Earl of Scandal (London Lords) (15 page)

Ten

“Merissa! Where have you been?” Elizabeth called out as Merissa drove the wagon into the yard.

Merissa resisted the urge to turn the vehicle around and speed away. The last thing she desired was to face Elizabeth. She wanted desperately to be alone.

Reluctantly, she pulled the wagon to a halt beside the barn. Elizabeth came rushing up. She still wore her apron, and her hair was up in a mob cap. “While you were gone, a note arrived from Lord Bedlington.” She waved a packet excitedly. “Aren’t you going to open it and see what he has to say?”

Merissa felt her heart turn to stone. She didn’t want to read the note. She couldn’t bear to face that devastating pain once more. Christian didn’t want her. He’d been very careful how he told her, treated her as if she were a half-witted, helpless ninny, but the fact of his rejection remained.

“It might be good news.” Elizabeth’s voice bubbled with excitement. What did she think, that Christian was going to propose marriage? What a jest! He didn’t even desire to spend one night with her, let alone a lifetime.

Sighing, Merissa tied the reins to the rail, then climbed down and took the packet from her sister.

There was no help for it. She’d have to open the missive or Elizabeth would never leave her alone.

She broke the wafer and unfolded the note. It was very short. A few words written in surprisingly refined and elegant script: Dear Merissa, I’m very sorry about last night. Christian.

The writing blurred before her eyes. If she’d received this before her conversation with Christian, she might have been left with a shred of pride. But now she knew without a doubt that not only did he have no further interest in her, he obviously regretted what had already transpired between them.

“Well, what does he say?”

Merissa forced herself to answer. “He says he’s sorry. No doubt he’s apologizing for the rudeness of his friends last night.”

“I don’t know why he should apologize. He was the model of good manners. And I’m not certain you could call most of those people at the party his friends. He didn’t seem to spend much time with either the local gentry or the other guests from London. I don’t think he even much likes them.”

“But they are his kind,” Merissa spat out. “A bunch of stuck-up, haughty swells.”

“Merissa!” Elizabeth shook her head, frowning. “What’s gotten in to you? Lord Bedlington behaved as the absolute model of consideration and charm. How can you speak so unkindly of him?”

Merissa pressed her lips together. She’d better watch what she said or Elizabeth would guess that more had gone on between her and Christian than simply dancing or talking. “I suppose I’m just out of sorts because of poor Charles’ predicament. I went for a drive to clear my head, but it didn’t help.”

“Oh, yes, Charles.” Elizabeth sighed. “Well, while you were gone, I did try to think of what we should do. The fact is, I do know where some money is, although I don’t know if it will be enough.”

“Money?”

“I never told you, but when I was digging around in Mama’s trunk, I found a bag of coins in the bottom. I think she meant for it to be used for our `coming out’ in London, but then Aunt Lisette died and there was no one to sponsor us.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Merissa demanded. “You must have found it ages ago!”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought perhaps a situation would arise where one of us might need it.” Her gaze shyly came up to meet Merissa’s. “If perhaps there was to be a marriage proposal, for example.”

Merissa let out her breath. “Elizabeth, if you want to use the money to plan your wedding to Richard, then you have my blessing.” She grasped her sister’s arm. “Has he asked you?”

“Richard?” Elizabeth looked startled. “No, no, I wasn’t really thinking of him.”

“Not thinking of Richard? Then who...?”

Merissa released her sister’s arm as the horrifying realization dawned. Of course, Elizabeth would not put away the money for her own wedding. She’d been saving it for Merissa. For when Christian Faraday, the earl of Bedlington, proposed to her.

Merissa felt her face flush nine shades of red. Dear heavens, Elizabeth was a romantic fool. Even more so than she was. At least she’d known in her heart that the earl’s interest in her did not involve marriage.

“Well.” She fought for control. “I... that is... perhaps we should go count the money and see how much there is.”

“I’ve already done that. There’s about fifty pounds.”

Fifty pounds. A mere fraction of what Charles owed. Still, it might be enough to stave off his creditors for a time. “It will certainly help,” Merissa answered.

