Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception

‘I fail to see how it can end any other way,’ Stephen said. Then he fixed Felkirk with a look that implied he was the one to put a dishonourable intent on their rather unorthodox courtship.

‘You mean to...’ It was like watching air leak from a billowing sail. Felkirk had not been prepared to win so easily.

‘Marry her,’ Stephen finished.

Felkirk responded to this with stunned silence.

The man expected him to explain himself. Not bloody likely, since any attempt to describe the current circumstances would end in a stammering mess. Stephen continued to stare, waiting for the man to speak.

He saw Felkirk’s eyes narrowing again, as he tried to decide what to make of this sudden and complete victory. ‘Margot would not tell us the reason that she went to you.’

‘Nor will I,’ Stephen replied and continued to stare at him.

‘A marriage is necessary, of course, and the sooner the better. The rumours flow faster than the water at the pump room.’ Felkirk stated the obvious, but in a doubtful tone as though suddenly unsure of his mission.

‘A special licence then. I will set off for London immediately.’

‘Immediately,’ Felkirk repeated. ‘Without speaking to the lady you are to marry?’

Stephen sighed. Perhaps, with some other girl, the matter could be easily settled between gentlemen. But his Margot was not the sort to let her future be decided by others. ‘I suppose I shall have to.’

‘You do not wish to speak to her?’ Felkirk was clearly offended.

‘She will not speak to me,’ Stephen clarified.

‘Despite the circumstances, I will not force her to wed you, if she does not wish to,’ Felkirk said.

‘She wishes it,’ Stephen said. ‘She is not yet aware of the fact. But she wants to marry.’

‘Then, how...?’

It was an excellent, if unfinished question. And then a plan occurred to him. ‘You must offer her an urgent reason to wed,’ Stephen said with a smile. ‘For example, if there were threat of a...’ He took a deep breath and forced the word out. ‘A duel...’

‘You wish me to call you out over this?’ Felkirk said with an incredulous snort.

‘If you would be so kind,’ Stephen said, relaxing.

‘I had hoped it would not come to that.’

‘It is not for my sake,’ Stephen reminded him. ‘It is for hers.’

‘But suppose she wishes me to fight you?’

‘If I know Margot,’ Stephen said, surprised by his own confidence, ‘she will not. She would think it foolish.’ His Margot was far too sensible to demand that men fight for her honour.

‘Then what good can it do?’ Felkirk asked.

‘Your wife will not take it so lightly. Suppose I am not the one injured?’

Felkirk gave him a speculative look. ‘Think you can best me, do you?’

Actually, he did. Fencing had been an excellent way to channel the rage he felt at his impediment. Those who had seen him with a blade deemed him a master. But now, he shrugged. ‘For the sake of argument, you must make her think I might. Though it may appear so, Margot will not risk the happiness of her sister to see me suffer.’ If such a strong-willed creature as his Margot had wanted to see him bleed, she’d want to stab him herself. Since he was as yet unmarked, he had hope.

Stephen favoured his future in-law with an expression that was positively benign. ‘Surely, accepting my name and title is not too much of a hardship, if it assures your safety.’

Felkirk held up a hand, as if to stem the rising tide of confusing arguments. ‘Am I to understand you? You are willing to marry my sister-in-law, if she would accept you?’

If he could not explain the whole story to Felkirk, he could at least give the man one small bit of truth. ‘It would make me the happiest man in England to take Margot de Bryun as my wife.’ He spoke slowly, to add clarity as well as gravitas. And he was relieved that there was not a tremor or a slur over the name of his beloved.

There was another significant pause before Felkirk said, ‘Will your family say the same?’

In such moments, there was no point in giving ground. ‘I assume you mean Larchmont. If you ask the question, you know the answer.’

‘Your father is notorious for his strong opinions,’ Felkirk said, as diplomatically as possible.

‘His opinions do not concern me,’ Stephen replied. ‘I would be more interested to know the opinion of your family. Since you are married to the woman’s sister, I assume I will be welcome in your house. And your brother married a cit’s daughter.’

‘The circumstances in both cases were unusual,’ Felkirk said, but did not elaborate.

