April Kihlstrom Read online

  “Not wise,” another predicted gloomily.

  “She’ll try to take charge!” another added, with a shudder.

  “Right thing to do,” Rothwood countered, though at the moment he couldn’t quite recall why.

  There were a few more protests followed by good wishes and toasts to his impending good fortune. Finally, while the others stayed to play cards, Rothwood left to find his aunt. He had a sort of vague sense that if he ever brought his bride to London he would wish for his aunt’s help in launching her. But it was more than that. She had stood as some sort of mother to him after his own had died. For all her starch and intimidating manner, there was a strong affection between them and he felt an almost filial duty to tell her his plans before he carried them out.

  So pleased was Rothwood with these thoughts that he went straight from his club to Almack’s, where he found his aunt intimidating yet again the latest crop of girls making their curtsey to the ton.

  * * *

  Lady Kenrick had just finished lecturing one poor girl’s mother on the folly of allowing her daughter to dress in a color that so clearly ill-suited her, when she spotted her nephew coming toward her and crowed with delight.

  “Rothwood! Are you here to finally dance with me?”

  Since this was a long-standing jest between them, Rothwood merely kissed his aunt’s hand, swore eternal devotion to her and then said, in a voice that carried far better than he realized, “No, Aunt Violet, I came to tell you I am off to the countryside as soon as I can pack.”

  Lady Kenrick felt her heart sink. What scandal had her nephew fallen into now? Before she could think what to say, the lady closest to her tittered and said, “In the middle of the night? My heavens! What can be so urgent that you cannot wait until morning?”

  Lady Kenrick was acutely conscious of all the faces leaning forward to hear her nephew’s answer. Trying to make light of things she said, “I hope you will have a good trip, then.”

  “Don’t you want to know where I am going and why?” he countered.

  Curse the boy! Didn’t he understand how foolish it was to air his predicament, whatever it was, in public this way?

  She made herself shrug. “If you wish to tell me.”

  “I, my dear Aunt Violet, am about to earn your deepest approval,” he crowed. “I am off to offer for your goddaughter, Miss Trowley, to be my wife.”

  And then, before a stunned Lady Kenrick had time to collect her thoughts or respond, Rothwood turned on his heel and strode out of Almack’s, head held high, entirely oblivious to the fact that his announcement had caused a deep silence to fall over the room. A silence that was broken the moment he was gone by loud and merry speculation over what he had just said.

  For her part, Lady Kenrick pasted a smile on her face and made light of Rothwood’s words. “Oh, my nephew takes these notions and by the next morning usually has forgotten them. Or changed his mind. I pray you will pay no attention for I certainly do not. Either that or he is playing a prank on me, wishing to get up my hopes only to laugh at me tomorrow for being a credulous fool!”

  Since no one would ever dare call Lady Kenrick a credulous fool, that effectively ended any direct conversation with her over the matter, but it did not stop the speculation that continued to swirl among members of the ton who were present that night. And it would not, Lady Kenrick very much feared, prevent it among everyone who would hear the news in the morning.

  Mind you, had circumstances been otherwise, Lady Kenrick would have been delighted had Rothwood come to her and said he wished to marry her Goddaughter Beatrix. But not when he was clearly so deep in his cups and not when he had not even seen the girl in close to ten years. What on earth, she wondered, had put it in his mind to marry her and why on earth had he felt the need to announce his decision in the midst of such a public place?

  Mind you, the girl’s background was quite creditable. Her mother was the granddaughter of an earl and her father the youngest son of a viscount and Beatrix herself surely could not be blamed because both families had lost patience with her father’s gambling debts and refused to pay them any more. Had it been otherwise they might well have lived in London and Beatrix made her curtsey to the ton as any other young lady would.

  Life, Lady Kenrick thought grimly, was about to get very complicated and she could only hope that no one would get hurt by her nephew’s actions. First thing when she got home, she decided, would be the task of writing to warn her bosom bow, Beatrix’s mother, of her nephew’s impending arrival and intentions.

