The Lyon's Paw (The Lyon's Den) Jenna

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 The Lyon’s Paw
The Lyon’s Den Connected World

Jenna Jaxon
© Copyright 2024 by Jenna Jaxon
Text by Jenna Jaxon
Cover by Dar Albert

Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

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Produced in the United States of America

First Edition February 2024

Kindle Edition

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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Jenna Jaxon
The Welwyn Marriage Wager Series
Until I’m Safe in Your Arms (Book 1)
The Baron’s Halo (Book 2)
Yule Be Mine (Book 3)

The Lyon’s Den Series

Pride of Lyons
The Lyon’s Paw
 Other Lyon’s Den Books
Into the Lyon’s Den by Jade Lee
The Scandalous Lyon by Maggi Andersen
Fed to the Lyon by Mary Lancaster
The Lyon’s Lady Love by Alexa Aston
The Lyon’s Laird by Hildie McQueen
The Lyon Sleeps Tonight by Elizabeth Ellen Carter
A Lyon in Her Bed by Amanda Mariel
Fall of the Lyon by Chasity Bowlin
Lyon’s Prey by Anna St. Claire
Loved by the Lyon by Collette Cameron
The Lyon’s Den in Winter by Whitney Blake
Kiss of the Lyon by Meara Platt
Always the Lyon Tamer by Emily E K Murdoch
To Tame the Lyon by Sky Purington
How to Steal a Lyon’s Fortune by Alanna Lucas
The Lyon’s Surprise by Meara Platt
A Lyon’s Pride by Emily Royal
Lyon Eyes by Lynne Connolly
Tamed by the Lyon by Chasity Bowlin
Lyon Hearted by Jade Lee
The Devilish Lyon by Charlotte Wren
Lyon in the Rough by Meara Platt
Lady Luck and the Lyon by Chasity Bowlin
Rescued by the Lyon by C.H. Admirand
Pretty Little Lyon by Katherine Bone
The Courage of a Lyon by Linda Rae Sande
Pride of Lyons by Jenna Jaxon
The Lyon’s Share by Cerise DeLand
The Heart of a Lyon by Anna St. Claire
Into the Lyon of Fire by Abigail Bridges
Lyon of the Highlands by Emily Royal
The Lyon’s Puzzle by Sandra Sookoo
Lyon at the Altar by Lily Harlem
Captivated by the Lyon by C.H. Admirand
The Lyon’s Secret by Laura Trentham
The Talons of a Lyon by Jude Knight
The Lyon and the Lamb by Elizabeth Keysian
To Claim a Lyon’s Heart by Sherry Ewing
A Lyon of Her Own by Anna St. Claire
Don’t Wake a Sleeping Lyon by Sara Adrien
The Lyon and the Bluestocking by E.L. Johnson
The Lyon’s Perfect Mate by Cerise DeLand
The Lyon Who Loved Me by Tracy Sumner
Lyon of the Ton by Emily Royal
The Lyon’s Redemption by Sandra Sookoo
Truth or Lyon by Katherine Bone
Luck of the Lyon by Belle Ami
The Lyon, the Liar and the Scandalous Wardrobe by Chasity Bowlin
Lyon’s Roar by Tabetha Waite
The Lyon’s First Choice by Sara Adrien
The Lady of a Lyon by Linda Rae Sande
 Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Jenna Jaxon
Other Lyon’s Den Books
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
About the Author
 Prologue
London
June 1819

HYDE PARK AT five thirty in the afternoon—the sun lowering in the sky, the smell of newly mown grass, the excitement of the
crowds of fashionably dressed members of the ton strolling about—was the last place Miss Diana Edgerton had expected to
find herself today. For Diana, dressed in her newest pale blue promenade dress of cambric muslin, trimmed with frilly white
lace on both the dress and the matching Spencer and hat, the day had taken on a dreamlike feeling, mostly because she was in
the unlikely company of Lord Longford, one of the handsomest gentlemen she’d ever seen. Perhaps her aunt had been correct in
saying having a Season would change her life for the better.
Diana hadn’t thought that true until last evening. Not with all the gossiping busy bodies listening to the nasty rumors her
own cousins had started about her. But then last evening Lord Longford had begged an introduction so he could ask her for a
dance. Fairy tales apparently did come true sometimes.
“I am sorry the sun is still quite warm, Miss Edgerton.” His lordship’s deep voice rumbled pleasantly in her ear. They
were walking arm in arm around the Serpentine, accompanied, of course, by her aunt. “Another day perhaps we could ride here
instead.”
“Thank you, my lord. That is very kind of you.” She smiled up at him, still awed that he’d asked her for this outing. He
looked truly splendid in a dark blue cutaway coat, snowy white shirt and fashionably tied cravat. His fawn-colored breeches
and tall Hessian boots made him look very dashing indeed. “I love to ride very much, though I have not been able to do so
since the death of my uncle.”
The smile on Lord Longford’s face turned to a more sober mien. “Please accept my condolences, Miss Edgerton.” The tall
gentleman patted her hand as it lay comfortably and very naturally in the crook of his elbow. “I understand you and your uncle
were very close.”
Diana shot a glance up at Lord Longford, trying to judge if his comment was barbed, a reference to the vile rumors her
jealous cousins had put about in Town that she and her uncle had carried on an illicit affair while she was taking care of him in
his last years. She’d endured many such remarks in the past months. One look at her escort’s kind visage revealed no
judgement, only kind concern.
“We were, my lord. Very close. He depended on me to take care of him. No one else in the family would raise a hand to
help him.” Thoughts of her cousins whining that they couldn’t waste their lives taking care of a cranky invalid always made her
furious. Uncle George hadn’t been a burden. He’d been frank and outspoken. Gruff, some would say, but that was just his way.
Diana blinked back tears. Almost a year since her uncle’s death and she still mourned him in her heart. Uncle George had
always been her favorite uncle, the man who appeared unexpectedly from his travels in distant lands with marvelous stories to
tell about places like India and China. She could sit and listen to him spin his tales for hours. She missed that most now that he
was gone. He’d doted on Diana all her life and she’d been so grateful, she hadn’t thought twice about taking care of him when
he needed her.
“My niece took care of her uncle night and day for over two years, my lord.” Aunt Frances spoke up from behind them.
“Was it your husband, Mrs. Beaumont?” Lord Longford turned toward her, concern in his expressive blue eyes.
“Oh, no, my lord. My husband is living, thank God.” She closed her eyes briefly, and shook her head. “No, he was Diana’s
father’s older brother. He always looked out for her after her parents died.” She made a helpless little gesture. “As much as he
could, that is. Mr. Edgerton traveled extensively in the Orient. He was a shareholder in the East India Company.”
“Indeed.” Lord Longford’s brows rose. “A fortunate gentleman to be sure.”
“He was, but also kind, my lord. Though I will admit he could seem a bit gruff at times, if you take my meaning.” Diana
always felt she had to defend Uncle George, who presented himself to the world as an ornery man, when in truth he wouldn’t
have hurt a fly. From what she’d gleaned in her short acquaintance with Lord Longford, he might have a similar demeanor at
times.
“I can’t help but believe he was a delightful gentleman, Miss Edgerton, if you saw that in him.” He smiled, kindness in his
eyes.
Diana’s heart began to race.
“Shall we turn toward the path by the water now? You will wish to see the ducks in the Serpentine. They make quite a
spectacle when they all come together.” His eyes twinkled and his smile broadened to a grin. “The din they make is amazingly
like that at the supper tables at Lady Cavendish’s balls.”
Laughing, Diana settled her arm more firmly in the crook of his elbow. Lord Longford was proving to be a delightful
companion.
“This way.” He led them around different couples and groups of people all preening themselves and wishing to be seen.
Diana hoped they looked right past her. People of the ton had not been overly kind to her—because of those awful rumors. She
tried to put on a brave face and Aunt Frances always came to her defense whenever anyone brought the rumors up. Not that
she’d had to do such a thing where Lord Longford was concerned. Either he hadn’t heard the terrible things people were saying
about her—and she couldn’t quite believe that, as it seemed to be the talk of London—or he simply didn’t believe them. She
truly hoped it was the latter, but in any case, he’d been nothing but solicitous toward her. Such a refreshing change from all the
curious or accusing stares.
Diana glanced around at the throngs of fashionable people milling about the Serpentine. None of them seemed to be paying
any attention to her, thank goodness. She’d had her fill of rude stares and horrible remarks at Lady Brisbane’s ball last night.
She’d been on the brink of leaving the ballroom after a so-called gentleman who’d partnered her in a country dance had made
lewd remarks—insinuating he’d be happy to play the part of her uncle if she’d treat him as nice as she had Uncle George—
when her hostess had appeared with Lord Longford in tow and instantly all the unpleasantness had melted away. Suddenly
she’d found herself in his arms in the midst of a waltz. His strong arms had held her gently as he’d led her flawlessly around
the ballroom until she wished the dance would never end. Except when it did, Lord Longford had suggested this outing. She
truly must relax and enjoy herself today, and cease thinking everyone was pointing at her and whispering—
From the corner of her eye Diana glimpsed a lady’s gloved finger pointing in her direction. Surely, the lady must be
pointing out the ducks to her companion, or perhaps some of the flora and fauna the Serpentine had to offer its admirers. She
glanced up at Lord Longford who was speaking animatedly with her aunt about flowers. They were one of her aunt’s true
passions. She supposed Lord Longford liked them as well by the avid look on his face.
Had he missed seeing the lady pointing at her? Or had the lady actually been indicating the ducks?
Trying to calm herself, reassure herself that no one was gossiping about her, Diana stole another look at the park’s patrons
—only to find several knots of people staring directly at her, then putting their heads together and whispering…including the
horrid gentleman who’d made lewd remarks to her last evening.
Oh, Lord, was he following her? Did he mean to make the same awful proposals to her again? She had to get away from
here and quickly. Diana put her hand to her head, ready to plead a headache. “My lord, I believe I am unwell.” That was
putting it mildly. “I fear we will need to leave. My lord?”
Entranced with his conversation, Lord Longford apparently didn’t hear Diana’s pleas.
Very well, she would make him listen.
They had stopped at the edge of the water, near a pretty patch of reeds and water grasses with pink flowers scattered here
and there over them and several trees overhanging the water, their branches swaying in the slight breeze. A beautiful setting for
a courting couple, just not her and not now. She looked back at the dreadful man, and he leered at her. Dear lord, what was she
to do?
She pressed closer to Lord Longford. Perhaps if she could get behind him, the other man wouldn’t continue his pursuit.
Glancing over her shoulder, she spied the man actually heading toward them. This couldn’t be happening. She tugged on his
sleeve. “My lord, we need to leave.”
A quick look and a smile from Lord Longford were all the response Diana received. She stepped to his side, not wishing to
have to shout at him and draw even more attention to herself. Her escort was exceedingly tall. She raised up on tiptoe and
called, “Lord Longford!”
Her voice had been louder than she’d thought, jolting Lord Longford out of his conversation and making him start at the
loud noise. On tiptoe she overbalanced, and put her whole weight onto Lord Longford, who stared at her with a look of
astonishment as he backpedaled in an attempt to keep from slipping down the bank. His booted feet skidded out from under him
and swung to and fro, his arms windmilling to no avail as he continued backwards into the Serpentine where he hit with a loud
splash and spray of water.
Diana nearly pitched in on top of him, saved only by her aunt’s tenacious hold on the collar of her pale blue Spencer.
“My dear, are you quite all right?” Aunt Frances’s worried gaze took Diana in.
Heaving a sigh of relief, she nodded. If not for her aunt’s quick actions, she’d be this moment lying atop Lord Longford in
quite an improper position for all the ton to see. Diana’s cheeks heated at the thought.
 “Lord Longford, are you all right?” Her aunt turned her attention to the gentleman sitting in a state of shock, his lower torso
completely submerged in the murky water at the edge of the pond.
The look of surprise on her escort’s face might have been funny—was funny if she had to admit it and judging from the
peals of laughter coming from the people gathering around them, she was correct.
Unfortunately, surprise turned to anger as Lord Longford’s brows crashed down almost to his nose in a thunderous frown
that took all thoughts of laughter out of Diana’s head. Soaking wet in the middle of a public park, his elegant clothes ruined,
Lord Longford glanced around as though looking for someone to blame and fixed his gaze on her.
The laughter died down and two well-dressed gentlemen in tall Hessians waded into the water to help Lord Longford up.
As he rose out of the water, a huge toad sprang from his lordship’s waterlogged waistcoat with a loud, surprisingly high-
pitched croak.
Startled by the unexpected appearance, the two men assisting Lord Longford jumped and let go of their charge, who
promptly fell back into the Serpentine. A new roar of mirth went up all around.
With water dripping down his face anew, Lord Longford turned his attention back to Diana, fixing her with a malevolent
glare. “Why the hell did you push me in, woman?”
The shock of his profane language coupled with the murderous look on his lordship’s face and Diana could stand no more.
She picked up her skirts, pushed her way through the crowd and fled back down the pathway she had so happily taken such a
short while ago, her aunt now at her heels.
“Diana, what are you doing?” Aunt Frances finally caught up to her and grasped her arm, slowing her breakneck pace. “We
need to go back and help Lord Longford.”
Shaking her head, tears of rage leaking from her eyes, Diana continued to hurry down the path. After that debacle—the most
embarrassing event ever in her life—the last thing she wanted to do ever again was see Lord Longford. The accusing stares
and raucous laughter of the spectators, the threat of her horrible partner from last night, along with the malice in Lord
Longford’s face, assured Diana she could never, ever meet his lordship again and not feel the full brunt of this humiliating
moment. When they got back to Aunt France’s home, she would tell her aunt in no uncertain terms what she should already
know: the Season was over for her.
 Chapter One
Longford, England
October 1819