‘In this case, they are not. I wish to marry Margot for love. The rest is immaterial.’

‘Other than her unwillingness to see or to speak to you, of course,’ Felkirk added. ‘Or to tell any of us what is the matter so that we might know whether we do greater harm than good by yoking her to a man she despises.’

She had loved him once. That he had managed to ruin that...

Idiot. Dullard.

And that was his father speaking again. He would stand squarely against such a marriage—that was all the more reason to press onwards. ‘I have no wish to make her unhappy by forcing this union. I simply wish for her to realise that she will be happy, should she marry me.’

‘And to bring her to this realisation, you wish to trick her into accepting you?’ Felkirk said with a frown.

It was not a trick, precisely. He merely wished to nudge her in the direction she secretly wished to go.

‘The choice is still hers,’ he said. But he knew her well enough to be predict her reaction. She would marry him. After they were together, he would find a way to make her believe that he had nothing to do with the necklace. Once she realised that they were both victims of a hoax, it would be as it had been and they would be happy.

For now, he smiled at Felkirk as though eager to meet his doom. ‘At least, we will see, soon enough, if she cares whether I am living or dead.’

* * *

‘But surely, you must see that this is best for all of us.’ Justine was using the tone she had taken throughout their childhood to bring her difficult sister into line.

Margot gritted her teeth to resist responding. What she had hoped would be a quiet Sunday visit with her sister and brother-in-law was turning into a lecture on what she must do to salvage her reputation. Now that Margot was fully of age, Justine had no right to make such demands. Her life was her own. She could ruin it if she wished.

That was an especially petty argument and another reason to remain silent. She had not wanted ruin. But neither did she want to wed Fanworth.

Justine tried again. ‘If he can be persuaded to behave honourably, we can end this quietly. Your good name will be restored and you will have married into one of the most respected families in England.’

‘If I can be persuaded to take him, more like,’ Margot said. She doubted she would have to make such a decision. If the plan hinged on Fanworth behaving honourably, there was no need to bother with it.

‘If he can be made to offer, of course you will say yes.’

‘Do you mean to answer for me, as well?’ Justine had taken far too much on herself already. ‘I did not ask you to send Will to him, angling after a proposal.’

‘You did not have to ask,’ Justine said. ‘He did it for my sake.’ She reached out to take her sister’s hand. ‘I cannot stand by to see you destroyed over this foolish shop, just as it very nearly destroyed me.’

‘It was not the shop,’ Margot argued. ‘Mr Montague was at fault for what happened to you.’

‘But if you had been here, to see the looks polite women gave me, as I walked down the street...’ Justine’s voice broke. ‘I will not live to see the same thing happen to you. You will marry the marquess and retire to his home in Derbyshire. That is even further away than Wales. No one will know of the scandal and you might start anew.’

‘And what would become of the business?’ Margot said. Justine seemed to be ignoring the practicalities.

‘We will close this place and never think about it again. It has brought nothing but bad luck to our family and we will do well to be rid of it.’

As always, Justine was blaming the building and its contents for any and all of their troubles over the last twenty years. It was nonsense, of course. But better that she fault the shop than take any part of the blame on herself, for things she had no control over.

‘If only I had refused, when you told me of your plan of taking over de Bryun’s,’ Justine said, the first tear trickling down her cheek, ‘I might have kept you safe.’

Now they were returning to Margot’s least-favourite subject, the need for her older sister to control everything and make any and all sacrifices necessary to save the family. But it was unusual to see her so upset that she resorted to tears.

Gently but firmly, she withdrew her hand from Justine’s, then returned it to cover her sister’s hands to console her. ‘You cannot fix everything, you know. You certainly cannot fix this, just by marrying me off to Fanworth and selling the shop. Especially since I am of age now and unwilling to do either of those things. I will stay away from him and be sure that he stays away from me. By next summer, all will be forgotten.’

Unless, of course, the marquess had her arrested for the theft of the Larchmont rubies. She must hope that the week’s silence since their last meeting was a sign he deemed it better to forget certain details than to risk her blurting ugly truths about his character as part of a Newgate broadside.

