The Unlikely Lady (27 page)

“We didn't discern anything. We left soon after. It was all conjecture on our part, but we decided to find out if you and Garrett might have developed a
tendre
for each other. You quite shocked us, you know.”

“Just because we went into the drawing room together? Why didn't you come out and ask me what was going on?” Jane slapped a hand against her forehead. “Wait, I know the answer to that already. Because it would be too simple. When Lucy Hunt is involved, complicated escapades are always preferred to directness.”

“I take offense to that,” Lucy replied, pointing her nose in the air. “And we
did
ask you, or tried to. The next morning, don't you remember? Cass and I came to your room and asked where you'd been the night before. You didn't mention Garrett once. It seemed suspicious to us.”

Jane crossed her arms over her chest. “And so you…?”

Lucy winced. “We decided to tell each of you that the other had developed a
tendre
.”

“You did what!” Jane slammed her palms against the tabletop. The silverware bounced.

Lucy kept one eye closed and eyed Jane carefully out of the other. “Cass told Garrett that you had developed a
tendre
for him, and I told you that Garrett had developed a
tendre
for you.”

Jane's breath came in short spurts. She tried to count three but she couldn't manage it. She waved a hand in the air. “Why in heaven's name did you do that, Lucy?”

Lucy worried the end of her napkin. “We hoped it might serve to flush out the truth. We thought if you both believed the other had feelings, it might help you to confess to your own.”

Jane was convinced her eyes were wild. She
felt
wild. “Confess to my own? What in heaven's name made you think I had my own?”

“You must admit that you and Garrett make a fine-looking couple.”

“We can barely stand to be in the same room with each other!”

“You were doing an admirable job of it that night in the upstairs drawing room. And everyone saw how enchanting you were dancing together the night of the wedding.”

The memory of that dance felt like a punch to her middle. Jane clenched her jaw. “Lucy, I swear, if I didn't know you were the biggest meddler in the entire kingdom, I'd warn you right now to run far and fast. It would only be sporting to give you a head start.”

Lucy bit her lip again. “But because you
do
know I'm the biggest meddler in the entire kingdom? Oh, don't hate me, Janie, please.”

“I'm absolutely incensed. Truly. But I have to admit, it explains a great deal.” She took a deep breath, then another one. “You are known for your schemes and if I were to remain angry with you, I might as well be angry with the sky for being blue.”

Lucy nodded so rapidly her black curls bounced. “That is true.”

“You're not going to get out of it that easily, Lucy. Tell me, what else did you do? Who else was involved in this little scheme of yours?”

“What makes you think anyone else was involved?” Lucy tossed her napkin back on the tea tray.

“You
always
involve others in your schemes. I know because I'm usually one of them.”

Lucy's eyes twitched back and forth.

“Lucy?” Again, Jane dragged out the word.

“Very well, in addition to Cass and myself, Owen Monroe and Daphne Swift were involved.”

“Owen and Daphne?” Jane breathed. “What was their involvement?”

Lucy drummed her fingers against the wooden arm of her chair. “Owen was to make Garrett jealous by paying special attention to you and Daphne was to keep Mrs. Langford occupied when necessary.”

Jane sat stunned. Her mouth fell open. She felt as if Lucy had hit her over the head with an iron poker. She'd been duped. Duped by the best of them, Lucy Hunt. “So that's why Owen was constantly appearing out of nowhere and Daphne was always speaking with Mrs. Langford.”

Lucy's lips twisted. “Of course, they were forced to improvise upon occasion, like the time they jumped in the rowboat together at the lake so that you would be forced to ride with Garrett. Too bad they couldn't have dragged Mrs. Langford off with them.”

“I shouldn't be surprised, but I am.” Jane rubbed her forehead. The devil's own headache was forming behind her right eye. “Tell me one more thing. Have you admitted this subterfuge to Upton?”

