How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal 3)

“I will take you to her if it is your desire. If you wish to remain, that option will be available to you.”

“I…” The boy glanced around the dark alley suspiciously. “’ee won’t be your molly.”

The wealth of pain in those words had rage pumping through Richard’s blood. He’d rescued Clara from a whorehouse in the heart of the St. Giles district. He’d heard a young lord in his cups bragging that Madam Delouse had procured him a tender, sweet morsel. Richard had moved to procure her first, offering the madam of the house several hundred pounds for the two young girls she had. His revulsion after he discovered they were both ten years of age had resulted in him making several more enemies that night. He’d arranged for the burning down of the whorehouse and offered the women alternate employment in his factories with a promise they would be safe. “I have no expectations of you other than for you to succeed.”

“Succeed at wot?”

“At whatever you desire to be in life.”

Incomprehension glared from James as he stared wordlessly. Richard spun on his heel, moving slowly away from the grime and despair to his waiting carriage, which idled in a much safer area. He did not need to glance behind him, the boy was following, his club gripped in his hands, always on the ready.

This was a life too far removed from the elegance and ignorance of the ton, a life no lady like Evie could ever comprehend or bear as a part of her life, his life.

…

Proper young ladies did not dream of being debauched. Evie had dreamed of Richard kissing her lips and down over the curves of her body, and she’d existed in a state of acute restlessness since she jerked from sleep in the wee hours of the morning. The memory of the way he had touched her sent a dizzying thrill through her. Though Evie acknowledged she had been quite excited with the thought of acting improperly and behaving scandalously, just for a few moments, she knew deep in her heart she would never act in such an unladylike or wanton manner.

With a soft sigh, she settled herself more comfortably on the sofa in the parlor. With great willpower, she dragged her thoughts from Richard, lest it became evident to their afternoon callers she was flushed.

“Dearest Evie, it is said that the honorable Percy Sutton has made an offer for Miss Eliza Fairfax. We all thought he would have offered for Miss Henrietta Dawson because of how they had been seen cavorting these past weeks,” Lady Jane said, effectively distracting Evie from her turbulent thoughts.

Cavorting. She stifled her sigh. Henrietta was her friend, and she was in love with the honorable Percy Sutton, a thing their society seemed to now be aware of, and the gossips would be ribald since he had clearly thrown over her friend for an heiress with an inheritance of twenty thousand pounds. Evie would have to pay Henrietta a visit soon and offer her shoulder for comfort.

“I’m certain Percy and Miss Dawson were merely friends and had no understanding. She is far too refined in her sensibilities to even have considered him a suitable beau.” Evie hated for their present company, Lady Jane and Miss Trombly, to think Henrietta was shattered by Percy’s dishonorable conduct.

They had already received three different sets of callers. Today she had wanted to make some time to be alone with her thoughts, but her mother had been beside herself. Nothing must deviate from receiving callers. Evie was dreadfully bored and was now startled to realize it was a state she had existed in since the start of the season. Normally, she ant

icipated her days of having callers, calling upon her friends, planning her life of pleasure and amusement. However, the days had been stretching endlessly in front of her, and all the social events were utterly uninspiring. Not even stealing to the kitchens and baking with their cook, Mrs. Collins, relieved her boredom. Truly, when had it all become so humdrum? Perhaps she should visit Adel. Surely her spirits would be lifted then.

“We will follow the news with keen attention and inform you as we are updated,” Lady Jane replied.

Evie sipped her tea, forcing a smile to her lips as Mother harrumphed her approval.

“And can we expect any announcement soon from you, Lady Evie?” Miss Trombly asked with a sly smile, reaching for a bilberry tart.

“Oh no, I’ve no such expectations at this time.”

Her mother’s face pinched, and the ladies exchanged speculative glances.

“Oh, my dear, we thought you had brought young Lord Ponsby up to scratch,” Lady Jane murmured. “We were all so certain of it.”

“He has over fifty thousand pounds a year,” Miss Trombly added. “And was quite taken with you from his marked attention. It would be a great pity if the alliance were to fall through.”

Evie suppressed her groan. “There is no alliance—”

“We do expect an offer any day,” her mother said with a tight-lipped smile. “Any day now. More tea, ladies?”

She’d already endured a severe lecture from her mother this morning and had stood by helplessly as her mother wrote the viscount a note of apology. He’d responded within the hour, and their carriage ride had been rescheduled.

“These tarts are delightful. My compliments to your cook, Lady Gladstone. I positively must have this recipe for my cook.”

Her mother’s lips pinched even tighter, and a flush worked itself along her elegant cheekbones. Drat. That meant she knew her daughter was the one who’d baked their current edibles. After several more minutes of inane chatter, Evie almost cheered when their callers bade them farewell and departed.

“Mamma, are you able to spare me for a few days? I should very much like to go with Adel to Rosette Park when she returns.”

Her mother frowned. “Reports have indicated Lord Ponsby’s father has been abed from a hunting accident. Their estate is in Hampshire, and only a day’s ride from the duchess. It may do you good to be near, as you may call upon Lord Ponsby’s father. I’ll have to somehow spare a maid to travel with you.”

“If that is your wish, Mamma, I would pay the earl a visit.”