Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

G ulping air as he strode away from the Droxfords’ house, Lazarus tried not to think of the gut-wrenching look of disappointment on Gwen’s face as he’d told her that he couldn’t be with her. He’d considered telling her the truth, but what would that solve? Absolutely nothing. True or not, the existence of the allegation would ensure Gwen never looked at him with affection again.

Or love.

God, she’d tried to tell him that she loved him. He nearly doubled over as he walked.

How was it possible that he’d finally found love, where he’d least expected it, and couldn’t embrace it with both hands? Fury raged through him—entirely directed at himself.

Even if he hadn’t actually bedded Miss Worsley, he’d put himself into a position where it was not only possible but likely. If he were an upstanding gentleman with a pristine reputation, this would not be happening.

He’d blithely sauntered his way through life thinking his behavior wasn’t that bad. He toed the line, but never crossed it. But now he may have done the unthinkable, and worse, he didn’t even remember.

Lazarus made his way to Piccadilly. He dearly hoped Shefford would finally be at home. He hadn’t been last night, nor had he been at any of their regular haunts. And he hadn’t been home earlier today either. It would be just Lazarus’s luck if he’d left town for a few days, which would not be unheard of.

He could only pray that Shefford recalled something of that night last November. If he did not, Lazarus wasn’t sure what to do next. Aside from marry Miss Worsley and become father to her child. The world felt as if it were closing in around him.

Shefford’s valet opened the door. He appeared unsurprised to see Lazarus for the third time in less than a day. Indeed, Lazarus didn’t have to utter a word before the valet said, “His lordship is present now. I informed him you would be calling at some point this afternoon. He’ll receive you in his study.”

“Thank you, Spears.” Lazarus practically ran to the study, not that he needed to since the apartment wasn’t terribly large.

“Ah, there you are again,” Shefford said. He wore a banyan over a pair of pantaloons, and his hair was wet, indicating he’d just bathed.

“Here you are,” Lazarus huffed. “Finally.”

“What the devil has you so distressed?” Shefford, who reclined on a chaise with a newspaper, gestured for Lazarus to take a chair.

Instead of sitting, Lazarus paced. “Do you recall that fox-hunting party we attended in November?” He glanced toward Shefford, who set his paper on the floor next to the chaise and swung his legs down to sit upright.

“Haverstock’s, yes?”

“His granddaughter confronted me in the park yesterday and accused me of fathering her unborn child.” Damn, but it did not get easier to share that information, and each time he said it, Lazarus felt even more disgusted.

Shefford’s jaw dropped. “The hell she did.”

“Do you remember her? I barely did.”

Furrows lined Shefford’s brow as he considered the question. “Red hair?”

“Blondish, I think.” Lazarus hadn’t been able to tell beneath her hat. He also hadn’t been looking at her closely. His mind had been too occupied with trying to make sense of her claims.

“Did she say when this happened?”

“No, but it could only be the night we went to the inn. I remember the other nights of the party, and I was not with her. On the second night, I had an enjoyable interlude with Lad—” Lazarus cut himself off for the sake of keeping the lady’s identity secret. “Never mind who. I was occupied that evening, at least for a time, in the orangery. But I don’t remember the night we went to the inn—that was the second to the last night.”

“That was a hell of an evening.” Shefford wiped his hand down his face. “We drank a ridiculous amount of ale, then the innkeeper brought out that smuggled whisky. You did drink more of it than I did.”

Lazarus hoped that meant Shefford remembered more of what happened. “What did we do that night?”

“Besides drink? There were a pair of eager women at the inn, and we spent some time with them.”

Lazarus froze, his mind working furiously. He vaguely recalled a high-pitched, feminine laugh and rouged lips. He’d said something about her not leaving rings of red on his cock. He groaned at how terrible that sounded. Honestly, so much of his past behavior was incredibly repulsive to him now. Not the least of which was potentially getting a young lady with child.

But perhaps he really hadn’t. It would be a relief to discover that was true, but it still didn’t excuse the fact that he couldn’t say for certain.

“How long?” Lazarus asked. “All night?”

“No. I slept for a while. I’ve no idea what you did, but you were still quite groggy when we departed before dawn. That was when we returned to Haverstock Hall.”

“So, we weren’t even at the house most of the night,” Lazarus said, relaxing slightly for the first time since he’d encountered Melissa at the park.

