“WHERE’S CREATH?” Joseph asked when he entered his father’s linenfold-paneled study and closed the door behind him. Glancing about, he frowned. “And where’s Father?”
“Your father will be along any moment, dear.” His mother waved him into the overstuffed leather chair beside hers. “As usual, Creath is in the library. The poor thing still seems shaken up from her narrow escape. I thought it best not to disturb her without reason.”
“Without reason?” Joseph’s frown deepened as he lowered himself to sit. “Then are we not discussing—”
“We are discussing, you and I. Your father will join when he arrives, and Creath will surely go along with whatever decision we make. Such an obliging girl, that one,” Mother added in a different tone.
A tone that made Joseph rather suspect she hadn’t meant it as a compliment.
Which made no sense. Creath’s obliging nature was one of the things he liked best about her—she was so easy to get on with. He must have mistaken Mother’s meaning. In any case, she was right about one thing: Creath would happily go along with whatever he and his parents decided.
Shrugging, he leaned back and relaxed into the comfortable chair. “I gather you wish to settle on my wedding date, now that the weather has broken. My preference is Friday, in order to see the deed done before Sir Leonard returns on Saturday. Better he finds us married rather than missing, don’t you think? At that point he’ll have no recourse.”
“There’s a third option,” his mother said, tapping her chin.
“Oh?”
“Sir Leonard returns to find you neither missing nor married—and Creath, he never finds at all.”
“I…pray pardon?” He lurched upright in his chair, thinking he couldn’t have heard her right. “Are you suggesting we postpone the wedding, or—”
“I’m suggesting you forget it altogether.” Mother released a heavy sigh. “The truth is I’ve had doubts about this scheme ever since you announced your betrothal. I know you wish to save Creath. We all want to help her. But this isn’t the only way. Why sacrifice your own happiness when instead—”
“I won’t be sacrificing my happiness,” he said through gritted teeth. Why did both of the women in his life think he’d be sacrificing his happiness? “I’ve known Creath since I was ten years old. We’re the best of friends.”
“Precisely. You’re friends. And as her friend, you ought to help rescue her, quite certainly. A friend would help facilitate her escape. A friend would help her find someplace to hide.”
“Where?” Losing patience, Joseph took to his feet and began pacing. “You think Sir Leonard won’t search our other properties? Or are you thinking to hide her with friends? Who do we know who would put a stranger’s welfare above threats to their own family? Where do you imagine she’ll be safe?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere far away or unexpected or—Wales!” His mother’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Send her to Wales with Lord Grosmont. The Trevors are good people, and Sir Leonard won’t look for her there.”
Joseph opened his mouth to argue…then closed it. His pacing stopped short as an incredible notion struck him.
Was it possible this wasn’t such a bad idea?
Neither Creath nor the Ashcrofts had any ties to Wales, meaning Sir Leonard was unlikely to follow her there. And even if, somehow, he learned of Creath’s whereabouts, the bastard would wield far less power in Wales than he did here. His authority was for the most part restricted to this corner of England. His ability to intimidate—and to corrupt—would be far more limited across the border.
And the Trevors were good people. Despite their short acquaintance, Joseph felt confident in trusting them. Lady Arabel was naught but clever and kind—she would make a good friend for Creath. Not as good a friend as he was, of course, but far from lacking. And Grosmont had proved himself a decent sort, especially with his efforts to comfort and protect Creath. No matter that the fellow’s misguided persistence was irritating, the compassion beneath it was obvious and admirable.
Even Chrystabel, interfering and insufferable though she was, seemed to be worming her way into Joseph’s good graces. Her impassioned entreaty this morning had revealed a new side to her. If she hadn’t quite convinced him of the wisdom of celebrating Christmas, at least she’d proven her heart was in the right place…
…that place being her bosom, which his male brain was now visualizing in its enticingly low-cut, figure-hugging red brocade bodice.
And now he felt hot again. Holy Hades, what was happening to him? He was either running a fever or losing his damned mind.
Wrenching his thoughts from that bizarre and unsuitable topic, he realized Mother had taken advantage of his silence to continue arguing her point. “…you see it’s perfect? Sir Leonard has no idea who they are. He never asked their names. If Creath remained in Wales but a month, well past her eighteenth birthday, you’d both be free of him.”
“You know it’s not that simple, Mother.” With a fresh surge of annoyance, Joseph resumed his pacing. He’d explained all of this before, and he had always hated repeating himself. “She’d be free of his guardianship, but he might still force her submission. Only a legal marriage can fully free her from his grasp.”
“Then let her marry someone else,” his mother snapped. “She’s pretty and has money and land, which means she’ll have her pick of men.”
“Then why on earth shouldn’t I pick her?” Joseph stopped pacing again, his fists clenched at his sides. “I promised to marry her, and I’m a man of my word. And given that there aren’t any other suitable young women in this godforsaken wilderness—”
“Really, Joseph?” Mother looked heavenward. “You’re twenty years old. Far too old for this silly pretending.”
Joseph’s mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”
“There certainly is another suitable young woman.” Mother’s brows arched, daring him to name her. “The one who thinks we live in the wilderness.”
“The one who thinks…you mean Lady Chrystabel?” he asked incredulously, licking parched lips. “Are you mad? You think she’s suitable?”
His mother cocked her head. “I think she interests you in a way Creath never will.”
“She doesn’t interest me.” Joseph’s cheeks flamed, along with other parts of him he refused to acknowledge. “She irritates me.”
Mother grinned. “Because she’s impulsive, irrational, and irresistible?”
“Yes. I mean, no! She’s not irresistible!”
His mother’s eyes shone even brighter, as though she’d somehow taken encouragement from his flat refusal. “She’s refreshing and delightful and will keep you on your toes, my dear boy. You need a woman like her. I adore Creath, but she won’t challenge you. She’s so terribly good-natured that she’ll go along with whatever you want.” When she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her eyes, he realized their brightness was the result of happy tears. “And while I love your father, I don’t want to see you follow in his footsteps and become an old fust-cudgel.” After blowing her nose, she managed a watery smile. “I want to see you with someone who questions convention.”
Before Joseph could formulate so much as a thought, his father banged into the study. “What’s going on?” he called out, thumping the door closed behind him. “Did you start the discussion without me?”
“Of course not.” Mother wiped the last traces of damp from her eyes before favoring him with a pleasant smile. “Do sit down, dear, and let us begin. When do you think our son ought to take his lovely bride to Bristol?”