A Most Scandalous Engagement Read online

  Mary Anne sighed and rested her hip on the edge of the desk. “No, of course not.”

  “You’re my sister, and nothing comes before that.”

  “A woman will come before that soon—perhaps she already has.”

  Peter turned the invitation over and over in his hands, watching her.

  “You don’t have to marry, just like I don’t,” she continued. “Only James’s marriage matters at all.”

  “But someday I want a wife to love, my own household, and children,” he said softly. “Don’t you?”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t see why it’s so important, but then I can’t dictate my beliefs to you. Go ahead and woo Elizabeth, but remember that they’re above us, Peter—too far above us. You’ll never be one of them.”

  Surely she was suffering some sort of crisis of faith in herself. He understood it well, for it had once afflicted him, and caused him to make a terrible misjudgment. He’d learned his lesson. She would do the same.

  “Mary Anne, I don’t need to feel like a Cabot. I’m proud of being a Derby.”

  “That’s all well and good. But the duke will never allow Elizabeth to marry into our family.”

  Mary Anne let her fingers run along the green baize of the billiard table. She was alone with her thoughts, which she preferred. It took absolute concentration to be the best, and hours of practice, all of which required solitude.

  But as she positioned the red and white balls, she could not stop thinking about Peter and his relationships with women.

  She turned away from the table in disgust, rubbing her hands tiredly over her face. Oh, she wasn’t fool enough to require both her brothers’ absolute attention. They had lives, she knew. Her own faults could not be ascribed to them. Yet they’d never shown the slightest inclination toward marriage either, and somehow she’d thought they’d all just go on living as they were.

  Peter was about to change things, and this invitation only confirmed it. She’d lied to him earlier in the day, told him what he wanted to hear—that she didn’t think his friendship with Elizabeth had taken him from her.

  It had. And everything had changed in her life because she felt she was on her own.

  That mistake was in the past, and she was no longer allowing it to affect her. Peter was her brother, and he loved her.

  But Lady Elizabeth Cabot? Was intelligent, sensible Peter truly so blind?

  Peter was shown to the drawing room at Madingley House, and at first he thought he was alone. With a frescoed ceiling and huge paintings between carved archways decorating the walls, it was easy to be distracted and not notice a solitary figure sitting on a sofa in the corner.

  “Hello, Mr. Derby.”

  He turned to find Miss Gibson giving him a friendly smile. She rose to curtsy to him, and after he approached, he bowed.

  “Good evening, Miss Gibson,” he said, realizing that he could not have manipulated the evening better if he’d tried.

  “Are we both early?” she asked.

  “I believe the family is late. Not an unusual occurrence for an informal evening.”

  “Of course not. I’m used to waiting for Elizabeth.”

  Though they’d known each other for several years, Lucille Gibson stood with her hands twisted awkwardly together, watching him in a direct manner, leaving him even more convinced that she surely knew something about Elizabeth’s problems and was leery of talking to him.

  But she probably didn’t know about the painting, which Elizabeth seemed far too embarrassed and furious about.

  “Please sit down,” he said.

  She did so, and he took the chair perpendicular to her. There was no use chatting about the weather; he thought being forthright might work the best.

  “Miss Gibson, I am worried about Elizabeth.”

  Her eyes briefly went wide, then fixed on his face. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “Surely she has told you about”—he looked at the door as if concerned about being interrupted—“our arrangement.”

  Miss Gibson studied him. “I’m not certain that she did . . .”

  She drew her words out, as if she, too, didn’t know what to reveal. They were both trying to determine what the other knew.

  “Not certain?” he countered. “So you didn’t understand what she told you?”

  “Of course I did, but—”

  He interrupted, saying, “I know she feels desperate. And we both want to help her.”

  Miss Gibson said nothing.

  “And neither of us wants to betray her confidence. But I don’t think she’s telling me everything. And how can I help her—protect her—if she’s withholding something from me?”

  “You need to talk to her about this, Mr. Derby,” Miss Gibson said in a low voice, leaning toward him.

  “I have been—constantly. And she won’t tell me why. I don’t know if she’s protecting someone—”

  There was a definite widening of her eyes before she looked away.

  “Whom is she protecting?” he demanded. “It can’t be one of her cousins—no one is here to protect, and our engagement would hardly matter to them.”

  “You’re . . . engaged?” she said weakly.

  “That was a halfhearted effort at surprise, Miss Gibson. You’ll have to do better with other people. So you know about the engagement, and you know she’s protecting someone. It’s certainly not me. There is her mother, of course, if Elizabeth somehow wants to protect her from knowledge. Knowledge of the truth, perhaps?”

  Miss Gibson only swallowed and kept her gaze averted.

  “No, I don’t think that’s it,” he mused, as if they were carrying on an actual conversation. “Elizabeth is so desperate as to pretend an engagement she plans to break. It sounds to me as if she’s protecting herself. Who’s hurt her, Miss Gibson? I won’t stand for it.”

  She leaned back against the sofa cushions, and he realized he’d spoken more forcefully than he’d meant to.

  “Is she in danger?” he continued. “How can I protect her if you won’t tell me?”