  Now any other woman would have told herself that she should confirm her nephew’s plans before she wrote such a letter. Any other woman would have let matters unfold on their own. Lady Kenrick, however, found herself growing rather fond of the idea of her nephew married to Beatrix and decided that if a note from her could help the matter along, why, that was what she would do. It was, after all, high time her nephew married. Indeed, the terms of his father’s will demanded that he do so in short order. Already wagers had been placed that he would fail to wed in time and lose most of his inheritance because of it. Not that ladies were supposed to know about these wagers made at the men’s private clubs, but a great many people were only too happy to keep Lady Kenrick informed on all sorts of things—particularly wagers involving her nephew.

  The more she considered the matter, the more Lady Kenrick could not help but feel that Beatrix was exactly the right wife for her nephew. He needed someone to take him in hand. Folly or not, she would do what she could to promote the match and make the girl a success when Edmund brought her to London. Indeed, she quite looked forward to molding the girl into a proper companion for herself. And a proper wife for Edmund, of course. That nonsense from her last visit to the Trowley home would all be forgotten once the girl was here and needed her help. Yes, absurd as Edmund’s declaration had been, matters might turn out very well, after all. She would write the letter to her bosom bow Marianne the moment she got home.

  Like her nephew, Lady Kenrick had had, perhaps, rather more wine that evening than was wise.

  * * *

  Rothwood might have been determined to set off at once for the countryside, but his staff knew their duty and they knew the propensity of his lordship to concoct foolish schemes in his cups only to regret them in the morning. Their task, therefore, was to get him to go to sleep and reconsider the matter over breakfast, by which time his thoughts would be markedly clearer and more sensible.

  “Come, sir,” his valet said coaxingly. “You cannot go in your evening dress. And it will take some time to pack. Why don’t you undress and take a short nap while I take care of things.”

  The majordomo spoke quietly to a footman, who went outside to speak to the coachman. A few moments later, Rothwood heard his carriage drive away.

  “What the devil? Where is my coachman taking my carriage?” Rothwood demanded.

  The majordomo coughed. “I, er, understand there is a problem with one of the horses, sir. Fine for in the city, but for a long journey you’ll want better. The, er, coachman went to change horses, or at least check to be sure they are in shape for such a trip.”

  Rothwood frowned. “Oh. Quite right. Thank you, Henry.”

  The majordomo merely bowed slightly.

  Rothwood allowed himself to be coaxed upstairs and provided with a posset that Cook had taken care to add a touch of laudanum to. He drank it as he undressed. “Pack for a week. Now!” he told his valet as the man seemed to hesitate.

  The man went pale. Even drunk as he was, Rothwood knew what that meant. His father would have scorned him for coddling his valet, but Edmund didn’t care. His voice softened as he said gently, kindly, “It’s all right, Collins. You shall stay here.”

  The valet stiffened. “I know my duty, sir.”

  “It isn’t proper to contradict me, Collins. I said you shall stay here,” Rothwood repeated.

  “But sir! Who will dress you?”

  “I shall dress myself. I’m going
to a small village. No one will notice the difference.”

  “I assure you they will.”

  Rothwood sighed. “You know that traveling makes you ill, Collins. I cannot ask you to go when I truly do not think it essential. Mr. Trowley is bound to have a man who can look after me.” He paused, then added, “I can always send for you should I find myself mistaken.”

  Collins hesitated, clearly torn. “Very well,” he said at last. “If you are certain.”

  The valet consoled himself with the knowledge that the trip was not likely to take place anyway. By morning Rothwood would almost certainly have changed his mind. “Perhaps a short nap?” he suggested. “Until your carriage is brought round again?”

  Rothwood yawned. “Just a short one,” he said. “Mind, you wake me as soon as we’re packed and the carriage is ready.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Half an hour later, Rothwood was sound asleep and the household could finally breathe a sigh of relief and take themselves off to bed, certain that in the morning Rothwood would thank them for once again having thwarted one of his schemes concocted in the depths of the bottle.