“But how will we get it to him? Did the letter Charles sent mention an address where he could be reached?”

Merissa nodded.

“Then we must get someone to deliver it. Perhaps Bob could go. I don’t think he’s ever been to London, but I’m certain he could manage it.”

Merissa envisioned gruff, dutiful Bob delivering the bag of money to Charles. But what would Charles do with the fifty pounds? Would he behave responsibly, pay off his debts and try to get his life back in order? Or would he succumb to temptation and attempt to use the money to win back some of his losses?

Anxiety gnawed at her. Charles was obviously in this predicament because he could not control his urge for gaming. To send him money without making certain that he used it wisely would be the height of folly. Abruptly, she realized what she must do. She must take the money to Charles herself. She must rescue him from his weakness.

Dispatching her sister to fetch Bob, feeling only slightly guilty at her subterfuge, Merissa rushed into action. In her bedchamber, she stuffed extra clothing and toilette items into a valise. She must be long gone before Elizabeth and Bob arrived home. If she drove the team hard, she would reach St. Alban’s in time to catch the mail coach. She didn’t like the idea of leaving the wagon and team at a posting station, but there was no help for it. Old Rosie and Winifred would never make it all the way to London. The mares would have to rest every few miles. Neither could she afford to spend money to rent a team and rig. She must save what little coins she had for when she reached London.

Once her things were packed, she hurried to the pantry where Elizabeth had hidden the bag of money. It felt very heavy as she stood on tiptoe and pulled it down from the upper shelf. She took out a few coins and put them into the pocket of her pelisse, then returned to the bedchamber to pack the rest of the money with her other things.

Carrying the heavy valise, she left the house and started towards the team, still harnessed and waiting patiently by the barn. Then, she suddenly dumped the valise in the back of the wagon and hurried back to the house.

She found the letter from Charles where she’d left it, in the bedroom on the nightstand. She took the letter, glanced once more at the scribbled message and quickly went out.

“411 Rosemary Lane” was the address her brother had given. She could not help wondering how far it was from where Christian lived.

Christian—she had to stop thinking about him. Pretend that the last few weeks had never happened. A sharp pang flashed through her. Then she squared her shoulders and went out.

~ ~ ~

This was the hardest thing he’d ever done, Christian decided as he approached the Cassell residence. Somehow, he had to make things right with Merissa. If only she weren’t such a stubborn, difficult woman. Of course, that was part of what he liked about her. She stood up to him, challenged him, and enflamed him. She made him feel alive, made him care about something for the first time in years.

He was grateful for that. And because of what she had done for him, he wanted to do something for her. He wanted her safe and happy, and her brother safe and happy as well.

But that was the limit to what he could give her. He couldn’t marry Merissa. The very idea was absurd. They came from worlds that were so far apart it was laughable.

Christian set his jaw as he turned into the yard. He was going to hurt Merissa. As much as he hated the notion, there was no help for it. Better to do it now, rather than to break her heart completely after things had progressed even further. He’d do what he should have done first thing this morning, rather than cowardly dispatching a note. He’d speak to her frankly. Tell her how much he enjoyed their time together, how beautiful and desirable he found her. Then, he would explain the impossibility of the relationship continuing.

At the same time, he would reassure her that he intended to settle Charles’s difficulties. She would not have to worry about repaying him. He would explain how being around her had changed him and made him a better person. That had been her gift to him, and it was great enough to cancel out any monetary debt.

Then, having been as gentle and considerate as he could be, he would say good-bye.

His teeth gritted involuntarily. It was not so easy to face the idea of never seeing Merissa again, of severing the relationship altogether. What was the proper etiquette in such a situation? Should he briskly speak the fatal words, shake her hand, and then walk to the door? Or, was he allowed to kiss her good-bye and indulge in one last taste of heaven before he went back to his selfish, meaningless life?

Tightness gripped his throat. He’d best not kiss her or touch her. There was no telling what would happen if he indulged that weak, irresponsible part of himself. He might well backslide altogether, and end up sprawled with her on the settle in the Cassells’ tidy parlor.

