The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (60 page)

“I simply know you will enjoy living at Callaway Abbey,” the Marchioness said after the servants served the main dish, an aromatic potted beef and potatoes dish that was heavily seasoned with savory. “The Nottinghamshire weather in early fall is lovely. We can take picnics to the Vale of the Trent. And shopping excursions into Nottingham.”

Live at Callaway Abbey?

Iona felt the blood rush from her head.

Riverside picnics and shopping excursions? She hadn’t yet thought about where she was going to live once she was married. It was distressing to think that she’d be away from London and her family. “I-I rather thought Lord Nathan and I might make use of his London—”

“Do not even think such a thing,” Edward scoffed. “We will never abandon you to the whims of my brother. Besides you’ll be happier at Callaway than in the crowded city.”

“But I—”

“There is no need to feel shy about this, Iona. No matter what, you should always consider Callaway your home,” Edward insisted.

Iona shot Nathan a questioning look.

He gave her a helpless shrug, which did nothing to soothe her growing alarm. Her concerns about marrying Nathan and having him wrest away her independence were beginning to appear misdirected. It wasn’t Nathan she needed to be worried about but his family. Apparently they’d already planned her future.

One that didn’t include her husband.

After realizing this much, one thing became crystal-clear in her mind. The long-suffering, obedient lady who would quietly accept such a fate no longer existed—if she ever had. She’d lived too much in this short span of weeks, thanks to Nathan’s tutelage, to willingly hand over control of her life again.

She dabbed the napkin to her lips and drew a steadying breath. “With all due respect, Nathan, I will not be foisted onto your family like some unwanted bride, no matter how welcoming the home.”

“She will be living with me,” Nathan said gruffly.

“Well,” the Marchioness huffed, “we will certainly have to discuss this with the Duke. I doubt he’ll be pleased to hear about any of this.”

“I assure you that you’ll be happy at Callaway,” Edward said, his eyes trying their devil’s best to win her over.

The Marquess grunted.

Only Maryanne, wearing a curious frown, kept silent.

Amidst the confusion, Iona knitted her brows and peered closely at Nathan. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him look so discomposed. Chink by chink, his family was tearing him down—and not with a blatant, defendable attack. No, their assault was more insidious than that. Every time one of them ignored his very existence, the crooked, devil-may-care smirk she’d fallen in love with had slipped and was slowly being replaced by an unquestionably broody glower.

“She will be my wife, not yours,” Nathan said to Edward, looking downright miserable. “And I believe it’s up to me to decide where she will live.”

With the handle of his spoon, the Marquess tapped on his glass filled with Madeira, nearly drowning out Nathan’s voice. “This is a celebration,” he said once he’d won everyone’s attention. “We can work out the details of the marriage at a later time.”

He lifted his glass and offered Iona a warm smile. “To my future daughter-in-law.” He coughed. “Damned shame about the how, my dear. Rest assured, we don’t hold it against you.” He coughed again, harder this time. “Can’t say I’m surprised…after my boy ruined the miller’s daughter and drove her to her grave, I feared he’d one day repeat his mistake. I am truly sorry.”

Not quite the kind of toast Iona was willing to drink to. She lowered her glass while everyone else took a tentative sip.

The Marchioness’s glass was still raised in the air. “By Jove and he picked the most respected lady in all England to ruin,” she said. “You should have never trusted that he would reform his ways. You should have sent him out of the country after that first incident.”

Iona had had quite enough. As if ignoring Nathan wasn’t enough, his own family saw nothing wrong with vilifying him in front of the woman he intended to marry as if he were the very devil.

What she couldn’t figure out was why in blazes he chose to passively sit there and take such abuse. She certainly wouldn’t—not anymore.

Tossing down her napkin, she pushed back from the table and sprang to her feet. “I beg your pardon but what you are saying about Nathan is a lie. He would never dishonor a lady in such an unthinkable manner. I don’t understand why the lot of you chooses to believe such lies about one of your own. Shouldn’t a family be loyal to each other?”

“He is no longer part of this family!” the Marchioness shouted, stunning the room into an uncomfortable silence. Tears suddenly flooded her eyes. Her hands were shaking miserably.

