, just tell me.”
“All right, then. Colin shan’t be suited to Lady Julianna because his heart is already engaged.”
“What!” Her head popped up again, and she peered at him as if he’d lost his wits.
He grinned. “It’s true, Fan. Our Colin is in love.” “Who? When?” She punched the shoulder she’d just
vacated. “Oh, but you are the most provoking man! Do tell me the gel’s name.”
“Bluntly?”
“Harry!” She punched him again.
He chuckled. “It’s our own Miss Barton.”
Instead of being stunned, as he expected, she looked thoughtful. “Then, Helene’s accusations are true? Colin and Sophie were dallying in the stable?”
“Judging from their appearances, I would say yes.” She pondered a few moments, then nodded. “Come to think of it, it makes sense. He was rather vehement in his defense of the girl over the Mayhew affair. And he can look at nothing but her every time he visits me.” She nodded again. “I do believe you are right.”
“And what would you think of such a match?”
“I’ve always thought Sophie lovely and charming, you know that. Indeed, I have even considered promoting such a match myself. What gave me pause is the fact that we know nothing about her family. She never speaks of them, and what information I have managed to pry from her is out of keeping with her tale.”