Desperate Bride Page 2

  “I hope you will forgive me, Dory, but my answer is no. I cannot believe I am saying it myself. If you truly wished to be my wife, it would make me unspeakably happy, but like this it is less than romantic. In fact, it borders on the morbid.”

  She frowned. “I could have come to you with lies and told you I was madly and rapturously in love with you and could not live without you another moment. Would that have altered your decision?”

  “It might have.”

  A furrow appeared between her brows.

  Thomas reached out and smoothed the wrinkle. “I am glad you did not attempt to mislead me, Dory. I wish I could help you. For the first time in my life I wish I was a lord or a knight so I would be worthy of your hand. However, my station is to be a gentleman and yours a countess. It would be selfish of me to lower your status in society.”

  She let out a long sigh. “I do not give a damn about titles. I am to be married to a lecherous old man who will keep me as a trophy and perhaps allow me to play pianoforte from time to time to entertain his friends. Everything I have ever wanted tossed aside. My mother will do as she has always threatened and burn all of my music.” She leaned forward and touched his face. “Everything I am is about to be ripped from me. Can you understand, Thomas?”

  He put his hand over hers and kissed her palm. “You are overwrought and have exaggerated the situation. I have never heard anything violent about Henry Casper. Though he is old for you he lives well and will provide for you in the fashion to which you have been raised.”

  “You are wealthy,” she said.

  He laughed. “I have ample funds, but I am not titled and I never shall be.”

  “You are a snob, Thomas. If I do not care about a title, then, why should you?”

  “You should care, Dory. I will admit that my association with Marlton and now with Kerburghe has afforded me more invitations than most gentlemen of my station receive, but I fear you would find life as Mrs. Wheel very unappealing.”

  “Are you a man with a terrible temper?” she asked.

  Surprised by the question, he sat up straighter. “I do not think so.”

  “Would you keep your wife from pursuing her own goals?”

  “I don’t believe so, as long as the goals did not put her in harm’s way.”

  “So, if I wanted to join the fire brigade you would be opposed to that venture?” Her eyes narrowed but she did not smile.

  He shook his head but answered. “The fire brigade would be quite a dangerous endeavor, and I would advise my wife against such foolishness.”

  “Yes,” she said. “You do sound like a tyrant. I think it obvious we would not suit.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. She squared her shoulders and stood.

  “I do not believe you have thought this through.” He stood with her.

  She turned and raised her eyebrows. “You believe I am impulsive and rash?”

  A small voice inside his head told him he should take care with his next statement, but he ignored it. “In this decision, you seem to have jumped before looking.”

  Pursing her lips, she nodded. “Do you know what it takes to play the pianoforte as I do?”

  The question was so out of context, he fumbled for his answer. “I believe I do. I have tried to become more accomplished and my talent has limited me.”

  “Have you sat for hours at a piano to achieve perfection in one stanza?”

  “I have,” he admitted.

  “I have not heard you play, Thomas, though I hear you are accomplished, and I have heard you say you are not. I suspect you play very well but are not gifted with that something which makes one musician stand out among the rest.”

  He hated that she was so accurate in her description of his skills.

  “I do not mean to insult you. It is just fate that makes one person good and another great. A cruel joke, if you will. My curse is being a woman. If I were a man with the talent that God gave me, I would play to massive crowds and kings would sponsor me. Not that this is what I want really. I want to be allowed to play every day for the rest of my life. I am not the type who jumps in without looking and have been analyzing my options for weeks. I examined it as I would a new piece of music. You were not a whim of mine to get me out of trouble. I believe we could make a nice marriage.”

  “Nice,” he repeated in the same monotone she gave her speech.

  “There is nothing wrong with nice.”

  He closed the distance between them.

  Her chest heaved.

  “Nice is not good enough for me.” His arm came around her waist and in spite of the twelve-inch difference in their heights his lips were on hers before she could protest. She was stiff in his arms, but she put her hands on his shoulders and did not push away. Patience kept him gentle while he wanted to thrust his tongue in her mouth and taste her sweetness. One sip at a time, he caressed her lips with his. He ran his hand up and down her side from her hip to the edge of her breast, longing to feel her flesh rather than the soft material of her gown. Not touching her anywhere too intimate strained his desires.

  She softened in his arms.

  A sigh escaped her lips and Thomas took the opportunity to sweep the inside of her lips with his tongue.

  She gasped and he plunged inside. Her tongue was less forceful, but she joined him in the pleasure of the kiss.

  Nipping at her lips, he watched her. “I will think about everything you have said tonight, My Lady. I am also cautious and like to give a large decision my full attention before jumping in.”

  He released her.

  Dory straightened her dress. If he had wanted to put a name to the expression on her face, he would have said she appeared confused. He thought it was not a bad start.

  “May I ask why you are so hesitant?”

  “Shall I be completely honest?” he asked.

  “I would prefer that you were always honest with me.”

  He nodded. “I am very fond of you, Dorothea, and have long thought you are one of the most beautiful and talented women in London. What you propose opens you up to a rather large scandal. Elopement is bad enough, but to run off with someone beneath you in station could be something you would not recover from.”

