Julia London (5 page)

“Certainly! And the times when I despaired of ever mastering the silly thing, Papa would tell me that Michael … Lord Darfield … was so looking forward to hearing me play, I would try even harder. And he would send little trinkets, too,” she said, flicking one of the amethyst earrings dangling from her earlobes. “He sent
these
on my sixteenth birthday. When I was bound for Egypt, he sent me a history book on the Egyptian culture, so I would know what to expect. I am particularly grateful to him for that, for certainly I would
never
have expected what I found there!”

“Lord Darfield sent you those things,” Sam stated doubtfully.

Abbey seemed oblivious to his surprise and smiled warmly. “He’s quite thoughtful, isn’t he?”

Sam frowned. “But you never saw him.”

“Well, not in
person
. But he kept in constant contact with my father.”

In disbelief, Sam stared at the foolish young romantic, who was quite oblivious to his astonishment. Surely she could not be so naive. Something was terribly wrong. Sam had known Michael Ingram since they were young men. Never once had Michael mentioned a word of Abigail Carrington, until a few days ago, when he had requested Sam’s presence at Blessing Park to assist him in an “indelicate matter.”

That matter, as it had turned out, was an accursed
agreement
, which Michael had been forced into at the age of nineteen so that he might borrow money and pay the debts his father had amassed. Michael had turned to Captain Carrington, seeking out the very wealthy captain in a desperate bid to save his family from complete ruin.

The captain had been more than happy to oblige. The agreement they reached stipulated that if Michael had not repaid his debts in full by the time Captain Carrington died, he
would take Abigail Carrington to wife. What at one time had seemed a rather innocuous arrangement to care for an only child had turned into a nightmare for Michael. At the time he signed the agreement, he had been unaware of the importance of a simple clause that stipulated any other debts incurred by Michael or his family against Carrington were subject to the same terms until all debts were paid in full. Michael did not know, until two months ago when the papers arrived, that his father had borrowed repeatedly from Carrington. As Michael explained it to Sam, he could no more extract himself from the agreement than he could remove his own skin.

“The agreement is explicit, Sam. My solicitors have reviewed the documentation and advise me it fully supports the claim that our debts were never repaid in full, despite the fact that I could have given the captain double what was owed. It would seem that my father gambled and drank away the entire family fortune not once but twice,” Michael had explained bitterly, “and neither he nor the captain ever saw fit to tell me. I would expect as much from Father, but not Carrington. He never told me of the accumulating debt.”

“But surely there is a way out! Are there no male relatives?”

“A son of a cousin somewhere, but it hardly matters. In the most legal sense of the word, the agreement is rather tight. Carrington was very artful in crafting the settlement of his estate to depend upon its execution. The captain tied so many other financial transactions to this marriage that I would have several creditors after my assets were I to try to remove myself.”

“What are you saying, there is nothing you can do?” Sam asked incredulously.

Michael sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that. I had thought that I could delay the marriage indefinitely, but the captain made sure other debts will go unpaid until a wedding occurs. My family stands to lose everything, as do several of the captain’s business associates.” He paled visibly as he spoke and turned away from Sam to stare blankly at the portrait of some ancient ancestor.

“He was a determined man, Sam. He made sure she and her family would not balk. Not only did he stipulate a rather large sum to his sister for relinquishing the little hellion to England, but his will entails all of her funds in this marriage.” Michael sat up abruptly and perched his elbows on the desk so he could rub his temples.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that Carrington’s daughter has no access to money and loses it irretrievably if she does not marry me. The choice is solely hers; legally, only she may end it. But in that event, all of her dowry, save a small annuity, will go to pay his creditors.”

“What?”

“Everything will be lost if I do not marry her,” Michael said evenly. “My sister, my uncle’s widow, my cousins as well, and at least three of Captain Carrington’s business associates of whom I am aware. The will outlines the actions to be taken to collect on my outstanding debts as well as Carrington’s.”

Sam’s indignation for his friend had mounted at a rapid pace. “Can’t you pay the debts? You are a very wealthy man!”

