Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square (10 page)

“Your harlot, you mean.”

Gabriel’s jaw turned to rock. “What did I say about
insults? If you speak ill of her again, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

Sidney’s hands fisted as he mumbled something under his breath that might or might not have been an apology.

Gabriel considered forcing the issue and making the old bastard spit out the word “sorry,” but he feared such a confrontation might turn physical. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed giving him the thrashing his uncle had so long deserved, but he was supposed to be helping to restore Lady Esme’s reputation, not creating a fresh scandal that might damage it even more.

“I shall expect delivery of the Landsdowne jewels at my town house by midday tomorrow,” Gabriel said with quiet authority. “Don’t play games and put me to the trouble of coming to retrieve them myself.”

While Sidney was stewing over the edict, Gabriel spied the waiter hovering on the far side of the room. “Ah, good. My wine has arrived.”

Turning, Gabriel resumed his seat. Only after he was comfortably settled did he look up again. “Good evening to you, Uncle,” he said with clear dismissal. “I would send my best to everyone, but I doubt such sentiments would be warmly received.”

Sidney’s cheeks pinked again, his mouth working as if he wanted to start ranting. Instead he let out a growl, spun on his heels and stormed from the room.

Gabriel waved the waiter forward and let the man fill his glass. Once the man had withdrawn, he drank a long swallow, savoring the notes of aged oak, black currants and cherry in the wine.

Leaning back, he sighed.

The discussion about the Landsdowne jewels reminded him that he was going to need a ring if he planned to wed Esme Byron by week’s end. Despite his threats to his uncle, he held out only partial hope that the jewelry would turn up at the appointed time. Assuming it did, he believed there were a few rings in the collection.

But when he thought about giving one to Lady Esme as a wedding band, he wasn’t sure he much cared for the notion. As he recalled, they were all heavy and very old-fashioned.

Maybe I should purchase a new ring for her?

Something simple yet elegant.

Yes, that would suit her nicely.

He took another long drink and added a visit to the jewelers to his list of things that needed doing tomorrow.

Until then, however, he might as well enjoy himself at least a bit.

Fleetingly, he considered again whether to go to a brothel. But the confrontation with his uncle had really rather ruined the mood, and if truth be known, Esme Byron was much too much on his mind—along with the promise he’d sworn to her.

But he hadn’t promised not to gamble.

Hooking his fingers around the neck of the wine bottle, he stood and carried it and his glass toward the gaming room.

With any luck, he would win.

•   •   •

Gabriel returned to his town house the following afternoon, a special license in one pocket and a jeweler’s box in the other. After a breakfast with the Byron brothers that had proven every bit as delicious as promised, Cade had left on business of his own while Leo and Lawrence had accompanied Gabriel back to Doctors’ Commons, where he’d finally been successful in obtaining a marriage license.

He’d refused, however, to let them tag along to purchase a wedding ring for Esme; it was a task he wanted to perform alone. He hoped she would like the ring he’d chosen for her. He’d deliberated far longer over its selection than he’d ever dreamed he might.

With the essential tasks now completed, he and his future brothers-in-law had agreed to depart at first light tomorrow for the return trip to Braebourne. After that
would come the wedding, an event on which he was doing his best not to dwell.

Pike, his butler, greeted him solemnly on his entrance, accepting his hat and gloves.

“A messenger arrived with a delivery while you were out, my lord,” Pike informed him. “I took the liberty of placing it on the desk in your study.”

Gabriel arched an inquiring eyebrow. “What sort of delivery?”

“It is a box. From your uncle, I believe.”

He contemplated that surprising bit of information. Was it possible that his threats last night had worked and the old blighter had actually coughed up the family jewels he’d illegally pilfered all those years ago? If so, the old man must be getting soft. Then again, perhaps he actually loved his daughter and was conceding defeat rather than putting her future happiness at risk.

But no, Gabriel thought, rejecting that last idea. The only person Sidney Landsdowne loved was Sidney Landsdowne. It must have been the potential loss of his own reputation that had done the trick. Not even the satisfaction of continuing to thwart Gabriel was worth that kind of risk.

“Thank you, Pike,” Gabriel said before walking down the corridor to his study.