“He eventually offered for Miss Hartfield,” Maryanne said quietly.

“Not without letting the poor ruined girl first worry about her future for three horrid months, alone and heartbroken over his cold dismissal. She left a letter,” the Marchioness said. Her fork dropped onto her plate with a clatter. “I never told anyone about this but the distraught girl wrote a letter before she took her life. Her mother brought it to me.”

“This isn’t the time,” Edward said. “As Father has already said, we are supposed to be enjoying a celebration dinner. Let us talk about something more pleasant.”

“There was a letter?” Nathan asked. His face had turned white as a sheet.

“She wrote pages about her pain and the unrequited love she felt for you and of promises made only to be broken,” the Marchioness said. “She loved without question, believing that love was being returned. Once she learned that you didn’t love her, she felt her life was no longer worth living.”

Edward shifted nervously in his seat. He took a bite of his beef and chewed noisily.

“That was the reason?” Nathan whispered. “When I left her that night, I was convinced she and I had come to an understanding. When I learned what she’d done to herself, I couldn’t believe it…couldn’t understand why she’d choose death over me. I offered her everything…yet she chose death.” He drew an unsteady breath.

“It is true?” Iona’s head grew cold and the room willowy white. “Tell me different, Nathan.”

He kept confoundingly silent.

“Please, tell me this is a jest.”

“Perhaps it is for the best that you know the full truth about Nathan’s part in the tragedy before the wedding, dear,” the Marchioness said. She took a sip from her glass of Madeira. “It was a terrible trial for us all. The night before Edward’s wedding day, the miller’s daughter showed up on our front stoop soaked through and through from the drenching rains. She was shivering and in tears. What was I to do, turn her away?

“At first I thought it was some nightmarish joke. It sounded as if the distraught girl was saying that Edward had-had—” She gulped for a breath. “But how could that be? Edward would never do anything like that. He’d never displayed any of the rakish behaviors Nathan proudly flaunted all around the village and in London. Edward is a good boy. A son a mother could truly feel pride toward.”

A sickly dread set Iona’s fingers trembling. She clung to her belief in Nathan’s innocence as tightly as she gripped the back of her chair. “Once you were able to calm Miss Hartfield, she told you what?” she asked.

“Oh no, the girl was hysterical. Out of her head with grief. She just kept weeping. It was a terrible thing to behold…and with a house filled with wedding guests.”

“If she wouldn’t tell you, how did you manage to find out that it wasn’t Edward she was seeking?”

“Why, from Edward of course,” the Marchioness said. “He came down and found us in the parlor. He took one look at the poor girl and told us he’d never before laid eyes on her and couldn’t imagine what she could want from him.”

Something about that tragic night didn’t ring true. Why would Miss Hartfield ask for Edward when, in truth, she was seeking out Nathan? “So what did you do? How did you get her to ever make any sense?”

“I didn’t. I bundled the girl in several blankets and was about to send her home when Nathan came along. He took one long look at her and drew her into his arms.”

“I told Mother,” Nathan said, his voice impossibly hard, “and Father. In his study. That I was responsible.” He blinked up at Iona. “I am sorry. But it is true. I took responsibility for her unfortunate condition.”

“That was when he offered to marry Miss Hartfield,” Maryanne added. “I overheard the conversation. I couldn’t sleep that night, too nervous about my wedding to even stay in bed. I took a walk in the conservatory, thinking I’d be alone. But I wasn’t. Nathan was in there, talking with Miss Hartfield. Pleading with her.”

“
You heard
?” Nathan said.

“Maryanne!” Edward roared. He was suddenly on his feet and reaching over the table, looking like he might pluck his wife up by her neck. “You vowed you wouldn’t ever speak a word about that night!”

The room grew uncomfortably silent again.

“You knew?” Nathan whispered to Maryanne, who was cowering in her chair.

Iona watched as the fear faded from Maryanne’s sharp features. The woman straightened her spine, folded her linen napkin into a neat square and smoothed its seams before nodding slowly. “I hated you for it, Nathan,” she said. “I hated you for showing me that my future husband had ice for a heart. Imagine the shock. He’d put on quite a show for my family and me. We all thought he was besotted with me. Such a young fool I was. Besotted.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Nathan said.

