The Earl's Marriage Dilemma
Auteur·e
Sarah Mallory
Lectures
19,7K
Chapitres
25
Chapter One
She refused. She refused me!
The words pounded through Conham’s head as he strode out of the house. He had come to Bristol solely with the intention of proposing to Alicia Faulds, and she had turned him down.
She had been his mistress for six months and he had thought they were ideally suited. She was a widow, experienced, entertaining and witty. She was also very wealthy. As the Eleventh Earl of Dallamire, he had an impressive lineage and a large house in Berkshire, together with extensive estates around the country. True, he was sadly short of funds, but he had never made any attempt to hide the fact from her.
He had barely stepped out of the house when the door closed behind him with a thud. That was it. He was done with the rich Mrs Faulds. He almost winced as he recalled how she had laughed at him when he had admitted that his fortune was somewhat depleted.
Depleted? My dear Conham, it is nonexistent! The Dallamire estates—those that are not entailed—are riddled with debts. And you greatly misled me with talk of your latest inheritance, I have seen it. An insignificant property in the wilds of Gloucestershire and a ramshackle collection of run-down buildings on a few acres of land to the north of Bristol. Ha! There is nothing there to tempt me.
Suddenly, the lady he had thought might make him a good wife had been more like a stranger. She had travelled ahead of him to Bristol in order to assess the properties his godfather had left him. Confound it, he had not even seen them for himself yet!
A chill breeze sprang up, rousing Conham from the useless reflections. He looked about him. He had planned to escort Alicia to a masquerade tonight, but that was clearly out of the question now. He would not go alone, but neither did he want to go back to his rooms at the Full Moon just yet. He felt too tense, too restless, and it was more than likely Matt would still be awake. He would want to know why Conham was back before daybreak and what had put him in such a foul mood.
That’s what comes of bringing Matt Talacre with me on this journey, Conham thought irritably. It was impossible to snub a man who had fought beside you at Waterloo.
Across the street, Queen Square silent in the moonlight, and the walks dissecting the lawns were deserted. It was an ideal place to collect his thoughts and cool his temper. Conham threw the domino around his shoulders to keep out the chill of the November night and crossed the road. After jumping over the low wooden rail and onto the grass, a few steps took him to the gravel path that ran around the square beneath the trees.
It was very quiet, although he could hear faint noises from the floating harbour that surrounded Queen Square on three sides. Shouts and thuds drifted over the terraced houses that separated the elegant square from the docks, and he guessed a ship was getting ready to depart and catch the tide. From the clear sky, a full moon shone down through the bare branches of the trees, casting dappled shadows on the path. By the time Conham began a second circuit of the square he could feel his mind settling.
He could not deny that Alicia’s rejection was a disappointment. She was a luscious brunette and knew how to drive a man wild with desire. She also possessed a considerable fortune, but he had genuinely thought marriage would suit them both. It would not be a love match, but they liked one another well enough, which was as much as Conham expected from a wife. As an earl, marriage was a duty and, in his case, a rich bride was a necessity. However, it appeared the wealthy widow valued her independence above a title.
Conham could not blame her. He was impoverished, and a fool not to have done something about it. He had received the news of his father’s death shortly after Waterloo, but had gone on to Paris with the Army of Occupation, believing there was no immediate need for him to rush home. However, when he had returned to England some six months ago, he discovered that the old earl, an inveterate gambler, had left him neglected estates and a mountain of crippling debt.
True, the Berkshire property was extensive, but years of bad management had left Dallamire Hall in a poor condition, and the combined income from all his lands was barely enough to provide for his stepmother and his two half-sisters, who were still in the schoolroom.
‘Damme,’ he muttered. ‘I should have quit the army and come back earlier. I always knew Father was a gambler. I should have made more effort to keep an eye on him before he gambled away almost everything!’
The pill had been somewhat sweetened by the acquisition of his godfather’s properties, which had been held in trust for him until his twenty-eighth birthday. That event had occurred in August, and was the reason Conham had come to the West Country, to inspect his inheritance.
The news that Alicia had gone ahead and rented a house for herself in Bristol he had taken as a good sign, until she had dashed all his hopes tonight. He flicked his cane at an errant weed in the grass. What was it she had called it? Another ramshackle property. From his lawyers’ cautiously worded report, he suspected Alicia’s description would prove to be correct.
He sighed and stared up at the moon. Well, what was done was done. His years in the army had shown him that a fellow must be philosophical about these things. There were any number of people who depended upon the Earl of Dallamire for their livelihood and he could not let them down. He must now look elsewhere for a rich bride. It shouldn’t be too difficult. There were numerous tales of rich men willing to settle a fortune on their daughter in return for a title.
‘Oof!’
His meanderings were cut short as a body cannoned into him, knocking his ebony cane from his hand. Instinctively, he grabbed the culprit.
‘Oh, no, you don’t!’
