The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (58 page)

“You did
what
?” both Lillian and her cousin cried.

Her mother screamed.

Iona froze.

Nathan had warned her that he’d do just that. She shouldn’t have been surprised but she was truly stunned by the announcement. He’d promised to fight for her happiness. Had he forgotten everything she’d shared with him? She didn’t wish to be married, not when marriage meant she would be giving up her passion, her art. She thought Nathan understood that. He’d looked at her drawings and had seemed genuinely impressed. He’d even said he would talk to a well-known artist on her behalf. Had that been a lie? Why was he doing this to her? There had to be another way he could salvage his own reputation. There simply had to be another way for him to save his name without having to lock the door on her gilded cage once and for all.

For the first time in her life, the very calm, very pragmatic Iona fainted.

Chapter Nineteen

It was early yet at the Royal Crescent. The morning sun was peeking over the medieval city and bathing the Royal Victoria Park in a fresh golden glow. Nathan’s family was still abed. His father’s healthy snores echoed through the empty halls.

Alone in the drawing room, Nathan prowled in front of the windows with a tiger’s restlessness, wanting nothing more than to pounce on the frilly little pink cap hurrying past his father’s townhouse on the sidewalk below.

Every morning for the past week and a half, at this precise hour, she came down the street, her arms weighted down by a pair of tattered old baskets filled with an assortment of goods. Fabrics one day, pastries another, tapestries still another. Today her baskets were near to bursting with embroidery threads and supplies.

Again, no sign of her sketchbook.

She never ventured out alone or else he would have abandoned his good senses and pounced on her days ago. This morning Miss Harlow accompanied Iona with a basket of her own.

Although he’d never seen her face from this elevated vantage point, only the tops of her wide-rimmed bonnets, there wasn’t any question that the bonneted lady making these early morning outings was indeed his Iona.

He could feel her presence in every drop of blood in his body. And it was driving him mad.

Her simple cotton gown with a pink bodice, swished with every step, enticing him to follow her. To demand why she’d retreated back into the role of the Duke’s perfect daughter, the untouchable priggish miss.

It was like lusting after a nun. He longed for one of her demanding notes. At least then he would have an excuse to whisk her away from her irritatingly protective family and steal a few moments alone with her to find out what was going on behind that frozen smile of hers.

A week and a half had passed since he’d made an ass of himself and insisted her father give his consent to a hasty marriage. He should have been open with her and sought her permission first.

Now, as a punishment, she was torturing him with her silence. Ever since their engagement, Nathan had attended two teas, one luncheon, five morning outings to the Pump Room and two church services where Iona had been present. Each time she’d made a point to speak with him. Briefly. Her demure voice, hardly ever above a whisper, droned as she discussed the weather and other such nonsense. Any mention of their upcoming nuptials, any mention of her art or what the landscape artist Thomas Barker thought about her work and any attempt to discover her true feelings was deflected by her deft skill for directing the conversation back to the safe and mundane, often without Nathan even realizing how she’d managed to do it.

If their marriage was going to be a success, some things needed to be settled between them. He needed to assure her that he wasn’t going to ride roughshod over her dreams. He needed to explain that he’d insisted on the marriage in order to shield both their reputations from the worst sorts of gossip.

If only she would give him a sliver of emotion to work with, a delightful rage to let him know that she still cared for him. That she’d somehow be able to find it in her heart to forgive him.

“Oh, pardon me!” Maryanne, wearing a frilly yellow morning dress that covered her from neck to toe and a ruffled starched white mobcap that covered her brown locks, drew to a quick halt at the drawing room door. Her wary gaze jumped all over the fading purplish-green bruises on his face. “I hadn’t realized anyone else was awake this early.”

“With the upcoming wedding, I haven’t been sleeping too well,” Nathan confessed.

Her lips twisted with distaste. She jutted her chin out. “If you weren’t interested in marriage, you should have considered the consequences before doing what you did to that poor girl.”