“I need almost a million pounds—cash—today. I am a wealthy man, true, but it would take a considerable amount of time to liquidate my investments or access my funds on the continent to raise that amount.”

Michael got up and crossed to a sideboard, poured himself a whiskey, downed that, and poured another. Sam followed helplessly behind him and helped himself to a brandy.

“In your assessment, there is no hope, no way out?” Sam asked again. Michael nodded slowly. A silence fell between the two men until Sam asked cautiously, “Is she so bad?”

Michael shrugged indifferently. “I remember a savage little hellion, dirtier than a pigsty and more mean-spirited than any man I have ever met. And in addition to that distant nightmare, for some reason, I balk at being forced into marriage. For the life of me, I cannot determine why Carrington heaped this upon me. Whatever his scheme was, it was worth enough
to bestow a dowry of almost five hundred thousand pounds on her.”

“Five hundred thousand pounds!” Sam exclaimed.

“Rather a large dowry, wouldn’t you agree?” Michael quipped.

Large? It was unheard of, Sam thought as he watched Michael resume his seat behind his desk, rub the back of his neck, and stare blindly at a stack of papers. Sam pitied his friend; he had suffered so much in his life. First, there had been the way the
ton
had turned their back on the family when his father amassed debts reaching unspeakable sums. They were pariahs, treated as if they did not exist when in town, and were forced to retreat to Blessing Park and live in solitude. From what he could gather, Michael’s younger sister, Mariah, had been his only true friend growing up in the shadow of a drunken, cruel father. When Michael took to the seas with Carrington, his sister had suffered greatly from the ill treatment. She was shunned by the
ton
, and after a very disappointing debut, was courted by Malcolm Routier, an unsavory character with a dark reputation. Michael, acting in his incapacitated father’s stead, had refused Routier’s offer for Mariah’s hand. That had caused Mariah much grief, and for a period of time she refused even to talk Michael. But time passed, and she had, at last, married a Scot and moved to the remote Highland regions where Michael had said she was happier than she had been all her life.

Mariah’s departure had been difficult for him, particularly since her leaving was followed quickly by the untimely and accidental death of his mother. During a walk around the park one day, she had tripped and fallen over a ledge. In a freak mishap, her scarf had caught between some rocks and hanged her. Of course, the family’s scandalous reputation only heightened the rumors that she hanged herself and, in some circles, that she had been hanged, with a suspicious eye cast in Michael’s direction. It was not long afterward that Michael’s father had at last succumbed to the liver ailments that had been brought about by years of overindulgence.

Michael had worked hard to restore the family name, but
after each scandal he had retreated further and further into himself, shunning legitimate relationships and dallying with loose women. He rarely went to London, and when business required it, he typically arrived late at night and left the same way.

Michael understandably despised the
ton
, but his elusive behavior had worked to make him all the more interesting to Polite Society. After a few years had passed between his father’s death,
everyone
wanted to meet the Marquis of Darfield or, at the very least, get a glimpse of him. Michael resented that, and rarely left Blessing Park except to go to sea.

Until last year. That was when he had met Rebecca Davenport, a pretty, young widow. An attachment had developed between them that drew Michael out of his self-imposed banishment. Sam had been happy to see Michael appear in London during the last Season, if only for a fortnight. The
ton
had exalted in the presence of the elusive marquis. The same people who had once turned their backs suddenly showered him with invitations. Women threw themselves in his path, and men tried desperately to get him to sit at their tables in their exclusive clubs. Michael had endured it for Rebecca’s sake for as long as he could but had finally retreated to Blessing Park. He confided to Sam he despised the
ton
more than ever, and not even Rebecca could persuade him to stay in London. Their liaison had almost ended over Rebecca’s need to be seen and Michael’s need to be left alone.

Now this. Sam felt an unwanted pang of sorrow. If word were to get out that he was forced to marry because of debt, a fresh scandal would erupt, vaulting Michael to the status of blackguard once again. It was grossly unfair.

“How can I help you, Michael?” Sam finally asked. Michael had shrugged and dragged his gaze to his closest friend.

