Confessions From an Arranged Marriage (4 page)

Chapter 4

T
he engagement between The Marquis of Blakeney and Miss Minerva Montrose, to counterbalance its scandalous origins, was conducted with the greatest degree of ceremony. Some of the formalities were more acceptable to Blake than others.

The worst was having to ask Sebastian Iverley for permission to address his sister-in-law. Not that he had anything to say in the matter. The duke had got together with old Owl and agreed that, under the circumstances, it would take too long to apply to Minerva's father in Shropshire. So Sebastian acted in Mr. Montrose's absence and gave his consent to the match in a manner that made it clear he'd just as soon throttle Blake.

The feeling, as always, was mutual.

The proposal itself was performed in the presence of his father and Lord Iverley in the drawing room at the Marquis of Chase's house in Berkeley Square.

He asked Minerva (thankfully not on one knee) for the great honor of her hand in marriage.

The honor was all hers, she replied with a curtsey.

He begged not to be kept in suspense. She accepted his offer.

He expressed his enormous relief that she had condescended to make him the happiest of men.

She gave him her hand. He kissed it, rather hastily.

The play went off without a hitch, neither forgetting the prescribed lines.

His last hope, that she would prefer any alternative to marriage to a man she'd always openly disliked, was dashed. Failing a miracle, he and Minerva Montrose would shortly be bound together as long as they both should live.

S
omething about London life Minerva could never adapt to was the propriety of being driven ridiculously short distances. Impatient by nature, she preferred to walk and never minded hopping over the gutters and avoiding horse droppings. This evening the short distance from Berkeley Square to Vanderlin House in Piccadilly would have been much quicker on foot; an altercation between the drivers of a brewer's dray and a high perch phaeton blocked the exit from the square.

She therefore had more than a few minutes alone with her fiancé, who had arrived with the ducal town coach and a ceremonial complement of footmen to escort her to dinner with his family. The generous dimensions of the vehicle allowed the engaged couple to avoid all danger of physical contact while sitting side by side on the well-padded bench. Minerva stared out of the window, where the quarrel proceeded noisily with no sign of ending.

“When do you expect Diana to arrive?” Blakeney said, abruptly breaking the strained silence.

“Not before tomorrow evening. Perhaps the day after. She tends to be most unwell in the mornings and Sebastian won't let her travel unless she feels better.”

“A very solicitous husband, my cousin.”

“Yes he is. He and Diana are very happy together.”

He failed to detect her defiant tone, or chose to ignore it. “I had the impression our relations were conspiring not to leave us alone together. In Iverley's absence I expected a different protector for you.”

She turned to face him for the first time. His flawless features were so lacking in expression it had to be deliberate. He must be feeling something; anger or remorse were possibilities. Or both.

“Am I in danger of being ravished in the streets of London?”

The provocation hit its target and elicited a discernible wince. “Never,” he said. “I learned my lesson there.”

“You mean, to make sure you have the right woman before you start . . .” she trailed off, unable to think of a delicate way of putting it.

“Precisely.”

“Do you make a habit of slipping out of ballrooms to engage in . . . ?” It was beginning to annoy her that she didn't possess the proper vocabulary for this conversation, or to conduct the conversation in a proper fashion. As it happened, she knew several words for the activity, none of them repeatable in polite society. Since Blakeney doubtless knew even more, it was illogical that she couldn't bring herself to utter them. “Do you often get drunk and attempt to . . .
do that
to ladies you find lying about in libraries? Good lord, you put your head up my . . .”

“No,” he cut in to her swelling tirade. “I do not. And I'm sorry. I owe you an apology.”

“Yes,” she said. “You do.”

“I've tried to make recompense in the only way I can.”

“I wish I could say I appreciate it, but marriage to you was not the goal of my life.” She wrestled with her anger, sought a measure of grace. “I suppose it wasn't your plan either.”

“No, but I have to marry someone. I was engaged before . . .” his voice trailed off.

“Were you about to mention that you once proposed to my sister?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I thought it might be indelicate.”

“Indelicate or not, the fact that you were once engaged to Diana won't go away. Are you still in love with her?”

“No.”

Minerva believed it. In fact she'd never thought him in love with Diana. His brief unofficial betrothal to her sister had been spurred by the latter's fortune, inherited from her first husband. But he'd certainly been attracted to her, another dark beauty like his current mistress.

Her own fair coloring was completely different. Not that she'd ever, in her entire life, considered trying to win Blakeney's attention. She'd always known him to be handsome, beautiful even. Viewed objectively, there could hardly be a better looking man in England. But he had nothing she wanted in a spouse and apparently he felt the same way about her.

“Look,” he said, “it appears we are to be wed whether either of us wishes it or not. Can we start by trying to be polite?”

A reasonable proposal, but not one she was yet ready to accept. She stared straight ahead, lips pursed. Her still sharp anger battled a rational desire for civil relations with her spouse. In the dim confines of the carriage she was very conscious of his masculinity and what that meant in terms of marriage. In theory she knew what happened in the conjugal bed, but she'd mostly thought about the less intimate aspects of the wedded state. Added to her discomfort was the recollection of her shock at waking up and finding a man's head touching parts of her she'd never display in public. Good Lord. Inches farther and he'd have been at her . . .

Was she really going to go through with this marriage? Wouldn't it be better to say no and live with the consequences? She wished with all her heart that she could turn back the clock, return to the optimism with which she'd arrived at Vanderlin House for the ball. She'd been poised to seek the useful future she'd planned for years. Thanks to the careless advances of this drunken lord, it had all turned to ashes. She blinked back tears of rage and continued to say nothing.

He reached out a hand to cover hers and even through their gloves she flinched at his touch.