  For once, they were wrong. But who could have guessed that this time Rothwood meant it, that this time Rothwood was going to follow through on his scheme?

  Chapter 2

  Beatrix stared at her father with resignation as he confessed, yet again, that he had lost money. Money they badly needed. Didn’t he understand what he was doing to all of them?

  “It seemed such a sure thing!” he protested. “You know how fast Sam’s pig has always been. Who could have guessed it would be beaten by that lumbering Dawson sow.”

  “Perhaps anyone who noticed that Sam’s pig is now pregnant?”

  Mr. Trowley, having no answer to that, took refuge in a pretense of indignation. “Well! I don’t know what has happened to respect for one’s elders, especially one’s parents,” he said, tilting up his chin. “Go and help Cook in the kitchen while you think about that!”

  Help Cook in the kitchen? That would be a recipe for disaster. Beatrix was not about to do so. After all, Papa only wanted to be rid of her because she’d said out loud what she had been thinking. But what did it matter? Her words would not stop her father from gambling away funds they could ill afford to lose. And Mama would do nothing to stop him. She would only plead ignorance of anything to do with money.

  No, as always, it was up to Beatrix to find a way to manage. She didn’t want to have to do so. Heaven knew she’d have been happy, nay, thrilled if she could have placed responsibility for the family in someone else’s, anyone else’s capable hands.

  But that was the rub. Who was capable besides herself? Certainly not her mother or father. Her siblings were not only younger than she was, they showed not the least inclination to responsibility, happy to leave it all in her hands.

  There were times when it made Beatrix want to cry. She was tired, so very tired of all of this. There were moments when she dreamed of a Prince Charming riding into her life, scooping her up and galloping off with her to live happily ever after.

  It wasn’t going to happen. Even if it did, how could she abandon her family to be happy herself? No, the future stretched on for what seemed like forever, trapping her into the role she now played. It was enough to make Beatrix want to run away from home. But she wouldn’t. They needed her far too much. Instead she turned toward the kitchen. Cook needed to be warned that the food in the pantry would have to stretch even more than usual. The woman was clever and, for the moment, they would manage. The problem was, what were they all going to do if Papa didn’t stop gambling?

  * * *

  In the other room, Mr. Trowley wiped his forehead. Beatrix was an estimable girl but not an easy one to live with, not easy at all. Not like his dear Marianne, who was amiable in all respects. As if she heard his thoughts, she appeared in the doorway of his small study. In her hands she held a letter and her face was wreathed in smiles.

  “Mr. Trowley,” she said, “we are to have a visitor! The Viscount Rothwood! And he is likely to offer for Beatrix. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Beatrix? Our Beatrix?” Mr. Trowley asked, bewildered. “But why?”

  “What does it matter? I must confess that I had feared she was past any hope of marrying and now this! I am over the moon, my dear!”

  “Yes, of course, but what do we know about the fellow? How did she ever meet him?”

  “That’s the best part. You know my dear friend, Lady Kenrick? He is her nephew! No doubt she has told him all about our estimable daughter and that is why he is coming to offer for her. Or perhaps . . . ” Her voice trailed off as she gazed into the distance, a speculative look upon her face. After a moment she said slowly, “I had forgotten but we have met him, John. Don’t you recall? It was some nine or ten years ago that Violet brought him for a visit. He must have taken an interest in Beatrix and had a tendre for her all this time.”

  “Lady Kenrick can’t have told him all about Beatrix nor could he remember her all that well,” Mr. Trowley muttered, “or the last thing he would be doing is offering for her.”

  “John!” Mrs. Trowley said in shocked tones. “Beatrix is our daughter and I am sure she is a most worthy young woman.”

  “Worthy and managing and not in the least respectful toward anyone,” he countered. “Not to mention hopelessly uninterested in her appearance. No, no, depend on it, he will take one look at her and take himself straight back to London!”

