Promise of Pleasure (40 page)

“I know, and I never would.”

“Your gambling will have to end. If we can actually obtain some of this money you’ve mentioned, I’ll kill you before I let you squander it.”

“I’m tired of how I’ve been living. It’s exhausting, being hounded by creditors. I’m thirty years old. Isn’t it time I grew up and acted like it?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. I’ll expect you to be a devoted husband.”

“I can’t wait.”

“I want a dozen children.”

“I hope they’re all girls who look just like you.”

“You’ll have to stay with me in the country; you’ll have to help me raise them. You couldn’t decide that fatherhood is boring or tedious. You couldn’t pick up and leave.”

“I will never leave you. Not till I take my dying breath.”

He was still on his knees, holding her hand.

He gazed at her with his beautiful blue eyes, his affection shining through.

She had never imagined this day would arrive, had never supposed that such stunning contentment would be within her grasp.

She’d never believed that he would come to his senses!

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he responded with great solemnity. “Will you have me, Mary? Will you let me give you everything you’ve ever wanted? Will you let me make you happy?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, Jordan, I will let you make me very, very happy.”

“Then I am the luckiest man in the world.”

“ARE you nervous?”

Jordan thought for a moment, then answered, “Yes.”

“Well, don’t be,” Mary said. “He’s just like you. His bark is much worse than his bite.”

“How is it that my father and I know very little about you, but you know so much about us?”

“You’re both very simple creatures. It’s not difficult to figure you out.”

He frowned, unused to having a wife, especially one who understood him so completely. He’d always pictured himself to be extremely enigmatic, but apparently, he wasn’t complex in the least.

He opened his father’s front door and ushered her into the foyer. Despite how bitterly he and Sunderland had parted, he’d been raised in the dreary place, and he wouldn’t knock as if he were a stranger.

As he helped her with her tattered cloak and old bonnet, he was disgusted with their decrepit condition. Without their requesting it, her missing clothes had been delivered to Paxton’s apartment. Evidently, it had been Barbara Monroe’s last, frantic act before she’d fled the city, which had been an auspicious gesture, since Mary had had nothing to wear.

“I hate this cloak,” he mentioned.

She shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Our next stop is to find some apparel for you. I insist you have a few dresses to take to the country.”

“I don’t need new clothes. I can wait till we’re more settled.”

“I’m buying you some. Don’t argue with me.”

“Yes, my lord husband.”

He frowned again. He’d noted that she had an annoying habit of agreeing with him, when she had absolutely no intention of doing what he said.

Was this typical wifely behavior? How was a fellow to tolerate it?

Chippingham and his cohorts had coughed up a small fortune to avoid any duels, so he had some money. While he couldn’t purchase garments of the highest fashion, she didn’t have to go about looking like a pauper.

She was a viscountess. Her father-in-law was an earl.

“We can afford it,” he declared, “and it will make me happy.”

She smiled. “By all means then. Buy me some clothes.”

A footman walked down the hall, and on seeing them, he gulped with dismay.

“Lord Redvers?”

“I’ve come to speak with Sunderland. Is he at home?”

“Yes. But... but ...”

“I realize you’re not supposed to let me in, but don’t worry. I’ll take all the blame. I’ll say I overpowered you, so please tell him I seek an audience, and I’ve brought my bride.”

The boy stiffened with amazement, and he bowed low.

“Welcome, Lady Redvers.”

“Thank you,” Mary said. “I’m delighted to be here.”

He scurried away, and she peeked up at Jordan.

“That’s the first time anyone has referred to me as Lady Redvers.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I’d rather be Mrs. Jordan Winthrop.”

“You can be Mrs. Winthrop when we’re alone.”

Shouting erupted from the direction of the library, indicating that Sunderland had been informed of Jordan’s arrival and that he’d learned of Jordan’s marriage.

Jordan sighed. Some things never changed.

“Shall we head him off at the pass?” Jordan asked.

“Yes,” Mary said. “Let’s not have him overtax himself. It’s my wedding day. I wouldn’t want him to ruin it by perishing from a massive display of temper.”

Mary took his arm, giving it a supportive pat, and they proceeded down the hall, entering the library just as Sunderland marched toward them.

“I will not have that gold-digging mercenary under my roof!” he bellowed. “I warned you that I wouldn’t—”

He saw Mary, and he stumbled to a halt.

“Hello, Sunderland,” Jordan said.

Scowling vehemently, Sunderland studied Mary. “You’re not Felicity Barnes.”

“No, I’m not. Aren’t you glad?” Mary peered over at Jordan. “Why don’t you call him
Father?”

“He ordered me not to.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “You two could drive me to drink.”

“Sunderland,” Jordan started, but Mary interrupted.

“I don’t care what he wants. Call him Father.”

“He won’t like it.”

“It doesn’t matter. Do it for me.”

As he’d already discovered, he couldn’t refuse her anything, and he began again.

“Father, I should like to present my wife, Mary Barnes Winthrop, Lady Redvers.”

Sunderland was flummoxed, torn between insults and cordiality, and he reverted to form, rudeness being his constant companion.

“I did not give you permission to wed her,” he seethed.

“No, you didn’t,” Jordan admitted, “but in my own defense, I am thirty years old. I ought to have been allowed some leeway to pick the woman of my dreams.”

Sunderland scoffed. “Are you claiming this is some sort of... of...
love
match.”

“Yes,” Mary chimed in. “We’re desperately in love, and we wanted to share our happiness with you.”

“I’m not happy!” Sunderland complained. “My son has disobeyed me. He has offended me with his choice.”

