Scandal Becomes Her. Shirlee BusbeeЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Across town, a few hours later, in the grand London house of the Earls of Wyndham, a similar conversation took place. The present Lord Wyndham, the tenth, having endured one unhappy marriage for the sake of his title and his family, was not about to undertake another. No matter how many tears and scenes were staged by his young stepmother.

      Looking across the scattered remains of their breakfast into her tear-filled eyes, Lord Wyndham murmured, “Now let me see if I understand you correctly. You want me to marry your godchild, because if I were to die, your godchild, presumably having presented me with an heir, would ensure that your future was secure?”

      The Countess Wyndham, looking far too young to be his stepmother, stared back resentfully. She was a lovely little thing, possessed of speaking velvet-brown eyes and enchanting dusky ringlets that framed an equally enchanting face. She was also, at five and thirty, three years younger than her stepson.

      “I don’t see,” she muttered, “why you have to take that tone with me. Is my position so hard to understand? If you die without an heir, your cousin Charles will step, no, leap, into your boots. You know that he will toss me and my poor, darling child out onto the streets.”

      “I thought that you liked Charles,” Lord Wyndham replied innocently, amusement glimmering in his eyes.

      “I do like Charles well enough,” she admitted. “He can be very amusing, but he is a rake and wild to a fault. And his women! You know very well that if Charles inherits that he won’t want Elizabeth and me underfoot. You know that he’ll toss us out onto the streets.”

      Lord Wyndham grinned. “Yes, he would most likely toss you out onto the streets—out onto the streets where you and Elizabeth will pick yourselves up and order your carriage brought round to drive you to the Dower House at Wyndham.”

      Her dainty fingers tightened on her teacup. “Yes, it is true that we could live there…buried in the country, in a house that has sat empty for decades and is in need of repair. It is also true that your dear, sainted father settled a handsome sum on me when we married.” She leaned forward. “But don’t you see, Julian, it isn’t just about money. You must remember it may not be Charles who inherits—don’t forget that he barely escaped with his life this past summer when his yacht sank and there was that terrible accident with his horses just last month. With his reckless ways Charles may die before you and it may be Raoul who inherits.”

      She looked pensive. “I like Sofia Weston, but you have to admit that Raoul’s mother is a strong-minded woman. If Raoul were to inherit, she would see to it that he wasted little time in marrying, and you can be sure that it will be to some little mouse that Mrs. Weston can keep under her thumb. Mrs. Weston will be the Countess Wyndham in all but name—not my sweet-natured godchild, Georgette. If Charles or Raoul inherit, I shall probably never be allowed to step foot in these halls again.”

      She buried her nose in a scrap of lace. “These same halls,” she said in muffled tones, “that your dear, dear father first brought me to as a bride five years ago. How different things would be if something did happen to you, and you were married to Georgette! She would see to it that I would always be welcome. And Elizabeth, too. If she doesn’t run away and marry that awful Captain Carver.” She peeped over the top of her handkerchief. “You know the one, the captain in the cavalry, who goes around looking romantic and dashing with his arm in a black sling. Why, I don’t even believe he needs it. He is, no doubt, wearing it just to impress my dear child.”

      Julian sighed. Following Diana’s thinking always exasperated his supply of patience, but this morning her thoughts seemed even more disjointed and confused than usual. He glanced at her curvaceous little form and delicate features and he could understand, at least partially, why she had so captivated his father. Of course, he thought dryly, that was the basic difference between him and his father: he would have enjoyed a discreet affair with the young widow, not married her. He sighed again. Not that he blamed his father. His mother had died some twenty years ago and his father had been alone, except for the occasional ladybird, for some twelve years before the taking little widow Diana Forest had caught his eye.

      Polite society had been stunned when the ninth Earl of Wyndham had suddenly married the impecunious widow of a lieutenant in the infantry. Not only was she poor, and younger than his only child, but she came with a child herself, her twelve-year-old daughter, Elizabeth.

      But the odd marriage had worked and, Julian reminded himself, Diana had made his father happy. Very. His father had adored her and he had doted on Elizabeth, going so far as to settle a nice tidy sum on his young stepdaughter so that she was not penniless. It was too bad that he had died within two years of his marriage, three years ago, leaving his son with the care of a young stepmother and stepsister. Not that Elizabeth gave him any trouble. Sunny-natured and accommodating, Elizabeth adored him and he had a decided soft spot for his sister by marriage. Of course, he had one for Diana, too—when she wasn’t trying his patience.

      Recognizing from past experience that Diana had finally come to the crux of her conversation, he asked neutrally, “Do you want me to talk to someone at the Horse Guards about this, uh, Captain Carver? Perhaps the captain can be assigned another post. Say, in Calcutta?”

      Diana’s eyes opened wide. “Could you do that?”

      He smiled, his harsh-featured face suddenly very attractive. “Yes, I could do that—if it pleases you.”

      She looked uncertain. “Well, I don’t think that Calcutta would be very healthy for a man who was wounded, do you? I would feel dreadful if something terrible happened to him. Couldn’t you just have your friends at the Horse Guards see that he is kept very busy—too busy to dangle after my daughter?” She paused, struck by a new worry. “Oh, dear, that might not be wise. Suppose it was discovered that you are keeping them apart. Why, they might be compelled to do something rash.” In a voice full of horror, she breathed, “Oh, Julian, you don’t think that Elizabeth would consent to a runaway match, do you? She is so innocent, of such a sweet, easy-going nature that there is no telling what this man might convince her to do.”

      His patience at an end, Julian rose to his feet. He needed to escape before he did something rash. Bowing in her direction, he said, “Do not worry, Diana. I shall take care of it.” Dryly he added, “As I always do.”

      Chapter 2

      Since it was Saturday, and he doubted that he would find his friend Colonel Stanton at the Horse Guards, Julian put off the chore of settling Captain Carver’s fate. The problem could wait until the beginning of the week. But Diana was not so convinced and to head off the incipient hysterics he could see brewing, before he left the house that afternoon to follow his own pursuits, he wrote to Stanton, requesting a private meeting on Monday afternoon. He was not worried about the situation and he doubted that Elizabeth would throw her cap over the windmill for a mere captain—no matter how dashing. Elizabeth had a good head on her slender shoulders. His mouth twisted. Unlike her mother.

      The woman was quite mad, Julian decided several hours later as he strolled down St. James Street toward Boodle’s. Quite mad if she thought he would ever make another marriage based solely on pleasing his family. His lips thinned. His marriage to Catherine had taught him the folly of that!

      Catherine