“WHAT DO YOU mean the money’s all gone?” Geoffrey, Lord Longford barked at his new steward, John Folger, staring
uncomprehendingly as though the man was speaking a foreign language.
Mr. Folger fidgeted with his watch chain hard enough, he actually wrenched the chain from the watch at Geoffrey’s loud,
angry tone. “I am sorry, my lord, but I am simply the messenger of these bad tidings. It seems Mr. Griffin has been less than
forthcoming with you about the income from the various estates for some time now.” Folger pulled out a sheaf of papers and
spread them before Geoffrey. “He kept meticulous records, I’m happy to say. He didn’t pilfer a penny in…” The steward
stopped. “How many years did you say he’d worked for you?”
“He was my father’s steward much longer than mine, at least thirty years. He stayed on at my behest when my father died
five years ago. Perhaps if I’d let him go then…” Geoffrey’s voice drifted off as the phrase, “almost bankrupt” kept
reverberating in his mind.
“At least if you’d hired someone who didn’t try to hide the facts from you out of a sense of misplaced loyalty to the family,
you would have been better prepared.” Folger scanned the pages of figures. “Nothing would have changed agriculturally, mind
you. The summer of 1816 was ghastly for everyone. No crops could thrive in such cold temperatures. And then the blight on the
heels of that the next year. This year’s crops have been better, but not enough to cover the recent losses.”
“And those were on top of the legacy duty when my father died. We managed to pay it, but we’ve never truly recovered
financially.” Geoffrey slumped in his chair. He was letting his father down. And his mother, himself and his sister, Joanna.
Joanna. Christ, what about her dowry? How was he ever to manage the estate debts and provide Joanna with a settlement
amount that would assure her a good marriage? If anyone deserved a brilliant match, it was his sister. A sweeter, kinder person
didn’t exist so far as he knew.
“My lord, you may want to have someone else check my figures, just to make certain.” Folger sat back in his seat, meeting
Geoffrey’s eyes with a look of resignation. “However, I fear I am correct when I say that the only way you’ll be able to pay the
debts the earldom has incurred is to sell.”
“Sell?” Geoffrey’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. “Sell what?”
“The estates not in the earldom’s entail. Hillcrest, the northernmost property, for certain. It’s been losing money the
longest.” Folder picked up one of the pages. “Dudley House in Essex, although it’s in such need of repair, it will scarcely fetch
enough to pay the mortgage. And Charring Park—”
“Charring Park as well?” Geoffrey gripped the chair arms until his knuckles turned white. That estate had come from his
mother, as part of her dowry. She’d loved it so, she’d spent every summer there with him and his sisters when they were
children. Telling her they would have to sell wasn’t an ordeal he’d relish living through.
“I am afraid so.” Mr. Folger dropped the sheet onto the table and shook his head. “You’ll be able to keep Longford Manor,
but the others must be sacrificed to pay the arears of its mortgage and the debts owing on each of those estates. And you may
find, for a while at least, you’ll need to live much more simply.”
“We don’t live extravagantly as it is, Folger,” Geoffrey growled. He’d always believed his family lived almost austerely
compared to other families of the ton. “Aside from my sister’s wedding last summer, we haven’t entertained since my father’s
death.”
“Still, depending on how much each of those three estates fetches, you will likely need to reduce your staff here to three or
four.”
Geoffrey winced. He employed a staff of fifteen people currently. When he’d been a boy that number had been over twenty.
“Many find they can survive with only a butler, cook, maid, and coachman.”
This was madness. A headache began to throb in the back of Geoffrey’s head. “What about the dowry that has been set
aside for my sister? She’s to be presented at court in the spring and will be coming out in Society. Surely her portion is intact?”
Slowly, the steward shook his head. “Apparently it was borrowed against several times most recently…,” he picked up a
different set of documents, “in late August of last year.”
Frowning, Geoffrey shook his head. “Alyce’s wedding was in September. But I don’t recall borrowing against Joanna’s
dowry. And Alyce’s was intact when it was given over at her marriage.”
“Is this your signature, my lord?” Folger handed over a single sheet. “This is the note with the bank from the very end of
last August. The second one against Lady Joanna’s dowry.”
Geoffrey glanced at it and nodded. He was handing it back when something told him to take a closer look. Holding the
paper closer, he stared at the signature that was very like his own—but not quite. “No, damnit. It is a clever forgery, but it is
not my writing. But who…” Good God. “Griffin. The man had seen my signature a thousand times. Of course he could have
forged it. But why? I cleared up his accounts after his death and he had no more than a hundred pounds to his name.”
“I suspect, my lord, that he was borrowing from Peter to pay Paul for some years to keep the truth of your financials from
you. If he’d borrowed against Lady Alyce’s dowry before, he’d have to borrow against Lady Joanna’s to keep up the deception
when your elder sister married.” Folger shook his head. “Had he lived much longer, it was bound to have come out.”
“But why not tell me the truth about the estates? Then I could have done something.” If he’d only known about the dire
straits of his finances, Geoffrey could have made decisions about so many things, made other investments with the dwindling
funds.
“Pride is a dangerous thing no matter which man values it, master or servant. I suspect Mr. Griffin, who you say was your
father’s man, felt it keenly that he couldn’t keep things running as well as in your father’s time. He tried to keep you safe, and in
the end has done you a grave disservice.”
Was a betrayal an actual betrayal if it was done with only good intentions? Geoffrey shook his head. He would have to put
all thoughts of Mr. Griffin out of his mind for now and concentrate on how to get out of the mess his former steward had landed
him in. “How much money are we talking about to keep the earldom from ruin, if we do sell Hillcrest and Dudley House?” He
still hoped to hold onto Charring Park, for his mother’s sake and simply to keep some remembrance of his childhood alive. The
thought of his own children spending summers there was too precious to discard at a moment’s notice. “If I could raise at least
part of that sum, and speak with my creditors, perhaps it would keep us solvent long enough to be able to salvage the rest.”
Mr. Folger shook his head, then quoted an amount that almost made Geoffrey’s jaw drop. He’d had no idea the situation
was so dire. Head reeling, Geoffrey couldn’t say anything for several minutes as the staggering sum kept repeating itself over
and over in his mind. At last Geoffrey pulled himself together and rose. “Thank you, Folger. I appreciate your candor and
together I believe we can begin to turn things around.”
Rising as well, the steward sighed. “Lord Longford, I am heartily sorry to do this, but I must tender my resignation. I’ll
serve out my two weeks’ notice and help you in any way possible during that time, but I fear I cannot in good conscience
remain in your employ.”
“Why not?” The sharpness of his voice covered the disappointment in it as Geoffrey’s heart sank even further. Folger was
an intelligent man. Geoffrey had hoped he would stay and help him find the funds to turn the situation around.
“When I said you must live more simply and reduce your staff, I meant it.” The man looked as uncomfortable as if he were
standing on hot coals. “My salary alone would be a considerable drain on your finances. I truly would like to stay and assist
you, my lord, but to put it bluntly, you cannot afford me.”

