Tempting a Proper Lady (3 page)

“Here now!” Virgil surged to his feet.

“There's no need to be hurtful,” Dolly hissed with a glare at Samuel. She patted her daughter's hand.

Samuel kept his gaze on the woman he had once thought would be the mother of his children. “Once upon a time you wouldn't have doubted me for an instant. None of you would have. But now…” He shook his head. “How in God's name can you let your head be turned by wealth and status? What's happened to you?”

“Don't try and make this about me,” Annabelle said, lifting her chin. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but her eyes burned with fury. “You were the one who left me, who never sent word of the state of our engagement. You were the one who made a fool of me. Don't come back here with some wild story and expect everything to be as it was.”

Raventhorpe took a step toward him. “I think you've upset my betrothed quite enough, Breedlove.”

“I regret that.” Samuel meant those words, though he did not back down. “None of you are the people I thought I knew.”

“I'm asking you again to leave now,” Virgil said. “Annabelle has made her decision, and I've already asked the servants to summon your carriage.”

“Yes, Breedlove, run along,” Raventhorpe said. “If you go quietly perhaps we will not have the footmen throw your miserable carcass into the gutter.”

Annabelle stood. “Our engagement is over, Samuel.
I am marrying Richard, and that's the end of it. I can't say it more plainly than that.”

Samuel looked from one familiar face to the other. All the Baileys—these people he had once embraced as family—looked at him with disapproval and disappointment. They did not believe his tale. They sided with Raventhorpe, the man who had tried to kill him.

The warmth of hope faded from his heart to be replaced by ice. “Very well. But this is not over.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

Behind him, Annabelle softly began to weep.

 

Captain Breedlove strode past Cilla like a thunderstorm, his mouth tight, his eyes hot with emotion. He glanced at her just before he passed through the door. Anger, frustration, hurt glittered from those dark depths. Then he was gone.

Her heart turned over. He had barged into the house with no invitation, ruined the engagement party with his dramatic claim to Annabelle, then attempted to usurp Lord Raventhorpe's position as her fiancé with a wild story that rivaled Mr. Defoe's novel
Robinson Crusoe
. Yet despite all that, she couldn't help but feel a certain sympathy for him.

He had braved all for his lady, only to lose.

She slipped from the room, hurrying down the hall on an impulse that, by the time she had reached the foyer, once again had her questioning her own judgment. The matter was closed. What did she hope to accomplish by speaking to him?

The footman was just closing the door behind him when she got there. She yanked the door open herself and hurried outside to where his coach sat in front of the house. He had just raised his foot to climb inside. “Captain!”

Samuel stopped, a shadowy figure in the dimness of the lamplit drive as he turned to face her. “Mrs. Burke? Did they send you to find me?”

His voice sounded rough, and the hint of hope that came through with the last question made her heart soften all the more.

“No,” she said, studying his face as she searched for the right words. “Captain, I just wanted to say…Well, I am sorry.”

He stiffened. “I have no need of your pity, Mrs. Burke. Better your efforts should be turned toward preventing this disastrous marriage.”

“It is not pity, Captain. And it is a good match for Annabelle. I just felt badly—”

He leaned closer. “Raventhorpe tried to kill me, Mrs. Burke, and I'm not the first, just the one who survived. Annabelle is marrying a murderer.”

Before she could respond, he climbed into the coach and slammed the door, then rapped on the roof. The coach pulled away with a jerk, leaving Cilla standing in the drive with her thoughts awhirl.

Slowly she turned back toward the house.

Annabelle is marrying a murderer.

The words staggered her. Had Captain Breedlove only said that to muddy the waters, to throw doubt that the earl was the best match for Annabelle? Her late husband had certainly been able to tell a con
vincing tale of woe if it furthered his own ends. Was Samuel Breedlove the same type of man? Had he said that only to gain her sympathy?

What if he told the truth?

She needed this wedding to happen. She was counting on the sterling reputation she would get from the affair to be the driving force behind her fledgling business; otherwise she was just one more ruined debutante trying desperately to survive. She doubted that unforgiving society would give her a second chance. But if Lord Raventhorpe truly was a villain, would she be able to stand by and watch Annabelle marry him, knowing the girl might be putting herself in danger? How could she in good conscience put her own dreams ahead of Annabelle's safety?