He expected oaths and curses from his struggling attacker. Instead, a soft female voice begged him to let her go.
‘What the devil!’
Conham swung his captive into the moonlight and found himself looking at a pale, heart-shaped face set about with an untidy mass of fair curling hair. She wore no coat, but the sleeves beneath his hands felt very much like silk. At that moment he heard shouts coming from the Grove.
‘Please, sir. They must not see me!’
A pair of wide eyes gazed anxiously up at him and he pulled the girl back into the shadows just as four men came running into the square.
‘Too late for that,’ he muttered, shrugging off his domino. ‘Here, put this around you.’ He threw the cloak around her shoulders and lifted the hood over her fair hair. ‘Now, put your arms around my neck.’
And with that he bent his head and kissed her. She froze, but did not push him away. Instead, she clung tighter at the sound of boots pounding along the path. Someone was approaching at a run. Conham raised his head.
‘Stay close to me,’ he whispered.
He turned, keeping the woman behind him, in his shadow. The men had split up and only two were coming towards him. He moved forward, one hand pretending to straighten the fall flap of his breeches as he hailed them cheerfully.
‘You are in the devil of a hurry, sirs. Are the pressmen abroad?’
The men stopped.
‘And who might you be?’ demanded one.
‘I am Dallamire,’ he said, with a touch of hauteur. ‘The Earl of Dallamire.’
He saw them eyeing him, taking in the black woollen evening coat with its gilt buttons embossed with a coat of arms, the tight-fitting black trousers and dancing shoes. The second man touched his forelock, clearly impressed.
‘No, my lord, not the press gang. We’re after an escaped prisoner. But ’tis only a whore who slipped off the ship,’ he added when Conham feigned alarm. ‘Have you seen or heard anyone go past you?’
‘Well, no.’ Conham pulled his cloaked companion into his side. ‘But as you can see, I have been rather...occupied.’
The man laughed coarsely. ‘Aye, well, we’ll not keep you from your pleasures, my lord. Come on, Joe!’
Conham watched the sailors until they were out of sight and he and the woman were alone again in the square.
‘Well, now,’ he said, ‘I think you had best tell me what this is all about.’
‘And I think you should let me go,’ she retorted, struggling against his hold.
He tightened his grip. ‘But I have yet to be convinced that you are innocent.’
‘How dare you!’
‘And besides that,’ he said as she continued to fight him, ‘it is not safe for a young woman to be wandering around unattended. We are in the docklands, there are some very rough characters abroad.’
‘I am well aware of that!’
‘Not me, you wildcat,’ he exclaimed, catching her free wrist before she could claw at his eyes. ‘There are those in the alleys around here who would kill you for the clothes on your back. And then there are your pursuers.’
She stopped struggling and eyed him resentfully. He went on.
‘That’s better. Let’s go to an inn and you can tell me your story. Who knows? I may even be able to help you.’
For a moment she was silent. Then, ‘Very well, I will come with you.’
‘Good.’ He retrieved his cane, saying, ‘You had best keep my domino about you, too.’
‘But it is far too long,’ she objected. ‘It will drag in all the dirt.’
Her concern for his property surprised him but he merely shrugged. ‘Better that than you freeze to death.’
He heard a faint chuckle. ‘Very true.’
‘Come along, then.’
Conham pulled her hand onto his sleeve and set off, very much aware that she was not putting any weight on him at all. They had not gone far before she stumbled and he quickly put his arm around her.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she muttered. ‘I feel a little dizzy.’
‘It’s not far to King Street. You will feel better once you are sitting down. And then you can tell me what all this is about.’
They had reached the edge of the Square when he saw the sailors coming back. He glanced down at his companion, to assure himself that the voluminous hood of the domino concealed her face. She had hesitated at the sight of them, but Conham put his hand on her arm, where it rested on his sleeve, and kept her moving, He addressed the men as they drew nearer.
‘No luck finding your quarry?’
‘There’s no sign of the wench.’ A rough curse followed the words. ‘And we dare not wait any longer to cast off or the lock gates will be closed against us.’ He spat into the gutter. ‘She’s disappeared into the stews. She’ll not last long there.’
‘No. Good night to you, then.’ Conham touched his hat and strolled on, whistling nonchalantly and resisting the urge to look back until they had reached the corner of King Street.
‘Have they gone?’ came a whisper from beside him.
‘Yes. They are scurrying back to their ship. You are safe from them now.’
‘Thank goodness,’ she said, and with that she crumpled against him.
As Conham swept her up into his arms, the hood slipped back and her fair hair cascaded over his sleeve like silk. Her eyes were closed and he gazed down at her, taking in the straight little nose and a mouth that he had already discovered was eminently kissable. Under the flare of the street lamp she looked older than he had first thought, but still defenceless. And far too young to be abroad unprotected.
‘Oh, Lord,’ he muttered. ‘What the devil am I going to do with you?’