On the desk, as promised, sat a long, rectangular wooden box. Gabriel opened it to reveal the Landsdowne jewels, which included three necklaces, two bracelets and several rings that were as ugly and heavy and old-fashioned as he remembered. Compared to the new ring nestled in the black-velvet–lined box inside his pocket, these were monstrosities.

Perhaps he would have them all reset. Yes, that was
exactly what he would do. Modernize the pieces into something Esme would like, and something he would like to see her wearing.

“O
h, just look at you.” Ava Byron sighed softly. “You’re so lovely, you take my breath.”

Esme stood quietly under her mother’s regard as Ava surveyed her in all her wedding finery.

As promised, Mrs. Benson had completed the dress on time and it had turned out so well that all of Esme’s female relations had exclaimed in delight when they’d gotten their first glimpse of the finished gown.

In order to conform to the current Empire style in fashion, the modiste had raised the waistline so that it fell just beneath Esme’s small rounded breasts. Mrs. Benson had embellished further by adding a slender grosgrain ribbon there that matched the exact shade of tiny embroidered golden flowers scattered over the gown’s ivory satin. Next she had shortened the sleeves so they were now small puffed caps edged against the arms with more narrow golden ribbon.

As for the long length of material that had once run from shoulder to heel, she’d removed it and used the excess fabric to create a sweeping train that ended in a spectacular half circle that trailed after Esme as she walked. The entire hem was further enlivened by small appliquéd white lace rosettes, whose effect was nothing short of ethereal.

On her feet, Esme wore a soft pair of ivory satin slippers with gold and diamond buckles that had been a last-minute gift from Mallory and Adam. On her hands were long white silk gloves that ended just above her elbows; her lustrous dark hair was pinned and styled in an elaborate upsweep with a few soft curls left to brush in dainty wisps against her forehead and cheeks.

Carefully draped over her head was a waist-length
veil of the finest Brussels lace, which had been another present, this one from Claire, and in her hands she held a fragrant bouquet of newly cut, fresh white dahlias, creamy pink hothouse roses and crisp green holly leaves banded together inside a wide white satin ribbon.

However lovely she supposedly looked, she felt rather like an autumn partridge—preened and plumped and ready to be flushed from its covey for the slaughter.

She sent her mother a quick smile, but it was strictly for show. Inside, she was a queasy tangle of nerves. Her hands and feet were as stiff and frozen as icicles despite the warm early-autumn day. As for her heart, it was doing a rapid thump-thump-thump that reminded her of Poppy when the rabbit sensed there might be a predator lurking nearby.

Or in her own case, an enigmatic and keenly dangerous man of whom she knew virtually nothing and yet whom she was very shortly about to marry.

Heaven help me,
she thought. She’d been acquainted with Lord Northcote for only the past eleven days, the majority of which had been spent apart while he’d raced off to London and she’d stayed behind to prepare for the wedding.

Truthfully, it all seemed rather like a dream—or perhaps some elaborately bizarre nightmare—with time slipping past in a kind of curious start-stop motion that seemed to fly like a Derby-winning racehorse one minute and creep slower than a garden snail the next.

Last night, for example, she’d felt as if time itself had come to a near standstill, the quiet darkness no comfort as she’d lain sleepless and fretting until very late—or early, depending on one’s point of view—and had at long last fallen asleep.

Yet the day before had been the exact opposite. The minutes had moved like lightning, each moment frenzied and unpredictable, as close friends and family began descending upon Braebourne—as many as could
be presumed upon to attend the wedding ceremony on such short notice.

Everyone had agreed beforehand—everyone being her brothers, brother-in-law, sister, sisters-in-law and mother, with no consultation or consent from either the bride or the groom—that a wedding with the full support of Esme’s family, however hurried, would be better than some quiet, secretive affair that people would whisper and speculate about for months to come. A united front on the Byrons’ part would help defuse the scandal that was already spreading through the
Ton
like a bad cold. If they were quick enough, and Esme and Northcote were married without delay in the presence of friends and loved ones, it was hoped the whole “sketchbook incident” would be swept aside and soon forgotten as nothing more than a bit of amusing nonsense.