Lucy tugged at the neck of her gown. “Actually, Derek is on his way to do that as we speak.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Garrett tossed back his third brandy. Brooks's was quiet this afternoon. He'd holed up in a club chair in a corner and ordered drink after drink. He'd been attempting to read the paper but he'd been looking at the same paragraph since he'd arrived. He was preoccupied, preoccupied by Isabella Langford and what she'd shown him.

She'd left the drawing room earlier and returned a few minutes later holding a letter.

A letter from Harold.

As soon as he'd seen his friend's familiar bold scroll on the parchment, an ache formed in Garrett's chest. It was as if the bullet that had torn through his shoulder ten years ago was an open wound again.

Isabella cleared her throat and handed him the letter. “This is addressed to you.”

“Me?” Garrett's heart jackknifed in his chest. “How could that be?” He squinted at the date on the top. Years ago, when they'd been together in Spain.

Garrett searched Isabella's face. “Why am I just now seeing this?”

“Harold wrote it to you, but he sent it to me,” she replied softly. “He asked me to give it to you in the event that he…” Her gaze dropped.

“Have you read it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Garrett made his way to the large window at the front of the drawing room. He took a deep breath and bent his head toward the letter. His eyes scanned the page.

Upton,

If you are reading this, the worst has happened. We've shared many awful days together, my friend, and there's no one else I'd rather die next to. You're a good patriot, a good soldier, and a good man. If you find your way home, please take care of Isabella and the children. That is my dying wish. I could think of no better man to be in my stead. I must know that my family is taken care of. Always. They mean everything to me. I know you will do right by them. You have my eternal thanks.

Yours,

C. H. Langford

Garrett rubbed his thumb across Harold's familiar signature. He still missed him. He folded the letter and slid it into his inside coat pocket, pressing it against his shoulder. A crushing weight settled over him as the import of the words he'd read hit him square in the chest. Harold had wanted Garrett to take care of his family.

Why in the hell hadn't Isabella given him this letter long before now?

“There's something else,” Isabella whispered.

“What is it?” Garrett had asked quietly.

Isabella took a deep breath. “I am with child.”

Garrett's brows snapped together and his head jerked up to face her. “What?”

She pressed a handkerchief against her nose. Her eyes filled with tears. “I'll be ruined if I don't marry quickly.”

Garrett stepped closer to her and searched her face for the truth. “You weren't planning on telling me that before now? What about the baby's father?”

“I'm sorry, Garrett. I'm desperate. I don't know where to turn. The baby's father is not in a position to marry me, and I wouldn't have him if he was.” She turned away abruptly on a sob, pressing the handkerchief to her mouth.

“Isabella, I—”

Her voice shook with her tears. “The children and I will be outcasts. We'll have to leave London.” She turned and dropped to her knees in front of him. “Garrett, you must save us. We need you. Please.”

The import of her words pressed on Garrett's stomach. He felt as if he were going to retch. Isabella was asking him to make the ultimate commitment to ensure she and the children were taken care of for good, safe from scandal.

His thoughts turned to Jane. Did he love Jane? Yes. But Jane obviously wanted nothing to do with him. Despite what Cass had told him, Jane didn't love him back. What sort of man of honor would he be if he ignored this letter from the grave? Turned Isabella away? Let her family fall to ruin? Even if he continued to provide them with an income, they would be treated like outcasts. Harold's children would have no hope of good futures.

Sometimes, what you wanted to do and what you should do were two entirely different things.

He helped Isabella up to sit next to him on the settee. “Why are you just giving me this letter now?”

Isabella cast her gaze toward the floor. She seemed so sad and small and vulnerable. “At first, I needed time to grieve. I spent years in disbelief. I know it sounds senseless, but I actually believed Harold might walk through the door one day.”

Garrett nodded grimly. “That must have been hell for you. I'm sorry.”

She looked up at him. “I know you don't love me. I know it's an enormous thing to ask you to raise another man's children, but we could be happy together. Our feelings might develop, over time.”

Garrett watched her carefully. Isabella wasn't stupid. There would be no false pretenses between them. Successful marriages had been based on far less than a promise to a friend to whom one owed one's very life.