“MR. BONIFACE IS here to see you, Miss Edgerton. Shall I bring him here?”
At those fateful words, Diana Edgerton’s heart began to race. She’d been expecting this visit from her uncle’s executor
almost since she’d moved back in with her Aunt Frances just after Uncle George died. At long last the anticipation was over.
She could scarcely believe it.
“Fetch my aunt first, Lucy. Then bring Mr. Boniface here.”
Waiting for word from her uncle’s executor that, after more than a year of disputes, Uncle George’s will had finally been
settled had been excruciating. When she’d offered to be her uncle’s housekeeper and caretaker for the last years of his life,
she’d never expected him to leave her such an astonishing inheritance. She was certain, had her cousins realized the extent of
their uncle’s wealth, they would have clamored and fought her for the opportunity to take care of him. They had not, however,
and he’d treated them accordingly.
She’d really been terribly fond of her uncle, feeling him her only link to her father after her parents died. All her life, Uncle
George had spun her stories about his travels in the Orient. As a little girl she’d listened spellbound to his talk about China and
India, hunting tigers, riding elephants, meeting with great sultans and rajahs. It was a world she could scarcely imagine. When
she’d grown older, she’d listened to the stories still, but by then hadn’t believed them to be anything other than tales made up to
amuse her and her cousins.
When Uncle George had died, however, and Mr. Boniface had contacted her, she discovered her uncle’s stories had all
been true. After returning to England for the last time, he’d sold the shares he’d owned in the East India Company and, in his
will, had left all the considerable proceeds to her, citing her devotion to him as the reason for his generosity.
Her cousins had, of course, protested and disputed the will, but Uncle George had apparently expected that and made
provisions for them, though leaving Diana the bulk of his estate. It had taken her aback—she’d been in mourning for her uncle
when the first letter had arrived from Mr. Boniface and she hadn’t quite believed it at first. But her aunt—her mother’s sister on
the other side of the family—had read it thoroughly and assured Diana that one day in the not-too-distant future, she was going
to be a very wealthy young woman.
Apparently that day was today.
“Aunt Frances,” Diana turned to her aunt as she entered the comfortable drawing room, her whole body shaking “Mr.
Boniface has come to call.”
“So I hear, my dear.” Her aunt settled herself on the sofa next to Diana and grasped her shoulders. “Get yourself well in
hand before Lucy sends him in.”
Diana wasn’t sure she could get herself together well enough for this meeting, but she took a deep breath, then let it out
slowly. With a glance at her aunt for reassurance, she set what she hoped was a serene smile on her lips and waited for her life
to change.
They rose as Mr. Boniface entered, a small, thin, unassuming gentleman with spectacles who smiled broadly when he saw
them. “Mrs. Beaumont, Miss Edgerton, so nice to meet you at last.” He bowed then straightened and beamed at them anew. “It
has been such a long process, however, I am very happy to tell you all is finally at an end.”
“We are very happy to meet you as well, Mr. Boniface. Do have a seat.” Aunt Frances indicated the comfortable Queen
Anne chair across from the sofa and they all sat, calm to the eye, though Diana could scarcely sit still. Her aunt rang the bell.
“Will you take tea, Mr. Boniface?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Beaumont. That would be nice.” The gentleman busied himself taking papers out of a satchel. “These are
the papers detailing all the disputes regarding the terms of the will put forward by your cousins. They have been duly noted by
the courts and in each and every instance were struck down.” Mr. Boniface gave a little chuckle as he shuffled the papers.
“Your uncle’s prudent bequest to each of your cousins in the amount of one shilling assured the courts he was of sound mind
when making his will, which both courts took into consideration.”
“Such an intelligent gentleman, your uncle.” Aunt Frances murmured, then looked up as the maid opened the door. “Please
bring tea, Lucy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The servant bobbed a curtsy then backed away and shut the door.
“Indeed he was, Mrs. Beaumont.” The solicitor pulled out another sheaf of foolscap. “Therefore, it is with pleasure that I
advise you, Miss Edgerton, that the bulk of your uncle’s estate rests in Mr. Edgerton’s account at Hoare & Co. With my letter
stating the terms of the will have been met, the bank will open a separate account and transfer the balance from your uncle’s
account to that one.” Mr. Boniface looked up and handed her the papers. “The sum will afford you an annual income of around
thirty thousand pounds.”
At those words Diana’s breath stopped completely and she stared at the little man across from her, transfixed by his
statement. Such an amount of money was undreamed of.
“Diana?” Her aunt’s keen gaze registered her concern. “Are you all right, my dear?”
Diana gasped and gave herself a shake. This was no time to swoon. “Yes, aunt. But it…it quite took my breath away to hear
what I’ve inherited.” Almost beyond her comprehension. How was she ever to know how to manage such a vast sum? “I
scarcely know what to say, Mr. Boniface, other than thank you very, very much.”
“You will learn to accept it, Diana, and to manage it.” Aunt Frances nodded sagely. “Your uncle was grateful for your care
of him. He will wish you to use it wisely.” Her aunt’s smile made her feel a good bit better. Aunt Frances had faith in her, as
had Uncle George. She would do her best not to disappoint either one of them.
“Will your fiancé be joining us today, Miss Edgerton?” Mr. Boniface looked at her eagerly.
“My what?” Diana jerked her attention back to the solicitor.
“Your betrothed.” The gentleman frowned, then his face cleared. “I do beg your pardon, but I assumed you were still Miss
Edgerton. What is your married name, my dear? We will need that for the transference of funds. Your husband will need to
approve your having a separate bank account of course. Unless you wish to hold one jointly with him.”
“What are you talking about, Mr. Boniface?” Diana stared at the man, who must be mad to think she was married. No one
wished to marry her. “I have neither husband nor fiancé. Whatever gave you such an idea?”
The little man scowled, his lips puckered as though he’d just tasted a lemon. “Your uncle did, Miss Edgerton. On the day he
appended the codicil to his will.”
 Diana cut her gaze over to Aunt Frances whose face was frowning as well. Oh, dear lord. What had her uncle done?
“Uncle George told you I was betrothed?”
“He did.” The solicitor pulled the mass of papers out of her hands, sifted through them until he plucked out one particular
sheet. “I had voiced concerns to him that if he left such a vast sum of money to you, a sheltered, unmarried young woman, you
might not understand how to manage it, or allow yourself to be taken advantage of by some scoundrel. At which point he
informed me that I needn’t worry because you were betrothed to a Lord Merryweather.”
Inwardly, Diana groaned. “I confess I did tell my uncle that, Mr. Boniface. He had become concerned about me as he
neared the end of his life because I wasn’t married, wasn’t settled, as he put it. So I told him a little white lie. I am good
friends with Lord Merryweather but told my uncle we had an understanding.” Diana twisted her hands in her lap. She’d simply
not wanted her uncle to fret about her when he was already feeling so poorly. “I suppose I led him to believe I was engaged to
Lord Merryweather, which I am, in fact, not.”
“But that will not impede my niece’s inheriting her uncle’s fortune, will it?” Aunt Frances leaned toward the solicitor, her
gaze fixed on his face.
Mr. Boniface’s face drooped. “I am very afraid it will, Mrs. Beaumont.” He held the piece of paper out and, her stomach
clenching in fear, Diana took it. “Look at the codicil, down at the bottom.”
Gritting her teeth, Diana’s gaze traveled down the lines of copperplate handwriting to her uncle’s signature, then to the
spidery writing below it.
To ensure that my niece will have the best management of her inheritance, I make this stipulation that in order
for her to inherit my fortune she must be married at the time she receives the money. If she be not married
within a week of the settling of the estate, she shall instead receive one shilling and the rest of the sum in its
entirety will pass to a charity of my choice, which I will make known to my executor, Mr. Boniface. Signed by
my hand this 13th day of August, 1818.
Horrified, Diana read the last portion of the will twice, hoping against hope she’d read it wrong the first time. But no, it
was right there, unmistakable. Her uncle’s words were absolutely clear. She must marry within a single week or lose all her
inheritance.
Diana clutched the paper so tightly she feared it might rip. Little good it would do her anyway, torn or not. There was
simply no way she could find a man who would marry her within such a short period of time. Not with her reputation within the
ton. Her cousins’ malice might just have prevented her from inheriting. They’d probably rejoice at her misfortune, although
none of them would benefit from their uncle’s estate. What a horrible mess this had turned into.
Perhaps fearing for the document’s well-being, Mr. Boniface pulled it gently from her fingers.
“What is wrong, Diana?”
She’d forgotten her aunt sat beside her. “Oh, Aunt Frances, this is terrible. The will is insisting I marry…within a week!”
“What?”
Diana grabbed the will back and thrust the sheets into her aunt’s hands, then buried her head in hers. “Read that!”
If only her foray into Society during the Season had borne fruit. Her aunt had worked very hard to secure invitations to
several entertainments during the Season—although they’d been denied admittance to Almacks—trying to control the damage
her cousins had caused. Her aunt had pointed out that she would soon be an heiress and the ton was notorious for turning a
blind eye to scandal if the ruined party possessed a great deal of wealth. And it might have worked because there had been that
one wonderful outing with Lord—
Diana’s face seemed to burst into flame as she recalled the look on the gentleman’s face as he sat in the waters of the
Serpentine with all the ton looking on. Oh, but she would never live down that shame. Who would wish to marry a lady who
had done something so egregious and then had run away? So if she had to marry in order to gain her inheritance, her hopes
were well and truly dashed. “My uncle apparently didn’t think I was competent enough to manage his money on my own. He’s
insisting I marry within a week or I forfeit all the money.” It really didn’t help to hear the words spelled out for her aunt. “What
am I going to do?”
“Would Lord Merryweather perhaps consider a marriage if he knew of the inheritance you stand to gain?” Mr. Boniface
ventured the suggestion hesitantly.
Glancing at her aunt, Diana shrugged. “I suppose I can write to him and ask. I haven’t seen him for some time now. He
wasn’t in Town during the Season. But I can try.”
“Good.” Mr. Boniface rose, collected all the papers and stuffed them back into his satchel. “Today is Tuesday. If you are
able to marry, bring a copy of your marriage lines to my office by midnight next Monday and I will swear the affidavit you have
met the terms of your uncle’s will.” He looked at her dolefully. “If not, I will pay you your single shilling on Tuesday next.”
The solicitor picked up his bag and headed for the door. Just as he was about to open it, Lucy appeared with the tea tray.
“I’m sorry it took so long to get the tea ready, Mrs. Beaumont.” The maid stood gawking at Mr. Boniface.
“Never mind, Lucy.” Aunt Frances rose, her voice revealing her weariness. “Set it down there. I will see to Mr. Boniface.”
She strode to the door and led the solicitor out.
Lucy scurried in and set the tray down on the table in front of Diana, curtsied, then fled the room.
Staring at the gleaming blue and white China teapot, Diana could think of nothing save all that money that by rights was
hers, going instead to some charity. All because her cousins had started that hateful rumor about her.
Aunt Frances returned to the room, her face grim.
Shoulders slumped, Diana looked up at her. “What am I to do, aunt?”
“There is nothing to be done, my dear, save get you married. Mr. Boniface says the codicil cannot be broken, so we have a
week to find a gentleman to marry you.”
“Then it might as well be ten years, aunt.” Tears pricked Diana’s eyes. “You know I have no prospects whatsoever now.”
“That’s as may be, my dear.” Aunt Frances leaned over and grasped both of Diana’s hands in hers. “However, do you trust
me?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then come with me.” She rose, pulling Diana to her feet.
“Where are we going?”
“To see a matchmaker.”
 Chapter Two
Sussex, England