She couldn't.

Either Captain Breedlove was lying or Lord Raventhorpe was. Somehow she needed to find out which one. The American's words would haunt her until she did.

J
ohn had turned the coach back toward the inn where they were staying, leaving Nevarton Chase behind them. Alone in the vehicle, Samuel found no peace in what should have been a comforting darkness. Emotions roiled through him like a stew pot on full boil. Pain. Betrayal. Regret. Disbelief. When a man's dreams got ripped away, it hurt.

Annabelle had ended their engagement. His heart should have broken at the news, but the defection of Virgil and Dolly had struck harder and deeper than losing their daughter.

How could they possibly think so little of him? How could they believe Raventhorpe's lies? Annabelle had changed from the sweet farm girl he had once known into just another haughty society heiress. And Virgil and Dolly had judged him before he'd even begun to tell his side of the story. Perhaps before he'd even walked through the door.

He acknowledged that he had shocked them. Perhaps their reactions had simply been a response to his sudden reappearance in their lives, especially since Raventhorpe had apparently blackened his
name while he'd been gone. Maybe he needed to give them more time.

But would more time really make any difference? He could try again in a day or so, but he couldn't ignore the growing evidence that the bond he thought he had with Annabelle wasn't as strong as he'd believed. Certainly not as strong as should exist between a husband and wife. He'd been gone nearly two years, most of that time spent alone on an island. An experience like that changed a man. He'd had way too much time to think, to judge his own worth. To ponder who he was and what he wanted. To face both his strengths and his flaws and learn from them.

He wasn't the same man who had proposed to Annabelle, and apparently she wasn't the same woman. Not if she could so easily believe the worst of him on another man's say-so. He could allow for the fact that she was young, only twenty, and perhaps given to impulsive decisions. But what excuse could he create for Virgil and Dolly? Yes, he understood that Raventhorpe had lied to all of them. The deceitful snake had even fooled Samuel at one time, not normally an easy task. But how could the Baileys believe the worst without giving Samuel the benefit of the doubt, especially after all the years they'd known each other?

And what about their claim that he had returned now simply because they had become wealthy? If they only knew how little their money meant to him.

The confrontation in the study had been like shouting into the wind, the Baileys' trust and affection
slipping further away with each word exchanged. None of his accusers had paused to consider his feelings, only charged ahead with their allegations, Raventhorpe leading the way.

The only person in that house who had even given a single thought to his reaction about what had happened tonight had been Dolly's assistant, Mrs. Burke.

She'd run after him. Offered him sincere compassion at a moment when everything he had ever valued in his life had just fallen apart. When she'd darted out of the house and called for him, his heart had leaped at the thought that they'd changed their minds, that they had sent her to stop him from leaving.

That they had decided to believe him.

He'd known his hope had reflected in his voice. But he'd realized the truth the instant the words had left his lips. He would never forget that regretful, sympathetic look in her big brown eyes as she'd stood in the drive and smashed his hopes with her simple “I am sorry.”

His temper had flared, and he'd snapped at her. Shocked her even. He wasn't proud of his loss of control. Nineteen months without any human contact had weakened his skill with people, and tonight's disaster had pushed him too far. She hadn't deserved his brusque words. But his anger at himself, at revealing how pitifully eager he was for acceptance back into the family, had made him lash out at her.

Not his proudest moment.

But he needed to look forward now, not dwell on the past. He could accept the broken engagement.
In fact, he suspected his heart had never truly been involved. Marrying Annabelle had simply seemed the next logical step in his relationship with the Baileys, and he could let that go with more regret than pain. It might even be possible that he was not the marrying type. Some men weren't. His father hadn't been.

But he could not accept the people he considered surrogate parents thinking the worst of him; all he had left now was his honor, and now that was being challenged. Nor could he accept Annabelle marrying Raventhorpe. The man was a killer, and despite their history he still cared enough that he could not let Annabelle put herself in danger.

