"The blackguard you are referring to is me." He stepped forward and bowed. "Paul Fines at your service, sir. And let me assure you that Miss Sparkler is an innocent victim here. She has done nothing wrong," he said with emphasis. "She was attempting to defend me, and in doing so, got caught in the crossfire."
Irate color replaced Sparkler's pallor. "A
Fines
is involved. I might have known." His glare shifted from Paul to Percy, who gave him a weak wave of her fingers.
"Please, Father. Nothing happened. It was a misunderstanding—" Charity pleaded.
"According to the Earl of Parkington, you were caught
in flagrante
, Miss Sparkler." Though Garrity spoke quietly, his words dripped with venom nonetheless. "I would not call that nothing. The whole Town is abuzz over your unbecoming conduct."
Charity shrank back as if slapped.
Anger sizzled through Paul's veins. "Who are you to judge her, you bounder?"
Garrity's stare remained hard, unwavering. "I
was
her fiancé, according to the marriage contract Sparkler and I signed three days ago. But now I must reconsider: a man such as I will not take on soiled goods."
This revelation took Paul aback—Charity
Garrity?
—but only for a second. "She is not soiled goods, damn your eyes," he growled. "She's an angel. Not that it matters: you're not marrying her—I am."
"What?" Sparkler choked out.
"I am marrying your daughter," Paul said through his teeth—probably not the best way to speak to one's future in-law, but his back was up at the other's mistreatment of Charity.
Why wasn't Sparkler defending his daughter, giving her the benefit of the doubt? Anyone with eyes could see that she was a sweet, innocent girl incapable of such misdeeds. But the old man wasn't even listening to her. Paul suddenly flashed to his troubles with his own father, which seemed pale in comparison. At least Jeremiah had tried to understand him.
"Over my dead body!" Sparkler's sparse frame vibrated within his ill-fitting clothes. "Mr. Garrity and I have an agreement."
"
Had
an agreement," Garrity said in cold tones. "You promised me a maiden of unblemished virtue. Not this,"—his eyes flicked to Charity—"disgrace."
A gasp broke from Charity's lips; Paul saw red. Before he knew what he was doing, he was heading straight for the bastard. Hands pulled him back, restrained him.
"Let me go," he grated out, struggling.
"Cull ain't worth it," Hunt said from one side.
"A brawl won't help anything," Nicholas said from the other. "Keep your wits about you, Fines. There are matters to sort out, the most important being Miss Sparkler's future."
Chest heaving, Paul fought for control.
Lines of displeasure bracketed Garrity's mouth. Donning his hat, he said, "I don't suffer fools, Mr. Fines, nor insults. You have inconvenienced me, and I shan't forget it."
Paul returned the other's glare measure for measure. "We can settle it now or at dawn, if you wish. You've only to name the place."
Garrity's smile was not a smile. "You're not worth dirtying my hands over."
"Mr. Garrity, wait!" Sparkler stumbled after his associate. "We had a deal, you and I—"
"Your daughter violated the terms." Garrity spoke without turning. "The deal is off."
In a last ditch effort, Sparkler flung himself in the other's path, blocking access to the door. "We can come to an understanding. Perhaps my daughter is not at fault, I've raised her to be a good girl—"
"Out of my way, Sparkler." Garrity's tone dripped with menace.
After a few seconds, Sparkler drew in a shaky breath and moved aside.
Garrity slammed the door behind him.
In the aftermath of stunned silence, a calm voice inserted itself. "Well, thank goodness that is over. What a dreadful man. I'm sure you must be relieved, Mr. Sparkler."
Sparkler, who remained slumped against the doorframe, raised an unfocused gaze to Paul's mama. "Relieved?" he said in a dazed voice.
"That Garrity fellow is clearly not deserving of dear Miss Sparkler," Anna Fines said. "And all the better to discover that before it was too late. Thus, despite the unfortunate circumstances, I do believe things have worked out for the best, don't you?"
Though framed as a question, it was not. Having had years of experience dealing with his mother's brand of velvet-covered steel, Paul was aware of this. Sparkler was not.
