To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance) (15 page)

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Authors: Adrienne Basso

BOOK: To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance)
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“Then come, my lady. The hour grows late and we have a very great surprise to bestow upon my noble father.”
Nine
Any regrets the marquess had felt over his impulsive, hastily orchestrated marriage to Meredith increased tenfold as their carriage pulled up to his father’s front door.
“Is the duke expecting us?” Meredith inquired curiously as an army of footmen and underfootmen, dressed in formal livery, scurried to assist them from the coach.
“I do not believe so,” Trevor replied. “There was no opportunity to inform him of our arrival. Or marriage.”
The last statement was uttered in a dull whisper as they crossed the threshold of the mansion. Trevor heard his bride catch her breath. Then she turned to him, her eyes wide with astonishment.
He held her gaze with a steady, lazy look, almost daring her to create a scene in front of the many curious servants. She studied him hard, then had the audacity to appear amused.
“Coward,” she muttered.
The marquess found himself swallowing a smile as he trailed obediently behind his wife. They were led directly to his father in the green salon, so named because of the many shades of that color dominating every scrap of fabric, inch of carpet, and length of drapery in the room. As a child Trevor had found the effect caused his head to swim, just like the light-headed feeling he achieved when holding his breath for a long period of time.
He bowed in polite greeting to the duke and admitted reaching adulthood had not altered his reaction to the sea of green dancing before his eyes.
“You’re early,” the duke said impatiently. “Though I suppose it is better than being fashionably late. Or not coming at all.” The duke moved forward, then stopped suddenly. The look of surprise on his father’s features told Trevor the duke had only just noticed his son had not arrived alone. “I was not informed you were bringing a guest to my dinner party.”
The blasted dinner party! How could he have forgotten that stellar event was being held this evening? Trevor nearly kicked himself at this unlucky turn. The timing for announcing his sudden marriage could not have been worse, for this was the very night his father expected to introduce the marquess to the woman the duke deemed to be a suitable bride for his son.
Trevor never had much use for panic, but it was the dominant emotion that now embraced him. Until he resolutely pushed it aside.
“We have not come to attend your dinner party, sir,” Trevor said.
“Why not?” the duke bellowed in an exasperated tone. “I told you of its importance three days ago.”
The marquess shrugged, conveying clearly that the duke’s dictates meant little to him.
“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” the butler interrupted the escalating tension with a respectful bow. “Mrs. Pritcher would like to know to which chambers you wish the luggage be brought.”
“Luggage?” The duke’s brow lifted and a slow smile spread across his face. “You brought luggage with you? Are you planning on moving back home?” Darting a joyful glance at his son, the duke continued, “I feared you might never come to your senses and return where you belonged. Now, don’t go all pucker-faced on me, Trevor. ’Tis splendid news, my boy. Splendid.”
Trevor tried to hide the edge of panic that once again crept forward. The situation was rapidly deteriorating. “We shall decide about the luggage later,” the marquess said, waving the butler to the door.
The moment the servant left the room, Trevor stepped over and grasped his wife’s hand. Despite the pleasant warmth of the room, her fingers felt cold. “We have come to share some rather important news. Lady Meredith and I were married a few hours ago.”
“What?” The duke’s eyes were round and horrified. “You have gone and married this woman after I expressly told you to leave her alone? Are you incapable of heeding my advice on any matter? Or are you determined to drive me to my grave, a broken and unhappy man?”
“I am no longer a boy, sir, but a man of thirty years. Your approval is neither sought nor necessary for any of my actions. I thought only to give you the courtesy of hearing the news from my lips instead of reading of it in the
Times
. Perhaps I was mistaken in my judgment.”
“Well, perhaps not only your judgment has been hasty in this matter.” The duke’s eyes dropped pointedly at Meredith’s stomach. “What is the real reason you married so swiftly? And in secret?”
Trevor felt a sudden clenching in his gut. For an instant he worried that Meredith might flounder before the duke’s obvious disapproval, but the sparkle in her eyes revealed only her pride and determination.
“It might be wise of you both to remember that I am neither deaf nor dumb and standing but a few feet away, hearing every disagreeable word spoken about me,” she declared in a steady voice. “Fortunately, I am a practical woman who did not expect a welcoming embrace from my new family.
“However, I would appreciate it if you would at least do me the courtesy of ceasing to discuss me as though I were across the ocean and unable to take offense at your numerous unkind remarks and unfounded accusations.”
“My comments are hardly unfounded,” the duke retorted. “You spent time in the garden alone together during Lady Dermond’s ball, returning unkempt and disheveled.”
“Gossip and innuendo, Your Grace. We were not seen by anyone in the garden.”
The duke compressed his lips. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” Meredith replied, as she boldly met his gaze. “Though you may not be pleased that I am now your daughter-in-law, at the very least you owe me and your son your support against those who would slander our good name.
Your
good name.”
Meredith’s rebuke was so surprising it shocked the duke into silence. Trevor watched in amazement as his father sputtered, then turned a deep shade of red. The marquess realized, with some amusement, it was the first time in his life he had ever seen his father
blush.
The marquess gazed at his wife, and a sense of pride washed over him. If nothing else, his father must allow that he had excellent taste in women. She was poised, beautiful and in total control, a rare combination of elegance and feminine perfection.
“This is a family matter, miss. Nothing to concern your pretty head over.”
“I thank you, Your Grace, for the compliment about my pretty head.” Meredith, it appeared, was making no allowances for temper. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and stood at a challenging angle. “If you would please listen for a moment the marquees will explain everything.”