So Esme stood now in her bedchamber, preparing to walk down the wide main staircase to the grand marbled entry hall. Then it would be out through the front door to the coach that would drive her the short way to the Braebourne family chapel, where she’d been reliably informed her groom was waiting.

She would have preferred to walk rather than ride but had given up on the idea, knowing how distressed her mother would be if she got dirt and grass stains all over her heirloom gown, even if Mama would have considered it in bad taste to outwardly show that distress.

“Ned is ready whenever you are, Esme.” Mallory came into the room, looking radiant in a gown of sapphire silk that enhanced the blue in her blue-green eyes.

Despite her earlier annoyance with her older sister, Esme had asked Mallory to be her matron of honor, to which Mallory had given an enthusiastic yes. After all, who else would Esme want at her side but her one and only sister on this the most important and nerve-shattering day of her life?

As for walking her down the aisle, Edward would naturally do the honors.

She’d been an infant barely born when their father had died nineteen years ago, so she had no memories of him. She knew Robert Byron, ninth Duke of Clybourne, only through the family stories she’d heard and the grand painting of him by Reynolds that hung in a place of prominence in the Braebourne picture gallery. Ned was her eldest brother, but he’d also served as a kind of surrogate father at important turning points in her life. So he would act today as he took on the duty of giving her away.

Her stomach gave an uncomfortable flip.

She supposed she ought to have eaten more this morning than a single bite of unbuttered toast and a sip of tea, but it was all she’d been able to choke down. She hadn’t eaten particularly well last night either, not with all the guests chattering away around her, and Northcote seated across the long table, a speculative look in his eyes as he gazed at her.

Northcote, Cade and the twins had arrived not long after noon yesterday to the barely disguised relief of her mother and sisters-in-law. Edward was more stoic, as Edward generally was, and had done nothing but ask if their trip from London had been eventful; then he’d disappeared into his study.

With so many people in the house, Esme hadn’t had an opportunity to exchange more than a few polite words with her betrothed. After dinner there still had been no chance to speak to him, since her brothers, Adam and his friend Mr. Cray—who had returned home unexpectedly and been staggered to discover that Northcote and Esme were to be wed—had taken him out to do whatever it was men did the night before a wedding.

“Most everyone has already gone on ahead to the chapel,” Mallory said, breaking into Esme’s reverie. “Mama, you probably ought to leave now so you can be seated before the ceremony begins. Claire and Grace are waiting outside in a coach to accompany you. Not to worry—I’ll look after our Esme. And Thalia has
been gracious enough to stay behind to help with anything last-minute, so she’ll ride over with us.”

It was only then that Esme noticed the newest of her sisters-in-law standing quietly nearby. She looked beautiful in a gown the orange-gold color of autumn leaves, but then she always looked beautiful.

Ava frowned slightly but finally gave a nod. “Yes, you’re right. I ought to be off.” She walked forward and bent to press a quick kiss against Esme’s cool cheek. “You’re going to do splendidly. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

And then her mother was gone, leaving her alone with Mallory and Thalia.

She looked at them.

They looked back.

But when she tried to muster another false smile, it just wouldn’t come. Suddenly she started to tremble.

“For heaven’s sake, sit down before you collapse.” Mallory hurried forward and took hold of her elbow to steer her toward the nearest chair.

“But my gown—”

“Your gown will survive; it’s you I’m worried about. You aren’t going to faint, are you?”

“No. At least I don’t think I am.”

Mallory made sure Esme was settled in the chair before handing Esme’s bridal bouquet to Thalia for safekeeping.

Thalia set it carefully aside on a nearby table.

“I have smelling salts,” Mallory remarked, “but perhaps something stronger is in order. Thalia, did you bring it?”

“Yes. I have it right here.” Thalia withdrew a slim silver flask from inside her reticule and handed it to Mallory.

“What’s that?” Esme eyed the container with suspicion.

“Your saving grace. Think of it as medicine.” Mallory unscrewed the cap. “Here. Drink.”

The scent of alcohol perfumed the air. “Is that brandy?”

“No, Scotch whiskey,” Thalia said. “At least that’s what I think Leo put in it last time he refilled the flask. I borrowed it from him this morning. He only carries it when he travels, so he won’t even realize it’s gone.”

“Oh, I don’t know—” Esme’s stomach churned again, lurching with a slightly sickening tilt this time.