"Best?" the jeweler sputtered. "Everything is ruined! All because of—"
"A
mistake
," Mama said in a tone that few would dare to contradict. "All of us are here today to bear witness to the fact that no misconduct occurred between my son and Miss Sparkler. That said, Paul has offered for your daughter, and I hope you will find joy in the fact as I and others have. Our children have many supporters, you see, including the Marquess of Harteford."
She nodded to Nicholas, who bowed. Looking confounded, Sparkler returned the courtesy.
"The marquess will assist in procuring a special license," Mama informed Sparkler. "Our children's nuptials can occur within a sennight, which gives us little time to prepare, but I'm certain you agree that expediency is key to minimize any disruption"—her gaze pointedly encompassed the store—"to business as usual?"
Again, not a question.
"I am ruined. This is the end," Sparkler whispered.
"Please, Father, don't say that—"
"My life's work, gone. Because of your reckless behavior." Sparkler turned stark grey eyes to his daughter. "How could you?"
The bastard might as well have stuck a blade in her chest—it might have been kinder. Rage rushed through Paul's veins as a single droplet trickled down Charity's cheek.
"Miss Sparkler is not to blame," he said fiercely, "but 'pon my honor, I shall do what is necessary to ensure Sparkler's survival and success."
As soon as the words left him, his mind reeled.
Dear Lord, did I just sign up to ... work? And how in bloody hell am I going to straighten out this dump
and
prepare for the tournament—less than two months away?
Before he could backpedal or at least clarify his time schedule, he glimpsed Charity's face. His breath caught. Through the veil of her tears, she was gazing at him with ... wonder. As if he'd just hung the sun back in her sky. His chest pounded with the sudden desire to have her always look at him thus.
"You? What are you going to do, unless ..." Sparkler wet his lips. "How much did you say you are worth, sir?"
"Father," Charity mumbled.
"He wishes to marry you. I have the right to know his financial situation." Sparkler drew himself up. "If he hadn't compromised you in the first place—"
"I'm recouping from some losses." Paul saw no point in beating around the bush. "But while I haven't a nest egg now, my income from my father's company is five thousand a year." He decided that now was not the time to disclose his plans vis-à-vis prizefighting. Instead, he said confidently, "I shall be back on my feet by year's end."
His prospects were considerable. To his surprise, Sparkler's face fell.
"I'm done for," the man said in a bleak voice.
Holy hell, how much trouble was the shop in?
Nicholas' imperious tones cut in. "Paul is the son of Jeremiah Fines, and mercantile talent runs in his blood. Once he sets his mind to a thing, he is steadfast. You can ask for no better help than his."
Seeing no trace of irony in the other's expression, Paul felt a surge of gratitude.
A moment passed before Sparkler said tonelessly, "Everything's ruined. What difference does anything make? Do as you will." Shoulders slumped, he headed to his office like a man off to the gallows.
Paul's gaze went to Charity, who was clutching Percy's hand, looking so young and lost that all his protective instincts roused. He wanted to cross over and haul her into his arms. To hold her close and tell her everything was going to be alright.
Instead, he waited. They had her father's permission of sorts. Now it was time for Charity to make her own decision.
"Charity, dear, you don't mind rushing things along?" his mama said gently. "We'll all pitch in with the preparations. You won't have to worry about a thing."
"Thank you, Mrs. Fines," Charity said quietly.
Paul expelled a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding.
"'Tis my greatest pleasure, dear girl, to welcome you to our family," his mama said, smiling.
Percy flung her arms around Charity. "We're to be true sisters at last!"
With a feeling of triumph, Paul went over and tapped his sister on the shoulder.
"May I cut in?" he said dryly.
Releasing her friend, Percy grinned at him. "I suppose." Then she surprised him with a hug, whispering in his ear, "I
knew
this would happen. You're going to be so happy, my dearest brother!"
"I'm your only brother," he said with a catch in his voice.
Smiling, Percy went to join their mama.
Paul took his bride-to-be's hand. Within his grip, her delicate, chilled fingers fluttered like a hummingbird's wings.
"You do me a great honor," he said softly, "and I'll endeavor to return the favor by seeing to your happiness."
Though her lips trembled, she didn't pull away.