THE TEEMING CUT crystal tumbler of brandy his best friend Thomas, Lord Braeton had thrust into his hand upon his arrival had
mere drops in the bottom by the time Geoffrey had apprized his friend of his dire circumstances. The spirits had helped him get
through the difficult confession, but Geoffrey remained stone cold sober as he finished his tale in the library of his friend’s
country estate in West Sussex. “I know it’s my fault and my fault alone, Thomas. I should have kept a better eye on things. But
damn it, Griffin had served my father for over thirty years. Why would I think he would keep such losses from me?”
“A misplaced sense of duty to your father, most likely.” Thomas sipped his brandy, his face drawn with concern. “He may
have felt he’d let him down by not seeing to the running of the estates so they continued to thrive after your father’s death.” His
friend shrugged. “He couldn’t admit that to you either, so he hid it as long as he could. If he hadn’t died of natural causes, the
admission of the losses to you would likely have done him in.”
“The question now is what can I do to alleviate this crisis? How can I ever raise such a sum?” The appalling amount Mr.
Folger had mentioned seemed emblazoned in his mind.
“What did your mother say?”
Geoffrey cast his gaze to the floor, unable to meet his friend’s eyes. “I haven’t told her. I didn’t want to worry her until I
had a solution well in hand.”
“Well, you must know what my advice to you will be. You won’t like it, I’m afraid, but it is the best and quickest solution.”
Raising his head, Geoffrey sighed. “What is it?”
“Marry an heiress.”
Geoffrey winced. “I’d thought of that, of course, but only as a last-ditch effort. It seems so Machiavellian to me, the ends
justifying the means as it were. Or worse using the lady as a catspaw, a tool to get what I need.” He shook his head. “You are
the intellect between us, Thomas. I’d hoped you’d have something a bit less rapacious to offer. I’d prefer to marry a lady I
know, and with whom I have something in common. One for whom I feel at least a modicum of affection.”
“Pardon me, Geoffrey, but beggars cannot be choosers.” Thomas’s eyes glared at him over the rim of his tumbler. “And if
you remember, I married my wife without knowing anything at all about her, save her name, and we have found much more than
a ‘modicum of affection’ for one another.”
“I mean no offence, Thomas, to you or Lady Braeton.” Geoffrey held up a hand to stem his friend’s attack. “How is
Honoria?”
Thomas’s tense face relaxed and he smiled broadly. “Doing wonderfully well after the birth of the twins. You must see
them and her before you leave.”
“I will of course. You are a most fortunate man, Thomas, to have a woman you love as your wife, an heir and a spare in one
fell swoop.” Geoffrey shook his head. “I do envy you.”
“And you counseled me not to marry her, if you remember.” Thomas’s voice had a touch of reproach, but his eyes twinkled
with merriment.
“I do, and I wholeheartedly admit I was wrong in giving that advice.” Geoffrey shrugged. “I seem to be wrong so much of
the time now. But you were not marrying the woman for her fortune, Thomas. That makes all the difference.”
“Perhaps it does.” His friend came over and sat down beside him. “But you must find other things you can offer in return.
Position, an ancient title, a kind and loving husband.”
“The two former I can certainly offer,” Geoffrey peered into the empty glass and sighed. “The latter two I doubt many
ladies of my acquaintance would agree with. If you have not noticed, Thomas, I do not always have the kindest of manners.
Even I know I tend to be gruff and sometimes surly if vexed. As for being a loving husband,” he grunted, “I do not know that I
will ever be able to make that claim. Especially to a woman I am marrying first and foremost for her money.”
“But you do have the capacity to try to love her, don’t you Geoffrey?” Thomas’s gaze bore into him.
 “Well, of course I will make every effort to love her.” Geoffrey would make the attempt, although he had grave doubts
about the success of the endeavor. He knew himself too well not to where women were concerned. Try as he might, when out in
Society he always seemed to do or say the wrong thing. And when anything went wrong, of course his temper did get the better
of him. As it had that horrible day in June. He shuddered at the thought.
“Then that is all anyone can ask of you, my friend.” Thomas rose. “Come, let us go find Honoria and tell her I must go to
London to help you find a bride.”
“So yet another woman will have reason to be dissatisfied with me.” Geoffrey shook his head as Thomas chuckled and led
him out of the library.
His friend was likely correct. The only recourse to finding the funds he so desperately needed was to marry a fortune. That
didn’t make it any more palatable to someone like Geoffrey who had traditional ideas about love and family. Unfortunately, it
seemed that to secure the future of the latter he’d have to eschew any hope of the former.

