The Redemption of a Dissolute Earl (5 page)

Drew didn’t blame Roberts for being annoyed
at being awoken at such an ungodly hour. Only people tipped in the
head got up this early, and Drew was tipped—dangerously so—by love.
He loved Char, and he had failed her once, failed them both, but he
was going to do his damndest to set things to rights. Once the
carriage was on the way, Drew was certain he would relax a bit, but
as the carriage rumbled down the silent streets of London, he found
himself clenching his jaw in anticipation of trying to convince
Marianne’s father to accept employment with him.

Two hours later, Drew whistled a merry tune
as he left Mr. Marchinson’s home. He held a letter in hand from
Marianne’s father to his daughter, encouraging her to accept the
Marquess of Salisbury’s offer of marriage. Convincing Mr.
Marchinson to come and work for him had been surprisingly easy. Of
course, it had helped that the man had a fervent dislike for his
current employer and had tried unsuccessfully, because of the Duke
of Sandbridge’s meddling, to find new employment.

Drew grinned at his own genius in telling
Mr. Marchinson that he had been suggested for the position of
solicitor by his grandfather. It had been a gamble that Grandfather
and Mr. Marchinson had business dealings, but the gamble had been
correct and it paid off. As the carriage pulled up to the front of
Madame Marmont’s dress shop, Drew hopped out into the sunshine
before his gaping coachman managed to get down from his perch in
front of the horses.

“Be prepared to leave quickly,” Drew advised
as he bounded up the five steps to the modiste and rapped on the
door. Pulling out his fob watch, he checked the time. He had less
than an hour before Char would belong to another man. Perspiration
dampened the back of his shirt and trickled down his forehead. This
was ridiculous. Salisbury’s townhome was only four streets away.
There was plenty of time. Yet anxiety coiled through him, twisting
his insides into knots. He probably wouldn’t relax again until the
wedding had been stopped, and he was holding Char in his arms.

Impatience exploding, Drew rapped on the
door again. When no one came, he reached for the handle to give it
a try, but the door swung open as his fingers grazed the brass.

“My lord?” A slender, young girl with light
blue eyes and a rather homely face bobbed a curtsy. “May I help
you?”

“Are you Marianne?”

She nodded.

The chit certainly wasn’t the beauty he had
been expecting to find, but who was he to judge what manner of
woman had stolen Salisbury’s heart? Drew had learned many things
the hard way in his life, and one of them had been that a beautiful
face did not equate to beauty on the inside, though Char was
certainly both. Impatient to leave, and sure Marianne’s protest
would quickly die once she read the letter from her father, he
reached for her with one hand and thrust the letter at her with the
other. “I need you to come with me,” he said, pulling her down the
stairs.

“What?” She reared back and jerked her arm.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He winced at her shrill tone. Salisbury
was in for an earful if he ever displeased this woman.

Drew touched the paper in her hand. “If
you’ll just read this letter from your father, you’ll understand
everything.”

“Help!” she screamed, jerking free from him
and darting back into the shop.

For a moment he considered that it would be
most ungentlemanly of him to drag her bodily from this place, and
then he made a lunge for her and wrapped his arm securely around
her waist.
Gentlemanliness be damned
. He’d spent a year in
hell without Char. He wasn’t going to let some skittish chit cause
him to spend the rest of his life in misery. Salisbury was in love
with a loon.

“Cease your screaming,” he demanded, and
when she failed to do so, he gently placed his hand over her mouth.
She kicked back, missed his jewels by a nerve- shattering inch, but
landed a hard kick to his inner thigh. He held on tight, prepared
to drag her to his carriage and calm her on the ride to Salisbury’s
home, but something sharp raked across his arm, ripping the
material of his overcoat and leaving a stinging trail on his
skin.

“Damnation!” he shouted, releasing her and
staring down at the torn material. “You’ve ruined my coat
and
tried to cut me.”

“You—” The woman waved a pair of shears at
him. “You left me no choice. You’re trying to abduct me.”

Drew frowned. Technically, he
was
trying to abduct her, but only because she’d forced him to it.
Frustrated, he jerked a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to help
you. Salisbury is about to marry the woman I love because of your
stubbornness.”

“Who is Salisbury?” she asked with a
furrowed brow.

Drew jerked backwards, feeling as if she’d
just punched him in the chest. “Aren’t you Marianne
Marchinson?”

“No. I’m Marianne Smith. Miss Marchinson is
in the back with Madame Marmont.”

Of all the astonishingly bad luck
.
“Please,” Drew implored, “I must speak with Miss Marchinson.”

The woman nodded and motioned for him to
follow her. “There.” She pointed. “Just down the hall.”

That was all the information he needed. He
strode past the woman, towards the sound of feminine voices, and
burst into the room. Two women, one plump with salt and pepper
hair, and one tall and willowy with honey-colored hair, stood
pinning a dress. Drew let out a relieved sigh, which brought two
surprised gazes to his face. He strode to the young woman with the
fine-boned face and large brown eyes, positive he had the correct
woman this time, but just in case— “Marianne Marchinson?” he
asked.

She took a pin from between her lips. “Yes.
May I help you?”

“I sure as hell hope so.” He shoved the
letter at her. “The woman I love is about to marry Salisbury,
because he’s lost all hope that you’ll marry him.”

Miss Marchinson’s face drained so quickly of
color that Drew placed a steadying hand on her elbow in case she
fainted. The woman gripped his arm. “When?”

Drew took out his fob watch and blinked in
disbelief. His watch displayed the exact same time it had when he
had first arrived here.