“Yes, I do. For Iona’s sake and my own. For more than eight years, I’ve let a lie rule my life…and I have been miserable for it. I’ve kept quiet, believing it to be my duty. Believing that my happiness and self-respect weren’t important.” She touched her hand to Iona’s. “That chilly night in the conservatory, my heart broke. How could it not? I heard Miss Hartfield confess to Nathan that while Edward was courting me, he was telling her—using the same flowery words he’d used on me—that he loved
her
and longed to marry
her
.”

Maryanne’s bitterness rippled through the room. “And no, Edward, I will not keep silent about this a moment longer. Nor will I let you act like a tyrant anymore. Be warned, I am taking back control of my marriage, my life…and tending to my heart.

“I accepted this marriage. My fairytale marriage! Me, an heiress whose father came from a humble mining family. What was I to do? Break my family’s hearts and trample their hopes because I learned the fairytale was a lie? In the end, you and I both got what we wanted—you took my fortune to fritter away and I got a title and the life of a peer.”

“You let Nathan take the blame?” Iona asked.

“At the time, it seemed reasonable. I felt no fondness toward my future brother-in-law. He was a bounder, a cad like his brother. Let Miss Hartfield have a terrible life with him. If not for the two of them, my beautiful illusion wouldn’t have been ripped away—not like that. If I knew she was going to refuse Nathan’s marriage offer and take her own life, I might have acted differently.” She sighed. “I hope I would have.”

“What are you saying?” the Marquess whispered. His gaze swept over to where Nathan was seated. “What is she saying?” he asked more forcefully.

“I’m saying I feel lucky that my love for Edward wasn’t as irrevocable as Miss Hartfield’s,” Maryanne said, her words clipped and quickly spoken. “He was the one who seduced the miller’s daughter, not Nathan.”

“Nathan…” The Marquess’s lips quivered as he swallowed hard. He dragged his hand over his mouth and shook his head as if he didn’t know what to say. The room was silent until he slammed his fist against the dinner table, making the plates jump and clatter. “But you were… You claimed…”

“Maryanne is speaking the truth?” Iona asked Nathan once she had enough of this drama.

After glancing around the room, Nathan nodded awkwardly. Her heart went out to him. A little boy’s fears and hopes were sketched on his stricken brow. He turned to his mother, whose expression was still tightly pinched and whose brows were still deeply troubled. He reached out to her with the tentative care of a child with a broken toy, hoping his parent could magically repair the damage.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said.

For too many thundering heartbeats nothing happened.

And then, silently, his mother broke into a sob and pulled her youngest son into her arms.

From over the Marchioness’ shoulder, Nathan’s celestial blue gaze met Iona’s. She saw a tear sliding down his cheek a moment before he turned his head away.

Chapter Twenty-One

In the explosion of emotion that followed Maryanne’s announcement—mostly aimed toward Edward—Nathan rounded the table, grabbed Iona’s wrist and whisked her from the room and out of the madness of his family’s house. This was a deeply personal family matter that didn’t need to be sullying her ears.

The topic of discussion was shocking enough. Not only had his father launched into roars of anger over Edward’s callous treatment of Miss Hartfield, he’d also decried how—just a couple of weeks ago—he’d been compelled to pay a high sum of money to the illustrious actress, Rose Darly, in order to keep her and Edward’s scandalous affair from going public.

In the blessed silence of the night, heavy clouds marched across the sky high above them with the stately grace of soldiers on review. A low thunder rumbled through the air.

Despite the threat of rain, determination drove Nathan as he charged across Brock Street and deep into the damp grasses of Crescent Field. Once they were far beyond the reach of the road, he released Iona to give her a chance to catch her breath.

He wanted nothing more in the world than to take her into his arms and kiss away the concern that had creased her brow. But when he moved toward her, she held up her hands and kept him at arm’s length.

“Why?” she asked, her petite chest fluttering with her quickened breath. Lightning streaked crossed the early evening sky. “All these years…why did you let them believe the worst of you?”

His reasoning had once seemed so simple. He’d done what he needed to do.

A trio of cows hurried past them, the bells around their necks ringing as the beasts sought shelter from the imminent storm.