Love's Promise (17 page)

“Michael left days ago. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going or when he’d be back.”

“How awfully rude.”

“She thinks he might be making arrangements for Miss Carrington.”

“For whom?”

“That horrid waif who barged into my engagement party.”

“Why would he bother with her?”

“Why, indeed?” Rebecca fumed.

She went over to the fireplace, and she grabbed a figurine off the mantle and flung it against the marble chimney. It shattered with a satisfying crash.

“Honestly, Rebecca, must you have a tantrum as if you were a spoiled toddler?”

“My wedding is in eight weeks!” she seethed. “Eight weeks!”

“You needn’t remind me.”

“The Wainwrights were the ones who insisted we hurry.
They
were the ones who wanted a limited betrothal and a fast finish. Haven’t I compromised on every detail?”

“You’ve been a veritable saint.”

“I’m having fewer parties, smaller balls, and less celebration.”

“Yes, you are.”

“We set such an early date that there’s hardly any opportunity for people to make a fuss over us, yet he tots off with another woman as if he has no responsibility to me.”

“He’s a wretch; I always said so. But then, so was his brother. So is his father. It runs in the family. If you want to be a duchess someday, you’d best get used to it.”

“Never!” Rebecca vowed. “I will never get used to it!”

“What about the fête Lady Belmont is hosting for the two of you on Wednesday? Will he be there?”

“How would I know?” Rebecca threw up her hands in disgust. “And how about Lady Rosewood’s soiree on Saturday? Am I to stand in the receiving line by myself, making excuses about where he is?”

The prior evening, Michael had missed a supper to which they’d accepted an invitation, and Rebecca hadn’t had a clue that he wasn’t coming. He hadn’t contacted her or sent an explanation. She’d learned of the snub directly before the meal when he’d failed to arrive and the hostess had anxiously inquired if they should start without him.

Rebecca had breezily instructed her to proceed, and she’d had to simper and chat through the whole mortifying affair as if nothing was wrong while every shrew in attendance was snickering behind her fan.

For that humiliation alone, she would kill him a dozen times over.

She picked up a vase and pitched it as she had the figurine. It crashed, too, breaking into even tinier pieces.

“I will give him exactly one week to return,” she swore. “In seven days, if he’s not in our foyer, on his knees begging for forgiveness, I will go find him and drag him back here myself.”

“I’d like to see that,” her father mumbled.

“Trust me: it won’t be pretty.”

“Where is he?”

The Duke glared at Rebecca’s father, Harold Talbot. He didn’t like the man, but then, the Duke didn’t like anyone.

“I don’t know.”

“Bloody liar,” Harold accused.

“Careful, Harold. I’ll put up with a lot from you, but not that.”

“Rebecca is up in arms.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“With all her clamoring, my household is in an uproar. There’s not a minute’s peace to be had.”

“Female hysteria can be an irritation. I never tolerate it myself.”

“Your son is a cad and a nuisance.”

The Duke rather thought that Michael was too soft, but he wasn’t about to debate the issue with Talbot. He stood.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye!” Harold sputtered. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Yes, except for: Get out of here now, or I’ll ring for the footmen and have them toss you out on the lawn.”

“Michael is toying with my daughter’s affections.”

“She has no
affections
, and we both know it.”

Harold’s cheeks flushed with fury. “If you imagine I’ll sit by and let him embarrass her to the entire world, I’ll... I’ll...”

Harold couldn’t conjure a consequence dire enough to sufficiently threaten. Rebecca was desperate to be a duchess, which meant she was desperate for the marriage to occur. If Michael didn’t show up until the vicar was at the altar with prayer book in hand, she would eagerly go through with the ceremony.

“Look Harold,” the Duke easily fibbed, “there were a few problems at Henley Hall. Michael had to deal with them. Tell Rebecca he’ll be gone two weeks, perhaps three.”

“You expect me to inform her that he’ll be gone three weeks when the wedding is in eight? You expect me to advise her that he’ll miss three weeks of celebrating the greatest occasion of her life?”

“It’s the reality of the situation. She’ll have to cope.”

“Has he no conscience? No shame? For all her pomp and pride, Rebecca is a twenty-year-old girl, who’s been waiting for this moment since she was a baby. How dare he ruin it for her!”

“I’ll make your feelings very clear when I next speak with him.”

“You do that.”

“I’ll have him buy her a big, fat diamond as an apology. An expensive bauble should soothe her ruffled feathers.”

“You’re a horse’s ass.”

“And you’re any better? Just because you’ve annoyed me, I ought to write to Michael and notify him that I’ve called the wedding off.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would,” the Duke bluffed, needing the match and Rebecca’s money much more than he wanted Harold to know, “so don’t tempt me. Go away before my patience is completely exhausted.”

Harold stormed out, hurling over his shoulder, “You haven’t heard the last of me.”

“I’m trembling in my boots.”

Once the door slammed behind him, the Duke sank down in his chair, his mind awhirl with speculation.

Where was the dratted boy? What was he up to?

Without a word of explanation, he and Fanny Carrington had vanished. They’d sneaked out the back like a pair of thieves in the night before anyone had realized they’d departed.

Michael might think he was being sly, but the Duke had no doubt as to what was happening. After Miss Carrington had washed and dressed and eaten several meals, she’d turned out to be quite a beautiful girl, and Michael was as randy as any male in the kingdom. How could he resist?