Shefford shook his head. He rested his elbow on his knee and put his chin on his hand. “And I have to say, I can’t think you were in any condition to fornicate when you returned to your bed.”

“I had the same thought, but it helps to know this timeline.”

“What will you do?” Shefford asked.

“She’s given me until Monday to make an offer of marriage. If I do not, she’ll tell her father and grandfather she is with child and that I am the father.”

Shefford lifted his head and took his elbow from his knee. “They don’t know? Furthermore, why didn’t she tell you before now?”

“She said she’s been ill, but her mother knew and could have informed me.” Lazarus recalled Droxford’s excellent point on that matter.

“Why would she accuse you of this?”

“All I can think is that the real father is someone she can’t marry. A footman or someone inappropriate.”

“A married man,” Shefford said with an incredibly derogative tone, his lip curling.

Lazarus suspected he understood the reason for his friend’s disdain. His father carried on with other women to an excessive degree. It was possible, if not probable, that he’d impregnated an innocent such as Miss Worsley. “I hope that isn’t what happened to her,” Lazarus said softly. “I do sympathize with her situation, but I truly don’t think I am the father.”

“I can’t imagine you are; however, if she tells people, you will then have to fight against rumor and innuendo.”

“Don’t we already do that by the nature of our reputations?” Lazarus asked, finally dropping into a chair. He’d barely slept last night, and he was exhausted.

“I suppose, but no one is out there saying we are fathering children out of wedlock with the granddaughter of a viscount.”

Lazarus flinched as if he’d taken a physical blow. “I may be rakish, but that is beyond the pale.”

“Since it’s likely you didn’t even do it, you can’t marry her.”

“I don’t want to marry her. But I suspect if I tell her this, she’ll insist it was me. She needs to marry in haste, and why not snare a viscount?”

“While I also sympathize with her predicament, this is an awful way to keep herself from ruin. She made a mistake.”

“What if she didn’t?” Lazarus said, feeling sorry for the young lady. “Plenty of women are coerced. Or worse.”

Shefford pressed his lips together. “I would hope that hasn’t happened here, but perhaps you should find out. In the meantime, I am happy to speak on your behalf. I will also send word to the innkeeper and ask him to provide an alibi for you. In fact, I’ll send someone who can make the trip there and back with extreme haste.”

Lazarus sagged against the back of the chair. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course. We must also see who at Haverstock Hall can recall anything from that night. I forget if you had your valet with you or if one of their retainers assisted you that week.”

“It was one of theirs. Could your man interview him?”

“Of course. I’ll instruct him to interview as many people as he can.” Shefford grimaced. “He won’t return by Monday, however.”

Even so, this was more hope than Lazarus had possessed an hour ago. “I’ll have to ask her for more time. I’ll also tell her I don’t think she’s remembering what happened correctly.”

“That’s a polite way of calling her a liar,” Shefford said with a smirk.

“I hate doing that, but I did not do this. Perhaps I can offer to help her call out the true father.”

“Unless it’s someone she can’t marry. She would much rather wed a viscount, and her family will want that too. You said her mother knows.” Shefford narrowed his eyes briefly. “Have you considered speaking to the mother and telling her you know this is a ploy to entrap you in marriage?”

Lazarus blew out a breath. “I had not. I was too focused on the shock of it all. I am grateful for you and Droxford having level heads.”

Shefford arched a brow. “You spoke to Droxford?”

“Last night. I was, to borrow your phrasing, distressed. I hadn’t even thought to find you yet.”

“You went to Droxford first?” Shefford laid his hand against his chest. “I’m wounded.”

“No offense intended, but he is the most upstanding of our set and possesses an extremely level head.”

“He’s made his share of mistakes, but you are correct in that he is better behaved than we are.”

“Perhaps it’s time we corrected that.” Lazarus stood, feeling weary. “If I can survive this disaster, I am definitely changing my ways. You should consider it. Where were you last night and today?”

“Behaving badly. Don’t ask me to change,” Shefford said, rising. “I’ll just endeavor not to get drunk enough that I can’t remember what I was doing.” His lips lifted in a quick, humorless smile.

Lazarus realized that Shefford didn’t ever drink to that level of excess, at least not that Lazarus could recall. How had he never noticed that before?

“Anyway,” Shefford continued. “I don’t give a fig about my reputation, as you well know.” He flashed a genuine smile then. “I’ll send for my man immediately.”