SEATED IN THE cramped office of a rather peculiar establishment her aunt called The Lyon’s Den, Diana looked around
cautiously at the piles of papers strewn over the small desk, the pictures of women in strange poses on the walls, and the ornate
golden bird cage on a stand behind the desk where a pair of love birds fluttered, squeaking amicably. Aunt Frances sat beside
her, waiting patiently for someone she knew to come talk to them about finding Diana a husband. That was all her aunt had told
her on the way over, although Diana hadn’t liked the sound of it when her aunt had called the woman they were going to see a
matchmaker.
Of course, Diana knew she had to marry someone or lose all the money Uncle George had left her. She only wished she had
time to find a man she at least liked and respected. The best she could hope for now was someone she could tolerate. Why
hadn’t Uncle George, or at the very least Mr. Boniface, told her about the marriage stipulation before now? But then they both
thought she was already betrothed. If only she hadn’t told her uncle that little white lie, she might have had more warning about
the situation. She couldn’t help but think the cards were stacked against her.
The door opened suddenly, making Diana jump as a short woman entered wearing black clothing including a veil that
obscured her face. Had she had a recent death in her family? Diana peered closer at the swathed figure.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyons, how good of you to see us.” Aunt Frances stood and motioned for Diana to rise as well. “I am Mrs.
Henry Beaumont. I doubt you’d remember me, but we met once—”
“Almost twelve years ago, Mrs. Beaumont.” The shrouded figure nodded. “You were Miss Reed then, about to marry
Charles Nichols.”
“You prevented me and introduced me to Mr. Beaumont, for which I still give you daily thanks.”
Aunt Frances’s words made Diana’s head swivel toward her so quickly, her neck popped. She leaned toward her aunt,
intent on asking her to explain, but Aunt Frances shook her head slightly and Diana shrank back, shocked and puzzled. She’d no
idea her aunt’s marriage had been arranged.
“I am happy to hear you are still pleased with your marriage.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons sat and indicated for them to take their
seats once more.
“Mr. Beaumont is the kindest of husbands, I must say, Mrs. Dove-Lyons. I couldn’t have asked for a better. He’s from home
at the moment and I miss him sorely.” Aunt Frances smiled at the lady. Uncle Henry, a classics scholar, was currently in
Switzerland as a bear leader for a group of young gentlemen on a Grand Tour.
Diana sank down onto the chair, still staring at her aunt. Today was a day for revelations.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Beaumont?”
“My niece, Miss Edgerton, needs to marry and quickly.”
Although she couldn’t see the woman’s face for her veil, Diana could imagine Mrs. Dove-Lyons’ expression at that
statement and interjected, “In order to inherit my uncle’s fortune, ma’am. It’s a stipulation of his will that I marry within a
week.”
“Six and a half days, to be exact.” Aunt Frances put in. “And dear Diana has no acquaintance for whom she has a tendre or
special affection. With time so short, I told her we must consult with you if she is to find a suitable gentleman in time.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyons nodded. “A wise decision to be sure. Unfortunately, my usual cadre of eligible bachelors has vanished I
am sorry to say. At present, the only gentleman who is, to my knowledge, actively seeking a bride is Sir Harry Bowles.”
“Sir Harry Bowles?” Aunt Frances looked at Diana, frowning. “Did you meet him during the Season, my dear? Do you
recall a young gentleman of that name?”
“Sir Harry was not present at the entertainments of the past Season, Mrs. Beaumont.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice held a note
of mirth. “He is long past his days of dancing.”
“How long past?” Her aunt glanced at Diana who held her breath.
“Sir Harry is currently five and sixty years old.”
Diana gasped. That was not anything she’d bargained for at all. “I cannot marry…what are you…” She waited a moment to
collect her scattered thoughts. “Why would Sir Harry wish to wed at such an advanced age?”
“The reason most men marry, my dear.” The figure turned toward Diana. “He needs an heir.”
“And hitherto he’d not been able to secure one?” Aunt Frances’ voice held a tinge of skepticism.
“His wife of thirty-four years was sadly barren. She died two months ago and although Sir Harry has been inconsolable, he
knows he still has a chance to produce an heir if he can find another wife.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons shrugged. “He asked me to find
him a bride and I’ve been doing my best, but again it’s too soon after the regular Season to find many unmarried young ladies
with an eye toward matrimony with an elderly gentleman.” The woman seemed to be staring straight at Diana. “Unless they had
reasons of their own to accept such a match.”
Diana turned to her aunt, aghast at how this interview was transpiring. “Aunt, you cannot expect me to marry a man older
than Uncle George,” she whispered, horrified at the mere thought of such a thing.
“Have you any other choice, Diana?” Aunt Frances’s face was grim. “Are you certain there’s no younger gentleman of your
acquaintance who might agree to marry you?
“No, there’s not.” That, in a nutshell, was the problem. Diana didn’t know many young men, save her cousins who she
wouldn’t marry on a bet. And none of the young gentlemen she’d met at the few entertainments she’d attended during the Season
would likely be willing to tie themselves to basically a ruined woman. Also, it was a huge risk for her to take, on marriage to a
young man that might last thirty or even forty years.
But a marriage that couldn’t last nearly that long might, indeed, be the answer.
“Could I meet with Sir Harry, Mrs. Dove-Lyons?” Diana had to steel herself to ask the question, but meeting the gentleman
didn’t constitute accepting his proposal. Perhaps he would be kindly, as her uncle had been. Older gentlemen needn’t be
unpleasant companions.
“I believe I could arrange that.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons drew a piece of foolscap from one of the random piles, produced a pen
and ink, and began to write. “Let me send a message asking him to attend you here. That way you can see for yourself if you
think you would suit.”
“I think you are making a wise decision, my dear.” Aunt Frances sighed and sat back in her chair.
“As you said, aunt, what other choice do I have?” Diana slumped. It was a bad situation, true, but many a woman had made
worse decisions. And if she did agree to marry Sir Harry, she assuredly would not be married for long. What her acceptance
now would hinge on was whether or not Sir Harry would agree to the settlement she and her aunt had discussed on the way to
The Lyon’s Den. A settlement that would leave her inheritance virtually intact and set aside for her own purposes. If Sir Harry
were desperate enough for an heir, perhaps he would agree. If he did not, then Diana didn’t know what she was going to do.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon finished her note, folded and sealed the missive, and rang for a footman, who immediately appeared. “To
Sir Harry Bowles. Wait for an answer.”
The man nodded and withdrew. There was a flurry of thuds as he raced down the stairs and Diana turned back to Mrs.
Dove-Lyons. “You are certain there are no other gentlemen looking for a wife? A very rich wife.”
The figure in black shrugged. “These things run in cycles, my dear. Next week I may have a dozen men, young and old,
seeking a wife and no partners to be found for them.”
“A precarious business at best, I suppose.” Diana’s nerves were stretched so thin, she didn’t care that the head beneath the
veil had tilted at a rather perturbed angle while her aunt plucked at her sleeve trying to hush her. If she’d spoken too sharply,
she was sorry, but what did they expect? In less than two hours she’d been granted a fortune, only to be told she must marry to
obtain it, then had been informed that her one hope for a bridegroom had one foot in the grave. If she wasn’t as polite as usual,
it should be excused this one time, surely.
A faint chuckle from the black garbed woman gave Diana the feeling Mrs. Dove-Lyons had forgiven her any social faux
pas. “My fortunes rise and fall as though I were caught in a perpetual squall, Miss Edgerton. I weather the storm as best I can.”
She sat back in her tall, leather chair. “Do you have a contingency plan, in the event Sir Harry is unwilling to meet your terms?
Your aunt tells me you require your future bridegroom to relinquish all rights to your substantial fortune. There’s not many who
would do that.”
“I hope to entice the gentleman with a wedding gift of cash or property, whichever he prefers. That will be all he receives
of my fortune, but I intend to be generous.” Diana shot a look at her aunt. She hadn’t divulged that little part to anyone until
now. “That way he will be compensated and hopefully not expect more money over the course of the marriage.”
“Depending on the gentleman, there may be other compensations he would be happy to accept as well.”
Although Diana couldn’t see the woman’s face, she imagined a leer of epic proportions on Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s lips and her
cheeks flushed. “With the possible exception of Sir Harry, with any other gentleman such ‘compensations’ will be non-
negotiable.”
 “That may break the deal quicker than withholding the funds.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s chuckled again. “Most gentlemen I deal
with at the very least will need an heir at some point in their lives. My very best wishes for your success, Miss Edgerton, if it
comes to that. Hopefully, Sir Harry will be—”
A knock at the door and the same footman entered. He sent a furtive glance at Diana, then turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyons and
bent down to whisper in her ear.
Unable to help herself, Diana leaned forward, trying to be inconspicuous, but needing to know what the servant was saying.
That sly look had piqued her interest immensely.
“Eavesdropping in plain sight is particularly rude, Diana.” Speaking sotto voce, her aunt pulled her backward until she
was sitting properly once more. “And rarely gains the results you wish for. Mrs. Dove-Lyons will tell us the news shortly in
any case.”
The conversation continued between the footman and the proprietress, carrying on longer than Diana had expected. What