  For perhaps the first time in her life, Mrs. Trowley showed that she actually possessed a backbone. “We must make him realize her worth,” she said with some spirit. “We must make him wish to marry her. I will not see my Beatrix grow old a spinster. And if she is managing, well, if we are honest, John, it is our fault that she has had to be. Don’t deny it. You know as well as I that neither you nor I have a head for managing a household. No, nor the funds to do so adequately. Depend upon it, if Beatrix were to marry someone who did have a head for such things she would be happy to leave the reins in his hands! And don’t you dare do anything to suggest otherwise to our guest. Lady Kenrick writes that he wishes to marry a meek and dutiful girl and that is what we must make him believe he is going to get with Beatrix.”

  Mr. Trowley looked incredulous. “But my dear,” he protested. “Don’t you think it both unwise and unfair to deceive this young man? Won’t he and Beatrix both be unhappy when he finds out the truth?”

  Mrs. Trowley sniffed. “By then they will be wed and will have to make the best of it. I’ve no doubt Beatrix will find a way to do so. It is one of her chief talents, after all.”

  Mr. Trowley gave it up. Instead he held out a hand to his wife. “I’ve done something foolish, my dear. I’ve lost some money betting on a pig who let me down. Beatrix has already rung a peal over my head so there’s no need for you to do so. I am so sorry.”

  She took his hand and smiled fondly at him. “I know you are. I ought to be angry but I’m afraid I don’t know how. One way or another we will manage. Beatrix will find a way, you’ll see.”

  “And once she’s gone? How will we manage then?” he could not help but ask.

  “Much more comfortably, even if not as well, I expect,” Mrs. Trowley replied. “After all, she cannot scold us when we are here and she is in London.”

  Much cheered by this thought, Mr. Trowley smiled and suggested, despite the fact that it was midmorning, some of the activity that had already resulted in the existence of their numerous offspring. Mrs. Trowley was happy to oblige. After all, she so hated to disappoint Mr. Trowley in any way and he was so very good at this particular activity.

  * * *

  Had Rothwood known his aunt had sent a letter ahead, he was not likely to object. Anything that smoothed his path could only be a good thing. The faster the matter was settled, the faster he could return to London and his friends. Besides, if Miss Trowley did not prove acceptable or if she refused him, he would have to scramble to find another bride
by the deadline set in his father’s will. Even to himself, he would not admit how much he hoped that she was the girl he remembered and that she would still look fondly at him. That would have smacked too much of the kind of sentimentality his father had done his best to browbeat out of him. No, he would not let himself think in such a way. He would be the man his father had wished him to be. After all, had it not served him well to do so thus far?

  Life was, he reminded himself, generally quite good, and he savored every moment—just as his father had taught him to. If he was bored, he merely did something different, and doing things kept one from feeling those pesky feelings one wasn’t supposed to feel. To be sure, his father would have said he was too soft, too cautious. He would have told Edmund to quit coddling his servants and take charge like a man, as he would have done. He would have told him to take more risks.

  That was perhaps why Lord Rothwood was on the box of his traveling coach, engaged in an attempt to cover ground as fast as possible—over the objections of his more reserved coachman—when disaster struck. The wheel of the coach hit a large rock in the road and something broke. The carriage began to slew sideways, the horses began to panic and it took both Rothwood and the coachman to keep them from bolting. As it was, they came to a halt half in a ditch with the horses stamping and snorting impatiently.

  Rothwood jumped down to survey the damage. It was, unfortunately, even worse than he feared. He looked up at the coachman. “I shall have to walk to town,” he said, “and get help.”

  “Here, no! I should be the one doing the walking!” the coachman protested.

  “Yes, well, I’ve a notion the horses will need your expert hand to hold them,” Rothwood replied. “Besides, it is my fault we are in this mess and therefore my responsibility to do the tromping to the nearest village. I shall send back help as quickly as I can. If the weather turns bad, tether the horses and take refuge in the coach,” he advised.

  The coachman straightened his back. “I think I know my duty,” he said indignantly.