Sally MacKenzie Bundle (30 page)

What the bloody hell was he going to do on his wedding night?

Tynweith waited for the last of the house guests to assemble in the drawing room. Charlotte had stayed upstairs with her maid. Well, and Hartford was upstairs, too, in a manner of speaking.

Poor Charlotte. She’d been quite shaken when he’d found her. Not surprising. She’d been trapped under the duke—literally a dead weight—for a good little while. Apparently he had died in medias res.

She was more composed now, but still not ready to face the likes of Lady Dunlee. Tynweith clenched his hands into fists and then carefully relaxed each finger. Lady Dunlee was just entering the room. She’d be in alt with this new morsel of tittle-tattle. He drew a deep breath.

“If I may have your attention?”

The desultory chatter died down. It was clear his guests expected an announcement of interest. All eyes focused on him—some, like Lady Dunlee’s, sharp and hungry; others, slightly amused. Lord Westbrooke stood off to the right, his face pleasantly expressionless. Lady Elizabeth, hands folded in her lap, sat next to Lady Beatrice, as far from the earl as possible.

He cleared his throat. This was harder than he’d expected.

“I’ve asked you all here—”

“But we aren’t all here,” Lady Caroline interrupted.

“Yes, I know. The duchess did not feel up to appearing as you will understand when I tell you—”

“But what about Lady Felicity?” Lady Caroline frowned. “I’ve been thinking about her all afternoon. I haven’t seen her since luncheon.”

Tynweith surveyed the room. Lady Caroline was correct. Felicity
was
absent. Had
he
seen her since luncheon? She’d been talking to Charlotte at table, but she had not been with her when Hartford arrived, had she? Where had she gone?

“Our departure
was
rather hurried given the storm and other, um, events,” he said. “Perhaps she was in one of the other carriages?”

“She wasn’t in ours,” Lady Beatrice said.

“And if she wasn’t in ours,” Lady Caroline said, “she wasn’t in any, because your coach carried only men, didn’t it, Lord Tynweith?”

“Yes. Well, it’s not far to walk. Perhaps she came home earlier.”

“So where is she now? Shouldn’t she be here? I thought everyone was supposed to be here.” Lady Caroline leaned forward, displaying her plump breasts a little too completely. “Perhaps she fell in the ruins and is still there, calling vainly for help.”

“I don’t think…” He tried to remember the scene at the castle as they were boarding the carriages.
Had
Felicity been there? He could not be certain. His mind had been on Charlotte—and everything had been so chaotic with the storm and Lady Elizabeth’s scandal.

“I did send the locksmith over to secure the dungeon door. He would have found Lady Felicity if she were there. She is probably resting in her room or strolling the grounds. I will have someone sent to check on her immediately.” He looked at Flint who bowed and disappeared. His butler would have the girl here shortly.

“Perhaps it is best if Lady Felicity doesn’t hear this particular announcement.” Lady Dunlee cast a glance at Westbrooke. “I believe she will not take it well.”

“No, uh…” Surely Felicity would not be upset at Hartford’s passing? And why was Lady Dunlee looking at the earl?

Comprehension dawned.

“Oh, no. That is not the announcement I was preparing to make.”

Lady Dunlee stared at him as if he had lost his mind. He was beginning to feel that perhaps he had.

“The announcement I have to make—the very
sad
announcement—is that the Duke of Hartford expired in bed this afternoon.”

He should have left the location of the duke’s demise out of the sentence. Lord Botton sniggered. Even Sir George was beset by a coughing fit. Tynweith rushed to cover the sounds.

“Obviously, this is a great shock to us all and especially to the duchess. To honor her feelings and the duke’s memory, I’m afraid I must bring this house party to a premature close. I must ask you all to leave in the morning. I am sorry, but to continue with entertainments when one of the oldest peers of the Realm has died would not be proper.”

“Very true,” Lord Dunlee said. “Very well put, Tynweith. My wife, my daughter, and I will prepare to depart early tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I am sorry—yes, Flint?” The butler was gesturing from the door. Everyone turned to look.

“My lord, I have some unfortunate news to report.”

“Well, go ahead, man.” There was no point in being overly discreet at this point. Felicity’s absence had already been noted—better to have the truth than wild speculations.

“First, Lord Andrew has taken leave of the premises.”

