Meanwhile, at Reardon Manor
“I apologize for disturbing you, my lord, but a letter has been delivered.”
Christopher, Viscount Reardon, looked up from a ledger spread open on the desk in his study and glanced at the servant. “Add it to the pile,” he murmured, gesturing to the salver Peters had brought him after the morning post had arrived.
The silver salver was littered with a number of invitations and missives Christopher knew were invoices.
The beginning of the Season always brought with it the bills for modistes and tailors, shoemakers and milliners. Allowing his mother to keep up with the latest fashions had meant he could claim he couldn’t afford to court a future Viscountess Reardon whenever his mother brought up the topic of him marrying.
Keeping Maria a secret from her had him feeling both guilt and giddiness. He wasn’t sure how he was going to break the news to her that he was already a married man.
Despite having inherited the viscountcy the year prior, he had spent more time recovering from his wound than overseeing his lands. His words to his uncle about forgoing a dowry when it came to Maria hadn’t been entirely truthful. Until he could meet with his man of business, he had no idea how much he could spend on a wife.
Peters approached the desk but paused with the folded note still clutched in his hand.
Christopher glanced up. “What is it?”
“It was delivered by a street urchin, sir, and it is addressed to Miss Fitzsimmons.”
Leaning back in his chair, Christopher regarded the missive as if it might explode. “A street urchin?” he repeated. Intrigued, he took the note from the butler and studied the masculine scrawl on one side. The ink had been smudged, and the once-white parchment appeared as if it had been stepped on, doused in water, and nibbled on one edge. “So it is,” Christopher whispered.
Normally, he would give such a note to his mother. Let her read any correspondence addressed to his sister and let her decide if it was safe to pass along to Lucy.
This one had him curious, though.
He gave the butler a dismissive nod and began undoing the tight envelope in which the note had been folded. After a struggle, he finally had the parchment spread out and mostly flattened on his desk.
Dear Miss Fitzsimmons,
I owe you an apology for what happened last night, although I must admit, I am not sorry for having kissed you. I found the experience most illuminating, for it opened my eyes to the possibility of what is to come in my life. Of what I may look forward to for the rest of my life.
I do hope you are able to see it the same.
Here Christopher blinked several times before a snort erupted. So Lucy had been kissing Marcus Higgins in the gardens! She had as much as admitted to liking it, too. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn’t help the grin that split his face.
He continued reading.
As per our agreement, I will of course marry you. I look forward to the day when we will say our vows and take up residence in Pendleton House in Mayfair.
“Damnation,” Christopher muttered softly, his grin slowly fading as he contemplated what sort of agreement his sister may have made. They had talked about her wager, but marriage hadn’t been mentioned. Ten thousand pounds had been, though.
Marcus had asked his permission to court her. During the Weatherstone ball. In that moment, Christopher had been suffering too much to realize to what he was agreeing. The young man had been so earnest, though.
Christopher was about to send for Lucy when he remembered she was with their mother at Lady Torrington’s musicale.
He resumed reading, settling back into his chair while he held the wrinkled parchment between both hands.
There is a slight matter of timing, however. I have only this morning boarded a sailing vessel bound for Rome as I have embarked on my Grand Tour. Frank Turnbridge and I made the arrangements well before our terms at Cambridge ended last week. The itinerary will keep us away from British shores for two years.
Christopher sighed at the reminder of what he had learned that morning at the shipping company offices. This letter from Marcus confirmed what the clerk had told him. He could only imagine how Lucy would react to this bit of information. Either she would be spitting mad or she would be relieved.
For a moment, he once again wondered what he should think of his sister married to Marcus Higgins. Other than the few minutes he had spent in the young man’s company at the ball—Marcus had asked if he might speak with him on an important matter and then blurted the reason before Christopher could respond—he was barely acquainted with him, and that had been when he was a child.
Marcus had been one of the children with whom he and others who lived in Park Lane and South Audley Street played in Hyde Park. That was long before Marcus’ father, the Earl of Greenley, had gained a reputation as a gambler. Before he was said to be deep in debt.
Christopher dropped the letter to his desk.
How could Marcus Higgins afford his Grand Tour? From where had he secured the funds?
Filing away the questions for later perusal, he retrieved the letter and resumed reading.