“You mistake my meaning, my lady,” he said firmly. Now that he was going to become Iona’s husband, he knew things would have to change. Not allowing his reputation to be battered about as if it had no value topped the list of improvements that needed to be made. “I have wished for this match, dreamed of it in fact for many years. I hold Lady Iona in the greatest regard and have long considered her a loyal friend.” He couldn’t help but let his gaze stray back out the window and upon the pretty pink figure making haste down the street.

Maryanne crossed the room and peered out the same window. Her frown deepened. She pulled a lacy handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her nose with it while regarding him closely. “You are speaking the truth?”

Nathan shrugged.

“You are…” her voice trailed off. A queer smile relaxed her lips. She set her hands into motion as she fiddled with her handkerchief. “I didn’t think it possible. But you
are
unquestionably besotted. Hopelessly in love. I see it in the way your eyes light up at the sight of her.”

“Now see here—” he started to say. He didn’t need to be handing Maryanne any information she might later use against him.

She fluttered her hands. “Do not worry. No one would believe it anyhow. They are all saying you are only marrying the deflowered Duke’s daughter to keep the Marquess from beggaring and banishing you to the Continent.”

“And I’m sure that my viper’s nest of a family is doing nothing to disabuse Bath society from believing this mercenary reason for taking Lady Iona as my wife. Lawks, I should have my head examined!”

He couldn’t stand still a moment longer. He felt uncommonly hotheaded, like his father, eager to bang his fist against a defenseless piece of furniture. Quite unprepared to deal with such tumultuous emotions, he paced the length of the room while tearing at his hair. “I’m bringing a wife onto a battlefield. She’ll loathe me within a week’s time…if I’m lucky! Once she realizes the unforgiving lot I’ve forced her to marry into, it’ll be a blessing if I ever again see one of those cursed fake smiles she’s been torturing me with all week. I’ll have no hope of winning back any of her real ones.”

“That’s vastly unfair, Nathan.” Maryanne’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “It is your poor behavior that has triggered your family’s contempt. We are entirely capable of acting in a civilized manner when in civilized company.”

He snapped his fingers. “That just might be it! That just might be what I need to do to reach her again! If she could witness for herself this family at its natural worst, she’ll either demand to be let out of the engagement or will become so enraged that she will champion me.” He rather enjoyed picturing her working up one of her adorable tempers in defense of him. “Either way, she’ll have to talk to me again.”

Maryanne shrank back from him. “What do you plan to do? Invite her over for dinner? Just her? Not her family too?”

“That is precisely what I plan to do.”

“I assure you she’ll not witness anything untoward.” Maryanne clicked her tongue. “You paint an unfair picture of us. We’re not monsters.”

“Perhaps not, but I wager I’ve been the family whipping boy for so long that some members of this family won’t be able to help themselves. And I imagine she will get quite an eye-opening look at why marriage to her is so vital to me—how she’s my oasis in the midst of this emotional desert my adoring parents have built all around me.”

* * * *

“Surprise!” a chorus of voices rang out.

Surprise? Iona dropped the empty baskets she was carrying. Surprise? What an understatement! She’d returned home after spending an afternoon of charitable work with Amelia. The last thing she had been expecting was
this
.

Her hands flew to cover her gaping mouth. She blinked, fearing that she had finally cracked and was imagining that her dearest friend was indeed in Bath and was beaming her a winsome smile while looking like some fairytale creature come to grant Iona her fondest wishes.

“She doesn’t look pleased,” May said, her brows furrowing. She tucked a strand of unruly red hair behind her ear as she hugged a wiggly baby to the bodice of her stunning peacock-colored dress.

“She’s frozen with shock,” May’s husband, Viscount Evers agreed. “You probably should have let me send that note of warning.”

Since Iona still couldn’t seem to talk, she simply nodded in agreement.

“Oh, don’t look so thunderstruck,” May scolded. She gently deposited the bundled babe into the Viscount’s arms. A lively twinkle brightened her violet-colored eyes. “You and I are made of sterner stuff.”

Tears sprang to Iona’s eyes and a laugh bubbled up in her throat. She tossed herself into her dearest friend’s welcoming arms. “It is indeed a surprise! I didn’t expect you until the wedding! Oh, but I am so very glad to see you. So much has happened in the last few weeks. I am near to bursting to tell you it all.”

