Convenient Proposal to the Lady Page 9

  Now, on to Aldermont Hall, to woo Lady Alyssa...the unique and volatile lady he meant to make his bride.

  * * *

  Several days later, Ben urged his mount past the gatehouse and up the long carriage drive to Aldermont. During the hard ride out from London, as he thought about the future, he’d had plenty of time to realise how little he really knew about his prospective bride. He looked forward to filling in the vast gaps in his knowledge of her life and upbringing, looking for areas of common interest.

  He was certain of the essentials, though: her sterling character, a sense of honour as fierce as his own, a keen intelligence and exceptional artistic talent—all contained in a body he was eager to explore.

  He also knew that she’d loved a man who’d been taken from her, a man she might still mourn. A man who had considered her his ‘beloved’ rather than a women wed from a sense of duty.

  He’d have to do his best to convince her of his sincere regard. He wouldn’t try to trick her with false vows of love, but he knew at least one way in which he could demonstrate his appreciation with complete conviction. Desire fired in his blood at the thought of their imminent physical union.

  Reluctantly pulling his thoughts from envisioning that delight, he forced himself to consider his even more imminent arrival. Lady Alyssa’s note hadn’t given him any idea about her parents’ feelings on the matter of their marriage. He didn’t know whether he would be welcomed as a future son, treated with icy civility for having involved the family in scandal, or harangued by an irate father who felt his daughter could have done much better than the natural son of a viscount.

  With such uncertainty over his reception, he’d taken a room at an inn in the nearest village, which had also given him an opportunity to bathe, shave, and don a fresh set of clothing. If her father were going to read him a jobation, he at least wouldn’t incur any criticism for his appearance.

  Dismounting before an impressive, porticoed entrance, he turned over his horse to the groom who come trotting up. Brushing off his lapels, he straightened his shoulders, raised his chin and knocked on the front door.

  An austere butler admitted him, betraying only by a flicker of an eyelid that he recognised Ben’s name. He was led down a long gallery into another wing, deposited in an ornate salon filled with lacquered furniture and told that Lord Aldermont would be informed of his arrival.

  Thus crushing the faint hope that he might see Lady Alyssa first and be forewarned what to expect before having to confront her father.

  Girding himself for a possible lambasting of his character, honour and breeding, Ben paced the room, too agitated to sit on one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs.

  A few minutes later, the butler announced Lord Aldermont. A grey-haired gentleman with a vague resemblance to Lady Alyssa strode into the room, a scowl on his face.

  Ben bowed, a greeting his host acknowledged with a bare incline of his head while he looked Ben up and down. ‘Tawny,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘Benedict Tawny, my lord,’ Ben said evenly.

  ‘Chilford’s by-blow, aren’t you? You have the look of him. Can’t deny I’d hoped for better for her, but at least your father acknowledges you, so you have some prospects. About time you got here. I assume that means you are still cognizant of your duty to marry my daughter, in spite of her disgraceful behaviour?’

  ‘I have been ready to do so ever since the...incident, but deferred to your daughter’s wishes.’

  ‘Don’t know why my lack-witted wife didn’t see the engagement finalised before the chit left Dornton,’ Lord Aldermont said with irritation. ‘In any event, get it done now and there’s still a good chance we can avoid a scandal. Although I don’t understand, if you claim to call yourself a gentleman, why you didn’t insist on it three weeks ago.’

  Masking his irritation, Ben said mildly, ‘I could hardly force Lady Alyssa into accepting my suit.’

  ‘Why not?’ Aldermont waved an impatient hand. ‘She’s female! Which means she has no idea what she wants—or what’s best for her. Oh, I imagine she spouted off at you—been nothing but trouble since she was old enough to open that impertinent mouth—but that’s no excuse. A good cuff to the cheek usually silences her. All I require now is that the marriage be legal and immediate, so you can take her off my hands as soon as possible, ensuring there is the smallest chance of embarrassment to the family.’

