The Unexpected Bride (2 page)

‘Darleston, my goodness! I didn’t believe Maria Sefton when she told me you were here! It must be years! Lord Carrington too! What a catch for us! Why, I declare there has not been so much excitement all season! Did I see you stand up with Miss Ffolliot? Such a sweet child, but a little shy. Parents charming, but the brother! Oh, my goodness! Oh, well! He’s only her half-brother. The first Mrs Ffolliot died very young, I believe, and John Ffolliot remarried a few years later. It does happen, you see, Darleston! Now I must be off! Do come again! I’m sure it does us good to have such a shock!’

She fluttered away to inform all and sundry that it was just as she had suspected. Darleston was going to remarry. And about time too! After all, he owed it to his name! Oh, goodness me! Just think if one had to acknowledge that odious Jack Frobisher as Earl of Darleston! Besides, it was time and more that Darleston got over smarting about the way that baggage Melissa had treated him. Running off with Barton in that vulgar way! Just as well she did break her neck in that carriage accident! At least it spared Darleston the scandal of divorcing her!

Carrington and Darleston watched her go with a fairly accurate idea of what she must be saying. Half-annoyed and half-amused Darleston enquired, ‘Did she stop to draw breath while she spoke to you?’

Carrington grinned. ‘Not so that you’d notice! But she’s as shrewd as she can hold together for all she rattles on so fast.’

‘No need to tell me that!’ answered Darleston with a grimace. ‘I got the distinct impression that dear Silence knew everything about me! Right down to what brought me here this evening!’

In some amusement, Carrington said, ‘Doing it far too brown, dear boy! I should imagine everyone who knows you worked that out the moment they laid eyes on you! Especially when they saw you stand up with that pretty little redhead!’

Darleston sighed, ‘I suppose it must be glaringly obvious. But what choice do I have?’

‘None, regarding your duty,’ answered his friend seriously. ‘But plenty as to the shape it must take. Let’s face it, Peter, you are the most eligible of men. Wealthy, titled, and the ladies seem to find you tolerably pleasing to the eye. You could probably have your choice of brides.’

‘How very dull!’ complained Darleston. ‘You make it all sound so respectable!’

‘Well, that’s what you want, isn’t it?’ asked Carrington bluntly.

Darleston sighed again. ‘God knows why I bear with you, Michael! You have such an appalling habit of being disgustingly right! Ah! Here comes George. Did you enjoy yourself?’

‘As a matter of fact I did,’ answered Carstares. ‘My partner, Miss Blackburn, was quite charming, and at
least I won’t have a head tomorrow morning from dancing with her! Or pockets to let, for that matter!’

‘You’ll find yourself with pockets to let all right and tight if you let your susceptibilities lead you astray and find yourself in Parson’s Mousetrap!’ observed Darleston caustically.

Carstares looked shocked. ‘Me? Parson’s Mousetrap! Not likely. Younger son, you know! That’s your fate, Peter, at least so I believe! We’ll see you falling in love and waiting at the altar in no time!’

‘Love!’ ejaculated Darleston. ‘You can’t be serious! I tell you, I’m done with that rubbish! This is to be a marriage of convenience. As long as the girl is well brought up to know her duty and is not a positive antidote…’ He left the sentence unfinished.

Carstares and Lord Carrington looked at each other in concern. This was even worse than they had thought! What hope had the poor chap of happiness in marriage if he was this bitter? Not to mention the poor girl who accepted his offer.

After a moment’s silence Carstares said thoughtfully, ‘Then you’d better make damn sure the girl don’t care a rush for you! After all, you don’t want to treat some poor child to the same dirty trick you were served! Oh, Lord! Here comes Lady Sefton. Lay you handsome odds she’s going to snabble Peter as well.’

The arrival of the amiable Lady Sefton effectively ended the conversation, but Carstares’ observation had gone home deeply. The thought that he might hurt some unsuspecting innocent in the same way he had been hurt gave Peter furiously to think.

Although he bore his part at the ensuing supper party with charm and wit, his mind was frequently elsewhere. Until now his future bride had been a very
hypothetical and unreal figure. Suddenly, even though her face and figure remained in the shadows, she became a person, with thoughts and feelings, perhaps a heart to be wounded. George was right, he thought. Better make sure she doesn’t care too much, whoever she turns out to be!