Justine was readying her next argument when they heard the sound of footsteps in the hall and her husband appeared in the doorway. At the sight of his tearful wife, Will Felkirk gave Margot a grim, disapproving look, as if to blame her for Justine’s distress. Then he came and sat at her side, close enough so their thighs touched and extricated her hands from Margot’s so he might hold them himself.

His wife stared up at him with watery eyes. ‘You have spoken to him?’

Will paused a moment, then glanced at Margot and nodded. ‘The matter is settled.’

Margot breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Good. The sooner we can all put this nonsense behind us, the better.’

‘I put it to him quite simply. He will marry you, or I will meet him at dawn.’

‘A duel?’ At this, the normally stoic Justine dissolved into sobs.

‘It will not come to that,’ Margot insisted, alarmed at her sister’s extreme reaction.

‘You will marry him, then, if he offers?’ Will said, clearly relieved.

‘Not if he was the last man on earth,’ she replied, not bothering to think.

‘He is not the last man on earth. He is a marquess,’ Justine snapped, tears still streaming down her face. ‘Now stop acting like an honourable match with the son of a peer is a fate worse than death.’

‘I cannot stand to be in the same room with him, ever again.’

‘If you do not like him, you need not live with him after the ceremony. But you will not draw my husband into fighting him, to protect the reputation you were careless with.’

‘I did not ask him to be involved in this,’ Margot snapped back.

‘And I did. Because I had no idea you would be such a ninny about it. It was quite clear, a few weeks ago, that you doted on the man. You would not leave him alone when I warned you what would happen. And now, because of your stubbornness, my Will could be injured, or even killed.’

‘There, there,’ Will said, gathering her close.

‘It will not come to that,’ Margot repeated. ‘Do not allow yourself to become overwrought over nothing.’

‘I will if I wish to,’ Justine said, with another shower of tears. ‘If you have no care for yourself, think of the child that will be born fatherless...’

This was too much. ‘I am not increasing,’ Margot insisted. She had been more than a little relieved to discover that herself.

‘I was not talking about you. What about my child?’ This was followed by more tears from Justine and a glare from Will.

‘You?’ Of course. It had to be true. Justine had been making sly admissions of morning illness, of tiredness, of a desire to start a family and of the readying of the nursery at the old Bellston manor. But had her shy sister ever said in so many words that a birth was imminent? Or had Margot been too busy with the shop, and with Fanworth, to notice?

‘And now Will might have to risk himself because you are unwilling to listen to reason,’ Justine said, sniffling into the handkerchief that her husband offered her.

He leaned close to her, whispering into her ear and kissing the side of her face. Whatever he had said seemed to calm her, for she turned back and pressed her face into his hair, smothering his lips with her own.

If possible, an awkward situation was becoming even worse. She had missed the obvious clues to her sister’s pregnancy. Though she refused to believe that she had put him at risk of his life, she had managed to involve Will in her problems. And now they had all but forgotten she was here.

When Will managed to disengage his wife from himself, he looked over her head, glaring again at Margot. ‘As you can see, Justine is distressed by recent events.’

‘But I cannot simply marry him,’ she said. Even when things had been going well, she had known that was impossible.

Now he was looking at her with disgust as though she were the most selfish creature on Earth. ‘Either I will put the announcement of your betrothal in tomorrow’s paper, or we will fight on Tuesday morning. One of us will be injured, or perhaps killed. I hope you are satisfied with that prospect, for there is no third alternative.’

At this, Justine let out a wail. ‘There will be no fighting. I will go to him, myself, if that is needed. I will throw myself on my knees and beg him to do what is right for our family.’ She raised a hand to her temple in a gesture that Margot would have called melodramatic, if her sister had ever been guilty of such a thing. ‘Do not worry, Margot, I will take care of everything. Just as I always have.’

‘No!’ Margot’s shout of frustration was every bit as loud and dramatic as the behaviour of the other two people in the room. But it brought an instantaneous halt to their emoting. ‘I will go myself, immediately. And I will go alone. I will be back in time for supper, to tell you what we have decided.’