Ever since Michael had first met her, he’d been glum as a whipped dog, and now that he’d absconded with her, his foul mood made sense. They must have had a brief affair over the summer, and Michael had taken her to his love nest at Henley Hall so that he could pursue the liaison in earnest.

Usually, the Duke wasn’t concerned about Michael’s mistresses. A man was allowed his vices after all, so there was no reason to harangue him over them, but obviously, this circumstance was more than a mere seduction, and the infatuation was interfering with his obligations.

The Duke would let Michael have a month to sate his sexual urges. If he hadn’t returned to London by then, the Duke would go to Henley Hall himself and send the little whore packing.

“Where is he?”

Anne gazed at Phillip, her stupid pulse fluttering with delight, and there was such a pathetic expression of longing on her face that she spun away so he wouldn’t notice. She walked into the nearest salon, abandoning him in the foyer.

He followed, irked by her discourtesy.

“Father says he’s at Henley Hall.”

“Is he?”

“I suppose. I’m not sure.”

She seated herself on a sofa, pretending scant interest in his arrival, though she was actually quivering with excitement.

Since the evening he’d kissed her, she hadn’t seen him again, and his absence had been like a bothersome toothache. She couldn’t stop pondering him, why he’d done it, why he’d stayed away after he had.

“The servants tell me that he took Miss Carrington with him.”

“Well, I’ll certainly have to caution them about gossiping.”

“Did he?” Phillip snapped.

“Yes, if you must know.”

“Where are they?”

“I already told you: Henley Hall.”

“So if I rode there, I’d find her?”

Anne was peeved by his anxiety over Miss Carrington. Anne had chatted with her on numerous occasions, and she was sweet and charming in ways that Anne hadn’t expected.

The very fetching Miss Carrington made Anne feel old and used up, snobbish and redundant. Anne had compared herself, and found herself lacking, and she was glad Michael had taken the younger woman away.

“Yes, you’d find her,” Anne curtly retorted. “Why wouldn’t you? Why would Father lie?”

“If you have to ask yourself that, then you’re even more naïve than I suspected.”

“We have no commitments to Miss Carrington. If she left of her own accord, or if she left with Michael, it’s none of our affair. It was evident that she’d experienced some difficulties, and if Michael is helping to settle her somewhere, then good for him. He always was a gentleman.”

Phillip rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, Michael is the
perfect
gentleman.”

“What are you implying?”

“He and the Duke don’t have her welfare at heart.”

“That’s enough!” She jumped to her feet. “You need to leave.”

“I’ll leave, all right, but give the Duke this message for me.”

“What is it?”

“If he’s hurt her, he’ll answer to me.”

Anne’s jealousy surged to the fore, and it took her a moment to recognize it for what it was: She loathed Phillip’s obsession with Miss Carrington.

“Why is everyone so enamored of her?”

“For your brother, it’s because she’s pretty and available and alone. For your father, I’m guessing it’s all about money.”

“Money! You’re insane. She doesn’t have any.”

“But Thomas Wainwright does. He’s inherited a fortune, and if I know the Duke—which I do—he’s not about to share it with Thomas.”

“That’s not true. Father is happy to have him with us.”

“You can deceive yourself if you like, but not me. The Duke is too greedy and dictatorial. He would never permit Thomas to benefit from his father’s bequest. Nor can he let Miss Carrington learn of the windfall. She might demand that the Michael actually carry out his duty under John’s will.”

Could he be correct? Could the Duke be plotting against Thomas? John had named Michael as Thomas’s guardian and trustee. Could the Duke interfere somehow in the arrangement? Was Michael even aware of the possibility?

“That’s not true,” she loyally repeated.

He ignored her and added, “As for myself, I simply want to talk to her. I want to ask her about her parents.”

“What about them? Her father was a country vicar. He and her mother were married for forty years. She grew up in a house next to the church.”

“Perhaps.”

“She told me so herself.”

He shrugged, looking arrogantly male. “If she’s in trouble, she needs advice from someone she can trust.
I
will assist her. Not the Duke. And most definitely not Michael.”

“If she’s with Michael, she’s fine,” Anne insisted.

“He’s my best friend, and I know him better than anyone, so don’t imbue him with character traits he doesn’t deserve.”

He started out, and his superior attitude enraged her.

“Phillip!” she cried.

He whirled around, his furious expression rattling her.

“What?”

“I...I...” she stammered.

“You...what?”

“Where have you been? It’s been an eternity since you stopped by.”

Her cheeks flamed bright red. The comment had come out all wrong. She sounded like an aging courtesan, begging for a few scraps of attention from an old lover, but that was precisely how he made her feel.

“I haven’t
stopped by
, because after my last visit, I realized that I don’t like you very much.”

The virulence of his statement surprised her, and she glanced down at the floor, wishing it would open and swallow her up.

“I see,” she mumbled. “Well then, don’t let me keep you.”

She whipped away from him, her back stiff, waiting for him to walk away, but he didn’t budge. The awkward moment stretched to infinity, and she wanted to die. The instant he was out the door, she’d instruct the butler never to admit him again, and she didn’t care what Michael said.

This was her home as much as her brother’s, and Phillip Sinclair would never insult her again!

“I’m sorry, Anne,” he murmured. “That was cruel of me. I didn’t mean it.”