Two days later the lovely Lady Caroline Daventry sat in her cushioned pink drawing room, glaring at the door as it closed after her fifth morning caller. Her normally languishing blue eyes were glittering with fury and every line of her lushly curved body was stiff with rage. Even the blonde curls piled so becomingly on top of her head seemed to quiver with emotion. She had been hard put to it to bite back a savage rejoinder as yet another sweetly smiling lady had told her in strictest confidence that it seemed ‘Dear Peter’ was considering a second marriage.

His appearance at Almack’s and dance with Miss Ffolliot had lost nothing in the telling. The fact that he had remained chatting to her parents for several minutes gave weight to the wildest flights of fancy. It was even rumoured that Mr Richard Winton, hitherto the most likely candidate for her hand, was in a way to being cut out!

Caroline Daventry was no fool. She knew enough to discount the more fanciful accounts, but even so what was left alarmed her. It was a fairly open secret that she had been Darleston’s mistress for the past year. Never had it occurred to her that he might consider remarrying. He had appeared to be perfectly satisfied with her favours, and she had been content to maintain her position as his mistress. But if he was to remarry then clearly the situation was altered.

Restlessly she rose to her feet and began to pace up and down. She must think! Obviously Darleston must dislike Jack even more than she had thought. That had to be the reason for this change of direction. So far so good! At least he wasn’t fancying himself in love with some simpering little debutante! That made her task a little easier. Far less difficult to detach his thoughts from an abstract goal than from a specific person, but she must work fast. If Darleston
was
going to marry again then she fully intended to be the new Countess!

That same morning Lord Darleston had decided to try the paces of a new mare. He had bought her at Tattersall’s the previous week, and every time he’d thought of taking her out something had cropped up to distract him. This morning he was determined that nothing should be allowed to deflect him from his purpose.

Therefore the unfashionable hour of eight o’clock had seen him swinging into the saddle of a mettlesome bay mare who appeared to be under the erroneous impression that her new master would be disconcerted by her habit of plunging a little as he mounted. Amused by these fidgets, Darleston had settled himself in the saddle and spoken to her soothingly.

The groom who had brought her around from the mews said apologetically, ‘Very lively she is, my lord! She needs a good gallop!’

‘Not to mention a firm hand!’ said his master as he brought the mare’s head up. ‘Steady there you silly creature! It’s early enough that we can probably get away with a bit of a gallop in the park. Thank you, Fred. I’ll bring her around when I get back.’

The groom touched his cap respectfully and stepped
back as his master gave the mare the office to move. Having revised her opinion of the man on her back, the mare moved off at a decorous pace and tried to convey the impression that this was the way she always behaved. Fred watched the pair of them depart and then went back to the mews to tell his cohorts that the master could handle anything that ever looked through a bridle, even that flighty piece of blood and bone Griselda!

Upon reaching the park, Darleston was relieved to discover that it was practically deserted. Several horses were being exercised by grooms and a very few people were strolling along the paths. No carriages and no sign of anyone who might recognise him. Hardly a surprise at this ungodly hour, he thought. Most members of society would still be abed after the entertainments of the previous evening.

The mare, Griselda, was dancing impatiently, itching to go. For the good of her education Darleston held her to a steady trot for a hundred yards before pressing her to a canter. After another hundred yards and a quick glance around he gave Griselda her head and touched his heels lightly to her flanks. No further encouragement was necessary. The mare took off down the path with a delighted snort. For over a week she had been cooped up in a stable or led out in a string and she had had quite enough of such boredom. This was much more to her taste.

Darleston sat firm in the saddle and kept a light hand on the mare’s mouth. Her paces, he concluded, were excellent. Smooth and effortless, with an impressive turn of speed. Her mouth, too, was good; she was extremely responsive to his hand on the rein. Her only fault, if fault it could be called, was her flighti
ness. Ah, well, we’re all young once! he thought tolerantly.

On the thought he sat back and steadied the mare. A phaeton was being driven towards him at a smart trot and an incredibly large grey hound was running alongside. Good heavens, he thought. Who on earth would be out at this hour? He reined Griselda in to a trot so as not to startle the pair harnessed to the phaeton.

As the carriage drew nearer he realised that he knew the occupants. The gentleman driving nodded politely, but obviously would have continued had not Darleston reined in and said in tones of mock indignation, ‘I didn’t think you were serious when you threatened to cut me, sir! How do you do, Mr Ffolliot? And Miss Ffolliot! No need to ask how you are! You are looking charmingly!’