“I'm sorry.” He pulled back as though burned. “Why did you accept me? I expected you to refuse.”

“Wanted me to refuse, you mean. I'm so sorry but, hard as the decision was, I preferred you to the ruination of my reputation and a lifelong banishment to the country.” She held her forefingers half an inch part. “By this much.”

“I didn't think you cared that much for the opinion of the world. I've witnessed occasions when you demonstrated little care for your precious reputation. Like the time you were arrested for attending a seditious meeting.”

Blake no longer sounded conciliatory. It was too bad that he knew about some of the little problems she'd run into in the past, notably the time two years ago when the magistrates had raided a gathering of political reformers she'd sneaked out to join.

“My arrest was completely unreasonable,” she said crossly, “and very likely illegal. Besides, it was hushed up. What you did to me in the library can't be. Now I can never achieve my ambition in life. Do you realize I was about to become engaged to a young man with a brilliant political career ahead of him? Obviously I am no use to any other man now. I am regarded as the Marquis of Blakeney's leavings.”

“I'm sorry,” he said again. “I wish I could make things different. I wish there was something I could do.”

“I don't suppose you'd like to be Prime Minister?”

He shuddered visibly. “God, no.”

That's what she thought.

T
hough a small family party, half a dozen liveried and bewigged footmen attended to the needs of the five diners. Enough leaves had been removed to reduce the table to an almost domestic size, making the dining room at Vanderlin House with its gilt coffered ceiling and ornate velvet drapery appear more than usually cavernous. Blake couldn't remember ever passing a convivial evening there, and he expected tonight to be no exception.

The duke took his place at the head of the table in a chair that resembled a throne. When Blake and his sisters had crept out of the nursery to explore the forbidden wonders below, he'd sit there and pretend he was the king and demand the girls curtsey to him. Sometimes they did, especially Amanda, the youngest. The older girls treated him with less respect. None of the three was present to celebrate his betrothal. Aside from Minerva, the only guest was his brother-in-law Gideon Louther, Maria's husband and the duke's chief parliamentary henchman.

Minerva, seated in the place of honor to the right of the throne, was being subjected to his father's most flattering attention. The old man possessed a good deal of old-fashioned charm when he cared to exercise it, which wasn't often and never on his own son. The duke wanted something from her, of course. Blake sensed his lips curling into an involuntary sneer. Louther and the duchess were already exchanging political gossip so Blake listened to his father ascertain whether his future daughter-in-law preferred
potage à la reine
or
à la russe
.

“We must make sure the servants know your favorite dishes,” the duke said.

“Thank you, Your Grace. You are very kind.”

“Not at all. Since one must eat, one may as well enjoy it, especially in one's own home. Vanderlin House will of course be your home much of the time.”

“Not for many years, I trust.”

“In less than a month you will be living under my roof. You must speak to the steward about any preferences you have about furnishings too. I daresay the duchess will show you the rooms after dinner.”

Blake, in midsip, almost spat out his wine. “Here, sir? Here? We have no intention of living at Vanderlin House.”

“Of course you will live here. There's plenty of room and your mother will be able to instruct Minerva in her future duties. You too. It's time you played a more active part in the affairs of the dukedom. With the election likely this year you should be working with Gideon on our prospects.”

“If you need my help, let me have the management of Mandeville. I proved myself capable in Devon.”

“Live in the country, Blakeney? Can you think of nothing but horses and hunting? You wouldn't wish to live outside London, would you, my dear?”

The duke didn't expect Minerva to answer, which was just as well since there was no tactful response she could give without contradicting one of the two men.

“Naturally we shall live part of the year in London,” Blake said. “In our own establishment.”
A very small part of the year,
he promised silently.

“The business of the Dukes of Hampton is the business of the nation and has ever been so. It's time you gained some respect for our family tradition. You are, after all, our future.”

“Perhaps I don't wish to follow tradition. Perhaps I see a different future.”

“History is greater than the petty concerns of one man.” He glared at Blake, the faded blue eyes still fierce in his papery face. “I will not allow the work of generations of Vanderlins to end with me.”

And that was why the duke wanted them here, why he wanted this marriage. An heir, a different more satisfactory heir. It must gall him that Blake, whom he never trusted with anything, had to be the instrument of getting the son. But after that, he had no doubt, his father would wish to control him.

Blake wasn't going to live at Vanderlin House being instructed by Gideon. And it would serve the duke right if Minerva lacked her family capacity for producing boys. Instead of arguing, which was pointless, he answered his father's challenge with a careless shrug and addressed his soup. He'd chosen the
consommé
over either of the
potages
and wondered if there was a pun in there somewhere.
Consommé . . . consummation . . . or not.

There was one sure way of foiling the duke's plans for this marriage.

Conversation of the kind he'd been hearing all his life washed over him: Who would get which office or bishopric or ambassadorship? How would so-and-so vote on which bill? Who should have one of the parliamentary seats over which the family held influence or sway? Who deserved the family jewels, to be “elected” to one of the Vanderlin pocket boroughs? Blake paid scant attention.

What would the duke do if a year passed, two years, with no sign of a child of either sex, let alone a son? Would he blame his worthless son? Women were usually held responsible for lack of fertility.

A name penetrated his thoughts.

“Remind me, Gideon, who we are supporting in Westborough?” the duke said.

“Geoffrey Huntley.”

“Can he afford it?”

“It appears so. He is using his own funds. I implied we'd find him an easier seat if he doesn't win Westborough. It'll be a hard-fought election and it won't come cheap. I'm pleased we do not have to pay the expenses this time.”

The duke nodded his approval and Blake enjoyed the irony. He wished he could tell his superior father that he was, indeed, paying for Huntley's election, with income from his estates by way of his son's allowance and a little ungentlemanly extortion.