Upon my return, I shall pay a call to renew our acquaintance so that a date can be set for our wedding. I do hope this will not inconvenience you. It will give you two years to attend the entertainments of the ton with the knowledge you no longer need to impress a young man into proposing marriage.
Let this letter be a formal acknowledgment of our betrothal. Upon my return to British shores, I will pay a call to seek your brother’s formal permission to marry you.
Please know that I shall think about you often as I visit Ancient Greek temples, for I know it was Cupid who was responsible for our meeting again, and every statue of Aphrodite will have me dreaming of you.
Yours in service,
Marcus Higgins
“Meeting again?” Christopher said aloud. He reread the name several times in an effort to decipher the writing, finally affirming it was indeed the younger Greenley whelp. “Damnation.”
He set aside the letter and leaned back in his chair. Of all the possible news he expected could be found in a letter to his sister, this was the most unexpected.
Marcus Higgins, second son of the Earl of Greenley, was apparently more serious about marrying his sister than he had supposed from their brief meeting at the Weatherstone ball. And apparently they had some sort of an agreement to that end.
Christopher could think of a dozen reasons why he should be happy for his sister. Someone she apparently wanted to marry had agreed to her terms—he would have to find out whatever those were—and the young man would return for her after his Grand Tour was complete.
Their mother would no longer have to be concerned about who Lucy would marry. In two more years, Lucy would be out of Reardon Manor and be the lady of Pendleton House.
The reminder that Marcus Higgins was the son of the Earl of Greenley had Christopher wincing once again. Everyone knew the late earl had been a gambler. Apparently in debt up to his eyeballs when he died.
How did Marcus intend to keep a wife, if not with her dowry? Their brief discussion at the Weatherstone ball hadn’t delved into such details. And how did the young man intend to tell his brother he was going to marry the niece of his nemesis? Everyone knew the Earl of Greenley had hated Viscount Chamberlain even if it made no sense.
Glad he hadn’t allowed his mother to read the missive, Christopher quickly refolded it and stuffed it into his waistcoat pocket.
At the sound of Peters greeting his mother and sister, he straightened in his chair and returned his attention to the ledger. As he expected, they both paused outside the study to greet him.
“How was the musicale?” he asked, feigning interest. Although he, too, had received an invitation, he had opted to remain at Reardon Manor. Attending the fête would have had Lady Reardon attempting to match him to some hapless young lady in need of a husband.
“It was truly wonderful,” Lucy said brightly. “I am so glad I went. It’s always good to see my godfather.”
From the expression on his mother’s face, Christopher had a thought his sister was lying. “I’m relieved to hear it. I take it Lady Pettigrew wasn’t in attendance?”
“Oh, but she was,” Lucy replied, her pleasant expression unwavering. “Oh, and Lady Marianne asked after you. She was quite worried. I told her you were up and about.”
“Thank you,” he responded. “I shall have to thank her for her concern at the next ball. And you, Mother?”
Jane clutched her reticule to her lilac-garbed chest as if she expected someone to rob her. “I had a very pleasant time. And you? Are you feeling better?”
“Right as rain,” he replied. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Of course, darling.”
Christopher cleared his throat. “Oh, Lucy, might you remain a moment? I have something to ask you if you’re not otherwise engaged?”
The two women exchanged curious glances, but their mother merely lifted a shoulder and headed for the stairs.
“What is it?” Lucy asked as she made her way into the study. The sound of her footsteps was swallowed up by the Turkish carpet, its wool worn where her late father had paced when he was worried.
“Close the door,” Christopher said quietly.
Her eyes widening in surprise, Lucy was quick to do his bidding. “What’s this about?” she asked in a whisper.
Christopher pulled the missive from his pocket and held it up by one corner. “I understand best wishes are in order.”
Reaching out to take the note, Lucy said, “Best wishes for whom?”
He pulled the note away from her fingers before she could grasp it, his brows furrowing with suspicion.
Lucy gasped. “How did you find out about Lady Marianne?” she asked in surprise.
Christopher’s brows shot up nearly as high as his hairline. “Lady Marianne is betrothed?”
About to respond in the positive, Lucy’s gaze darted to the note and then back to her brother. “You can’t say a word to anyone. Her mother doesn’t know. Her father knows, but he wants to keep it a secret from his wife,” she blurted. “Apparently he likes to vex her.”
