At Last Comes Love Read online

  “Strangely it does,” he said. “The gentleman to whom you made this claim once hurt you?”

  She looked at him, rather startled. How could he possibly have discerned that?

  “What gives you that idea?” she asked him.

  His eyes bored into hers as if they could lay bare all her secrets.

  “Why else would you be rash enough to tell him such a thing so prematurely?” he said with a shrug. “It was a boast. Why boast to him if you did not wish to thumb your nose at him? And why wish to thumb your nose at him if he had not hurt you at some time in the past? What did he do to you?”

  “He went away to war,” she said, “while I stayed at home to raise my younger sisters and brother after our father died. We had an understanding before he left, though, and that sustained me through years that were often difficult, even bleak. And then word came through a letter to his mother that he had married in Spain.”

  “Ah,” he said. “This paragon of devotion is one of the scarlet-clad officers who are dazzling all the ladies, is he?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And the man to whom you expected to be betrothed?” he asked. “He also has behaved toward you in a dastardly manner?”

  “I cannot in all conscience accuse him of that,” she said. “He offered for me three times over the past five years. I refused all three times, though we were still friends and told each other at the end of last Season that we looked forward to meeting again this year. I arrived in town very recently and therefore neither saw the announcement of his engagement nor heard of it. I came here this evening, expecting … Well, never mind.”

  She was beginning to feel very uneasy, not to mention ridiculous. What she had intended to be a very vague explanation of her earlier panic had turned into a rather detailed and very humiliating confession.

  “You waited too long in both instances,” he said. “With both gentlemen. Let it be a lesson to you.”

  She fanned her cheeks more vigorously. She deserved that harsh and unsympathetic judgment. Though it was very typical of a man to take the part of other men. It must be her fault that she had lost both Crispin and the Marquess of Allingham.

  But he was perfectly right to think so, of course. She need not feel so indignant or so abject. She had not been abandoned by either man. She had made them wait too long.

  It was humbling to see oneself through the eyes of a man.

  “And does the dashing, faithless officer know the identity of the gentleman to whom you expected to be betrothed this evening?” Lord Sheringford asked.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “I was not that indiscreet. Thank heaven.”

  One must be thankful for small mercies, she thought. How truly dreadful it would have been if…

  “Then there is a simple solution to all your woes,” the earl said. “You may introduce me to your officer as your betrothed, and at the same time demonstrate to the other man that you were not waiting for him to offer for you yet again.”

  Oh, he really was quite outrageous. Yet there was still no glimmer of humor in his eyes, as she saw when she turned her head sharply to look into them.

  “And what would you do tomorrow,” she asked, “when you discovered my brother and brothers-in-law on your doorstep, demanding to know your true intentions? And what would I do when I came face-to-face with Crispin tomorrow or the day after? Tell him that I had had a change of heart?”

  He shrugged.

  “I would inform your fierce relatives that my intentions are entirely honorable,” he said. “And you could continue to thumb your nose at the officer.”

  “I do thank you for the gallant offer,” she said, laughing and wondering how he would react if she chose to take him seriously, poor man. “And I thank you for your company during this set. It has been amusing. But I must go now and—”

  She was given no chance to finish. The hand belonging to the arm that was propped against the back of the sofa moved to rest firmly on her shoulder, and his face dipped a little closer to hers.

  “One of the scarlet uniforms is approaching,” he said, “draped about the person of a large red-haired officer. Doubtless your erstwhile lover.”

  She did not turn her head to look. She closed her eyes briefly instead.

  “You had better do as I have suggested,” Lord Sheringford said, “and present me as your betrothed. It will be far more satisfying for you than admitting the abject truth would be.”

  “But you are not—” she said.

  “I can be,” he said, interrupting, “if you wish and if you are prepared to marry me within the next fourteen days. But we can discuss the details at our leisure later.”

  Was he serious? It was not possible. This was all quite bizarre. But there was no opportunity to question him. There was no time to think or consider. There was no time at all. His eyes had moved beyond her, and he was raising his eyebrows and looking like a man who was none too delighted at having his tête-à-tête interrupted. It was a haughty, cold look.

  Margaret turned her head.

  “Crispin,” she said.

  “Meg.” He made her a bow. “I trust I am not interrupting anything important?”

  “Not at all.” Her heart was thumping so hard in her chest that it deafened her despite the loudness of the music and of voices raised to converse above it. “My lord, do you have an acquaintance with Major Dew? May I present the Earl of Sheringford, Crispin?”

  Crispin bowed again, and Lord Sheringford regarded him with raised eyebrows.

  “And this is the same Major Dew,” he said, “with whom you once had an acquaintance, Maggie?”

  Maggie?

  Oh, goodness! Margaret’s vision was beginning to darken about the edges. At the other extreme, she felt a quite inappropriate urge to burst into laughter. She must be on the verge of hysteria again.

  “We were neighbors,” she said. “We grew up together.”

  “Ah, yes,” Lord Sheringford said. “That was it. I knew I had heard the name before. A pleasure, Major. I hope you have not come to solicit Maggie’s hand for the next dance, though. I am not finished with that hand myself yet, and the present set, you will observe, is not quite over.”