Fear and dread pumped through his veins in a
spurt, and his heart lodged in his throat. “What time is it?” he
asked, tapping on the face of his watch. It was definitely broken.
Curse his father
. This blasted watch had been a gift from
the fiend. Drew shoved the offending piece back into his overcoat
pocket. “The time,” he demanded at Miss Marchinson’s bent head.

Her gaze met his, the letter in her hands
shaking. “My father truly wrote this?”

Drew nodded, unable to share in the obvious
happiness infusing the woman. “I must know the time.”

“It’s five past ten, my lord,” the older
woman, Madame Marmont, he presumed, answered.

He tugged on Miss Marchinson’s elbow.
“Come,” he said gruffly on a swell of emotion. “If you’re the
praying kind, then start praying.”

“I don’t know why I thought praying would
work for me,” Drew growled as he glared up at the large offending
snowflakes falling from the sky that had made what should have been
a quick jaunt to Salisbury’s home a long, tedious drive.
Impatiently he held out his gloved hand to help Miss Marchinson
descend the steps of the carriage.

“At least the snow was not so heavy as to
stop us from getting here,” she said with a smile. Drew could tell
from the trembling of her lips that her smile was forced.

“Come,” he said, trying to instill a note of
confidence into his voice though desperateness had been clawing at
him since he had realized they would never make it to Salisbury’s
anywhere near ten.

Drew practically dragged poor Miss
Marchinson up the steps to the front door and promptly dropped her
hand to raise the knocker and bash it against the door. After a
moment where he and Miss Marchinson exchanged a pained look of
hopelessness, Drew abandoned whatever remnants of gentlemanliness
remained in him and used his fist to pound on the front door. Just
when he had decided he may need to yell as well, the front door
opened with a creak and a butler―old, narrowed-eyed and likely
deaf―stared Drew down with the haughtiest expression he had ever
received from any nobleman. Drew almost felt obliged to offer a
quick bow. Instead, he grabbed the man’s arm, slightly gratified to
see the butler’s eyes pop wide in surprise. “We’re here to see Lord
Salisbury and Miss Milne.”

The butler eyed Drew’s hand distastefully,
but Drew was not about to let go. If the man refused him admittance
then Drew intended to push his way through even if he had to
forcibly remove the aged butler from barring the doorway.

“Lord Salisbury’s left for his honeymoon,”
the butler said in a bored tone.

Miss Marchinson gasped beside Drew. “We
missed the wedding then?”

The butler’s mouth pinched in a strange way.
“Indeed, Miss.”

“Might I have a word?” Edgeworth’s voice
came from behind Drew causing him to turn and glance at his cousin.
Edgeworth walked up the stairs and stood beside Drew.

Normally Drew would have joked with Egeworth
about appearing out of thin air, but Drew’s humor had vanished.
Char was married. He was too late. He had ruined his life with his
weakness and now, even though he would give everything up for her,
he was denied and sentenced to a life of misery and regret. Perhaps
it was exactly what he deserved for failing her, but she did not
deserve the loveless marriage she had just voluntarily entered
into.

Drew dropped his hold on the butler and
scrubbed a hand over his rough emerging beard. He would not let
himself off that easy. The fault was his―all his. Whatever Char had
done, he had pushed her too it. Miss Marchinson stood close enough
to him that he could feel the trembling of her body. He would save
his wallowing for later. Right now, he needed to get poor Miss
Marchinson in the carriage and then home where she no doubt had her
own broken dreams to attend to.

“There’s no need to go in,” Drew said to
Edgeworth. “If the butler says the wedding is done and the happy
couple has departed, then let us take our leave.”

Edgeworth gave Drew a strange look.
“Certainly. Why don’t you see to getting Miss Marchinson in the
carriage? I just want to have a quick word with my good man here
and confirm the details of what transpired for myself in case you
ever wonder.”

“I won’t wonder,” Drew snapped. “Char’s
married. What bloody else is there to know?”

Edgeworth just shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” Drew growled and led Miss
Marchinson to the carriage.

Within moments, Edgeworth ascended into the
carriage and settled across from Drew and Miss Marchinson, his
expression unreadable.

“Shall we take you back to the modiste?”
Drew asked Miss Marchinson.

She shook her head, silent tears streaking
down her face. “My father’s please.” She swiped at her cheeks. “I’m
sorry for being so foolish,” she whispered and turned her face away
toward the window.

Drew squeezed her hand. “If you call being
heartbroken because the one you love has married another foolish
then count me amongst the foolish.” His voice was gruff on the last
word. Drew closed his eyes not wanting to meet his cousin’s
gaze.

Not much later, the carriage came to a stop
and Drew forced his eyes open. Before he could offer to see Miss
Marchinson to the doorstep, Edgeworth held his hand out to her.
“May I see you to the front door?”

Miss Marchinson nodded, told Drew goodbye
and took Edgeworth’s hand as he helped her out of the carriage.
Drew did not argue about being the one to see Miss Marchinson
safely to the door. A dark melancholy was settling over him, and
Edgeworth―who knew Drew better than anyone―had probably seen the
signs of the descending gloom on Drew’s face.

Drew watched as Edgeworth led Miss
Marchinson to the door and stood speaking with her. Several times,
Edgeworth glanced toward the carriage as if checking to see what
Drew was doing. Drew laughed bitterly. Edgeworth likely thought
Drew was about to pull out a hidden flask and begin a dogged quest
into drunken obliviousness. The thought was damn tempting. He had
utterly mucked up his life by being a selfish bastard and drinking
had not helped him to fix anything. All spirits had done was make
things worse. He might not have Char to change for anymore, but he
was going to change and become a better man to honor her memory. He
owed her that.