“I should say you are,” May said.

After introductions and greetings had been properly covered, Iona led May out into the back gardens while the Viscount excused himself to have a word with the Duke.

“I heard you’ve buried yourself in charity work,” May said. They selected a garden bench near the fragrant rose arbor in the Newburys’ private garden.

Iona folded her hands in her lap. A soft summer breeze tinkled through a distant wind chime.

“And that you’ve been unhappy,” May added.

It was true. But how did she admit to being burdened by such guilt that she felt a need to do penance for her sins? For the past week and a half, she’d desperately wished for her friend’s company. Had urgently needed a sympathetic ear to bend.

Now that her wish had been granted, she wasn’t sure where to start. Or if she was even ready to admit to the heavy aches weighing on her heart.

“Oh bugger,” she muttered, “marriage to Nathan bodes to be far worse than a loveless match with Byron. At least with Byron, I understood his motives and feelings toward me. With Nathan, everything has turned into a puzzle.”

She knew she needed to talk with him in order to try and sort everything out. Yet every time she tried, she’d see those dark bruises marring his face and her tongue would freeze in her mouth. Or she would babble on and on, saying nothing but a bunch of twaddle.

And she wasn’t the only one feeling the strain of her upcoming nuptials either.

“Mama rarely speaks anymore. And Papa has taken to heaving long, drawn-out sighs whenever I enter the room. To escape, I’ve packed away my art supplies and thrown myself into charity work and into paying more and more frequent visits to the widows who always looked forward to my company.

“They are all terribly worried about me. Despite my abject denials, every single one, including Lady Pulteney whom I consider quite logical and even-tempered, has coddled me while expressing their most heartfelt sympathies. It was a shame how I’ve been heartlessly seduced and forced into marriage to a scoundrel, they say. A handsome scoundrel but a scoundrel nonetheless.”

“How distressing,” May agreed.

When not enduring their well-meaning pity, Iona had volunteered at Lady Astley’s School for Displaced Women, a school that educated the
demimonde
in various respectable professions. Her work there was doing wonders in helping rebuild her damaged self-esteem.

The work was not only a kind of penance for her reckless behavior of late. It also reminded her how lucky she was to have a loving family and a marriage proposal the young women at the school viewed as a
damned miracle
.

“You must remember to not swear in polite company,” she had scolded one of the newer students just that morning as the ladies excitedly discussed her upcoming nuptials.

“I don’t know what to do, May. Actually I don’t think there is anything I can do.”

Instead of being appropriately sympathetic and gloomy, May flashed Iona one of her mischievous gypsy grins and shook her head from side to side. She appeared to be struggling to hold back a laugh.

“How can you find humor in this?” Iona demanded.

“You speak of what everyone else must be thinking about you and this marriage and yet you’ve conveniently left out your own feelings. Do you love Nathan?”

Iona gritted her teeth. Not at all sure why she should feel defensive, she picked up the piece of embroidery she’d carried outside with her, a table runner decorated with large white daises that when finished was to be a gift for their neighbor, the widow Lady Potswell. She stilled her nervous fingers and raging mind by concentrating on sewing a line of straight, uniform stitches.

“We share nothing more than a mutual friendship,” she said once she’d finished.

“A mutual friendship, you say?” May pressed.

“The same friendship we forged when we were playing matchmaker between you and Lord Evers.”

“And I thank you for that,” May said, bowing her head. “I was confoundingly stubborn about some things…like admitting to being in love with Radford.”

“I know what you are trying to say. But this situation is vastly different from yours. And, besides, my feelings are of no account. They have never been.”

“Is that so?”

“It doesn’t really matter if I want this or any other marriage, which I don’t. As my father has so aptly explained, this bed is of my own making and I am honor-bound to lie in it.”

“I don’t know, Iona. Marriage to Lord Nathan might not be such a bad thing.” May rocked her sleeping baby boy between her knees. “Just look, all this talk of beds and having to lie down in them has given you goose bumps.”