  “I don’t think she’s in danger . . . exactly. But she was, and this engagement solved the problem.” She spoke brightly, as if she’d answered with the truth.

  “Then it’s only temporarily solving the problem, because she plans to end our engagement eventually.”

  “But that will be long enough . . . she thinks.” Then she winced, as if she’d revealed too much.

  “Ah,” he said, hiding his triumph, “so she’s not certain how this issue will resolve.”

  “Nothing in life is certain, Mr. Derby. But you’re helping her, and she’s grateful.”

  “What is she frightened of? What does an engagement stop except . . . other men?” he said slowly, the realization overtaking him.

  Miss Gibson sighed.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? She’s afraid of another man—or men.” It couldn’t be because of the wager. An engagement would not affect that one way or another. But had another man found out about the painting? “Has a man been pressuring her, perhaps in an attempt to win her favor?”

  Heaving a sigh, Miss Gibson leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “Elizabeth trusts you enough to ask for a false engagement. It’s only fair that you understand the ramifications. There was . . . a man who tried to force her to be alone with him, who made advances upon her person. And not in the pursuit of marriage.” Her cheeks reddened, but she resolutely held his gaze. “It was as if he felt free to do as he wished. I was frightened for her, though she believes this engagement will protect her until her brother’s return. She will be upset that we’ve discussed this, so I ask you not to tell her what I’ve told you. But there comes a time when one friend must look out for another, and that’s what I’m doing. Be watchful, Mr. Derby.”

  They heard voices in the hall, and she stiffened and donned a false smile.

  “You can trust me, Miss Gibson,” he said softly. “I’ve only ever wanted the best for her.”
r />   She seemed to relax, and her smile became more natural just as Elizabeth entered the room. She was followed by the ladies in her family who were residing in the Madingley town house for the Season—the dowager duchess; Lady Rosa, who was one of her sisters by marriage and the mother of Susanna and Rebecca; Abigail, the current duchess, who was a lady journalist; and Emily Leland.

  Emily smiled at Peter, and he returned her smile. He wondered if he’d ever feel at ease with her again, but he was determined to try. She made it so obvious that she’d forgiven him—why could he not leave their shared past where it belonged?

  Elizabeth, never lacking in intelligence, looked back and forth between himself and Miss Gibson, but all she said was, “Peter, good evening! I am so glad you could join us on such short notice.” She pointedly stared at her mother.

  The duchess smiled. “Since you and Peter have been spending time together, I thought you both would appreciate another opportunity.”

  “Of course I do, Mama, but I’m not certain Peter realized he would be the only man at a table of nosy women.”

  Peter grinned at the ladies. “I feel privileged indeed, Lady Elizabeth, so have no concern for me.” He openly held out his arm to Elizabeth, who set her hand there. If she was tense, she did not show it. He smiled at the dowager duchess. “Unless, Your Grace, you’d like me to escort you down to the dining room?”

  “Of course not, Mr. Derby. We’ll follow you both down.”

  As they went out into the hall, which opened all the way up to the stained glass dome in the ceiling, Elizabeth spoke quietly through her smile. “My mother is very suspicious, Peter. We will not be able to wait long before announcing our engagement.”

  “After I ask her permission to marry you,” he answered softly. “There’s no guarantee she’ll give it. Surely you’ve thought of that. This is a scandalous match that not many families would support. And your brother is the head of the family.”

  Elizabeth eyed him, but he knew she was too confident in herself to doubt her mother’s acceptance. As she walked serenely at his side, he thought of the painting. Only a confident woman would dare reveal herself, even if she thought the painting would be sold out of the country. Only a confident woman would try to solve her own problems—like dissuading men much larger and stronger than she was—without asking directly for help.

  But it was growing more and more obvious that she no longer trusted him to the same extent she once had.

  Had she connected her problems to the painting? Did she have regrets? But she was not the sort of woman to live in the past. What was done, was done, and he was certain she planned to make everything right in her world.

  But he planned to protect her, and he would need information to do so. Miss Gibson had told him all she probably intended to; but there were others to question. It would serve Elizabeth right if he made her uncomfortable, for she was keeping dangerous secrets, and that made him angry.

  Though the dining table was long, they all sat at one end, with the dowager duchess presiding, her daughter on her right, and Peter on her left. The other four ladies filled in, and as they dined, Peter felt more than one curious glance his way, but he ignored them. Instead he played his part, looking at Elizabeth as a smitten suitor. He would see her safe—and he would enjoy every moment of her attention.

  He listened to the feminine gossip they shared, the discussion of friends and follies, wistful longing for absent husbands, and the coordination of calendars for the week’s events. Abigail mentioned an article she was writing for the newspaper about a children’s charity that Emily was active in. He wondered if Emily, so bold when she needed to be, would ignore the fashion to retreat from Society during her time of confinement. But a man could not ask a lady such an intimate question. At last there was a lull in the conversation, and since several pairs of eyes considered him again, he decided to accept the unspoken invitation to speak.

  “Lady Rosa,” he began, “Lady Elizabeth tells me that both of your daughters have left London.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze sharpened on him.