  “I am not concerned with my reputation,” she protested.

  “Well, I am. I think not being invited to the most fashionable homes in London would make you unhappy. I would not want my wife to be unhappy.”

  “That is very kind of you, but I am willing to risk censure to have a life that includes my music.”

  Wishing she would say something more heartfelt would not make it so. “I would like a wife who wanted me for something other than my love of music. I am also concerned by your apathy toward a romantic involvement.”

  “So idealistic, Thomas.” She rolled her eyes.

  His fingers itched to pull her back against him and take all she offered, but the damned voice of reason kept his hands at his sides. “I did not realize it myself, but I find the notion of a wife whose only interest in me is escaping a worse situation abhorrent.” He held up his hand to stop her from further comment. “However, that kiss we shared was not apathetic nor were you uninterested. I wonder if helping you would not also suit my own desires.”

  Her eyes widened. “I already told you I would share your bed.”

  He touched her cheek. “Oh, Dory, I wish you could believe all men are not cut from the same cloth as your father.”

  She shrugged.

  “Perhaps in time you will learn differently.” He brushed a single tear away from her lashes.

  Straightening, she stepped away from him. “My parents will announce my betrothal in less than a fortnight at mother’s ball.”

  He dropped into a low bow. “You will have my answer before then.”

  Chapter 2

  “You did what?” Sophia Fallon, the
Countess of Marlton, screamed in her private parlor where no one else could hear her except for her dear friend.

  Sophia’s dark Italian features were stunning, but at the moment her eyes filled with concern and focused on Dorothea Flammel. As an American, she was not as steeped in the rules of London Society. Though, she had learned of the ton’s wrath after marrying the Earl of Marlton two years earlier.

  “You heard me,” Dory said.

  “Say it again just so I can assure myself that I have not gone mad.” Her narrowed eyes made it clear arguing wasn’t an option.

  “I proposed to Mr. Wheel three nights ago, to avoid this ridiculous marriage Father has arranged.”

  “Do I even want to know how you accomplished this private moment with Tom?” Sophia asked.

  “No, probably not.”

  “Oh, Dory, this is crazy.”

  “Do you think he would make a bad husband?” Her voice trembled. She had thought Thomas Wheel a good choice for a husband. He loved music and seemed to like to hear her play. He was not violent and had never been the center of any scandal. She thought they could live a contented life together.

  The nanny entered the room. “Pardon me, your ladyship, Charles is asking for you.”

  Sophia smiled. “Tell my son I will come and play with him in a little while. He can have a biscuit now if he wishes.”

  Susan curtsied. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Once the nanny left, Dory said, “I will let you get back to your life, Sophia. I needed to talk to someone and Elinor is in the country with her brood and Markus has been so distraught over Emma’s death he is not capable of counsel.”

  She had gotten up to leave and was nearing the door.

  “Don’t you want the answer to your question?” Sophia asked.

  Sophia was plumper than when the two girls had met; she was happy with her husband and baby. They had become fast friends because Sophia had helped Elinor Burkenstock, now the Duchess of Kerburghe, out of a ruinous scandal. Since Dory and Elinor had been best friends since childhood, the mutual desire to help her friend had endeared the women to each other.

  At the moment, Sophia sat in a large chair that framed her like a queen. Her hands folded in her lap, she wore a knowing smile on her red lips.

  “You know I do.”

  “Then come and sit down and don’t run away as if I am going to censure you.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Perhaps.”

  They both laughed and Dory walked back inside the room and sat across from where Sophia was enthroned.

  “All right,” Dory said, “Do you think he will make a good husband or not?”

  Sophia took a deep breath and frowned. “Thomas Wheel is one of the kindest and best men I have ever met. Daniel thinks the world of him and consults with him on many things. He has seemed quite taken with you for some time now.”

  “And,” Dory prompted.

  “And I hate the way you have gone about this. I don’t like the idea of Thomas being trapped into marriage any better than I like what your mother has done with this arrangement with an old man who is not even very nice.”

  “What would you have me do, Sophia? Should I go along with my parents’ plans and marry a man whom I can never even like? At least I like Thomas. He is a gentleman. I have been honest with him and he says he will think about it.”

  “Oh, but I think he may be in love with you, and if you do not return his feelings then you’ll hurt him, Dory.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, throwing her blond hair off where it had settled on her shoulder. “He is no more in love with me than I am with him. He likes to hear me play the pianoforte and I believe he will allow me to continue in that endeavor. In return I will allow him his husbandly rights and I will give him a child if he wishes it. It will be a very amicable arrangement. No one will get hurt.”

  “I hope you are right.” Sorrow filled her words.

  “Of course I am. Besides, it may make no difference as Thomas may say no to my proposal and I will have to marry the codger and live a miserable, music-less life.” While she tried for a light tone, anyone who knew her well could hear the terror in her voice. To live without music would be worse than death for someone like Dorothea, who lived to play and compose.