did the man need to say other than Sir Harry was on the way or not coming at all? She sent a puzzled look to Aunt Frances, who
shrugged and continued to wait peaceably. How her aunt could do so was beyond Diana. Of course, her aunt’s future and
fortune were not at stake as her own were. Diana clutched the purse-strings of her reticule and redoubled her efforts to remain
calm.
Suddenly, the footman straightened and sped out of the room.
Diana turned her attention to Mrs. Dove-Lyons, hoping for an explanation and even more importantly an answer.
Instead, the lady rose, said only, “Excuse me,” and followed the footman out the door.
Diana turned to her aunt. “What in God’s name is happening?”
Aunt Frances shook her head. “Mrs. Dove-Lyons will tell us in her own time. That’s her way. You simply must accept it.”
She patted Diana’s hand. “And trust her. After all this time as a matchmaker, she knows what she’s doing.”
Releasing a sigh, Diana sent up a prayer that that at least was true.
Not quite half an hour later—Diana knew the time because she’d taken her pocket watch out to check every two minutes—
the door opened and Mrs. Dove-Lyons bustled into the room. “I have news for you, Miss Edgerton.”
Diana caught the fact the lady did not say “good” news. Likely then Sir Harry, while needing an heir, also wished for more
money than she was willing to give. “And that is…?”
“There is a prospective bridegroom on his way up the stairs as we speak.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons’ voice sounded peculiar. Not
the crowing tone Diana would have expected, but more of a smugly triumphant trill.
“Excellent, my dear.” Aunt Frances grasped Diana’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I told you Mrs. Dove-Lyons would save
you.”
From the tone and tension in the woman’s voice, Diana would need to reserve judgment on whether or not she’d been saved
until she saw this potential husband with her own eyes.
A heavy footfall in the hallway had Diana sitting straight up and leaning over to try to peer out the door. A spark of
excitement, a sliver of hope that somehow this was all going to come right shot through her as she strained to see the promised
gentleman.
“Mrs. Beaumont, Miss Egerton, may I present—”
A hulking figure filled the doorway, broad shoulders almost skimming the door jamb as he pushed his way into the room.
Attired in an excellently cut double-breasted coat of navy superfine, accentuating his massive chest, the gentleman tipped his
hat and raised his countenance to them. “Ladies, I am—”
He stopped mid-sentence, his almost jovial face crashing down into horrified lines. “Miss Edgerton.”
Diana stared, unable to breathe until she sucked in a gasp at last and spit out his name. “Lord Longford.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s head tilted. “Do you know one another already, my dear? Then this should be as easy as a stroll in the
park for you.”
 Chapter Three
“THIS IS NOT Sir Harry Bowles, Mrs. Dove-Lyons.” Miss Edgerton’s face had gone a deep red shade that was totally
unbecoming to her. Not that he thought any color would be becoming on this inconsiderate woman. Geoffry had to clench his
teeth in order to keep from growling in disgust.
Mrs. Dove-Lyons had miscalculated badly if she thought he would marry this…this irresponsible woman just to gain the
money to keep his estates. He’d sell them all lock, stock, and barrel before he’d stand up with Miss Diana Edgerton. She must
have heard, as had the whole ton, about their encounter last June. That was the reason the lady had neglected to tell him the
name of the prospective bride when she asked him to come with her.
“I am quite aware of that, Miss Edgerton.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons’s tone said she would brook no fools—not being one herself.
“One would have to be blind to mistake Lord Longford for Sir Harry. But I received word from my footman, who carried the
message of your interest to Sir Harry, that the gentleman you sought is, shall we say, unavailable.”
Miss Edgerton shot a look of absolute horror at Geoffrey, then turned back to the Lyon’s Den proprietress. “I will be more
than happy to wait until Sir Harry is finished with his business.”
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to, my dear.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons shook her head. “Sir Harry was found dead not two hours
ago, according to my footman.”
Miss Edgerton gasped and clasped the hand of her aunt. Of course the two of them must still be thick as thieves. Neither
one had acted with any decency that afternoon he’d give anything to be able to forget. That debacle at the Serpentine was
etched into his memory, more’s the pity. Memories of afternoon walks should be pleasant, and not involve a plunge into murky
water and the appearance of an amphibian that had made him such a laughingstock, he’d quit London the next day. Upon his
return to Town he’d discovered, to his disgust, some irreverent members of the ton were calling him “Toad Longford.”.
“Do you know what happened to Sir Harry?” Mrs. Beaumont leaned toward, patting Miss Edgerton’s hand.
“His heart, the footman was told.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons shook her head. “He was found in his bed, as if sleeping, but the maid
bringing in his morning tea found she couldn’t wake him. She screamed and the other servants came running.”
Miss Edgerton’s countenance drooped and she wrung her hands.
Why was the woman concerned at all about Sir Harry Bowles? Geoffrey frowned.
“When I heard that Lord Longford was in The Lyon’s Den,” the woman turned to him and chuckled, “at the gambling tables,
I thought perhaps a match would be in order, if both of you would be willing to take a chance on the other.”
“No!” They both replied together, with almost identical emphatic inflections. His own voice was a tad deeper, but
otherwise they might have spoken as one.
“Out of the question, Mrs. Dove-Lyons. You promised me Sir Harry and you must produce him, ma’am.” Miss Edgerton’s
voice held equal parts of determination and desperation.
“I fear Sir Harry will do you no good at this juncture, Miss Edgerton. You cannot marry a dead man.” The figure in black
extended her hand toward Geoffrey. “Won’t you reconsider, Lord Longford? He may have his shortcomings, but his desperate
need to marry is one of his most appealing strengths. He is an excellent example of our usual crop of available gentlemen.”
Geoffrey winced at that description of himself, although he had to admit it was deadly accurate. He was now a gentleman
looking to woo a lady with a fortune. Almost nothing else about the lady mattered—except she couldn’t be Miss Diana
Edgerton. “I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Dove-Lyons, but I’m afraid I must decline to make any offer of marriage to Miss
Edgerton at this time.” He looked down his nose and tried not to purse his lips in disgust. “As I do not think we would suit at
all.”
The lady in question nodded her head so quickly, she seemed like a puppet whose strings were being yanked by the puppet-
master. “I never believed I’d have cause to agree with you, Lord Longford, but I find that in this matter, we are in perfect
agreement. I cannot marry a gentleman upon whom I … I,” the lady paused a moment, then straightened her shoulders, “cannot
depend.”
Geoffrey bit his lip but managed to hang onto his temper. If anyone was undependable, it was Miss Edgerton. “As you see,
Mrs. Dove-Lyons, the lady and I are in agreement, although not in the way I am certain you would have wished.” He cut his
gaze toward the proprietress. “How did you come to the conclusion I wished to marry? I came to try my luck at your gaming
tables and to see what other outrageous wagers were being put about.”
“Your friend, Lord Braeton, has been in contact with me regarding the procuring of a suitable wife for you.”
Geoffrey tried to keep his face from registering his deep displeasure. Damn Thomas’s meddling. He’d sent him off to the
Lyon’s Den this afternoon, saying he’d meet Geoffrey here in time for them to walk around and dine at White’s. Damnation.
That was another expense he’d need to forego in the future. He’d better savor tonight’s repast while he could. “I am afraid Lord
Braeton may have spoken out of turn, ma’am. As I said, I came to waste some time at the tables before dining with Lord
Braeton, nothing more.”
“Then you are not seeking to marry a fortune, Lord Longford?” Miss Edgerton cocked her head, her eyes bright with
feigned interest. “I am certain I heard someone say just the other day that you were in need of a rich wife.” The lady smiled
sweetly. “Why else would you come here to meet a lady of fortune at Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s request?”.”
Geoffrey hoped the smile on his face looked more like a grin than a grimace. “I do hope they have not been spreading that
on-dit about me, as it is quite false. You of all people know how rumors fly, Miss Edgerton. Your cousins seemed to have made
it their mission in life to disparage you and your relationship with your uncle. I’m certain it must have been a dreary business
having to defend your virtue against your own kinfolk’s accusations.”
Miss Edgerton’s face drained of all color and she squeezed her aunt’s hand until her knuckles turned quite white.
Instantly, Geoffrey regretted his words. They were, of course, true. The lady’s cousins had spent the past year spreading
vicious rumors about Miss Edgerton, implying that she and her uncle had been carrying on a torrid affair and that was the
reason he’d left all his considerable fortune to her. The rumors had come to Geoffrey’s ears even before he met her last June,
although he’d immediately dismissed them as rather nasty sour grapes offered by relatives who hadn’t attended the uncle while
he was alive yet expected to be compensated at his death. He’d no regard whatsoever for Miss Edgerton now, still he wouldn’t
disparage her virtue when he didn’t believe the claims to be true. “I beg your pardon, Miss Edgerton. That was ungallant of me.
I did hear the rumors that were put about, however I wish to assure you that I put no credence in their allegations whatsoever. I
would not wish you to think I did so.”
Miss Edgerton’s cheeks regained a bit of the color they’d lost, and she nodded at him, although she did not meet his eyes.
“And now ladies, I will take my leave of you. Mrs. Dove-Lyons, always a pleasure, madam. Mrs. Beaumont,” he nodded to
the aunt. “Miss Edgerton. Good afternoon.” Geoffrey bowed and left the room closing the door, just slow enough that he heard
Miss Edgerton’s whispered words.
“You know, Aunt Frances, there’s more than one reason why they’re calling him Toad Longford.”