Tynweith nodded. Just as well. He hadn’t decided what to do with the man anyway. Chances were Alvord would like Lord Andrew’s guts for garters, but the duke could find the blackguard himself if he wished. “And?”

“And I regret to inform you that Lady Felicity has not been seen at Lendal Park since the carriages left for the ruins this morning.”

“Oh, poor Felicity!” Lady Caroline actually wrung her hands.

Damn. Could Felicity have wandered off and gotten hurt in the ruins? Shouldn’t the locksmith have found her? Apparently not.

“Send a footman to the castle immediately, Flint.”

“Yes, my lord. I—”

“Thank you, Dickey. You were wonderful.”

“That’s Lady Felicity’s voice!” Lady Caroline led the charge into the entry hall with her mother close behind. Lady Dunlee managed to squeeze through the door first—and came to an abrupt halt.

“Oh, my.” She sounded breathless with scandal.

“What is it?” Tynweith pushed to the front of the crowd.

Lady Felicity was indeed standing in the entry hall. Her hair was falling down her back and her dress was almost falling off her person. She was clinging to the arm of a very burly, very embarrassed locksmith.

Lady Dunlee had another tasty morsel to add to her gossip stew.

Chapter Seventeen

“I don’t see why I need to marry Robbie so quickly.” Lizzie swallowed her panic. She was back in her room at Lady Beatrice’s town house. They had left Lendal Park two days ago. Robbie had ridden ahead and procured a special license. In less than thirty minutes, she would say her vows in Lady Beatrice’s drawing room and become the Countess of Westbrooke.

She felt like throwing up.

“You don’t?” Lady Beatrice paused in stroking the large orange cat in her lap. Queen Bess meowed her disapproval and butted her head against Lady Bea’s hand. Lady Bea resumed stroking. “How long have you been acquainted with Lady Dunlee? I have no doubt the woman is already entertaining her intimates with every detail she observed on Tynweith’s battlements—and probably a few she didn’t.”

“That’s the honest truth,” Betty said as she pinned up a lock of Lizzie’s hair. “That woman would gossip about God Almighty if she could.”

Lizzie frowned at Betty in the mirror; Betty smiled back and tweaked her hair.

“Ouch.”

“So sorry, my lady.”

“You just want to move to Westbrooke House.”

Betty grinned. “Very true, my lady. Me and Collins have waited years for this day.”

Lizzie grunted. At least someone was happy. “But Lady Bea, wouldn’t our engagement be enough to scotch the rumors?”

“Perhaps in the regular way of things, but there is nothing regular about this situation. You are the Duke of Alvord’s sister, one of—if not
the
—most prominent woman your age in society, and you were seen practically as bare as the day you were born in the company of two men by one of London’s biggest gossips. The story of Westbrooke’s naked excursion to your bedchamber is sure to be discussed as well. No, if you are not securely wed to the earl before you step over the first society threshold, you’ll be given the cut direct by every woman of the
ton
—and probably garner the unpleasant attentions of all the rakes as well.”

Lizzie’s stomach twisted. “Surely not!”

“I would be willing to wager on it. This house party will be discussed for the rest of this Season and probably many Seasons to come. The pattern card of respectability, Lady Elizabeth, ruins her reputation, and the old satyr, Hartford, cocks up his toes. Not to mention Lady Felicity’s encounter with the local locksmith. Much too delicious a plateful of scandal for the tabbies to ignore. The only way to curtail their feast is to flash a wedding ring at them.”

Lizzie gripped her hands in her lap and willed the little she had been able to eat to stay where it belonged. She feared Lady Beatrice was correct.

“And there are two more reasons for you to wed quickly—Lady Felicity and Lord Andrew. Felicity had a somewhat less than rational reaction to your engagement announcement.”

That
was an understatement. Lizzie rubbed the space between her eyebrows. She was developing a crashing headache to go with her unsettled stomach. Lady Dunlee had taken it upon herself to inform Felicity of Robbie’s betrothal the moment she saw the girl standing in Tynweith’s entry hall, leaning on the arm of the locksmith who’d discovered her in the ruined castle. Fortunately the man had good reactions. He’d caught Felicity’s fist before it could connect with Lizzie’s eye.

