Two Wrongs Make a Marriage (12 page)

‘And that is just the trouble with it. I have tried so very hard not to be like...’ She bit her lip.

Jack had little experience with sincerity. It was a shame that she was not acting, for he’d have found it even more appealing had it been on stage. As she nibbled her lower lip it pouted, full and lusciously kissable. He could not tear his eyes from it, nor keep his mind focused on the urgency of the situation. But it proved again why his reaction to her had been so sudden and so irresistible. After seeing Antonia, he had been waiting all his life to meet a woman very like her. When one appeared before him and beckoned him towards the garden, what chance did he have? Now he could not seem to help himself and reached out to clasp her hand. ‘To be like who, Cyn?’

‘Whom,’ she said, softly. ‘It is more properly said whom, I think.’

‘And while correct, it does not answer my question.’ Although he was sure he knew the answer. ‘Who do you fear to emulate?’

‘My mother, of course.’

‘But if the great Antonia is your mother, then you have no need to fear this little charade. You have the ability to beguile bred deep in the bone. We have but to bring it out of you.’

‘That is exactly what I fear,’ she said with a wail. ‘I do not want to be an actress. I have seen what they are like. Flighty, mercurial, altogether inappropriate for society.’

‘Is your mother cruel to you?’ he asked, praying that it was not so. After so many years, it would be a shame to discover that his idol was less than worthy.

‘Not really,’ she admitted. ‘She loves me well enough, in her own way. But she was not the sort of person likely to marry a man like my father. She was quite far below him in birth. In fact, I doubt she even knows the identity of my grandfather.’

‘Then you do not love her,’ Jack guessed. Her vehemence surprised him, for at the wedding she’d seemed quite fond of her mother.

‘That is not true, either. She is my mother. How could I not love her?’ Her eyes were gloriously round, deep and green, and as he stared at them, he felt his mind wandering again. ‘I simply do not like being her daughter.’

‘Eh?’ Apparently, this was another of Thea’s subtle distinctions that he could not follow.

‘She is rather a force of nature,’ Thea explained. ‘There is no changing her, any more than it is possible to erase her past. People like her well enough. But even when she tries, she cannot manage to behave as the mothers of the other girls I know.’ Thea gave a helpless wave of her hands. ‘She is altogether too...too...too everything. She laughs too much, talks too often about things that are best left unsaid and is altogether too visible.’ Thea frowned. ‘I am not like that. I favour Father, I think. That is why we decided that it would be better if I were educated away from home to bring out the qualities that would most please Grandfather.’ She smiled fondly at the thought. ‘I attended Miss Pennyworth’s Seminary for the Education of Young Ladies.’

‘It sounds dreadful,’ Jack supplied.

‘It was not.’ She gave a sigh of relief. ‘It was so much easier. There was order. Peace. The other girls were quiet and well behaved.’

‘Seriously?’ Jack arched his eyebrow.

A slight flush crept up the graceful column of her throat. ‘Well, they should have been. It was most vexing to the teachers when they were not. I sought to be a good example and followed the instructions of the mistresses to the letter.’

‘I suspect you did.’

‘And no one told me stories of—’ her lips pursed in disapproval as she whispered ‘—things no young lady should know.’

‘What sorts of things are those?’

‘My mother sometimes... It is just that...’ She blushed scarlet. ‘She and my father, after so many years, are most ardently affectionate to each other.’

‘Your father is a most fortunate man,’ Jack agreed.

‘But if he is, I should not know of it. Nor should I know if he is not. I should not know anything at all about that part of life. And I especially should not know about that part of marriage.’

Jack smothered a smile. ‘I should think it would be a comfort not to live in ignorance.’

‘But the other girls all were,’ Thea said. ‘They knew nothing about anything. And they seemed far more content than I was. Miss Pennyworth did not say a word on the subject. We were given educating tracts, scripture, sermons and all necessary skills. But nothing was said about...’

It was a horrifying prospect. Innocent girls married to the sort of worldly gentlemen he knew inhabited the
ton
, going to their marriage beds in terror. ‘Did you take it upon yourself to question her? Did you demand to know the truth?’

‘Certainly not. Nor did I enlighten the others with what I knew. If we needed such information, then surely someone would have given it to us.’