AFTER AN UNSATISFACTORY meal with Thomas—the food was excellent, however the conversation about Thomas’s indiscretion
regarding Mrs. Dove-Lyons and Geoffrey’s financial predicament was less than appetizing—Geoffrey arrived back home at
Longford House in Grosvenor Square, wondering when and how he was going to tell his mother they would need to give up the
London property—nearly all the properties in fact. How he’d do that, though, was the pressing question. The when had to be
soon. The next quarter’s bills would be due on January first and according to Mr. Folger, all the properties would need to be
sold in order to meet all the debts. That didn’t give him much time at all to facilitate all the sales.
Over dinner Thomas had brought up the names of several young ladies, and some not so young, who all had fortunes enough
that if Geoffrey married them, his monetary woes would be at an end. Geoffrey had staunchly shot down each and every
suggestion, always with the same thought: if he could sell enough of the properties, he could stem the tide of money that was
going out of his coffers with the speed and malevolence of a storm-tossed wave crashing onto the shore.
Something within him fought harder than ever, protesting the idea of marrying a young woman of whom he had no
knowledge and for whom he had no tender feelings whatsoever. Arranged marriages had gone out of fashion and although
Geoffrey was not known for setting any fashion trends, he was certain that marrying for love was a much better proposition
than tying himself to a person he didn’t know. His parents’ marriage had been arranged to an extent, although they’d met one
another before the betrothal. How Father had managed to come to terms with his headstrong wife until they actually fell in love
was a mystery to Geoffrey. Had he known what was in store for him, he’d have asked his father for advice on how to navigate
marriage with a stranger.
Thomas had been incredibly lucky to have married a lady he knew not at all, but one he had eventually fallen in love with.
Geoffrey did not trust that he would be so lucky. The times had changed in favor of love matches, and for once Geoffrey
intended to go with the times.
 He let himself in the white framed doorway, touching the brass lion’s head as he always did when entering, gave his hat and
coat to the butler, then headed for the family drawing room. His mother and sister were likely there taking tea after their dinner.
They had come to Town with him in order to visit with friends of his mother’s, in preparation for Joanna’s come out in the
spring. An event that now might have to be postponed.
By all rights he should go on and tell them the situation. He’d not been unlucky at the tables at The Lyon’s Den, but he also
knew he didn’t have enough skill at cards to win the fortune he needed. Neither was he willing to wager his last remaining
funds on the odd wagers for which The Lyon’s Den was famous.
So he was back to economizing to the bone and selling the minor properties, hoping they fetched enough capital to keep
them afloat until the next crops came in. They could postpone Joanna’s come out for another year.
He hated like hell to do that to her. She’d been looking forward to her Season ever since he could remember. Two years
ago, she’d interrogated Alyce, the middle child, every night when she came out, wanting every particular about the gowns, the
dances, the décor, the suitors. She’d almost driven Alyce to distraction with her incessant questions until Geoffrey suspected
Alyce married simply so she could move out of the house.
In his heart, however, Geoffrey had to admit his youngest sister had always been his favorite. Seeing her bright spirit
around the house every day had helped him immeasurably after their father’s untimely death. They’d all been devastated, but
Joanna had borne it better than any of them, comforting them all with her serene presence and unfailingly hopeful manner every
day.
If he had to postpone her Season, she’d be sorely disappointed, but would accept the decree, he was certain, with her usual
poise. She’d take it in her stride. And he would make sure next year, there would be enough money to bring her out properly.
Geoffrey shook thoughts of his sister’s woebegone face out of his mind as he climbed the stairs to the first floor and headed
toward the large, comfortable blue drawing room from which he could hear Joanna playing a spritely tune on the pianoforte.
She did dearly love to play and was excellent at the instrument. He’d love nothing so much as to sit down, have Mother pour
him a cup of tea, and relax as Joanna played one of her pieces by Handel. But if he did that, he wouldn’t have the heart
afterward to give them the devastating news. And once he imparted to them the truth about their dire circumstances, there
would be no peace for any of them.
Still, he would at least enjoy one cup of tea before allowing the sword of Damocles to descend on all of them. “Good
evening, Mother. That is a very pretty tune, Joanna.” Geoffrey seated himself beside his mother and accepted a cup of tea with
one lump of sugar only. “Is that a new piece? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”
“Good evening, Geoffrey.” Mother presented her cheek, which he kissed, then sat back with his tea, trying to relax for a
few minutes at least.
“It’s a Scottish song, ‘Music, Love and Wine,’ by Mr. Beethoven.” Joanna looked up from the keyboard of the pianoforte,
all smiles. “I borrowed it from Clarissa Johnstone and will start copying it tomorrow. But I couldn’t wait to hear it, so I started
playing it as soon as we came home.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Will you come and sing it with me? It is in two parts.”
Before Geoffrey could even open his mouth, his sister had jumped up from the piano and thrown her arms around him.
“Pleeeease, Geoffrey? It would be so much fun to sing a duet with you again. We’ve not done it in ages.”
Well, he’d known as soon as she asked, he would give in. Considering that he’d be denying her something of much more
importance, performing with her was the least he could do. “Very well, but can we please begin tomorrow? I am more than a
little fatigued.” He patted her arm. “Let me just hear you play this evening.”
“Yes, yes, of course, Geoffrey.” She squeezed his neck, then hurried back to the instrument and began the tune again.
His mother saw her chance with him at last and asked, “How was your dinner with Thomas?”
“Not as enjoyable as they usually are.” Geoffrey kept his gaze on his cup as he sipped. “There were some topics we
touched on in which we differed significantly.”
“Well, I’m certain you two will come to an accord soon. You’ve never had a falling out of any consequence since you were
born.” His mother smiled her amused smile, still most likely seeing him and Thomas as lads of eight or nine instead of the
twenty-eight years they were now. “I’ll invite him to dinner while he’s in London. Then you’ll both have to behave in front of
Joanna and me.”
“I’m certain Thomas would love to see you, Mother.” At least he could rely on his friend not to scold or harangue him in
front of his family. Unlike their dinner tonight. “You must send an invitation to him soon, however. I don’t think he means to
linger long in Town. He dislikes being away from his wife and the twins.”
“How is dear Honoria? Are the babies well?”
Before Geoffrey could assure her that they were all in the best of health, Vickers, the butler, entered bearing a silver tray
with a letter on it. “Pardon me, my lord. This just came for you.”
Geoffrey took the letter, noting the unfamiliar handwriting and immediately assumed it was another creditor informing him
of a sum owed that would likely make him cringe. Well, the man could bloody well get in line. He popped off the red seal of
wax and unfolded the missive. Two lines in, his eye shot to the signature and his jaw clenched. His heart raced but Geoffrey
fought to remain as outwardly calm as possible. “Thank you, Vickers.” He glanced up at the servant, who showed no sign of
distress. “Are they waiting for an answer?”
“No, my lord.”
Thank God. “Then that is all. Mother, I must answer this at once. Will you forgive me?”
His mother’s brows dipped in a frown, marring her previously tranquil expression, but she shook her head. “Of course, my
dear. Do what you must.”
Geoffrey rose, folding the letter against prying eyes, and headed for the door slowly, resisting the urge to bolt. Once through
the portal, however, he hurried along the corridor, down the stairs to the ground floor and the sanctuary of his library. He sped
inside, turned and locked the door, then leaned his head against it, trying to draw strength from the stout oak panel. Not even
settled in his mind about having to sacrifice his estates, he now had this cup of poison shoved beneath his nose.
Straightening, Geoffrey headed for his desk, the mahogany behemoth that had been his father’s, and sat down, the letter
clutched in his hand. He glanced over at the sideboard, wishing he’d detoured over there first for a glass of brandy. No, better
he deal with this with a clear head. He unfolded the piece of paper and began to read again, his whole body tensed as if ready
to fend off a blow it knew was coming.
Lord Longford,
I have recently had the foresight to purchase the mortgages on several of your properties, including Longford
Manor located in Middlesex. I am willing, even eager in fact, to relinquish the papers for these properties back
to you, if you will, in exchange, allow me to marry your sister, Lady Joanna Longford.
That had been as far as Geoffrey had been able to read before dropping his astonished eyes to the signature at the bottom of
the letter.
Marcus Dandridge
Geoffrey’s heart went cold. The name belonged to a man whose reputation he knew well, unfortunately.
Dandridge, son of a day laborer, was the sole owner of The Dandy, a gambling den tucked away in St. James, with a wild
reputation and a clientele of young aristocrats backed by their fathers’ money. How he’d raised the money for such an elite
establishment was a subject of wild speculation in Geoffrey’s circles. Rumors of smuggling, burglary, and extortion ran
rampant. However, Dandridge had amassed the funds to procure and refurbish the abandoned haberdashery by the time he’d
turned twenty-one, leading London society to speculate that his money had come from unsavory or illegal sources. He now also
owned several less savory hells down in the Seven Dials district, the very thought of which made Geoffrey shudder. Every
night there was a brawl in one of Dandridge’s establishments, or a stabbing, or a shooting. Yet the man had managed to amass a
fortune out of the profits of the gambling dens. Dandridge had gained the reputation of a ruthless man in these hells, he himself
sometimes acting as bouncer, breaking heads and tossing people out the door if they became too unruly or cheated. Rumors of
his patrons being beaten or killed for not paying their gambling debts abounded.
Wishing desperately for that brandy now, Geofrey lifted his gaze back to the letter and continued reading.
If you are willing to come to an accord on this matter, please send me word that we may proceed. If, however,
you decline my most generous offer, my solicitor will be contacting you regarding the immediate payment of the
twenty thousand pounds owing me.
Twenty thousand pounds. An almost unimaginable sum. Dandridge must have bought up the mortgages on every property
Geoffrey owned. Head spinning, he rose at last and stumbled over to the sideboard, poured a tumbler full of brandy then
drained the glass almost at a gulp. The usually steadying burn merely scorched his throat and his already roiling stomach
threatened revolt. What the hell was he to do?
His first thought was to meet with Dandridge, try to persuade him against this ludicrous demand. Fortunately, his common
sense took over immediately. All that could come of such a meeting would be Geoffrey’s anger getting the better of him and
leading to an altercation between him and Dandridge, which might leave Geoffrey irreparably wounded or dead. With her
brother out of the picture, Dandridge would be free to pursue Joanna unfettered, likely with threats of eviction if she didn’t
marry him. Or worse, he might convince her to become his mistress.
Geoffrey shuddered. He had to stay alive, for all their sakes.
His next thought was to contact Thomas, but that was futile. His friend, while comfortably well off, could never raise such
a sum nor would Geoffrey wish him to do so. Selling all the properties was the only solution, although even that was no
guarantee they would fetch enough money to pay off Dandridge.
He stared at the letter, trying to reason it out. Why had the man chosen to fixate on Joanna of all people? Not that any
gentleman in his right mind wouldn’t wish to marry his sister. He’d already realized he was going to be run ragged all summer
keeping a close eye on her during her Season. With her dowry, excellent lineage, and the face of an angel, his sister would
likely be the most sought-after guest for every entertainment and partner in every ballroom. Even though she wasn’t out yet,
he’d assume Dandridge had his sources to keep tabs on just about everyone in London. Had he managed to meet her somewhere
and that was what was driving this ultimatum? All irrelevant questions. If the man was willing to stoop to extortion to ensure
the marriage, he was determined to have his sister at any cost. And that was something Geoffrey would not stand for, if he had
to kill the rogue himself. Never would he allow his sister to marry such a monster.
But perhaps he could.
Slowly, Geoffrey lowered his glass, an idea taking hold of him. He hurried back to the desk, pulled pen, ink, and paper
toward him and began to write furiously. Moments later, he rang the bell, then folded the note and finished sealing it.
Vickers entered the library. “You rang, my lord?”
With a sigh, Geoffrey held the letter out to the butler. “Send this with a footman immediately. Tell him to wait for a reply.”
“What’s the direction, my lord?”
“Mrs. Dove-Lyons at The Lyon’s Den.”
 Chapter Four
“WELL, THAT’S THE end of it.” Diana waved the letter she’d just opened, her heart beating as though it would burst.
“And?” Aunt Frances had brought the letter to her as soon as it arrived and was hovering over her shoulder. “What does
Lord Merryweather say?”
“As expected, Dante has proven to be a disappointment.” She’d known the odds weren’t good that he’d agree to marry her,
even if she wasn’t insisting on keeping the bulk of her money through the settlements. That seemed to be the sticking point with
the few friends she’d approached with the proposition. That, and her unsavory reputation.
“Even with the generous amount you were offering to settle on him if he agreed?” The shocked sound of her aunt’s voice
made Diana giggle, even though this had become no laughing matter.
“Well, he has the best excuse of anyone I’ve approached.” Diana looked up at her aunt, her mouth puckered. “He married in
the spring. That’s why he wasn’t around during the Season. He was on his honeymoon in Paris.” And Diana wasn’t completely
sorry he couldn’t marry her. Although she and the Earl of Merryweather had been acquainted since childhood, they had never
seen eye to eye on anything. Dante’s interests had run to art, museums, and theaters while she had been more attracted to
outdoor pursuits, such as horseback riding and gardening. He had exquisite taste and a purse that could support his extravagant
purchases of objects de art. “I’d have been unhappy had I married him.”
“You will be even more unhappy if you lose your inheritance.” She put her arms around Diana. “Is there truly no one else
who might marry you?”
“I assure you there is not, aunt.” Diana trailed after Aunt Frances, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was going
to lose a vast fortune simply because no one wished to marry her. “I have written to or spoken with every gentleman of my
acquaintance who is not one of my cousins, who I absolutely refuse to consider. They are the reason I am in this predicament.”
She flopped down onto the chaise, her aunt sitting down beside her. Tears welled up in her eyes and she leaned against the
comforting shoulder. It was so unfair that Uncle George had insisted she marry before she could inherit his money. Did he not
understand how difficult this would make it for her? “There is simply no one left to ask.”
After a pause, her aunt’s soft voice broke the silence. “Have you given any more thought to Lord Longford?”
Diana sat bolt upright and shot a look at her aunt. “How could you even suggest such a thing, Aunt Frances? You were
there. You saw what happened. What he said to me.” Four months hadn’t been enough time to erase the embarrassment of
everyone staring at her, laughing at her. Nor forget Toad Longford saying such awful things to her. It hadn’t been her fault,
exactly. At least, she hadn’t meant to push him into the Serpentine. “I would be mortified every time I looked at him.”
“Thirty thousand pounds a year can take away a lot of humiliation, niece.” Her aunt stared calmly back at her. “If he is
willing to marry you—”
“But he’s not willing, Aunt Frances. You heard him. We do not wish to marry one another.” Her aunt must think the cause
hopeless—as Diana was coming to believe as well—if she would grasp at such a straw as Lord Longford.
“Then what do you make of this?” Her aunt shot her a sly look and retrieved a letter from her reticule. “I received this from
Mrs. Dove-Lyon yesterday morning. I’ve not said anything about it because I wanted to wait until Lord Merryweather made his
wishes known. Now he has, I think you should read the lady’s letter.” Aunt Frances held the single sheet of paper out to Diana.
Frowning, she took it, folded the edges outward and commenced to reading the small, neat script. As she read her frown
smoothed out until she looked at her aunt with hopeful eyes. “But Mrs. Dove-Lyons does not mention Lord Longford at all, aunt.
She says only that there has been a development and if I still wish to wed, I should come to her establishment at noon
tomorrow.” Diana beamed at her aunt. “This has nothing to do with Lord Longford. There has simply been a ‘development.’
Most likely a new suitor needing a rich wife has presented himself to Mrs. Dove-Lyons so she’s sent to inform me. I’m certain
such things happen all the time.” She did wish such things happened to her all the time. If they did, she’d surely have a husband
by now. “We must go immediately after luncheon.”
Her aunt rose with a shake of her head. “I truly thought she meant Lord Longford had had a change of heart. Still, whatever
the development, it must bode well for you.” Her aunt rang the bell and when the servant appeared, asked for their hats and
cloaks.
Surprised, Diana looked at her aunt. “Are we going somewhere?”
“Diana!” Aunt Frances looked at her as though she were mad. “We must go at once to The Lyon’s Den. The letter was sent
yesterday.” When Diana looked at her blankly, she shook her head and sighed heavily. “She means for us to come by noon
today. It’s already half-past eleven. If we are lucky, we will just make it in time.” Aunt Frances grabbed her arm and tugged
her none too gently out into the corridor and toward the foyer.
“Certainly she will wait for us if we are a few minutes late—Ouch!” Diana jerked forward as her aunt clamped down on
her arm, propelling her onward at a pace that would have rivaled a soldier’s quick march.
“You don’t know Mrs. Dove-Lyons. She waits for no one. Lucy! Hail a hack for us this instant.” She pulled Diana out the
front door, their cloaks clutched in their hands. “There’s no time to waste.”