“Felicity will not relinquish her ambitions gracefully, nor will she relish being a laughingstock,” Lady Beatrice said. “Everyone knows she’s been pursuing Westbrooke—and she knows everyone knows. And I cannot like the fact that Lord Andrew is likely lurking somewhere in London. He has proven himself no gentleman.” She shook her head, causing the orange plume in her hair to bob. “I’d say there was every reason to rush your nuptials. Once the knot is tied, there is little Felicity or Andrew can do.”

“And you love Robbie,” Meg said, leaning forward to touch Lizzie’s arm. “It is not as if you are rushing into marriage with a stranger.”

“It is just so…sudden.” Lizzie sniffed back tears. This was not the way she had imagined her wedding. Not that she needed—or wanted—a big ceremony at St. George’s, Hanover Square—not at all. She had never thought to marry in London. No, when she’d dreamt of the day, she had pictured the church at Alvord with her family there—James and Sarah. Aunt Gladys. And Robbie, but a Robbie wildly in love with her, not this resigned, reserved man who was marrying her only to save her reputation.

“I wish James were here.” Lizzie bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Lady Beatrice got up, dumping an annoyed Queen Bess on the floor, and patted Lizzie’s shoulder. “I know. He would be, of course, if Sarah weren’t on the verge of being brought to bed. He’ll come visit as soon as he can—or you and Robbie can visit him later when you are at Westbrooke.”

Lizzie sighed. “Can’t we go there now?”

“We discussed this. It is best you remain in London and go about for a few weeks to stifle the rumors. Then, when all the
ton
has seen you, you can leave for the country. Then your departure will not look like a retreat.”

“There.” Betty smiled and stepped back. “All done, my lady. Ye do look beautiful.”

“Very true.” Lady Beatrice consulted her watch. “The earl should be here at any moment. There is only one task left to do.” She cleared her throat and looked at Meg. “Meg, you may go get ready.”

“I
am
ready, Lady Bea.”

“Then you may go see that everything is in order downstairs and keep Lord Westbrooke company should he arrive early.”

“But—”

“
Go,
Meg. I have some words of a private nature to share with Lizzie.”

“Oh.”

Meg looked as shocked as Lizzie felt. Words of a
private
nature? Surely she didn’t mean…?

She did. As soon as the door closed behind Meg, Lady Bea settled her sizable bulk in a chair close to Lizzie and put her hand on Lizzie’s arm.

“My dear, I know your mother died when you were born. Has your aunt or your sister-in-law ever spoken to you about the marriage bed?”

Lizzie wished the floor would open and swallow her up.

“No. Those conversations usually occur right before, um….”

“Exactly. Right before the wedding—and the wedding night, of course. And since you will be wed in about”—Lady Bea consulted her watch—“fifteen minutes, I believe I had best give you a hint of what to expect, if you will allow it.”

“Um.” What could an elderly spinster possibly know about the intimate relations of marriage?

Lady Beatrice took Lizzie’s inarticulate response as assent.

“The main thing, my dear, is not to be afraid. The marriage act may seem very odd at first, but you will soon become accustomed to it and I daresay enjoy it.” Lady Bea frowned. “Some women have the misguided notion that ladies of the
ton
cannot or should not experience pleasure in carnal relations. Balderdash! A lady can be as passionate as a lightskirt. The basic equipment is the same. It’s what’s up here”—she tapped her head—“that matters.”

“Yes. Of course.” Lizzie could barely get the words out. Embarrassment was strangling her. Surely Lady Beatrice…The woman had never married…. How could she know…?

“Now, there may be a little pain, a little blood, tonight when Lord Westbrooke breaches your maidenhead, but you must not be concerned. It is just a momentary discomfort. After that I’m certain everything will be splendid. The earl is a handsome man. He must know his way around a woman’s body. You are in good hands”—Lady Beatrice smiled archly—“literally.”

“Um. Yes. Of course. Thank you.” Lizzie had not been looking forward to facing Robbie, but she would face a den of lions to escape any more of this conversation. “Do you suppose it is time to go downstairs?”

Lady Beatrice chuckled. “Eager, are you? Well, if I were forty years younger, I might have my eye on the earl, too.”

Lizzie stared at Lady Beatrice in horror as the older woman consulted her watch once more.

“Good evening, Alton.” Robbie handed his hat to Lady Beatrice’s butler, a tall thin man with a shock of white hair. He looked like a University don, but rumor was he sprang from the London stews. Robbie believed it. The man’s demeanor was all that was proper, but his eyes were as sharp as a lancet. Made a man worry he’d be bled of all his secrets.