The answer was clear then. He had to stop this wedding, whatever the cost.

 

Cilla came back inside the house just as Annabelle and Dolly came out of the study.

“Cilla, where did you go?” Dolly asked as the two ladies quickly traversed the hallway. “You ran out so quickly!”

“She went after Samuel.” Annabelle frowned at her. “Why did you do that, Mrs. Burke? Can't you see how he has torn this family apart?”

“I was making certain he left the house,” Cilla improvised.

“Good. I never want to see that man again.” Annabelle's words rang with the bitter peal of a woman scorned.

“Now, Annabelle—”

“Mama, don't tell me you're still fond of him, even after what he's done?”

“He seemed genuinely sorry, darling.”

Annabelle stared at her mother in horror. “He promised to marry me, then just disappeared when he changed his mind. If Pa hadn't asked Richard what happened, I might still be sitting there waiting like a fool.” Her voice broke. “I'm very tired. I think I will go to bed.”

“Don't you want to wait and say good night to Lord Raventhorpe?”

“Frankly I don't want to see another man for the rest of the night.” Annabelle glared at a passing footman, who tried to sidle down the hallway unnoticed.

“All right, dear. Your father will say your good-byes for you. Perhaps I should bring you one of my toddies when I come up?”

“That sounds wonderful. Make sure you put extra whiskey in it. I'm going to need it to deal with the gossip that's sure to come of all this.” Gathering her skirts, Annabelle began to climb the stairs, her stomping footfalls evidence of her ill humor.

Dolly watched her go, and when her daughter was out of earshot, she turned back to Cilla. “She's right, you know.”

“About the gossip? I fear there is no way to avoid it after that very public display.”

“Not about that. About me being fond of Samuel.” Dolly's expression softened. “I practically raised the boy. I just can't fathom his behavior. He used to have such lovely manners.”

Cilla frowned. “So you believe his wild story?”

“Of course not. But I also can't believe he simply
left Annabelle waiting at the altar. There's probably some explanation that falls in the middle.” She sighed. “I wonder if Virgil was too hard on him.”

“From all accounts, your husband has every right to be angry with the man who abandoned your daughter.”

“It's not just that.” Dolly glanced around before lowering her voice. “Samuel spent quite a bit of time at our house as a young man. I believe Virgil saw him as the son I was unable to give him, and once Lord Raventhorpe told us what happened, my husband felt betrayed. Even though none of us wanted to believe the tale at first.”

“But you seem to believe it now.”

Dolly shrugged. “What else could we think? The boy never contacted any of us. We could only draw our own conclusions based on the facts we knew. Virgil was adamant that Samuel had callously broken our girl's heart. There was no persuading him otherwise.”

Cilla frowned, thinking back to the pain she had seen in the captain's eyes when he'd stormed from the study—not at all the expression one expected from a cad. “Tell me, is Captain Breedlove the type of man to tell tales if it suits his needs?”

Dolly pursed her lips as she considered the question. “He never was before.”

“And when was the last time you saw him before tonight?”

“Nearly two years ago when he came to say good-bye to Annabelle. He had taken the captain's position on Lord Raventhorpe's ship when the previous cap
tain left his post rather abruptly. It was a wonderful opportunity for him.”

“So he planned to marry Annabelle after he came back from this voyage.”

“Oh, yes. Lord Raventhorpe had offered a generous salary since he needed a captain so desperately. Annabelle and Samuel would have been able to marry as soon as he returned.” Dolly frowned, her expression troubled. “The earl told us that he and Samuel had quarreled and that Samuel had left his post mid-voyage. Just disembarked somewhere in the Caribbean, leaving the ship with no captain! If Virgil hadn't asked what had happened to him, we would never have known what to think.”

“Did Lord Raventhorpe say why they had quarreled?”

“No, he never told us.”

“Mama!” Annabelle's petulant summons echoed from above them.

“I'm coming, darling!” Dolly let out a long sigh and gave Cilla a tired smile. “This has been an exhausting evening.”

“Indeed it has. You do realize that what happened tonight is going to fuel the gossips all over the area.”