  “Meg?” Crispin said, virtually ignoring the earl apart from the fact that his nostrils flared slightly. “Are you ready to be escorted back to your family? I shall certainly claim a dance later in the evening if I may.”

  There were certain moments upon which the whole of the future course of one’s life might turn. And almost inevitably they popped out at one without any warning at all, leaving one with no time to consider or engage in a reasoned debate with oneself. One had to make a split-second decision, and much depended upon it. Perhaps everything.

  This was such a moment, and Margaret knew it with agonized clarity as she closed her fan. She could get to her feet now and go with Crispin, or she could stay and tell Crispin the truth, or she could stay and do what the earl had suggested—and deal with the consequences tomorrow.

  Margaret was never rash, even when forced to act upon the spur of the moment. But this was a different type of moment altogether.

  “Thank you, Crispin,” she said. “I will be delighted to dance with you later. For now, though, I will remain with Lord Sheringford. The Marquess of Allingham will be along soon, I daresay, to claim me for the next set.” And then a deep breath and the rest of the decision was made. “Lord Sheringford is my betrothed.”

  The ballroom suddenly seemed unnaturally hot and airless. But she doubted she had enough control over her hands to open her fan again.

  Crispin looked from her to the earl, poker-faced, and it seemed to Margaret that he knew the man or at least knew of him, and did not like what he knew. He had offered to escort her back to her family, with emphasis upon the one word.

  “Your betrothed, Meg?” he said. “But Nessie and the Duke of Moreland do not know anything of it.”

  He had just been talking with them. They had all seen her with the Earl of Sher
ingford. Perhaps Crispin had volunteered to come and wrest her away from him and escort her to safety. What did they all know of the earl that she did not? It must be something quite unsavory.

  “I told you yesterday, Crispin, that the betrothal has not yet been made public,” she said.

  “It will be very soon, however,” the earl said, squeezing her shoulder. “We have decided to wed within the next fortnight. When one has discovered the partner with whom one wishes to spend the rest of one’s life, why wait, after all? Many a prospective match comes to grief because the couple—or one member of it—waits too long.”

  It occurred to Margaret that he really might be serious.

  But how could he possibly be? They had just met.

  He could surely not intend to marry her within two weeks.

  She did not even know who the Earl of Sheringford was. Apart from being heir to the Marquess of Claverbrook, that was.

  She felt one of the earl’s knuckles brushing against her cheek and turned her head to look at him. His eyes, she could see now, were a very dark brown. Was it the color, almost indistinguishable from black, that gave the extraordinary impression that he could look inside her and see her very soul?

  “I must offer my felicitations, then,” Crispin said, executing another bow. “I will seek you out for a dance later, Meg.”

  “I shall look forward to it,” she said.

  He turned without another glance at the earl and strode away with stiff military bearing.

  “He is not pleased,” the earl said. “Is the Spanish wife still alive?”

  “No,” Margaret said. “He is a widower.”

  “He was hoping, then,” he said, “to rekindle an old flame with you. You have had a fortunate escape, however. He looks very dashing in his uniform, I daresay, but he has a weak chin.”

  “He does not!” Margaret protested.

  “He does,” the earl insisted. “If you are still in love with him, Maggie, you had better be careful not to allow yourself to be lured back to him. You would be wasting your sensibilities upon a weak man.”

  “I do not still love him,” she said firmly. “His actions persuaded me long ago of the weakness of his character. And I do not recall granting you permission to use my given name, my lord. Especially a shortened form that no one has ever used before.”

  “A new name for a new life,” he said. “To me you will always be Maggie. Who is the man to whom you expected to be betrothed tonight?”

  “The Marquess of Allingham,” she said, and frowned. That information, at least, she might have withheld.

  “Allingham?” He raised his eyebrows. “Your next dancing partner? That is interesting. But you have had another fortunate escape. If he is as I remember him, he is a dull dog.”

  “He is not,” she protested. “He is charming and amiable and a polished conversationalist.”

  “My point exactly,” he said. “A dull dog. You will be far better off with me.”

  She looked steadily at him, and he looked as steadily back.

  Oh, dear God, she thought, he really was serious.

  The edges of her vision darkened again. But this was not the moment to faint. She picked up her fan and somehow found her hand steady enough to open it and waft it before her face once more. She drew in lungfuls of warm, heavily fragrant air.

  “Why?” she asked him. “Even if you can meet a complete stranger and be convinced after one glance that she is the one lady above all others whom you wish to marry, why must you marry her within two weeks?”

  For the first time there was a slight curve to his lips that might almost be described as a smile.