Of all the things he had expected, when making the offer to the passionate creature who had caught him, it had never occurred to him that his lady would be a self-righteous prig. Her response on that night had been more than ardent. And with her heritage considered, he’d have used words like ‘temptress’ to describe her. ‘But your mother told you everything, of course.’

‘And I spent two years at boarding school, doing my best to unlearn it. I was not about to be brought up in such a way. I hoped that Father’s father would approve of my efforts,’ she said earnestly. ‘If I could manage to persuade him that my mother’s influence had done me no harm, then perhaps he would relent on the matter of Father’s inheritance.’ She sighed. ‘And when I came back...’ She gave another helpless wave of her hands. ‘Chaos. Just as I feared. Just as it always is when I am home.’ She stared into his eyes, worried.

Jack could not help the feeling creeping up his spine to help, to protect, as though nerves and sinews stood ready, despite the healthy scepticism in his brain, to rush to the aid and comfort of the poor girl who needed him. Ginger hair and a fine bosom, he reminded himself firmly and stayed his hand. They had tricked him before.

‘I want to be just the opposite of my mother. Honest, polite and exactly what I appear to be. And I have succeeded. Until now.’ She pointed a dire finger in his direction. ‘Until you.’

So he was the fault, was he? He thought in disgust of what would have happened to her had she been wed and bedded by a spurious gentleman like de Warde. It would be no less than she deserved. ‘As soon as I am gone, you can go back to being just as you were,’ he assured her.
Ignorant and silly.
‘In just a few short weeks, we will have finished with Uncle Henry. It is the best I can offer you, really.’
And good riddance.
‘A small sacrifice on your part will mean success for your parents, and for Lord Spayne as well.’

‘If there is no other way...’ He watched her bosom rise and fall in a huge and very theatrical sigh that would have done her mother proud. ‘Tell me what I must do.’

‘It will be simple. You have but to do as I tell you and say what I ask you to say. There is really nothing to acting but remembering words in the right order. If you were good in school, you will be good at this. Pretend it is poetry. I suspect you’ve memorised your fair share of that.’

‘But how will I make people believe the lies?’

Jack tore his gaze from the swelling breast and the pouting lips. ‘People will believe you, I am sure. Men, particularly. De Warde especially. He has but to look into your eyes...’ And then he realised he was doing just that and thinking of things that had nothing to do with the matter at hand. He cleared his throat and cleared his head. ‘Where was I? Acting lessons. Yes. When the story is sad, you think of a sad thing. When it is happy, think of the moments that have brought you joy. Let your mind go to memory as your mouth speaks the words. Can you do that?’

‘I will try.’ She gave him another worried look, and he felt his heart melting.

With enough tutelage she would be every bit as convincing as her mother had been. But tonight would be a difficult evening. ‘Remember, you are not doing any of this for personal gain. You are helping others by it.’

‘That is true,’ she said, brightening a little.

‘Think of poor Lord Spayne, at the mercy of his brother.’

‘That is quite awful,’ she agreed.

‘And your parents, unfairly persecuted by him.’

‘The man is truly a villain,’ she agreed.

‘And think of what will happen to me if you fail.’

She looked as though she’d come back to earth with a bone-jarring thump. ‘Nothing less than you deserve. You are as great a trickster as he is.’

‘Then do not think of me,’ Jack corrected, annoyed that his lovely wife had not an ounce of sympathy in her for his poor neck. ‘Help the others. Help yourself. When you meet de Warde at the ball, tell him the story I shall teach you, just as I give it to you. Think of it as the first step in being rid of me.’

She gave a resolute nod and he began his instruction, irked to know that an end to their marriage seemed almost as desirable to her as regaining her father’s money.

Chapter Ten

J
ack had sometimes thought of Kenton’s London digs as if they were a person: old, venerable and dignified. Perhaps the town house was not the first stare of fashion, for there had been no viscount in residence since Spayne had been a young man, but at that time he had appointed it with care. The place still looked expensive, but it had a comfortable shabbiness that put Jack at his ease.

But now that there was a Lady Kenton, such seediness was not to be allowed. Thea had changed a curtain here, a painting there, making a host of subtle alterations to the whole house to bring it up to date, and then going hammer and tongs at the ballroom, adding festoons of fresh flowers, champagne fountains and music. When dressed for company, the town house was splendid, and the ballroom even more so.