He seemed to think on her response a moment before he indicated the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Sister.”
“You won’t tell?”
A grimace appeared on his face. “Lady Marianne’s secret is safe with me,” he assured her. “Yours, however, is not.”
Lucy gave a start. “What are you talking about?”
He once again held up the note. “This came today. For you,” he stated. He tossed it across the desk, and Lucy caught it in both hands. She glanced down at the address and furrowed her brows.
“It certainly appears as if it’s traveled a good distance,” she remarked. “May I open it?”
Nodding, Christopher dared a glance out the window behind his desk and sighed as Lucy peeled apart the corners of the parchment. From the way she used only her fingertips, it was apparent she thought the missive contained bad news.
“It’s from Marcus Higgins,” Christopher stated. “You will tell me now of your agreement with him.”
Lucy gasped, her eyes darting over the scrawl filling the page. “I’m not sure I can make out what any of this says,” she murmured in frustration. “His penmanship is appalling.”
“He has agreed to marry you,” Christopher stated without preamble. “Which has me wondering. Did you propose to him?”
Blinking several times, Lucy shook her head. “No!” She blinked again. “Well, not exactly.”
Christopher crossed his arms and lifted a brow in response.
“I told you. We made a wager. Remember?”
“A wager that he would pay you ten thousand pounds if you were discovered,” Christopher responded.
She nodded.
“So... what’s this about him agreeing to marry you?”
“What?” Lucy swallowed, her attention once again returning to the letter. Once she had decoded Marcus’ messy script, she was able to read most of the missive. “If he didn’t pay me the ten thousand pounds, he had to marry me,” she murmured, her attention still on the letter.
“So... you got him to agree to either pay you or marry you?” Christopher asked in disbelief. He chuckled softly, remembering how nervous Marcus had been at the ball. How tongue-tied he had been when he had asked permission to court Lucy. How relieved Marcus had seemed when he had given his blessing.
It wasn’t until he was on his way home, in a great deal of pain, when it dawned on him that Marcus might not have a penny to his name.
Christopher was pulled from his reverie when he noticed Lucy absently nodding. “If they allowed women at White’s, I’d take you there to make my wagers,” he murmured.
Glancing up from the letter, Lucy said, “Again? What does he mean by that?”
Christopher arched a single brow. “I wondered about that, too. At first.”
Exhaling softly, Lucy seemed confused. “I wasn’t aware we had already met,” she whispered as if to herself.
“You obviously made an impression on him at some point in your life. At a ball, perhaps?”
She shook her head. “He hasn’t been in London since he left for school,” she remembered him saying. “When he was ten, I think,” she added quietly.
“So... you played with him in Hyde Park. With all the rest of the brats from Park Lane and South Audley Street,” he reasoned.
“You were one of those brats once,” she accused, but her unfocussed gaze suggested she was attempting to remember everyone she had ever played with in the park.
“I was,” he admitted. “As I recall, he was there. With the Turnbridge boys. The Combers. All the Harrington children.” He rolled his eyes. “Every nurse brought at least two whelps, and there were a dozen of us at any one time.”
Lucy allowed a wan grin. “I remember,” she said, although it was apparent she didn’t specifically recall Marcus.
Christopher stood and reached across the desk to chuck her chin. “Marry him,” he said. “He might be poor, but you’ll have your dowry to live on, and he can provide protection.”
Her eyes widening in shock, Lucy gave her head a shake. “But... I’d rather have the ten thousand pounds,” she argued.
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t we all?” He leaned back and retook his chair.
“Aren’t you offended he didn’t ask your permission?” she countered.
Shaking his head, Christopher said, “But he did. In a manner of speaking,” he hedged, allowing a soft chuckle upon remembering how nervous the young man seemed that night. And why not? His request for a moment of Christopher’s time was quickly followed by the reason he wanted said time, the words tumbling out so quickly, Marcus had asked permission to court Lucy before he’d had a chance to propose a meeting.
“Before the dancing at the Weatherstone ball had even begun,” Christopher murmured, emerging from his reverie with a grin on his face. He had a hard time suppressing more humor at seeing his sister’s reaction to his claim. “Timed his request perfectly, given I had to take my leave not ten minutes later,” he added as a hand went to his chest.
“Because you gave him permission,” she accused, scoffing at realizing this was all her brother’s fault.
