Cheryl Holt (38 page)

Momentarily, he was sequestered with Margaret, Phillip, Olivia, and Winnie, and the instant they were alone, Margaret whirled on Winnie, seizing the offensive.

“How dare you come here!” Margaret growled. “How dare you interfere—after all I’ve done for you!”

A dangerous calm permeated Winnie. “How dare I?” She took a step toward Margaret, then another. “How dare I?”

Stunning him to his very core, she lunged at Margaret, as if she intended to physically attack her.

Edward vaulted between them and captured Winnie, wrapping his arms around her so that she couldn’t land any blows.

“Winnie! My goodness!” He struggled to restrain her.

“Let me go, Edward,” she begged. “Let me at her.”

Containing her was like trying to hold on to snow. She was in a frenetic state, charging and jabbing at Margaret. If he loosened his grip for even a second, she’d pummel Margaret into a bloody pulp.

What an interesting wedding day it had turned out to be!

He peeked at Phillip, who was watching, not upset in the least by Winnie’s raving. If the decision had been up
to Phillip, he’d have stood aside so that Winnie could assault her cousin.

“What’s this about?” he asked his son.

“It’s Winnie’s secret to divulge,” Phillip maintained.

“Harlot,” Margaret seethed.

“Desist, Margaret!” Edward admonished. “I won’t tolerate that kind of crudity. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you,” she groused, and she glared at Winnie with such malice that Edward was confounded by the savagery of her dislike.

“Winnie?” He shook her. “Tell me.”

Winnie said nothing. She glowered at Margaret with an equal amount of venom, and Olivia intervened in their stalemate, placing a comforting hand on Winnie’s shoulder.

“What is it, Winnie? You can confide in us.”

Olivia’s soothing manner had a beneficial effect. Winnie’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she gulped for air. “Years ago, I had a child.”

So . . . the tale Margaret spun was true
. Edward flinched at the tidings, and abruptly regretted it. Winnie felt his recoil, and pushed away from him.

“I won’t apologize for it. Not ever again,” she hotly proclaimed, and he was extremely disconcerted.

Was he so stuffy, so snobbish and superior, that he would condemn her for the same mistake he’d made himself? Wasn’t he a better man? A more compassionate man?

Winnie spoke to Olivia. “Your father forced Margaret to assist me, though she didn’t want to. She lied and pretended she’d had Rebecca adopted. By a family in Yorkshire.”

After an awkward pause, Olivia prodded, “But she wasn’t?”

“Margaret dumped her at an orphanage, as if she
were a piece of rubbish that could be discarded. She’s been there, waiting for me. All this time.”

“Margaret!” Olivia chided. “Shame on you!”

Margaret wouldn’t be chastised. “As if any respectable couple would have sheltered your bastard! I did the best I could. By her, and by you.”

“How did you learn of this?” Olivia inquired of Winnie.

“When I arrived home, Helen was missing. Margaret had had her kidnapped and sent to the same orphanage.”

Olivia gasped, and frowned at Margaret, her censure manifest. “You told me she was in a hospital.”

“When Phillip and I located them,” Winnie went on, “there had been an incident at the orphanage. A caretaker had tried to hurt Helen, and Rebecca came to her aid, which was against the rules. They’d been evicted by the matron and were living on the streets.”

“On the streets?” Olivia echoed, disbelieving.

Accusingly, both women scrutinized Margaret, and she pulled up to her full height. “You should have left them there, to fend for themselves. Look at the damage they’ve already wrought.”

“How could you?” Olivia was horrified and bewildered. “Helen is a child! A tiny, defenseless child!”

“She’s demented!” Margaret insisted. “She’s deranged, she’s—”

“That’s enough!” Phillip roared at Margaret. “Get out of here, you old witch, before I tear you in half.”

“Curb your tongue!” Margaret imperiously responded. “I will not be ordered about by a servant.”

“Margaret,” Edward interjected, “Phillip is my son.” He was irked by her pomposity, dazed by her duplicity and deception. “I expect you to treat him accordingly.”