Whatever happened, it would not involve a pregnant Justine, on her knees, begging Fanworth for anything. She might think that it was her job to sacrifice for all and for ever. But, by the Blessed Virgin, Margot had caused this problem and she would solve it herself with no help from her older sister.

Chapter Ten

For the third time in as many weeks, Margot was arriving unescorted at the house of the Marquess of Fanworth. This time, she gave up even pretending that it was possible to move unnoticed and greeted any acquaintances she passed with the cheery wave of an unrepentant harlot. Let them think what they would. She was fairly sure that, no matter what happened today, it would end in a story that would give the whole town something to gossip about. For all she cared, they could choke on their tongues.

Mrs Sims admitted her without a raised eyebrow. Then she glanced at the steps towards the bedrooms, as though expecting Margot intended to show herself up. The insult was subtle, but it was there, all the same.

For all she knew, this woman was the one who had set the town buzzing about her disgraceful behaviour and brought Justine and Will down upon her like hounds on a hare. If so, she had best hope that Margot was not about to become Lady Fanworth, for there would be hell to pay.

‘I wish to speak to Lord Fanworth. In the drawing room, please. Or wherever it is he receives guests,’ Margot said, offering an equally aloof expression.

The housekeeper let out a dismissive sniff to remind her that they both knew why she was not familiar with the proper, public rooms of my lord’s apartments. Then she took Margot down a short hall to the salon, not bothering with an offer of refreshments before she shut the door.

A short time later it opened again, and Fanworth appeared. He did not bother to bow. ‘Margot?’ He greeted her with that strange, soft pronunciation that went right under her skin and made her shiver, even on a warm summer day. But it was not dread she felt. It was anticipation.

Damn him. Even as she knew the truth about him, she could not help wanting him more than a little. She did not bother answering. Suppose there was an unexpected softness in her own voice as she spoke his name in return? ‘I have just been speaking with my sister and brother-in-law.’

‘Lord William,’ he responded with a nod.

‘And I have been informed that I must either wring a proposal out of you, or it is pistols at dawn.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Easy enough.’ He went down on one knee. ‘Would you do me the honour of accepting my offer of marriage?’ He delivered the proposal with such unemotional precision that, for a moment, she did not even understand the words. Then, just for a moment, she thought she saw a twitch at the corner of his lip. Behind that frosty façade, he was laughing at her. So she laughed in response, aloud and without kindness.

He looked up at her in surprise. ‘I amuse you?’

‘Because you can’t be serious,’ she said, sure that it was so.

‘I am,’ he said, just as sombre. ‘Unless you wish to see me fight Felkirk.’

‘Of course I do not,’ she said. ‘We will explain to William that there is no reason for that. What I did, I...I did of my own free will. It is over now. The less said about it, the better.’

‘Technically, it is not,’ he said, still sombre. ‘We agreed on four. Once is not four.’

‘Twice,’ she said.

‘Nothing happened that night,’ he said. ‘It is not fair of you to count it.’

‘I have no idea what happened,’ she replied. ‘Because I was inebriated. You should know that. You were the one plying me with spirits.’

‘Champagne is hardly a spirit.’

‘Even worse. It is an aphrodisiac,’ she argued.

‘Not an effective one,’ he countered. ‘Nothing happened.’

‘Then I am glad of it. I would rather go to gaol than to lay with you again,’ she said in frustration. ‘Look at the trouble a single time has caused me.’

‘A marriage will stop the tattle. The rest...’ He paused, as though he had suddenly lost his train of thought. Then he gave a helpless shrug. ‘...can be settled after the wedding.’

‘But I do not want to marry you,’ she said.

‘Then I must fight Felkirk,’ he said with a sigh and stood up, brushing the dust from the knees of his breaches.

‘The devil you will,’ she said, at the end of her patience. ‘I will not risk you shooting my sister’s husband because of me.’ Or being shot himself. Though she loathed the man, she could raise no pleasure at the thought of him bleeding on the ground.

‘It is a matter of honour. Such a challenge cannot be ignored.’

‘Your honour, or mine?’ she said. ‘And what does William have to do with any of it?’

‘B-B...’ He took a breath. ‘Yours and mine. Felkirk’s as well. You are of his family...’