  ‘Nothing but trouble...a good cuff to the cheek usually silences her...’ Appalled and affronted on Lady Alyssa’s behalf, Ben could hardly rein in his anger enough to make a civil reply. ‘I feel honoured to secure the hand of so lovely, intelligent and principled a lady,’ he said at last. ‘And one who is so very talented.’

  ‘You mean her little scribbles?’ Aldermont gave a bark of laughter. ‘Indulge her in that if you like, but I’d burn that sketchbook. Get her in the bedchamber and get her breeding—that’s all a wife’s good for. Then take your bed sport elsewhere—I hear you’re quite the man for it,’ he added, giving Ben a look that held a glimmer of admiration.

  For his reputed prowess as a rake, Ben thought disgustedly. Though that fit, given what else the Earl had revealed of his character. No wonder Lady Alyssa was so determined to escape her father’s control.

  Eager himself to quit the presence of a man who made him more inclined to plant him a facer than shake his hand as a future son-in-law, Ben gave the briefest of bows. ‘If you would have me conveyed to Lady Alyssa, I’ll pay my addresses at once.’

  ‘I won’t wrangle over the settlements; she’ll have a fair portion, little as her behaviour warrants it. Chambers, my solicitor in London, will see to it.’ After crossing to tug the bell-pull, Lord Aldermont said, ‘Brewster will show you to her. Good day, Tawny.’

  With that, he nodded to Ben and strode from the room.

  Waiting for the servant to return and escort him to Lady Alyssa’s parlour, Ben paced the carpet, trying to force down his anger, outrage, pity...and awe. In the face of such belittling disdain and discouragement, it was nothing short of amazing that Lady Alyssa had grown into the strong, determined, fiercely independent lady he’d met in the woods at Dornton.

  All the more reason to get her away from her detestable father with all speed.

  As the butler returned to usher him down yet another long hallway, he squelched once again his lingering regret that marriage had to be the price for accomplishing that.

  So occupied was he in trying to calm his tumultuous thoughts, the better to play the ardent suitor to the lady he must woo, it didn’t immediately sink in that, instead of guiding him to another salon, the butler had lead him up several flights of stairs. They then proceeded down a long hallway past what could only be...bedchambers?

  Not slowing until he’d reached the room at the very end of the hall, to Ben’s further surprise, the butler produced a key and unlocked the door. ‘She’s in there,’ he said, gesturing for Ben to enter.

  Chapter Seven

  Ben walked into a damp, chilly chamber so dim, he at first couldn’t make out either furnishings or occupant. As the door clicked shut behind him, he halted, his appalled brain initially too shocked to function.

  Once his vision adjusted, Ben was able to tell that locked shutters blocked any outside light from penetrating through the two windows. The shadowed outlines of what seemed to be a four-poster bed took up the far side of the room. Empty andirons in the bare hearth glinted dully in the light of the stub of a candle set on a table before the fireplace, that bit of tallow providing the only heat or illumination in the room. From within a wing chair facing it, a dull voice said, ‘Tell him I haven’t changed my mind.’

  Lady Alyssa’s voice.

  His mind kicked back into motion on a wave of sensations—darkness, cold, the quiet desolation of her tone. ‘My father locked me in my room until Will’s ship sailed for t
he Indies...’ Was that why she’d written to summon him?

  His chest tight with fury, concern and compassion, he hurried to the chair. ‘You’re safe now, Lady Alyssa. I’m here. It’s over.’

  Blinking, she raised the wax-splattered candlestick to peer at his face. ‘Mr Tawny?’ she said at last.

  ‘Yes, it’s Ben Tawny,’ he confirmed, kneeling before her in the brightest of the candle’s feeble light.

  She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe he was not an illusion. Tentatively, she reached out to touch his face. ‘Ben Tawny,’ she whispered wonderingly. ‘It really is you. But...why have you come?’