The image evoked set a rush of hunger through his body. He struggled to quell his uncomfortable response. The next moment, Elizabeth came dashing out the door. Her pale, stricken face was more than enough to jolt him back to practical concerns.

“Lord Bedlington, thank goodness you’re here!” she cried. “Merissa’s gone to London by herself! I can hardly think what to do! Please go after her. Please make certain she’s safe!”

It took some coaxing to get the whole story from her, but once he had, Christian was stunned. A moment later, he’d promised to retrieve both Merissa and Charles, on his honor as a gentleman.

“Oh, thank you, Lord Bedlington.” Elizabeth gazed up at him with her lovely, saintly face, and Christian suddenly knew that his old dissolute self was lost to him forever.

~ ~ ~

As the mail coach clattered to a halt and the driver announced Lombard Street, Merissa sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She felt tired and wretched, and her whole body ached from the jostling of the coach and the strain of being crammed in with so many other passengers. But she had made it to London. Now, it was only a matter of finding Charles.

She waited her turn to alight, then paused, valise in hand, and gazed around the bustling station. “Keep a firm grip upon your bag, dearie,” warned Mrs. Bennett, the older woman who had sat beside Merissa for most of the journey. “London is swarming with cutpurses and ruffians. If ye turn your back for a moment, they’ll rob ye blind.”

Merissa nodded and clutched her bag more tightly. She’d always heard that London was a dangerous, lawless place. Dear heavens, what was she doing here alone?

Then she thought of Charles. She could not give in to the vapors. She had a task to fulfill, and she would complete it, as long as there was breath in her body.

Keeping a firm grip on her valise with one hand, she used her other to pull Charles’ letter from the pocket of her pelisse. She memorized the address he had given and replaced the letter. Now, to find a hackney to take her there.

The first cab driver she approached shook his head. “Nay, miss, I don’t take no ladies to the east end of London. ‘Twouldn’t be safe.”

“But my brother’s staying there,” Merissa said in exasperation. “I have to find him.”

The driver remained firm. “I won’t have a little chit like you on my conscience. Got a daughter nears to your age. Wouldn’t never allow her to go about in that part o’ town. Too close to the docks.”

“I’ll pay you double,” Merissa said, wondering what exorbitant amount he would request.

A twinge of interest flickered in the man’s eyes. Then he shook his head. “Not worth it. You’ve a sweet, innocent face. I’d not want it on my conscience.”

Merissa turned away in disgust and approached another hackney. Surely there was a cab driver in London who would not be so stiff-necked and stubborn about the matter.

The next fellow raised his eyebrows when she gave him the address, but a moment later he was telling her the cost of the fare.

Merissa allowed the man to help her into the carriage. Settling herself carefully on the dingy seat, she heaved a sigh. This part of the ordeal was over. Now she had only Charles to deal with. Would he be relieved when she gave him the money? Remorseful that he had ended up in this predicament? What if the paltry sum she had brought was not enough to pay the interest on the debt? What if they dragged him off to prison anyway?

Cold dread rose up inside Merissa. What was wrong with her? Christian had offered her the money—the full amount—and she had refused him. Why had she been so stubborn and foolish? How would she ever forgive herself if Charles’ life were ruined because of her stupid pride?

She sighed again. Christian Faraday had the most deleterious effect on her. Around him, she turned into another sort of person, a person she did not like very much. A woman who was pathetic and vain and hen-witted. He aroused all these strange feelings inside her. Feelings that her sensible, practical former self would never have experienced.

That Merissa Cassell would have graciously accepted his offer. She would have done anything to save her brother.

“Damn you, Christian Faraday,” she muttered. “Why did you have to be driving so fast that night? Why couldn’t you have chosen some other poor woman to run your carriage into?”

Anxiety made her stomach churn, and fatigue made her head ache. Merissa leaned back against the squabs and tried to block out the tormenting thoughts so she could rest.

She must have dozed, for the next thing she knew, the driver was calling out loudly. “Miss! Miss! We’re here. This be Rosemary Lane.”