“Your son, bah!” As if dispersing a foul odor, she fluttered an arm in the air. “With his illicit ancestry, who
knows what rock he slithered out from under? Besides, you’ve only his common mother’s word for it that he’s yours.” The insult was so coldly delivered, and so reprehensibly thrust, that he couldn’t form an answer, and she kept on before he could regroup. “We’ve delayed too long, and we’re courting scandal. We must get back to the parlor and complete the vows.”

She moved toward the door, but no one went with her.

Edward stared her down, but she was a stern character and couldn’t be cowed.

Did she suppose that they could go on as if nothing had transpired? Did she imagine they would stroll into the main salon, invite the guests to reseat themselves, and conclude what they’d started?

She was amazing. Brash. Overbearing. Rude. Curt. And she had more audacity than anyone he’d ever encountered. No doubt remained that she’d lured him into Olivia’s bedchamber to coerce this farce.

“We’re not going to finish it,” he said. “Not now, anyway.”

“Of course we are,” she declared. “You’ll not dishonor Olivia in front of the entire world. Our family will be a laughingstock, and I won’t stand for it.”

Edward glanced at Olivia. Her cheeks were a bright pink, heated by anger. “How would you like to proceed, Olivia?”

“I can’t continue right away. Too much has happened.”

“My feelings exactly,” he concurred.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Margaret scolded her stepdaughter. “Would you renounce this opportunity? Think! When news of this fiasco leaks out, you’ll never have another chance at marriage. There isn’t a man in the kingdom who will have you. What will become of your precious Helen then?”

“Actually”—Phillip interrupted her tirade—“there is
one
man who would have her.” He gazed at Olivia. “If she’d agree.”

Olivia and Phillip?

Edward assessed the two of them, and when he did, their affection was so obvious. It explained so much: Phillip’s outbursts of temper, his departure from the estate; Olivia’s tepid and waning interest in matrimony, even though she’d traveled to Salisbury for the specific purpose of snagging a husband.

They’d met. How? Without his suspecting it, they’d fallen in love. Why hadn’t either of them admitted it? Why had they permitted this travesty to progress? Did they find him to be such an ogre that they couldn’t have confessed?

They were perfect for each other, and a huge wave of relief billowed over him. He’d never wanted to be with Olivia, and this information furnished him with the ideal pretext to cry off without offending her.

Phillip could have her—with Edward’s blessing—and Edward would escape the marital noose.

The sense of liberty sweeping over him was so refreshing that he was giddy, and he had to stifle a giggle of glee. He was released, unencumbered, and he yearned to shout the tidings to the heavens, yet he couldn’t embarrass Olivia by exhibiting his joy.

He queried, “Phillip, is there something you need to tell me?”

Before Phillip could reply, Olivia pleaded, “Please, Phillip. This is not the time.”

“I should say not!” Margaret huffed. “And it will never be
the time
, so I advise that you consider your modest station and position before you speak out of turn and humiliate both yourself and the earl.”

How fascinating! Margaret knew about their affair. Was he the sole person who’d had no clue?

“Olivia is twenty-three, Countess,” Phillip pointed out. “You have no authority over her.”

“She will
do
as I bid her.”

“No I won’t.” Olivia asserted herself. “You’ve always led me about, but after these . . . these . . . affronts to Helen and Winnie, there’s no opinion you could offer that I would deem to be valid.” She regarded him, her smile a tad tremulous. “I’m sorry, Edward, but I can’t marry you. I never should have accepted your proposal. Somehow, she tricked us into this, and when it was occurring that night in my bedchamber, I hadn’t the courage to refuse you. So I’m doing it now. I’m sure it will save us decades of grief.”

“You can’t do this, Olivia!” Margaret yelled. “You absolutely cannot!”

“It’s not up to you,” Olivia said. She was wearing the gold band he’d slipped onto her finger during the abbreviated ceremony, and she removed it and gave it to him.

Upon witnessing what she’d done, Margaret wailed, “I wash my hands of you! I simply wash my hands of you!”

She stormed out, and in stunned silence, they watched her go.

Edward dropped the ring into the pocket of his vest, even as he wondered if they’d stopped soon enough. Were they already wed? How far did one have to advance through the vows before the union was established?

For months, perhaps years, he foresaw wrangling with the church and the law to have it straightened out, but he was unconcerned.