He chuckled. “I could blame it on a bad lobster roll,” he insisted. Frowning at seeing her look of dismay, he added, “No matter what, nothing will happen for two years. He’s off on his Grand Tour.”
About to remind him she would still be a wallflower, Lucy remembered what she had decided at the musicale.
Her future was set.
According to Marcus and now her brother, she was betrothed.
Ruined or not, she was betrothed.
Apparently Christopher noticed the change in her, for he swallowed. Hard.
“Then I do hope Mr. Higgins is prepared for my response when he returns to England,” she stated, lifting her chin in defiance.
“Lucy,” Christopher said in a voice filled with warning.
“Oh. Don’t you ‘Lucy’ me,” she replied, standing up so quickly, the chair in which she’d been seated threatened to fall backward. “I intended to take my revenge upon London society and Lady Pettigrew by enjoying my time as a wallflower. With ten thousand pounds in my future, I could have been independent. A well-to-do spinster—”
“Would not have happened, Lucy,” her brother interrupted, rolling his eyes.
“Now I’ll have to take my revenge on Marcus Higgins. If he thinks—”
“Lucy!”
She recoiled in surprise at hearing how loudly Christopher said her name. Had they been children, their nurse would have scolded him. “What?” she managed in a small voice.
“He’s a good man. Do not hold the sins of his father against him,” he said in a near whisper.
Lucy displayed a look of confusion. “This isn’t about the Earl of Greenley,” she said with a scoff. “This is about his second son, agreeing to a wager—”
“For which you set the terms and which you have clearly won,” Christopher finished for her. “Congratulations.”
Apparently appeased by his acknowledgment, Lucy took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank you,” she said in a whisper. “If there’s nothing else…?”
“Consider yourself betrothed, Sister,” he interrupted. “I’ll check with our man of business as to your dowry to ensure that you and the children will be taken care of.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
Christopher furrowed a brow. “Do not discount his intentions,” he warned.
Lucy recoiled at hearing his tone of voice. He had clearly sided with Marcus Higgins. “Why not?”
“I think he loves you,” he said in a quiet voice.
From Lucy’s reaction, he knew she hadn’t considered Marcus’ regard for her.
“If he loved me, he wouldn’t have left me,” she countered with a huff.
“He loved you enough to secure your hand in marriage before leaving England,” Christopher countered. “To be sure you wouldn’t go off and marry someone else. Apparently much like Frank Turnbridge did with Lady Marianne.”
Lucy’s hands went to her hips, the letter scrunched in one fist. “He never actually proposed marriage.” She held up her right hand. “Nor did he give me a ring.”
Christopher chuckled softly. “He didn’t have to propose,” he said in a whisper. “Since you did so with your wager.”
From the way Lucy dipped her head, Christopher knew he had struck a nerve. She might be stubborn and she might be proud, but she was also coming to realize she had fallen into a trap she had set herself.
He watched as she, once again huffing softly, moved to the door. “You do realize I have been relegated to the life of a wallflower until he makes good on the wager?”
Blinking twice, Christopher considered how to respond. No matter what he said, he knew she would be angry with him, perhaps for a very long time. “You? A wallflower?” He shook his head. “I rather imagine there will be a bevy of young ladies striving to become wallflowers so they might bask in your wallflower glow.”
Lucy rolled her eyes and took her leave of the study, slamming the door shut behind her.
Settling back into his chair, Christopher clasped his hands together at the back of head and grinned broadly.
He could hardly wait until Marcus Higgins returned to British shores.
He could only hope the hapless young man wouldn’t change his mind in the meantime.
Taking up a sheet of stationery, Christoper penned a short letter to Max Higgins, Earl of Greenley, apprising him that his younger brother had made arrangements to marry Lucy upon his return to British shores. Although he mentioned a hope that the late earl’s dislike of their uncle wouldn’t result in a family rift, his main reason for writing was one of curiosity.
Has Marcus been the beneficiary of some distant relative’s fortune? And if not, how was it he could go on his Grand Tour and accept a wager worth ten thousand pounds?
I ask only out of concern for my sister, Lucy, as she is now betrothed to him.
I look forward to your earliest reply.
Sincerely yours,
Christopher Fitzsimmons
Rt. Hon Viscount Reardon