Garrett grimaced. The parson's noose tightened around his neck.

*   *   *

Garrett's meeting with Isabella had been several hours ago, and after three brandies at the club, marriage to her still didn't sound like a good idea. He'd have to drink fifty bloody brandies to wrap his mind around it. He hadn't given her an answer, yet, but it was hardly something he could think about for weeks. She was with child and the sooner a marriage took place the better for her reputation. But there was something else to consider. If the child was a boy, he would be named Garrett's heir, the future Earl of Upbridge. However, if Harold Langford hadn't saved his life, the title would have gone out of the family, to a distant cousin, and there was always the chance the child would be a girl.

“Upton, there you are. I thought I might find you here this afternoon.”

Garrett looked up to see Derek Hunt and Rafe Cavendish making their way toward him. He stood to greet them. “Claringdon, Cavendish, good to see you.”

“A bit early in the day for a drink, don't you think?” Claringdon asked as soon as he was close enough to spot Garrett's brandy.

“I'm not certain that's possible,” Rafe added.

Garrett grinned. He'd always liked that Cavendish.

“You should listen to the lad, Claringdon. Care to join me for a drink?” He turned to Rafe. “I didn't know you were a member here, Cavendish.”

Rafe flashed his own grin. “I'm not. Just taking advantage of my influential friend here.” He clapped Claringdon on the back.

“Welcome,” Garrett replied, gesturing to the seats near him.

The other two men sat while Garrett returned his attention to his brandy.

Claringdon relaxed against his seat and crossed one booted foot over the opposite knee. “There's something I need to tell you, Upton. It involves Lucy and—”

Garrett groaned. Setting his drink on the table next to him, he dropped his forehead into his hands. “If it involves Lucy, it's going to be messy, isn't it?”

“A bit,” Claringdon replied, tugging at his cuff.

Rafe had busied himself ordering a drink of his own from a passing footman.

Garrett straightened up and took another swig. “Out with it then, Claringdon.”

“Lucy informed me last night that she and Cass were up to something at the house party,” Claringdon said.

Garrett waved away his words. “If this involves Mrs. Bunbury, I—”

Claringdon shook his head. “It's not that. Apparently, Lucy and Cass thought it would be a good idea if they both”—Claringdon winced—“if they told you Jane was in love with you and told Jane you were in love with her.”

Rafe Cavendish whistled. “Now
that
is up to something.”

Garrett's stomach dropped. He squeezed his glass. “What do you mean?”

Claringdon wiped a hand across his brow. “Did Cassandra tell you Jane was in love with you?”

Garrett's throat went dry. “Yes.”

“Lucy told Jane you were in love with her,” Claringdon continued.

The room spun. Garrett clutched at the arm of his chair. “What in the devil are you talking about?”

“I'm deuced sorry to say it,” Claringdon continued, “but apparently, they became convinced you and Jane were perfect for each other and set about their plan in a misguided attempt at matchmaking.”

Garrett clenched his jaw. “My God. It was never true? Any of it?” he whispered.

“Afraid not.”

The footman returned with the brandies just then, and Rafe, good chap that he was, had the decency to remain silent and sip his drink.

Garrett's mind raced. What did this mean? Not only did Jane not love him, but she had been under the mistaken impression he had been in love with her? If she'd been told around the same time he'd been told, that would have been before the picnic at the house party. What the hell had Lucy and Cass been thinking?

“Does Jane know?” Garrett swallowed the lump that had unexpectedly formed in his throat.

“Yes,” Claringdon said. “Lucy intends to tell her today. I doubt Jane will be pleased.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Garrett pressed the back of his hand against the throbbing pain in his head.

“At the risk of offending you, Your Grace,” Rafe interjected, “it sounds as if you've got your hands full with your new duchess.”

Claringdon's mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “You don't know the half of it, Cavendish.” He settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his middle. “That's it, Upton. I thought you should know.”