“Oh, will he now?” the duke asked, in a voice laced with sarcasm.
“Actually there is nothing to explain.” Trevor felt his own temper begin to rise. He would not stand here and be treated like a wayward child, nor would he subject his wife to such unpleasantness. “I asked Lady Meredith to marry me immediately, she agreed, and we decided today would be the perfect day. I am sorry if that offends you, sir, but it cannot, and will not, be changed.”
The duke’s body went stiff. The marquess swallowed the bitterness that rose to his mouth, then whirled around to leave. A part of him had hoped his father would accept this marriage, but that appeared vastly unlikely. Better to go while he still retained a modicum of dignity.
“May we stay for dinner, Your Grace?”
The soft tones of Meredith’s sweet voice rang through the room. Trevor opened his mouth to recant the request, but felt her fingers give his arm a strong squeeze. He watched the duke’s jaw work rebelliously and braced himself for the inevitable set down.
“My butler said you brought luggage with you. Seems to me you were intending to stay for more than just a meal.”
Meredith’s nostrils curled. “It would be rude to make assumptions or foist ourselves where we are not wanted. That is why I asked about the dinner party.”
“This is your home,” the duke said gruffly. “ ’Tis insulting to imply that a formal invitation must be extended.”
“My lord?” She turned to the marquess in a display of wifely deference that seemed genuine, though greatly out of character. Trevor found it oddly intoxicating.
He pushed his fingers through his hair, puzzled. Given the reaction to the announcement of their marriage, he would expect Meredith to bolt for the door the moment the opportunity presented itself. Yet for some reason she seemed determined to stay. “We would be honored to join you and your guests for dinner,” the marquess replied.
“The luggage?”
“And to take up residence in the mansion. On a temporary basis,” Trevor added.
A surge of relief and triumph flitted across the duke’s lined face. In that single moment of clarity the marquess realized something about his father that was almost shocking. The duke might not be pleased with this marriage, but he really wanted them to stay.
Yet he knew not how to ask, he knew only how to command, and that approach had never been successful with his equally strong-willed son.
“Dinner is at seven o’clock,” the duke announced. “I am an old man. I keep unfashionably early hours.”
“We shall be ready, sir.” Trevor turned to look at his bride with a thoughtful expression. “The early hour for dinner suits us admirably. After all, this is our wedding night.”
Meredith’s head snapped around. She stood perfectly still for a moment, her face inscrutable. Then she jutted her chin out and strode toward the door with a carefree attitude, as though his words were as casual as announcing they were serving roasted fowl for dinner.
For the first time in many years, Trevor smiled with true delight.
He caught up to her in the main foyer.
“You might have warned me,” she whispered beneath her breath as he grasped her elbow in a solicitous gesture.
“About what?”
“Your father.” She looked neither agitated nor angry by the omission, just slightly put out. “He does not like me.”
“He does not know you,” Trevor replied airily.
“Precisely.” She flashed a smile that turned quickly into a frown. “I am not so naive as to have expected a loving embrace from the duke, given the unorthodox circumstances of our marriage. Yet I feared he would next ask me to use the servant’s entrance so as to ensure no one saw me in his, or your, company.”
Trevor’s brows knit together in confusion. “If he made you so uncomfortable, why did you ask to stay for dinner?”
“Because it seemed so important to him that you attend this party.”
“Why should that matter to you?”
She gave a look that made him feel like a backward child. “He is your father. ’Tis your duty, and now mine, to try and please him, especially if it can be done with such ease.”
The marquess stared pensively down at his bride. “The reason he invited me to this soiree originally was to introduce me to the woman he deemed suitable to be my wife.”
Her shocked reaction brought the amusement back to Trevor’s eyes.
“How very medieval,” she clucked. “To choose a bride for his son.”
Her sarcastic tone allowed him to relax. He had half feared once she knew the truth she would demand they leave.
But she said no more as they made their way down the long corridor of the east wing of the mansion—the wing that had been designed and maintained for the heir. Him.
Years ago the duke had this area remodeled and redecorated in anticipation of his son and future daughter-in-law taking up residence, but Lavinia had died a few months before the quarters were ready. Trevor had since resisted any attempts the duke had made to entice him to live there.
Until now. Though he had not traveled the length of these halls for many years, he caught glimpses of elegant furnishings he vaguely remembered Lavinia selecting. They had her stylized mark—unique, tasteful, and of the highest quality.
He tensed briefly as the housekeeper, Mrs. Pritcher, opened the door to the master suites, expecting to be flooded with a rash of memories. But the elegant rooms, decorated in shades of blue, gold, and ivory, were not in the least familiar.
“You might remember, my lord, there are separate bedchambers for each of you, as well as a sitting and dressing room for her ladyship and a dressing room and small study for you.” Mrs. Pritcher fluttered nervously about the rooms, opening and closing doors. Meredith dutifully peered inside, but said nothing until the tour ended.
“The rooms are in excellent condition, Mrs. Pritcher,” Meredith told the fidgeting servant. “I commend you and your staff for keeping them so fresh.”
“Thank you, my lady.” The plump housekeeper dipped a hasty curtsy. She bit her lower lip anxiously, glancing at the marquess. “If you would permit, I would like to offer my congratulations and felicitations to you both on the occasion of your marriage.”
Trevor turned stiffly toward the servant. Mrs. Pritcher looked around desperately for a moment, then lowered her eyes to the exquisite Aubusson carpet. He felt like a cad for making the woman feel so nervous, but her reminder of his newly married state when he was being confronted with such potent memories of his first, wildly happy marriage threw him off balance.
“You are very kind, Mrs. Pritcher.” Trevor cleared his throat. “Lady Meredith and I appreciate your good wishes.”

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