  Lady Rosa smiled. “I know it seems strange,” she said to him from across the table, “but I have a dear old aunt who’s been unable to come to London due to illness. Rebecca volunteered to visit her.”

  Volunteered to visit, Peter thought, amused. “Is that not surprising, considering it’s the Season?”

  “Yes, but Aunt Rianette is elderly and frail. Putting off such a visit for even a few months was not advisable.”

  “I will hope for her continued health. Where does she live?”

  Elizabeth kicked him under the table, but he didn’t look at her.

  “The Lake District. Rebecca took the train. She so loves to travel, especially since she did not have the chance much in childhood.”

  He wondered if Julian took the same train. It amused him to imagine both of them matching wits over the painting. “Did Susanna journey with her?” he asked, even though Elizabeth had said her cousins went their separate ways.

  Elizabeth continued to eat her roasted mutton, looking back and forth between him and her aunt.

  Lady Rosa’s face brightened. “No, she accepted a house party invitation in nearby Hertfordshire. And Peter, you know her well enough to understand why I am so happy that she chose to attend without me coercing her.”

  He laughed. “Yes, my lady, I do understand. Why did she decide to leave?”

  Another kick under the table, but the question was already asked.

  “She said she felt a need for the fresh air of the countryside, but she did bring her painting supplies as well.” Lady Rosa sighed, giving him a rueful smile. “I don’t hold out hope that there is a young man involved, but since I’m her mother, I never give up.”

  A man had followed Susanna, but Peter wasn’t certain that Lady Rosa meant someone with Leo Wade’s reputation.

  But he had all the answers he was going to get. He didn’t imagine he’d go chasing off after the Leland sisters, although it wouldn’t hurt to keep Elizabeth guessing. Instead, he stirred his mashed turnips and watched her, waiting for the next step in his plan for the evening.

  When the ladies rose at the end of the meal, Peter did the same.

  Abigail, the duchess, said, “I don’t believe we need to stand on ceremony and leave you alone, Mr. Derby.”

  He grinned. “My thanks, Your Grace.” Then he turned to the dowager duchess. “Madam, if you have a moment, Elizabeth and I would like to speak to you privately.”

  Everyone seemed to freeze, the rustling of skirts trailing off into silence. Feminine eyes focused on Elizabeth, who blushed and looked at Peter with the perfect amount of excitement.

  Though the dowager duchess smiled, he detected the faintest hesitation. Was she only worried about the suddenness of his relationship to Elizabeth—or did she suspect something else?

  Chapter 8

  Elizabeth hadn’t imagined she would feel so very self-conscious. Even if her relatives had not guessed about her relationship with Peter, they certainly knew what it meant when a young man asked for privacy with a woman’s mother.

  Her blush could certainly be attributed to the suffusion of shame she hadn’t expected. Though she told herself that she would right this problem soon enough, lying to her entire family still bothered her.

  And there was Peter, looking at her with the proper amount of devotion and certainty. She would never have imagined him so capable of deception.

  She wouldn’t have imagined it of herself either, she thought wryly.

  But it was too late to change her mind now. Memories of Thomas made her shudder. He would not maneuver her into marriage.

  She met her mother’s gaze but could read nothing but a pleasant interest.

  The dowager duchess said, “You may both accompany me to the morning room. That should be sufficiently private”—she glanced at the rest of their relatives—“and though there is curiosity, I’m certain we won’t be disturbed.”

  Abigail ru
bbed her hands together. “I’d better hear a story quickly, or I might have to come discover it.”

  “There’s nothing to write about here,” Elizabeth said, then realized she spoke too quickly, perhaps too defensively. “My life would bore your newspaper readers.”

  Luckily, Abigail only laughed. “Our Society writer would disagree. But I can be patient.”

  Peter held out his arm, and once again Elizabeth rested her hand there. He smiled down at her with a softness that made her catch her breath. What was wrong with her? All she wanted was one certain man to look at her like that.

  The morning room was a place of privacy for the duchesses, with a very feminine writing desk where together they coordinated the complicated business of overseeing the running of an immense household with a staff of forty. But now the duchess didn’t seat herself at the desk, only walked slowly toward the windows as if she could see out over the dark gardens below.

  Then she turned to face the two of them, wearing a faint but welcoming smile. Elizabeth felt some of her tension drain away.

  Peter covered Elizabeth’s hand with his own, where it rested on his arm. “Your Grace, you certainly must know what I am here to ask you.”

  “But she wants to hear it anyway, Peter,” Elizabeth urged.

  He smiled down at her, and again she found herself overcome by the warmth in his deep blue eyes. Memories were suddenly stealing over her—leaning toward her as if he would kiss her, his strong hands on her waist as he lifted her into the carriage. Those memories raised an awareness she hadn’t expected to feel with Peter—and she didn’t know what to think about it.

  Now there was a rakish set to his brows that made her believe he was enjoying himself, unlike her—she was so nervous that her mouth was too dry to swallow.

  “You’ve suddenly become very impatient, my daughter,” the duchess said.

  She smiled at her mother, then was mortified that her lips started to tremble. Oh dear, couldn’t this be over with?

  “Your Grace,” Peter said, “you know that I have spent much of my life in the company of your family.”