  “If I am not wed within the next fourteen days,” he told her, “I am going to be utterly penniless until my grand-father shuffles off this mortal coil, which may well not be for another twenty or thirty years. Apart from some rheumatism, he appears to be in excellent health. He will be eighty in two weeks’ time, and yesterday he summoned me into his presence and issued an ultimatum—marry before his birthday or be cut off from the rents and profits of the home where I grew up and from which the heirs traditionally draw their income. I was raised as a gentleman with expectations of wealth and therefore never expected to have to seek employment. I do believe I would make an abysmally inept coal miner even if I felt inclined to try my hand at it. I must marry, you see. And in almost indecent haste. My grandfather, I feel compelled to add, believes it will be impossible. He plans to turn Woodbine Park over to my cousin, his next heir after me, on his birthday unless I am respectably married before then.”

  Margaret stared at him, speechless. He was serious.

  “What have you done,” she asked him, “to incur such wrath? The punishment seems unusually cruel if it is just that you have procrastinated in choosing a bride.”

  “I chose a bride five years ago,” he told her. “I was happy with my choice. I was head over ears in love with her. But the night before our wedding I eloped with her brother’s wife and lived in sin with her—since the husband would not divorce her—until her death four months ago.”

  Margaret stared at him, transfixed. Yes. Oh, yes, that was it. Five years ago. It had happened just before she came to London for the first time with Stephen and her sisters, all of them new to Stephen’s title and their life in the heart of the ton. The scandal was still being talked of. She had thought that the Earl of Sheringford must be the devil himself.

  This was him?

  His eyes were fixed on hers. His dark, angular face was filled with mockery.

  “My grandfather doubtless wishes,” he said, “that he could simply make my cousin his heir and cut me out of everything that is his. It cannot be done, of course, but he can make me very uncomfortable and very miserable indeed for the rest of his life.”

  “Are you not ashamed?” she asked him, and then felt the color flood her face. It was an impertinent question. What had happened was none of her business. Except that he wanted her to marry him in fourteen days or fewer just so that he could keep his income.

  “Not at all,” he said. “Things happen, Maggie. One adjusts one’s life accordingly.”

  She could think of nothing to say in response. She could ask a thousand questions, but she had no wish whatsoever to hear the answers. But why had he done it? How could he not be ashamed?

  She was saved from the necessity of saying anything at all.

  “Your newly betrothed swain is approaching to claim his dance,” the earl said, looking beyond her again. “It is as well, Maggie, is it not? I have shocked you to the core. I shall take the liberty of calling upon you tomorrow and hope I will not find the door barred against me. I have so very little time in which to find someone else, you see.”

  She had not even noticed the one set of dances ending and the next beginning to form. But when she turned her head, she could see that indeed the Marquess of Allingham was approaching.

  “This is my set, I believe, Miss Huxtable,” he said, smiling genially at her and acknowledging the Earl of Sheringford with the merest nod of the head.

  “Oh, yes, indeed.”

  The Earl of Sheringford stood up when she did. He took her right hand in his even as the marquess was extending one arm, and raised it briefly to his lips.

  “I shall see you tomorrow, then, my love,” he murmured before nodding to the marquess and walking away—and out through the ballroom doors.

  My love?

  The marquess raised his eyebrows as she set her hand on his sleeve.

  Margaret smiled at him. There was no point in trying to explain, was there? She owed him no explanation, anyway.

  But really…

  My love.

  He had eloped with a married lady the night before his planned wedding to her sister-in-law.

  Could any gentleman be further beyond the pale of respectability?

  And he wanted her to marry him.

  He would indeed find the door barred against him if he should have the effrontery to come calling tomorrow. />
  Could any day—any evening—be stranger than this one?

  5

  MARGARET felt very embarrassed as she danced with the Marquess of Allingham. She would have felt self-conscious anyway under the circumstances—though fortunately he had no way of knowing what her expectations had been when she set out for the ball this evening.

  But he had heard the Earl of Sheringford calling her my love, and though she had told herself that it was none of his business what anyone else called her, nevertheless the words seemed to hover in the air about them as they danced. It did not help that they danced in silence for the first ten minutes or so.

  She smiled until her lips felt stiff.

  Did he know who the Earl of Sheringford was?

  But of course he must know.

  He was the one who spoke first.

  “Miss Huxtable,” he said gravely, “forgive me if I am speaking out of turn now and forgive me if I did not speak when perhaps I ought. I ought to have taken that fellow to task for the familiarity with which he addressed you, when I daresay you have never met him before this evening.”

  That fellow? Yes, indeed he knew.

  “Lord Sheringford?” she said lightly. “Oh, I did not take offense, my lord. He was joking. I am relieved you did not take any more notice of his words than they merited.”

  “But as your friend,” he said after hesitating a few moments, “I feel that I ought to warn you to keep your distance from the Earl of Sheringford, Miss Huxtable. It would pain me to see your reputation tarnished by any connection with his. I daresay you do not know who he is or why he is justifiably shunned by all respectable people. I would wager he did not receive an invitation to the ball tonight but came quite brazenly without one. And I do not know who thought it appropriate to introduce you to him.”

  “You are wrong about one thing,” she said. “I do know about him. I even remember the scandal, which was still quite fresh when I made my first appearance at a London Season five years ago, just after Stephen inherited his title. You must not concern yourself, my lord. I am quite capable of looking after myself and choosing my own acquaintances.”