“I'm trying not to think about that. At least not until tomorrow.” Dolly patted her on the arm. “I'm certain that by breakfast time, you'll have thought up a wonderful plan to take care of that little problem. Your knowledge of English society is one of the reasons I hired you.”

“Of course.” Cilla managed a smile that conveyed a reassurance she did not feel.

“Mama!” came Annabelle's call again.

“I'd better go up to her before she gets herself in a state. Good night, Cilla.”

“Good night.” Cilla watched Dolly ascend the stairs for a moment, then turned toward the great hall. She would check on the progress of the servants cleaning up the great hall, and then she would retire to her tiny bedchamber in the corner of the house. Dolly was depending on her to come up with a plan to stave off the gossip by tomorrow, and she would need her rest.

But later when she lay in bed, sleep eluded her. She found her thoughts constantly coming back to Samuel Breedlove. Strangely it was not his dire words about Raventhorpe that claimed her attention, though she intended to investigate that matter more thoroughly. No, it was the pain and confusion in his eyes that had touched something inside her. She had seen what remained unspoken, something raw and compelling and terribly familiar.

His heart had been broken.

Hadn't she felt the same way when she'd discovered that her husband had only married her for money—money that never materialized because her father had disowned her? Edward's bitterness had exposed the sham of his proclaimed love, and only anger had gotten her through the nightmare of her marriage. Anger and a desire to never be dependent on anyone ever again.

So yes, she understood. She and the captain—they were the same. If he was lying about abandoning Annabelle, then why the torment in his eyes? She would expect a scoundrel to show a lack of emotion, or perhaps cold calculation. Not the utter pain and loss she had witnessed.

But men could be deceptive, and she had been duped before. She knew she could not trust her own instincts when it came to the male of the species. Still, her heart ached for him.

Even if that made her a fool.

 

“I admit I don't know what to think,” Dolly said, slicing her ham at breakfast the next day. “I would never have expected such behavior from Samuel.”

“That's for sure,” Virgil answered, scooping some eggs into his mouth.

“Cilla, have you come up with a plan to deter the gossips?”

“I have some ideas.” Cilla sipped at the tea she had reluctantly accepted when Dolly insisted she breakfast with the family this morning. As a mere employee, she did not merit dining at the same table as her employers. However, at heart Dolly Bailey was still a farmer's wife from Virginia, and she saw nothing wrong with her paid assistant sharing a meal with her.

Unfortunately the other servants disagreed, as indicated by their furtive, disapproving glances at Cilla.

“Excellent. We can talk about it after breakfast.” Dolly let out a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens Lord
Raventhorpe did not seem to hold Annabelle responsible for last night.”

“And why should he?” Virgil demanded. “She did nothing wrong. Samuel's at fault here.”

“But what about the consequences? The gossip? The earl is a very proud man. I'm just worried all this fuss is going to make him change his mind about marrying our baby.” Dolly's lip quivered, and Virgil reached out a hand across the table to cover hers.

“Don't you worry about that, sugarplum,” he said. “I won't let him hurt our little girl.”

Dolly gave him a tremulous smile in return. The moment held such love, such intimacy, that Cilla had to glance away. The cool courtesy of English marriage paled in comparison to what she witnessed now.

“If it helps at all,” Cilla finally said after a long moment, “it would be considered the utmost of scandals for His Lordship to cry off. A lady might change her mind about an engagement, but never a gentleman.”

“Well, thank goodness for that!” Breaking eye contact with her husband, Dolly placed her hand over her heart and let out a relieved sigh.

Annabelle chose that moment to enter to breakfast room. “Good morning.”

“Sweetheart!” Dolly sprang to her feet and went to hug her daughter. “How are you this morning? Should you be out of bed so early?”

“I'm fine, Mama.” Annabelle smiled at her mother, then pulled away and went to kiss her father on the cheek. “Good morning, Pa.”

“Morning, sweet pea.”

“Are you well enough to eat?” Dolly asked.

“Of course, Mama.”

Even as Dolly looked around, the maid, Liza, set a place across from Dolly at the table. “Will you have tea, miss?” she asked Annabelle. “Or would you prefer chocolate?”