Lazarus stood. “Thank you. Who is this man, anyway?”

Shefford shrugged. “Just someone I employ from time to time. What will you do about this young woman? What’s her name?”

“Miss Melissa Worsley.”

“Will you speak to her or to her mother?” Shefford asked.

“I suppose I’ll send a note to her mother.”

“I’d be careful about what you put in writing. But you also don’t want to be seen calling on them.” Shefford frowned. “Bloody awful situation. I’m so sorry, Somerton.”

Lazarus would put as little as possible in writing, and not just because it was a chore. “I appreciate your help. And commiseration. Your memory of the evening is most reassuring. Perhaps tonight, I will sleep.” Or not. He would probably lie awake thinking of how he’d hurt Gwen.

“I’ll let you know as soon as my man returns,” Shefford said. “Please keep me apprised of any developments. I will do whatever necessary to keep you from the parson’s trap.”

Lazarus nodded, then took himself out. While he felt better overall, he was still bothered by the whole situation. That a young woman sought to entrap him was galling, but he also felt badly for her. Was she so cornered that she’d decided lying and manipulating someone was her only escape?

G wen was not in the mood to attend a ball with her parents that evening. The host was a good friend of her father’s, however, and she was required to accompany them. She’d been reminded of this when, after returning home from Tamsin’s, she’d attempted to tell her mother that she had a headache.

Badger, Gwen’s maid who went by Badge rather than be called a generally disagreeable animal, set the last jeweled comb in Gwen’s hair and surveyed her in the dressing table mirror. “All finished!” she declared in her thick Yorkshire accent. “You just need your gloves.” After fetching the long, white accessories, Badge handed them to Gwen. “Why do you look so worried today?” Badge, who was in her middle thirties and was as much a mothering figure as Gwen’s own mother, smoothed her fingertips across Gwen’s brow.

“I have a bit of a headache.” Gwen had no intention of telling Badge about Lazarus.

“You should have said something,” Badge gently admonished. “I would have mixed a tonic for you. I still can, if you like.”

“I am not sure there is time,” Gwen said, pulling on her gloves.

A rap on the door drew them to turn. Badge went to answer it.

Gwen could hear the conversation she had with the butler. Gwen’s presence was requested in her father’s study, which was odd, since they were due to leave for the ball shortly. Couldn’t her father say whatever he needed to in the coach?

Badge turned from the door, and Gwen said, “I heard. I’ll go down directly.”

A few minutes later, she arrived at his study. Inside, he was seated behind his desk, and her mother was in a chair nearby. They both looked very serious.

Gwen’s insides did a number of somersaults. She slowly stepped inside.

“Close the door,” her father said.

Doing as he directed, Gwen pulled the door closed and moved to stand in front of his desk. “Is something amiss?” Her heart beat wildly as she tried to imagine why her parents looked so…unhappy. Upset? Disappointed. She’d no idea.

Her father’s hair had been a lighter shade of brown than anyone else’s in the family, but what was left of it had gone mostly gray as it had receded back from his forehead. His eyes were a flat brown like Gwen’s, and his features were strong and artistically pleasing like her brother’s. He’d been painted several times, as artists found him to be an attractive subject. Indeed, he and her mother had been painted together more times than Gwen could count.

“We’ve received a disturbing letter just a short while ago,” he said, frowning deeply. “From Mr. Virgil Eberforce.”

What could that cad have to say that would interest her parents? “Did he ask you to compensate him for the waistcoat I apparently ruined at Almack’s?”

“No. He alleges you have been visiting your friend Lady Droxford in order to conduct a liaison with Lord Somerton. Is that true?”

Gwen wished she were sitting down. How on earth had Eberforce worked that out? Liaison was not an accurate characterization of why they’d been meeting, though Gwen wouldn’t have minded that.

“Of course it’s not true. I was visiting my friend, which I did this very afternoon.” Had Eberforce seen her and Lazarus arriving around the same time? But it sounded as if he had observed them several times. How, and why had he even been paying attention?

Gwen had a horrifying thought—was there any way he would have been able to see into the library? If he had, he would have seen they were kissing. Not just today, but the other day as well.

No, that was absurd. He would have had to be in the rear garden with a direct line of sight into the library. She couldn’t even recall if the draperies had been open to allow someone to see in. Of course they had. There’d been sunlight. Why had they been so reckless?