FIFTEEN
Ensconced in Mrs. Fines' cozy parlor the next morning, Charity battled a sense of unreality. It wasn't the room itself that was odd or unfamiliar; over the years, she'd spent hours here with Percy, the two of them curled up on the chintz sofa framed by matching curtains. Likewise, the occupants gathered around the tulipwood coffee table were no strangers. Thus, what imbued the scene with a surreal feeling must be the topic of conversation: a wedding.
Her
wedding ... to Paul Fines.
As she sipped her tea, she snuck a glance at the gentleman she would be marrying in five days. He was at the sideboard perusing the breakfast offerings. His hair gleamed; his tobacco brown jacket and buff trousers clung lovingly to his physique. He appeared rested, his chiseled features showing none of the strain that might be expected when a man had to marry out of necessity. He remained the Apollo of Master Bernini's imagination, a study in masculine grace and beauty.
As if he sensed her regard, his vivid blue eyes locked on her.
She quickly looked away. Even on her best day, she was no Daphne, the elusive nymph Apollo sought to claim. And since she hadn't slept a wink last night, she knew that shadows hung beneath her eyes and her cheeks lacked any color at all. She didn't need to see disappointment darken his gaze. For despite his gentlemanly courtesy—and he'd been kindness itself during yesterday's hideous scene at the shop—she knew that his true reaction to all of this must be regret.
Now that Charity's indignation—and, yes, wounded pride—had faded, she could see the situation through a clearer lens. Not only had Mr. Fines lost the incomparable Miss Drummond, but now he was to be saddled with
her
. A girl he did not love. A girl he was marrying out of honor, obligation, and, worst of all, pity.
She hadn't missed the disgust on Mr. Fines' face at her papa's reaction, and her humiliation had deepened. She'd wanted to explain that it wasn't Father's fault: he was under a great deal of financial pressure, and she'd pulled the rug from beneath his plans with Mr. Garrity.
Of course Father had been irate. And if anyone was to blame, it was she.
She gripped the saucer of her teacup. The other culprit was, of course, Parkington. The earl continued to carry out his diabolical revenge. The
Times
had devoted an entire column to the scandal involving a certain jeweler's daughter and the scion of a shipping empire. Thanks to the earl, they were being made into an example of Moral Mayhem amongst the middling class. Mr. Fines' dire prediction had come to pass: marriage
was
the only hope now for controlling the damage.
"Nicholas is taking care of the license as we speak, so the most critical item is covered," Mrs. Fines was saying to Percy. "As for the remaining tasks, I took the liberty of making a list."
She withdrew a small roll of parchment. Charity's eyes rounded as the paper unwound into the lady's lap, curled over her knees, and came to a stop at the hem of her skirts.
"Mama, the wedding is going to take place in
five days
," Percy said. "There's no time for elaborate plans."
"Which is why I've distilled this list down to the essentials."
Percy peered over her mother's shoulder. "
Doves
are essential?"
So the conversation went. Charity didn't contribute much for none of the preparations seemed real to her. She didn't feel a bride's giddy excitement. Instead, she was distracted by the questions that had kept sleep at bay.
What sort of marriage will ours be? What will be the rules and expectations?
And most panic-inducing of all:
How on earth can I marry the man I love ... knowing he loves another?
Her hands trembled, rattling the cup. For in the midst of yesterday's terrible scene, a truth had blazed, incinerating the layers of denial and self-protection. She loved Paul Fines. She always had and always would. She adored his noble nature, his willingness to forfeit his own happiness in order to protect her reputation.
The way he'd defended her against Mr. Garrity and offered to help her papa made him a hero in her eyes.
She ought to be grateful just to have the protection of Mr. Fines' name: it was more than a girl like her could hope for. Yet while she knew that expediency and honor had prompted his offer, she couldn't extinguish a little spark within her. She recalled the energy that had seemed to crackle between them during the craniology demonstration and that kiss in the folly. He'd seemed as absorbed in their exchanges as she had been ...
She shook away her foolish longings. More likely than not, she was just imagining things. And, at any rate, whatever energy she'd sensed was hardly the same as love. Thus, for the sake of marital harmony, she would have to find a way to keep her true feelings locked away. She would strive to be a dutiful wife ... and not get in his way.