“Drink.” Mallory curved Esme’s fingers around the metal container. “Or do you want to pass out halfway down the aisle and make a complete cake of yourself at your own wedding?”

Everyone said that Mallory was as sweet as sugar—and usually she was—but there were times when she could be more intimidating than Lord Wellington shouting orders at his troops during the heat of battle.

This was one of those times.

“What if I get foxed?”

“You won’t. But even if you do, who will care?” Mallory nudged Esme’s flask hand closer to her mouth. “Under any other circumstances, I’d feed you hot tea and Cook’s best beefsteak, but in your present state, you’d never keep it down. This is the next best thing. Dutch courage, or so I’ve heard it called, of which, dear one, you are sorely in need at the moment.”

Mallory was right about that. Esme needed all the courage she could muster if she was going to make it through the next few hours. And after that, when she was irrevocably bound in marriage to Lord Northcote and none of her family was around to act as protection?

She gulped, her hands shaking even worse. Well, she would simply have to deal with that when the time came. Maybe she’d keep Leo’s flask just in case. Without giving herself another second to consider, she raised the flask to her lips and took a big swallow.

Fire exploded in her throat and she gasped for breath, coughing furiously. Her lungs strained for air
and for a moment she wondered if she’d done herself in.

But then Mallory patted her on the back while Thalia offered her a glass of water. She caught her breath long enough to take a few sips, which eased some of the sting.

“Are you all right?” Mallory continued rubbing her back in soothing circles. “Why on earth did you take such a huge drink?”

“Because you told me to, goose.”

Thalia pressed a handkerchief into Esme’s hands, which she took gratefully, using it to wipe her mouth and tearing eyes.

“I did not,” her sister said. “I thought you would have the sense to sip it.”

Esme patted her face, aware of the sudden flush in her cheeks.

“Better?” Mallory surveyed her. “You look better. Your color’s back.”

And Esme realized she felt better too, now that the choking and burning had stopped. Warmth spread through her, chasing away the earlier cold, which had seemed as if lodged deep in the core of her bones. The shaking was gone as well, her fingers steady against the silver flask she still held.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Mallory and Thalia both smiled.

“Have another,” Mallory encouraged. “Just a sip this time.”

Carefully, Esme followed her sister’s suggestion, letting more of the calming warmth slide through her.

Then she took another.

She was raising the flask for one more when Mallory stopped her with a touch.

“That’s enough, I think.” Gently, her sister took the whiskey away.

“Are you sure? What if it wears off before I get through the ceremony?”

“It won’t,” Mallory reassured her with a grin. “Now, up you go. Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand,” Esme declared.

But when she did, she swayed slightly and reached out to steady herself by quickly gripping Mallory’s shoulder.

Thalia and Mallory exchanged looks again.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all,” Mallory murmured. “I should have known she wouldn’t be able to hold her liquor.”

Thalia laughed. “Well, it’s too late now.” Reaching out, she took Esme’s other arm. “Come along, Esme. Your groom awaits.”

But at the reminder, Esme stopped, some of the pleasant warmth disappearing. She looked at her sister, then at her sister-in-law. “I know everyone is waiting,” she whispered, “but what if I can’t go through with it?”

The other women stopped smiling, their eyes suddenly serious.

“It’s only natural for you to have second thoughts considering the circumstances,” Mallory said gently. “Is it because he frightens you? It’s all right to be honest.”

Esme looked at her sister with surprise. “No, of course he doesn’t
frighten
me. Why would he?”

Mallory and Thalia exchanged another set of looks.

“Well, despite his undeniable physical appeal, he can be rather formidable,” Mallory said. “So, is it because you dislike him, then?”

“No, I
do
like him,” Esme said. “At least I think I do. I’ve hardly been around him enough to decide. But I certainly liked it both times he kissed me.”

“Both times?”
Mallory gave her a speculative look. “I heard about the thorough bussing Northcote gave you in the hallway before he left for London. But when was this other time?”

“The day he came here to propose,” Esme said. “It was in the drawing room. He kissed me to . . . seal our bargain.”

Thalia studied her. “And you enjoyed it?”

Esme’s cheeks grew warmer. “Yes. Shouldn’t I have?”