Her father studied her intently. “Eberforce says you and Somerton call at the Droxford residence around the same time and have been for the past fortnight or so.”

“That is merely a coincidence, then. I visit with Tamsin. I had no idea the viscount was there,” she lied. She saw the flicker of uncertainty in her father’s eyes and wished she’d thought to say she had seen him there once. That would perhaps have been more believable.

“It doesn’t matter,” her mother said, drawing Gwen to turn her head toward where she was sitting. “Eberforce has been saying cruel things since that mishap at Almack’s. True or not, he will spread this information, and it will reflect poorly on you.”

“That isn’t fair,” Gwen said. Except she had been meeting Lazarus secretly. But for good reason! They hadn’t been conducting a liaison. Not really. And definitely not at first.

“Regardless, that is what will happen. And given Somerton’s reputation, people will likely believe it.” her father said. “I’ve sent word to Markwith that we’d like to negotiate a marriage settlement as soon as possible. I understand he will return Monday.”

Gwen felt as though she’d been plunged into an icy river and was fighting to keep her head above water. “Why Markwith?” She even sounded as though she were struggling to breathe.

“I thought you perchance liked him best,” her mother said with a faint smile. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, my dear. It’s time you wed.”

Gwen couldn’t agree more. Only, she wanted a different groom. “Can’t we just say that Eberforce is lying because he’s holding a grudge? Intelligent people will know he’s being spiteful.” Over a waistcoat! He would destroy Gwen’s reputation for a ruined garment.

Her father cleared his throat. “Be that as it may, I don’t think you can weather that scandal. If it were some other gentleman, we would have an easier time of it. However, Somerton has a particular reputation, and he paid you attention until recently. It will not be a stretch for some people to believe this.” He narrowed one eye at her. “You are telling us the truth, aren’t you? There is nothing between you and the viscount?”

How Gwen wished there were. “There is nothing between us,” she said quietly.

Her mother looked at her father. “I told you that was highly unlikely, dear.”

Gwen wanted to ask why. Because she wasn’t the type of woman Lazarus would want? Well, as it happened, she wasn’t. At least not for more than a fleeting moment. It seemed he really was the rogue he claimed to be. Gwen had fallen completely under his spell. She’d forsaken the rules she’d vowed to follow, and now she would pay the price with a hasty marriage to a man she didn’t love. She would also make her parents happy in doing so, and wasn’t that what she wanted most?

Perhaps not.

“In any case, you will no longer be calling on your friend Lady Droxford,” her father announced as he stood. “Hopefully, you will be wed by June, and then you can visit whomever you please.”

Gwen’s mother rose and looked at Gwen with an encouraging smile. “Markwith will be a wonderful husband. I can see how much he enjoys your company.”

“And he has ten thousand a year, so you will be quite comfortable,” her father added. “I daresay you will also be happy. It seems the two of you share many things in common. I must say I am pleased to see you with someone who possesses a sharp intelligence and appreciation for academic endeavors.”

What he meant was that Markwith would support Gwen’s reading addiction, which many gentlemen would not. That he seemed genuinely happy for her was nice, but Gwen didn’t want to marry Markwith. She didn’t love him.

Gwen looked at the floor and prayed she wouldn’t cry. “Does it matter that I am not in love with Mr. Markwith?”

“Your emotions may yet decide otherwise,” her mother said. “I did not reciprocate your father’s affection until we were nearly wed—long after the betrothal.” She gave him a sweet, love-filled smile.

Her mother’s experience did not give her hope, however. Gwen was already in love and couldn’t imagine feeling that way about anyone else. And certainly not in the next several weeks before she would apparently wed Mr. Markwith.

How could this be happening?

Gwen’s headache intensified. She wished she’d asked Badge to make that tonic.

“That is settled, then,” her father said. “Let us depart.” He gestured toward the door, and her mother waited for Gwen to precede them from the study.

So, she was just supposed to carry on with the evening as if her life hadn’t been decided without her input? Why did she even need to go to the infernal ball if her engagement was all but finalized?

Because her father wanted them all to go. Even her brother would be there.

Taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm herself, Gwen opened the door and left the study. She’d already felt raw after seeing Lazarus earlier. Now she was numb.

She would need to set aside the love in her heart and look to a future she didn’t want.