‘Lord Darleston! This is very pleasant,’ replied Mr Ffolliot. ‘I don’t believe you have met my—’ He stopped suddenly.

Darleston, a trifle puzzled, said, ‘But of course I have met Miss Ffolliot! She granted me the honour of a dance at Almack’s the other night!’

‘Oh, of course…er…quite so!’ said Mr Ffolliot in some confusion. ‘I beg your pardon, Lord Darleston!’

‘Think nothing of it, sir. Mrs Ffolliot warned me of your lamentable memory!’ said Darleston with a chuckle. He liked this unpretentious man with the kind eyes.

He turned to Miss Ffolliot and said, ‘I do hope our dance holds a stronger place in
your
memory, Miss Ffolliot! Or do you have so many dancing partners that neither you nor your parents can disentangle us all?’

Miss Ffolliot gave vent to a delightful choke of
laughter and said, ‘Oh, no, Lord Darleston. That dance is firmly fixed in my mind! It was most enjoyable!’

Darleston blinked a little. This merry creature was a far cry from the shy girl he had danced with at Almack’s! And there was something different about her this morning. Something about her eyes. Although she smiled at him delightfully, he had the odd feeling that those wide grey eyes were looking right through him. Trying to gather his thoughts, he asked, ‘And may one enquire what brings you out at this unfashionable hour, Miss Ffolliot? Surely you should be recruiting your strength after whatever party you graced last night.’

She laughed and said, ‘Oh, but the park is so much more pleasant when there is nobody about! And much better than a stuffy ballroom! Besides—’ she indicated the dog who sat panting next to the phaeton ‘—poor Gelert needs a great deal more exercise than he’d get if we came out at a fashionable hour and had to stop continually to be polite!’

‘I do sympathise, Miss Ffolliot!’ answered Darleston. ‘I brought this lunatic mare out early for much the same reason.’

‘She’s a pretty thing,’ said Mr Ffolliot. ‘Quite a youngster too. How is she called?’

‘Yes, she is young. Just over three. I bought her last week. Her name is Griselda. Steady you idiot!’ This last to the mare as she fidgeted nervously. ‘She is a little impatient as yet!’

‘Surely she is ill-named then, my lord!’ said Miss Ffolliot with a smile. ‘Wasn’t Griselda supposed to be very patient?’

‘Do you mean that mawkish creature in Chaucer?’ asked Darleston in some surprise. Most young ladies
were well read in Byron, but he had yet to meet one with a knowledge of medieval literature!

‘That’s the female. She comes in
The Decameron
too you know,’ answered Miss Ffolliot. ‘How nice to find someone else who thinks she was a fool for putting up with that odious husband. She should have simply told him he was being an idiot!’

‘Quite so, Miss Ffolliot,’ he agreed with a twinkle. ‘I can easily believe that you’d do just that!’

‘I’d probably let Gelert bite him!’ was the answer.

‘That would certainly bring him to his senses in a hurry!’ said Darleston, grinning.

He looked at the dog curiously. Never before had he seen quite such an enormous hound. Tremendously long legs and a deep barrelled chest gave the impression of immense power. He must stand at least three feet at the shoulder, thought Darleston in awe. The breed was nevertheless familiar to him from a horse-buying trip to Ireland years before. ‘An Irish wolfhound, isn’t he? I’ve never seen such a magnificent specimen of the breed.’

Miss Ffolliot smiled at him and said, ‘That’s right! Most people enquire about his breeding in the most patronising tones and it makes me simply wild!’

Darleston chuckled. ‘I can just imagine!’ But all the while an odd voice in his mind was nagging at him. Surely Miss Ffolliot had been an entirely different girl in the ballroom! If asked, he would have sworn she wouldn’t say boo to a goose! And hadn’t she said the other night that she enjoyed dancing and meeting new people? And now she preferred the park at an early hour because it was empty and better than ‘a stuffy ballroom’!

He quizzed her gently. ‘I think you were not telling
the truth the other night, Miss Ffolliot. I distinctly recall you saying how much you enjoyed meeting new people and dancing!’

Again he heard that appealing choke of laughter. ‘Good heavens! Surely you don’t expect a girl to inform a gentleman to whom she has just been introduced that she hates meeting new people! Let alone that she dislikes balls when the poor man is dancing with her! How very rude that would have been in me! Besides, that dance was, as I said, very enjoyable.’