“If you would, go and get the little hellion. I suppose there will be a wedding in a day or two,” he had replied, obviously resigned to his fate.

After a long, grueling trip through the snow, the coach finally pulled up outside the pink sandstone Georgian mansion. Abbey guessed the house to be three stories; it was at least as large as the grandest state house she had ever seen. But at the moment, it held much less interest for her than the prospect of seeing Michael. After all these years, excitement, anticipation, and a bad case of nerves descended on her as she waited impatiently for Lord Hunt to help her down from the coach.

She was disappointed when the front door opened and a middle-age man hastened out into the snow. Behind him another, slightly older man waited at the door, twisting his white-gloved hands nervously together. The younger man glanced at Abbey without really seeing her, then back to Sam.

“Lord Hunt, don’t
tell
me you could not locate her!” he said sharply.

“Don’t be an idiot, Sebastian.
This
is Miss Carrington,” Sam said gruffly.

Sebastian jerked his gaze to Abbey and stared in astonishment. “M-Miss Carrington?” he stammered. Then recovering
quickly, he bowed and swept his arm toward the manor. “Miss Carrington, if you please,” he murmured.

Abbey laughed tautly. “Should I conclude from your reaction that you were expecting a woman with two heads?”

“Certainly not!” Sebastian blustered, and motioned again toward the door.

Abbey dashed lightly across the snow to the foyer. Inside, the gentleman in black bowed deeply.

“Welcome to Blessing Park, Miss Carrington,” he intoned. “I am Jones, the butler. May I take your cloak?”

“Is Lord Darfield here?” Abbey asked as she shed her coat, blithely ignoring the stunned look on the butler’s face while she smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt.

“The marquis is here and awaits you in his private study.”

She had understood when he had not come to Portsmouth for her, but she thought he could at least greet her at the door. Jones and the man named Sebastian stood watching her warily, as if they expected her to do something odd, such as flee. The thought did cross her mind, but she took a deep breath instead to dispell any doubts.

“Which way to the study, then?” she asked no one in particular. Sebastian stepped forward, gestured off to the right, and began to walk briskly down a long corridor of rich blue carpet and walls covered in silk.

“The marquis is waiting, Miss Carrington. We expected you an hour ago,” he said. Sebastian turned down another long corridor, his walk becoming even more brisk until he came to a set of double walnut doors and stopped. He glanced at her briefly before swinging the doors wide open. He nodded to someone inside; Abbey’s nerves surged to her throat. Aghast, she realized her knees were suddenly shaking. She looked frantically to Sebastian.

“Is he in there?” she whispered, ashamed that her voice shook.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and stepped aside.

Abbey stood stricken, staring at the door. After all these years, she was happy to be reunited, of course she was, but the ugly thought that he might not find her to his taste, or find her
unaccomplished, or even
vapid
began to tumble in her brain. She looked helplessly to Sebastian, then to Sam.

“I—don’t think …” she started. Sam stepped forward immediately and offered her his arm and a sympathetic smile.

“I’m a bit flustered, I suppose. It has been a very long journey … one might argue a journey of a lifetime, and I …” She was unaware that she was fiercely clutching his arm.

Sam pulled her fingers from their death grip of his arm. “It is quite natural to be a little anxious,” he said calmly.

Perhaps he was right, and perhaps she could stand outside the open door all day until her nerves had settled. What foolishness. Michael had waited long enough, and so had she. Smiling bravely, Abbey took a deep breath and lifted her chin high. With all the bravado she could muster, she swept through the doors of the study, with Sebastian, Sam, and Jones crowding in the doorway behind her.

He was leaning against a massive writing table, his weight settled on one hip, his arms folded across his flat stomach as he eyed her. His inky black hair was wavy and thick, and brushed past his collar. His breeches hugged his muscular thighs until they reached his polished Hessians. His gray eyes narrowed as he perused her, and unthinking, Abbey gasped with sheer joy. She had, of course, recognized him immediately. Perhaps he was a little taller and a little fuller, and his skin bronzed by the sun, but he looked
exactly
like the Michael she remembered.