  His heart turning over with pity and distress, he took her hands—her small, icy hands—in his large, warm ones. ‘I came as soon as I got your note. You wrote that you’d changed your mind, remember? You finally gave in to my pleas and agreed to become my wife.’

  In the candle’s glow, he could see she was wearing another outdated, high-waisted gown, the material thin with wear, with not even a shawl to ward off the chill. Her hair, though neatly pinned, was dull, as if she’d not washed it for some time. A quick glance revealed neither washbasin nor towels on the dresser.

  Had her father denied her those comforts as well? he wondered, another wave of fury rippling through him.

  She was shaking her head. ‘But I haven’t changed my mind. And I didn’t write you.’

  Ben sucked in a breath, the implications almost too much to comprehend. If Lady Alyssa hadn’t written him—who had? Her father, hoping that seeing for himself the cruel conditions in which she was being held would spur him to greater eloquence in trying to convince her to marry—and take off Aldermont’s hands the daughter he disdained?

  Perhaps. But seeing her like this also spurred in Ben a desire to take Lord Aldermont apart limb from limb.

  Reining in his rage, he said, ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.’ But when he tried to gently stroke her cheek, she gasped and recoiled.

  His fingers froze in mid-caress. ‘A good cuff on the cheek usually silences her...’

  Was she bruised and battered, as well as frozen?

  It was too dark to tell.

  Fury erupting, with a growl, Ben seized the poker off the cold hearth and strode over to the first barred window. Wishing it were her father he was assaulting instead of the shutters, he slid the poker under the frame and yanked savagely, jerking the iron rod back and forth until the wood shattered. Pounding the frame until the shutter lay in jagged pieces on the floor, he went to the other window and disposed of the shutter blocking the light there, then came back to the hearth.

  Gently pulling Lady Alyssa from her chair, he led her to the window, where, as she blinked against the sudden brightness of the afternoon light, he could better inspect her. Although he’d already suspected what he would find, the outline of bruises on her cheeks and forehead—some the livid purple-red of new injury, some fading to green and yellow, sickened him.

  Under the law, a woman was the property of her husband or father, who could beat her as he willed. Even kill her, without much danger of prosecution.

  He wanted to howl in outrage and anguish.

  ‘I’m so sorry. So very sorry! I should never have left you at Dornton.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known what he would do.’

  ‘I should have known,’ Ben ground out. ‘You told me plainly enough what he did before. He starved you, as well?’

  ‘Bread and water.’

  ‘And he...beat you?’ He had to ask, though the answer was clearly written in the bruises on her face.

  She nodded. ‘I thought he might...kill me. Sometimes I hoped he would. Then it would be over.’ Her dull eyes sparked in sudden fury. ‘I asked for Aunt Augusta’s money. He laughed at me, told me I’d never have it—but my husband would, if I gave in and agreed to marry. I told him I would never g-give in.’

  Her voice broke, along with the last of Ben’s control. Shaking with anguish, remorse and fury, he wrapped her in his arms, relieved beyond words when, after a second’s hesitation, she buried her head against his chest and clung to him.

  For a long time, he simply held her, heating her chilled body with his warmth while he wrestled to bring his rampaging emotions under control. Bad enough for her to be mocked, pitied and ruined. But to be physically assaulted on top of that, by the person who should have been charged with her well-being was...unendurable.

  As a child, he could do nothing but look on helplessly when men made crude jokes about his mother. When women cut her, crossing to the other side of the street if they encountered her walking into town. When, under cover of darkness, boys from the village pelted their windows with rocks, the ugly taunt ‘whore!’ echoing among the shattering glass.

  Rage and years of remembered torment burned away any remaining hesitation, regret, or longing for the life that might have been. As Lady Alyssa trembled in his arms, Ben hardened his resolve to proceed down the path honour dictated.

  He hadn’t been able to rescue or protect his mother. But he could rescue and protect this innocent. Whatever it took, he must convince her to let him.

  A few moments later, with a deep sigh, she pushed away. With infinite tenderness, he let her go.