His old self goggled at the sight of it, wanting to rush to the refreshment room and fill his pockets with cakes, hide wine bottles under his coat and perhaps tuck bread and cheese up his sleeve, then run before the nobs got wind of his presence and tossed him back into the gutter.

Instead, he took a sip from his wine glass and gave a spare smile and approving nod. Such luxury was nothing less than Kenton expected. It was good to have the help of a wife, to make the ball go as it should. And Thea, bedecked in a silk gown the colour of the champagne he was drinking, showed no agitation. He must take his cue from her. ‘It looks well,’ he said.

‘Is that all you have to say for it? Well?’ He had said something to offend her, but for the life of him did not know what.

‘It looks as a ball thrown by the Viscount of Kenton should look,’ he replied cautiously.

‘Of course it does,’ she agreed. ‘Such entertainments and their preparation do not intimidate me. This one will be a highlight of the social Season.’ She gave a critical glance to her surroundings, showing none of the hesitance that she had displayed when Jack had attempted to school her in her part of their scheme. Perhaps things would go better than he expected. The creature before him was beauty and confidence personified, and not the scared little girl he had seen in their rooms an hour ago.

Then she gave him an angled look of disdain. ‘That is, of course, if I can refrain from choking each time someone calls me by my title.’

From her other side, the Earl of Spayne leaned closer and murmured, ‘If you do, I shall simply tell them that you cannot believe your luck. And that I am quite charmed with you, despite the idiosyncrasy. Accept it or not, my dear, you are my daughter-in-law.’

Thea smiled and, for some reason, Jack found it annoying. Hadn’t he told her the same often enough? No matter who he was, she was safely Lady Kenton. Apparently, the words coming from ‘an actor’ meant far less than those coming from a peer. He swallowed his irritation and smiled back at her, smothering the strange, boyish eagerness to catch her attention again. ‘There, see? You have nothing to fear, just as I promised.’

‘Other than debtor’s prison, of course.’

‘I am Kenton, just come from the East with pockets full of riches. This evening is nothing we cannot afford,’ he reminded her.

‘You are an actor, aren’t you?’ she said, with a sarcastic flutter of her fan. ‘To tell such lies with a straight face.’ The look she turned to him was pleasant, but distant. So much colder than it had been when she’d agreed to the marriage, but totally appropriate for a society couple. Even if they were newly married, polite people simply did not make fools of themselves over their own spouses.

He squeezed her hand and smiled as though her snub did not bother him. ‘Come, let us greet our guests.’

They lined up properly beside the earl and went through the laborious task of greeting the people invited into their home. Jack put on his best smile, reminding himself that this, as all things were, was a performance. He was Kenton. And Kenton was a gracious host.

And his guests responded well to it. He thanked God on several occasions that, after memorising as many plays as he had, keeping straight the names and titles of the
ton
was hardly an effort. On several occasions, he even managed to correct his wife, who had memorised
Debrett’s
as a schoolboy might learn his Latin.

It was not until the earl’s brother appeared that he felt his character wavering.

‘Henry.’ Spayne’s bow was stiff.

The man before him was a younger, paler copy of the earl, blue eyed and fair haired, but with none of Spayne’s easy charm. On de Warde, the blue eyes looked cold and the hair was smoothed back with Macassar oil until it seemed as dark and unctuous as its owner. De Warde answered with a nod. ‘George.’

And how was Jack to play this? His plan required that he be the
naïf
, eager to be led by his worldly uncle, so that he might turn the tables unexpectedly later.

But as he watched and his wife blanched at the prospect of facing the man, Kenton, damn his chivalry, would not be contained. The vermin before him had blackmailed his father near to bankruptcy, tricked his father-in-law and made vile suggestions to the woman who had become his wife. He was suffered at this event for the sake of the family connection, but it was little more than that. Kenton allowed his natural distaste to shine through the courtesy. ‘Uncle de Warde, how nice to see you, again. Aunt de Warde.’ The woman beside him looked almost colourless, her lips thin and bloodless, thinning even more at the sight of Cynthia, who she must know was a rival, even if an unwilling one.