‘A distant part, surely.’

‘Near enough to matter.’

‘Well, do not shoot him. I will give you whatever you want.’

‘I was thinking swords,’ he said, ignoring her offer. ‘As the one who was challenged, I choose the weapon. There is an advantage to fighting with the left hand.’ He gave an experimental lunge.

She tried not to notice his tight calves and the rippling of muscle beneath his coat.

‘You bastard,’ she said in a low breath.

‘Unfortunately, I am legitimate,’ he replied, rising and sheathing an imaginary sword.

‘If you had not run Mr Pratchet off, I could have married him,’ she said.

He looked surprised. ‘You want him instead?’

‘He was concerned for me.’ And the shop, of course. That had been his real concern all along. But if she’d have married him, she’d have had to share his bed. Even now, the thought sent a chill through her. ‘Marrying Mr Pratchet would have been the logical thing to do.’

‘And you are a shining example of feminine logic,’ said Fanworth, expressionless.

‘I thought I had no choice.’

‘You could have married me,’ he suggested.

‘You had not asked,’ she reminded him.

‘I have now. I await your answer.’

He was being sarcastic to goad her. She responded in kind. ‘Why would you want to marry the thief who stole your mother’s necklace? Is the punishment we agreed on no longer enough?’

‘You did not take the necklace,’ he said. ‘I am sorry for having accused you.’

Now she had found the flaw in his logic. ‘You knew that all along. Because you were the one to take it.’

‘I am innocent as well.’

‘You? Innocent? I cannot think of a less accurate word to describe you,’

He shrugged. ‘In this case, it is accurate.’

‘I do not believe you. It is but another lie. You have told many of those, since I met you, I cannot keep track of them.’

‘Think as you will. Today I speak true.’

She sighed, wishing it were true. Then it might still be possible to trust him. ‘It makes no difference now, whether you are lying or not. What’s been done cannot be undone.’

‘Then why not turn it to your advantage?’

‘By marrying you?’

‘Yes.’

It did not sound like help at all. It sounded like the world would think her a title hunter, instead of just a whore. ‘I would be the only marchioness with a jewellery shop of her own,’ she finished glumly.

‘Eventually you would be a d-duchess,’ he added, displaying more vulnerability than she had seen in ages.

‘That would make it worse.’

Just for a moment, she saw another flicker of his old smile, as if the man she had always wanted was still there, hiding beneath the surface. Had this not been her fantasy, when he’d first visited the shop? That he would see past the difference in their different stations and want to wed her?

That had been nothing more than a dream. This was real, and nothing at all like she’d imagined. How could she explain to Justine that the reality was not what she wanted?

There were no words that would help. Her sister saw no further than her own miserable past and would be ecstatic at the prospect of such a marriage.

And the Marquess of Fanworth was still standing before her, awaiting her answer.

‘What will your father say?’ she said, grasping at straws.

His response was little more than the slightest twitch of an eyelid and a brief statement. ‘It does not signify.’ He might not care. He was annoyed that she had asked. But the silence accompanying it spoke loud enough. His family would not like it.

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, praying that when she opened them again, she would see some other solution to the situation at hand. ‘You are adamant, then. We marry, or you duel.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you are willing to marry me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then the only thing preventing a resolution to your argument with Will...’

‘To Felkirk’s argument with me,’ he corrected.

‘The only thing preventing a resolution...’ she repeated.

‘Is you.’ His response was so gentle that, with her eyes closed, she could swear it was Stephen Standish who had spoken.

But then she opened her eyes and saw the cool, aloof Marquess of Fanworth, staring back at her as though he could see the chair behind her. Of course he would marry her. It meant that she would be back in his bed without the inconvenience of clandestine meetings and gossiping staff.

He had tricked her. Again.

She glared at him. ‘Very well, then. Since I have no choice in the matter, I will accept. Send word through Lord William when you have the licence and we will put an end to this nonsense. Until then, I do not wish to see you or speak to you, or receive notes, letters, gifts or anything else. And for God’s sake, stop wandering past my shop, gaping in the windows at me. It is distracting to me and to my customers. And now, good day.’