He was free! Free to do whatever he wanted. Free to marry or not. Free to choose another bride. Free to . . . to . . . pick Winnie, whom he should have selected from the very beginning, titles and blueblood and the peerage be damned!

Evaluating her, he recalled how outraged she’d been
for Rebecca, how she’d fought to get at Margaret, how he’d had to restrain her. She was a wildcat, a tigress, an Amazon, and she could be his if he was brave enough to reach out and grab for her.

As a commoner, she was the antithesis of everything he’d thought he’d wanted. She’d committed the inconceivable; she’d birthed a child out of wedlock. Did any of it matter?

The question surged through him, and the thunderous answer was so clear that he was chagrined he’d felt the need to ponder it. They had both made mistakes, had both sinned and erred, and by tying the knot with her, he could right so many wrongs.

He could love her and cherish her, could provide a stable home for her abused daughter, could give her many more children of her own, who would have the benefits of his wealth and status.

What a merry life they were destined to have!

“Let’s have a round of brandies,” he suggested. “I believe we could all use one, and there are a few things I’d like to get off my chest.” He glared at Phillip. “And there are a few things you need to divulge, as well.”

A sullen crew, his companions loitered, milling about, and it took several minutes to locate the butler, to have the libation poured and served. Just as he tipped the rim of the glass to his lips, a haunting, keening lament could be heard, wafting down from the upper floors.

Listening, then scowling, Olivia mentioned, “That sounds like Margaret.”

Exasperated, Phillip said, “I’d better check it out.”

He raced off, Olivia and Winnie hot on his heels.

Margaret sneaked to the rear stairwell. Thankfully, the staff had herded the guests outside, so she hadn’t run
into a single soul who would have mortified her by asking either what was being discussed behind closed doors, or when the ceremony would resume.

Had anyone dared interrogate her, she was too furious to respond.

Winnie! The strumpet! To have brought her disgraceful urchin to Salisbury! What was the woman thinking? Had she no pride? No shame?

Likely, she assumed the earl would support her, and her waif, too.

Margaret harumphed. She knew the way a man like Edward Paxton would
support
Winnie. She would have to earn her keep, flat on her back, with her legs spread.

Was that the existence she envisioned for herself? To be naught more than Edward’s concubine until he tired of her? What then? Where would she go? What would she do?

Ultimately, he’d toss her over. She’d be alone and destitute, and Margaret would be damned if she’d aid the pitiful Jezebel again.

It was marvelous to be shed of her! She didn’t have to feign friendship. Winnie would have to grow up and walk her path without Margaret’s assistance.

As would Olivia.

“Stupid, stupid girl!” she muttered as she left the stairs and stomped toward the sleeping chambers.

Olivia was about to learn a cruel lesson: A female had no power, and no protection, but what she could garner for herself. While parents lied to girls and told them that matrimony and a spouse would seal their futures, the reality was that a woman couldn’t rely on luck, fate, or a husband. No one would coddle you. You had to fend for yourself.

Two worthless, impoverished husbands had taught her that painful fact.

Life hadn’t slapped Olivia in the face yet, but it would. Olivia was young, a dreamer who presumed that everything would always be resolved for the best.

Well, she’d find out the value of casting her lot with some indigent, illegitimate workingman. He’d had the audacity to claim he was the earl’s son! Of all the nerve!

Olivia could have her coarse scoundrel. She could birth him a gaggle of yapping brats, and reside with him in humble squalor, where there was never enough cash to buy food for their hungry bellies.

When she’d had her fill of poverty and strife, she’d crawl to London, appealing to Margaret for help, but she’d discover how imprudent she’d been.

Olivia could beg on street corners, could starve, become a vagrant. Margaret cared not.

It was time to focus on Penelope.

Praise be, she had a daughter who understood the importance of money and security. Penny might fuss and stew, but she had inherited Margaret’s shrewdness and bold manner of carrying on.

With a bit of pressure, she’d come around to Margaret’s point of view.

Previously, she’d deemed Penny too immature and headstrong to be a wife, but there was no alternative. Olivia had betrayed them, so they needed to change course.

They would journey to London at once, so that they could commence their quest for a spousal candidate. There had to be an available rich gentleman who would sustain them, and Margaret intended to ferret him out. Very, very soon.