  Wearing a sad smile, Sophia crossed the room to hug her friend. “I am sure this will all work out. If Daniel or I can be of some help you must let us know. We are your friends, you know.”

  Dory smiled and kissed her friend’s cheek. “I know. Thank you.”

  * * * *

  Dressed for the Bromely ball, Dory watched her reflection in the mirror for a long time. She stared at the woman in front of her for so long that her features blurred into a distorted monster before her.

  “You look very well, Dorothea,”

  Margaret Flammel stood in the doorway in a dark blue gown that was exquisite but too old a style for her age. She liked to give the impression of being in mourning despite the fact her husband was very much alive. The blue of the gown was so close to black and should have been reserved for a funeral gown. Much like Dorothea herself, her mother was petite and formidable. Her hair was darker and had no red in it. Her eyes were the same green as her daughter’s.

  “Thank you, Mother,” Dory said, not turning away from her own reflection.

  “I expect you to pay special attention to Lord Hartly tonight. I want him to know how thrilled you are to be marrying such a prominent and important man.” Countess Flammel pulled her gloves on.

  Dorothea turned in her chair and looked at her mother. “You really intend for me to go through with this ridiculous marriage to a man more than three times my age?”

  The placid look on her mother’s face changed in an instant. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned until they were invisible. “I intend for you to do your duty as the daughter of the Earl of Castlereagh. You had your chance to marry some eligible young men in the past four seasons. Now you have embarrassed me with the need to begin yet another season. You will soon be one and twenty and you have made it clear you will not choose a husband. You left me no choice, Dorothea, but to choose one for you. Lord Hartly is well respected and wealthy. He will be a suitable husband for you.”

  “What I want is of no consequence?”

  This statement enraged her mother even more and her voice rose to near screaming. “You want only to play that damned pianoforte. I wish we had never brought that thing in the house. You might have been a normal child if you had never discovered that you were cursed with talent.”

  “You never seemed to think it a curse when I was entertaining your friends.”

  The countess waved off the comment. “You could have done as well by playing any ballad adequately. There was never any need for you to learn Mozart or write your own music. You take everything too far, Dorothea. You always have and now the consequence is that you will marry whom I have picked and you will do it with a smile on your face. I command it and that is that.”

  “What are you commanding now, Peggy?” Earl of Castlereagh said from just out of Dory’s sight.

  She could see her mother’s back stiffen and her eyes narrowed to a pin’s point. “Do not call me by that common name. You know I cannot bear it.”

  Geoffrey Flammel, Earl of Castlereagh, just laughed at his wife’s discomfort. He poked his head in his daughter’s door and smiled in the way most ladies found charming. Unfortunately, his wife and daughter only found him distasteful. He had engaged in so many public affairs over the years that the family had become a joke.

  Markus had escaped early and had made a respectable name on his own, but the death of his wife had sent the stoic man into a tailspin.

  His smile dimmed. “Good evening, Dorothea.”

  “Hello, Father.”

  “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, Father.”
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  “I think Hartly will be pleased with his acquisition. You will make him a fine wife.”

  “How romantic,” Dory said and turned back to her mirror.

  Her father laughed. “Romance, bah, that is not the object of marriage, daughter. You may find that elsewhere. Marriage is a financial arrangement. Isn’t that right, Peggy?” He gave his wife a sound slap on the bottom.

  “Geoffrey, you are trying my patience this evening,” Margaret warned.

  Miraculously, the carefree earl was cowed by her warning and only smiled, nodding.

  “I am afraid the financial benefit is lost to my sensibilities, father. I am the cattle being sold at auction. You are the farmer who gets the bounty and no longer must feed the cow.”

  “Very harshly put, Dorothea,” he said. “Not incorrect, but harsh.” He chuckled and strode down the hall.

  Dory shared a knowing look with her mother, who did not waver. “Thank you, Mother,” Dory said. “I am sure I will be as happy in my marriage as you have been in yours.”

  “Nonsense,” Her mother said. “Hartly is old. He will be dead in a few years and you will still be a countess and it is arranged that you will inherit a large sum to live on for the rest of your life. You may think this is all cruel, but we are only thinking of your future, my dear. Your father will not live forever and everything will go to Markus. You will not get a penny.”

  “Markus would not let me starve.”

  Her mother shrugged. “Perhaps not, but we could not leave an extra burden on our son’s shoulders. Now he will remarry and then he can have a son of his own. He should not be burdened with you.”

  “So thoughtful of you both.”

  Her mother ignored her sarcasm. “Be downstairs in fifteen minutes. I am calling for the carriage now.”

  Once her mother left, Dory stared back in the mirror and put her expression back to calm. She dabbed powder on her already perfect complexion and left her monsters in the glass while she went to face the monsters in the real world.

  * * * *

  The Bromley townhouse was one of the largest in London. Towering ceilings were painted with the most exquisite frescos in the Old Italian style. The money spent to make the ballroom look like the Sistine Chapel was exorbitant and the result grotesque in Dory’s opinion.