“But I’ll grow on you,” Mary said. “I promise.”

“Not bloody likely,” Sunderland grouched.

“Watch your language, Father,” Jordan scolded.

“You’re not welcome in my home,” Sunderland ranted. “I won’t provide shelter for you as you wallow in this folly.”

“Have we asked to stay with you?” Jordan countered.

“Ah ... no. Why haven’t you, you slothful wretch?”

“We’re opening Redvers House. I’m sick of London, so we’re moving there.”

“Redvers House is a decrepit disaster,” Sunderland said.

“Due to your neglect, I understand,” Mary replied. “But we’re fixing it up, and we’d like to invite you to join us for Christmas. It won’t be near as fancy as what you’re accustomed to, but we thought you might enjoy a cozy respite with your family.”

“Christmas!” Sunderland huffed. “I wouldn’t spend Christmas or any other holiday with you.”

“December is a long way off,” Mary cajoled. “If you decide you’d like to visit after all, simply send me a note. We’ll have the guest room ready.”

“You know where we’ll be.” Jordan gazed at Mary. “Shall we go?”

“Yes.”

He guided her out to the foyer, and as he wrapped her in her cloak, Sunderland blustered up.

“This changes nothing,” he insisted. “I’ve cut you out of my will. You’re disinherited. What do you think of that?”

“I don’t think anything of it,” Jordan calmly answered. “It’s irrelevant to me. I’ve always wanted to be free of your financial manipulation, and now I will be. I’m fully prepared for the consequences of getting by on my own.”

Sunderland wasn’t garnering the reactions he’d hoped, and he glared at Mary. “My son will never see a penny of my fortune, so if you planned to fleece me by marrying him, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“Actually,” she retorted, “when I married him, you never crossed my mind.”

As Jordan reached for the door, Sunderland was apoplectic.

“You expect me to believe,” he gasped, “that you’re leaving London for good?”

“Believe it or don’t,” Jordan responded. “It’s all the same to me.”

“You expect me to believe that you’re going to settle down and become a ... a ... farmer?”

“Hilarious, isn’t it?”

“You’ll never follow through.”

Mary drew away from Jordan, and she went over to Sunderland. She rose on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

“Stop shouting at us,” she said. “Let’s be friends.”

“I don’t need friends like you.”

“Come for Christmas,” she urged, ignoring his comment.

She grabbed Jordan’s hand and led him out, and at the last second, he glanced over his shoulder. Sunderland was gaping at them, and Jordan gleaned an enormous amount of satisfaction from viewing his father’s stunned expression.

They climbed into the hackney they’d hired and rode away.

“He accused me of being a mercenary!” Mary fumed. “Did I sound like one?”

“No, but I like this side of you. He’s such a blowhard; it’s the only time I’ve ever seen him speechless.”

“I’m betting that before the month is out we’ll receive a wedding gift from him.”

“You shouldn’t count on it.”

“He’s lonely. Down deep, he wants us in his life.”

“He doesn’t.”

“He’ll show up for Christmas, too.”

“He won’t.”

“He will. Just you wait and see.”

 

“WRITE to me!” Cassandra called.

“Only if you promise to write back!” Mary called in reply.

She was on the dock, watching as Cassandra’s ship gradually made its way out toward the center of the river. She was getting farther and farther away, her words more indistinct by the minute.

The journey to Jamaica was long and dangerous, so she would probably never see Cassandra again. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and she swiped them away.

“Keep me posted on your legal fight with Mother,” Cassandra said.

“I definitely will.”

“I hope you end up with all her money! Her impoverishment would be your best revenge.”

Mary laughed. “Wouldn’t that be grand!”

“And let me know when I’m to be an aunt!”

“I look forward to hearing the very same news from you.”

Mr. Adair popped up beside Cassandra where she was leaned against the railing, and he smiled and waved.

“Take care of her, Mr. Adair,” Mary yelled.

“I will.”

“Make her happy!”

He said something else, but the breeze carried away his remark. The crowd around them quieted, observing until their loved ones were tiny specks on the horizon.

“I can’t believe he really went.” Jordan was glum and morose.

“Do you wish you’d gone with him?”

“Maybe.” There was a twinkle in his eye, and she poked him in the ribs.

“It’s about time the two of you grew up and became a pair of stuffy old married men.”

He stiffened with affront. “I will accept the designation of married, but not old. And never stuffy.”

“No, never stuffy.”

They dawdled till the ship was lost in the distance, the sails blending in among the myriad of boats that clogged the river. Then they turned and headed off to find a hackney to rent.

Their own adventure was beginning the next morning, and Mary couldn’t wait.

Her own home!

She was so excited, she could barely stand it. She couldn’t eat; she hadn’t slept.

Jordan repeatedly described the poor condition of the buildings, trying to lower her expectations, but they couldn’t be dashed. She was already enthralled with the place and knew it would be perfect. They had a lifetime to make it perfect.

They rounded the corner when, to her surprise, she saw a colorful peddler’s wagon parked down the block. When she discovered that it was Mr. Dubois’s, she brimmed with delight.

He had the back open, his bottles and jars neatly arranged. He was talking to a pretty auburn-haired woman, offering her one of his potions, but she wasn’t interested, and she kept pushing it away.

“Look, Jordan,” she said. “It’s my friend, Mr. Dubois. What a coincidence! The city is so large. What are the chances we’d bump into him?”

“Yes, what are the chances?” Jordan grumbled.

Mary pulled on his arm. “Come on! Let’s say hello.”

She hurried over, practically dragging Jordan, who didn’t seem all that enthused.