  ‘I don’t know who wrote to you, Mr Tawny, but I appreciate your coming. Though I still can’t marry you. I refuse to yield to my father’s bullying. Nor can I allow him to use his treatment of me to try to force you into it.’

  Her resistance wasn’t logical, but he understood it. He’d seen the same phenomena in the army near the end of a fierce and prolonged siege: exhausted, wounded and overwhelmed men, so battered by fatigue and paralysed by a desperate resistance they initially refused to yield their posts to a relief force.

  Having already resolved to oppose her father to the death, she wouldn’t be convinced to abandon that stand by appeals to her own well-being. He’d need a different argument to persuade her.

  As he led her back to the chair, he said, ‘I was going to come anyway, even before I got the letter. To try again to convince you to marry me. Because I think it would be best for both of us.’

  ‘I already told you—’

  ‘Please, hear me out,’ he interrupted. ‘It’s not just the reputation you don’t care about that our marriage would safeguard. As I told you at Dornton, I think we would be well matched. We’re already friends, aren’t we? I admire your lively intelligence, your compassion, your sense of honour. I find you attractive, and there’s a passion between us that I can’t wait to explore. I think we could build a mutually satisfying marriage. But more than that, I am now pleading with you to do me, not just the honour, but the favour of marrying me. A confidential consultation with my closest associates confirmed what I already suspected: should word of this scandal get out—and the longer we delay marrying, the more likely it is that some word will get out—the odds are that it would quite adversely impact my career.’

  ‘Impact your career?’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes. It would be hard for electors in my district to believe I am sincere in my appeals for a government that values the worth of every citizen, should they find out I callously ruined the life of an innocent lady. Not only would electors have doubts, but leaders of the party would have to seriously question my morals, integrity and honesty. It could be the death knell for any chance I might have to occupy high office and gain the influence to move forward the reforms I see as vital for our nation.’

  He watched her face as he spoke, hoping his appeal would engage her compassion on his behalf and sway her resolve.

  ‘Isn’t it just as likely the scandal would be a nine days’ wonder, soon supplanted by the next and eventually forgotten?’ she countered.

  ‘Perhaps within the highest levels of “polite” society, where morality is sometimes...lax. But not
among the more responsible gentry, to whom we have been espousing the highest of ideals in arguing for reform. How could others believe I am truly interested in promoting principle, rather than merely seeking political power, if my behaviour shows I have no principles?’

  She nodded slowly. ‘So...you believe the chances of the scandal surfacing to harm your career are great enough to justify marrying a near-stranger?’

  ‘If that near-stranger will do me the honour of accepting my hand,’ he said with a smile. ‘What’s more, if we marry, you will finally have access to the money that belongs to you.’

  ‘If we marry, it becomes your money,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Not if the settlements are written to reserve it for your use.’

  Another glimmer sparked in her dull eyes. ‘You would agree to that?’

  ‘I would. Marry me and you can claim what you say you desire most: the funds to pursue your art when, where and how you want. I admire your drawings and believe in your talent. I’d be delighted to do all I can to help promote your work.’

  He could sense the hope stirring in her. ‘It would be a...marriage of convenience, then? You would allow me the funds to travel all over Britain, whenever, wherever, and for however long I wished, so I might complete my sketches before the publisher’s deadline? And not object to my publishing them?’

  ‘I would support you in that aim,’ he confirmed.

  ‘In return, I’d pledge to allow you to go your own way, not interfering with your life or your...choice of companions,’ she vowed, excitement beginning to colour her voice. ‘You’re certainly welcome to whatever dowry you can wangle from my father, to use for your campaigns and political work. It could be a...a bargain between friends.’

  ‘Friends, yes, though I’m not interested in your money—keep that for your own work. There’s also the passion we’d no longer need to restrain—a most attractive inducement to marriage.’

  To his surprise, she looked away, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. ‘I suppose you’d insist on...a husband’s rights.’