PACING BACK AND forth in the cluttered cubby hole Mrs. Dove-Lyons called an office, Geoffrey cursed himself and his luck for
about the fiftieth time. He was about to make the ultimate sacrifice and agree to marry a woman who had humiliated him in
front of half the ton. Never could he be seen in public with her and not remember that awful day. Never could he trust her not to
make a fool of him again. He took a deep breath, trying to dispel his anger before it got the better of him once more. Still, he’d
marry her, and do it with a smile if it saved Joanna from becoming the wife of that violent, ill-bred, mongrel Dandridge. The
blue walls, papered in a geometric pattern, wavered before Geoffrey’s eyes until he closed them and breathed deeply to calm
himself.
It didn’t matter that the man now moved in more illustrious circles—trying to buy his way into a society that wanted badly
to shun him. Unfortunately, money did sing a sweet song to those in need and some had succumbed to Dandridge’s siren song
and introduced him to a few hostesses. That must be how the man noticed Joanna in the first place, although he couldn’t for the
life of him think of where it might have occurred. His sister wasn’t out yet, and so had been allowed to attend only a few
entertainments this past Season, and only those held by friends of the family. Geoffrey promised himself that when his estates
were safe once more, he’d investigate and discover how this disaster had been allowed to come to pass.
For now, he had to put on his best pleasant face and be as charming as he knew how to be, in order to persuade Miss
Edgerton to marry him. Else he had no idea what he was going to do to save his sister.
Sound of a door slamming somewhere in the building made Geoffrey jump and wish for a stiff drink. Thomas had offered to
come with him, but Miss Edgerton might take that as a sign of weakness. He had to convince her he could be the man who
would make all her dreams come true. Financially, at least. Mrs. Dove-Lyons had informed him of the terms of the will by
which the lady would come into a very substantial fortune—if she was willing to marry him to get it. After thinking long and
hard about it, he hoped he’d come up with an offer the lady simply couldn’t refuse if she wanted to keep her inheritance.
Geoffrey whirled around at the creak of the office door, opening to admit Mrs. Dove-Lyons, Mrs. Beaumont, and Miss
Edgerton, the latter two ladies looking as though they’d been blown in by the wind. He assumed a proud stance and smiled as
though he were greeting a long-lost relation. “Mrs. Beaumont, Miss Edgerton, how wonderful to see—”
“Oh, drat.” Miss Edgerton stopped stock still, her whole face turning into a frown. “You were right, aunt. It is only Lord
Longford.” She turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyons, impatience in every line of her. “You wrote that there had been a new development,
ma’am. Lord Longford is hardly that, as he has already refused to marry me. I truly hoped you had the solution to my
predicament. Time is running out, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, and I cannot…” Tears started from her eyes. “I cannot waste…”
Geoffrey stepped forward, removing a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and offering it to the distraught lady. “Allow
me, Miss Edgerton. A toad I may be, in your estimation, yet toads do have their uses.”
“Oh, drat.” She snatched the linen from his hand and held it against her streaming eyes. “You weren’t supposed to hear that,
my lord.”
“But toads have excellent hearing, my dear. You must lower your voice if you wish for us not to eavesdrop.” The bright
blush of red on her cheeks made Geoffrey bite back a smile. This was not time to have fun at her expense—not if he wished his
endeavor to have success. “In any case, I am here to help you in any way I can. With both a handkerchief and a proposal.”
Miss Edgerton’s head snapped up, her deep blue eyes seeking out his as steely as though they were rapiers. “We dispensed
with that idiocy the last time we met, my lord. I remember we were in accord that we would never consider marrying one
another.”
Taking a deep breath, because he remembered conveying those sentiments as well, Geoffrey smiled and shrugged. “Never
is such a harsh word, don’t you think? Especially when one’s circumstances can change in the blink of an eye.” He raised an
eyebrow. “Or have yours changed for the better? Am I to wish you happy?”
 The lady clenched her teeth so tightly Geoffrey could swear he heard a grinding sound from her vicinity. “You are not.”
“Her last hope has turned her down, my lord.” Mrs. Beaumont stepped forward eagerly.
“Aunt Frances!” The startled look of betrayal on Miss Edgerton’s face was nothing short of comical, although Geoffrey
fought valiantly to suppress a laugh. “Why would you tell him that?”
“Because your circumstances have changed, Diana. For the worse.” Her aunt stepped forward and took Miss Edgerton by
the shoulder. “You do understand that if you do not marry by tomorrow, you will be in possession of a single shilling and the
bulk of your uncle’s estate will go to The Magdalen House, according to Mr. Boniface.” She glanced from Mrs. Dove-Lyon to
Geoffrey. “Not that those poor women aren’t deserving of comfort, but my niece worked her fingers to the bone for her uncle
for years. She deserves comfort as well.”
“I’m certain she does, Mrs. Beaumont.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s voice was clipped. “However, she needs, just as the Magdalens
do, to help herself if she wants to save her fortune.” She motioned to Geoffrey, who stood straighter. “Lord Longford is willing
to make an honorable proposal to her. If she refuses to take it, her future fortunes may still be enriched by her uncle’s
beneficence, although through a different means than she might wish.”
Both Mrs. Beaumont and Miss Edgerton turned shocked stares at the figure in black while Geoffrey again had to bite back a
laugh at the subtle hint the lady might end up a Magdalen. Just because he was willing to marry Miss Edgerton didn’t mean he
wasn’t above enjoying a joke at her expense. “Would you perhaps listen to my proposal, Miss Edgerton, before turning me
down so out of hand?”
The lady strode over to the leather chair before Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s desk and flounced down into it. “Do you intend to drop
to one knee as is customary, Lord Longford? I myself can do without the dramatics, however if you have set year heart on a
proper proposal, I daresay I can manage to live through it.”
More than well aware of the sacrifice he was about to make, Geoffrey strode over to stand in front of the lady whose eyes
were snapping sparks like a flint. “I can eagerly dispense with the kneeling part of this proposal, Miss Edgerton. I myself
prefer to think of it as a transaction that will form a business partnership, so to speak. We each give up something, but we each
receive something we desperately seek in return.”
She eyed him up and down, then nodded. “Very well. Proceed with your business arrangement, my lord.”
Gathering his courage, Geoffrey proceeded to lay out the plan he’d come up with over the past four days. “If we married
immediately, your inheritance would be secured as per the conditions of your late uncle’s will. According to Mrs. Dove-Lyons,
your inheritance totals thirty-thousand pounds per annum, is that correct?”
Miss Edgerton shot a glaring look at the hidden figure, but nodded. “Yes, that is the sum I will inherit. And I must inform
you, before you go any further with your plan, I insist that settlements be drawn up leaving the bulk of the money intact and
under my control.” She glanced at Geoffrey, then away and her cheeks pinkened. “I will, of course, offer a substantial monetary
gift to my husband, which will compensate him for the funds he will not have access to during the marriage.” Raising her chin,
she returned her gaze to Geoffrey. “I insist you agree to this stipulation, my lord, or there is nothing else to be said. I will not
marry you or anyone otherwise.”
“Done.”
Miss Edgerton’s impossibly blue eyes widened and the color drained from her cheeks. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said I agree to that stipulation. Your money will remain under your control. If you had not insisted upon it, I would have.
The money is not mine, other than your very generous ‘gift.’ But I shall find that gift more than sufficient, I assure you.”
“But how can you assert such a thing, my lord, when you do not know the amount of the gift I am offering?”
“Twenty-thousand pounds.”
Miss Edgerton’s mouth dropped open, accentuating her bow shaped lips. “What?”
“That is my price for marrying you, Miss Edgerton. A one-time ‘gift’ as you say, in exchange for helping you secure your
inheritance.” Geoffrey grinned at last. He’d known that amount of money was far beyond what the lady would have offered of
her own volition. But he’d have it or Miss Edgerton would have nothing.
“Twenty-thousand pounds!” The lady gazed at Geoffrey as though she believed him an inmate at Bedlam. “But that would
leave me with only ten thousand pounds until next year when the interest renewed.”
Geoffrey didn’t want to antagonize the woman—at least not until they were legally married—but he couldn’t help his
pointed stare at her gown, a serviceable garment to be sure, but not the first stare of fashion by any means. Certainly not the
quality of the gown she’d worn in June. Why wasn’t she dressed better now? “Have you been accustomed to managing on more
than ten thousand a year before now, Miss Edgerton?”
The glare of animosity she leveled at him might have made him shiver under other circumstances. However, Geoffrey
understood he was in the game of his life, one he had to win at all costs. And against a most worthy adversary.
“No.” She spit the word out as though she hoped it would wound him, preferably in the heart.
“I didn’t think so. Therefore, we will be able to live very comfortably until your funds become available again next year.
Once my estates become profitable again, we will have even more income to help with the running of the households.”
Geoffrey had relaxed at last, breathing easier now he knew he’d be able to pay Dandridge off. Joanna was safe.
 “I did not mean ‘no, I haven’t had ten thousand a year,’ my lord, although of course I have not.” There was no look of
triumph on Miss Edgerton’s face, merely an effort to set him straight about her answer. “I meant ‘no, I will not marry you.’”
 Chapter Five
“DIANA!” AUNT FRANCES spun toward her so quickly, she had to grasp the chair Diana sat in to keep her balance. “What are
you saying? If you do not marry Lord Longford—”
“I will lose the inheritance, yes, aunt, I do know that.” She turned her gaze from Aunt France’s shocked face to Lord
Longford’s sober one. “I also know that marriage is forever. And it has occurred to me that I do not wish to be married to Lord
Longford for what might be a very long time by the look of him.” She cast an appraising eye over him. The gentleman looked to
be in his late twenties or early thirties, and a finer specimen of a healthy man Diana could not imagine. He towered over her,
broad shoulders that seemed to extend far beyond the normal range, a tapered waist, and long straight legs. The man could live
for decades.
“I cannot argue with that, Miss Edgerton.” The cast of Lord Longford’s face remained somber. “The men in my family tend
to live well into their seventies, the exception being my father who died in a riding accident before he reached his fiftieth
birthday.” The gentleman shrugged. “You could wager that I too will come to grief at an untimely premature age.” He frowned,
then his brow smoothed. “That is why you were so concerned with Sir Harry. At his advanced age, you were willing to wager
you’d be a widow in rather quick order.”
If Diana wasn’t going to marry Lord Longford—and at this juncture she could not see herself agreeing to be bound to this
man for thirty minutes, much less thirty years—she might as well speak frankly with him. “Another business arrangement, my
lord. But one that I would not spend a lifetime regretting.” She leaned toward the man, hoping to make him see sense. “Can you
truly see yourself being married to me for any length of time? Considering the ill will between us since June?”
“I don’t suppose you’d entertain the idea of living on separate estates?” Lord Longford looked doubtful even as he spoke.
“No one would think anything of it. It’s often done in Society.”
“That isn’t a bad idea, my dear.” Aunt Frances leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Once married you’d never have to see
one another again.”
“Until Lord Longford needed an heir.”
Her aunt jerked upright, her face flooding with color.
“You are correct in that, Miss Edgerton.” Lord Longford’s face had taken on a grim aspect. “At some time—not too distant
I’m afraid—I will need to produce an heir.” He sighed. “I assume such a duty would be out of the question for you.”
Diana hesitated. When first they’d met, she would have jumped at the chance to be his wife. Before the incident in the park,
he’d seemed too good to be true. Unfortunately, that had turned out to be the case. “Yes, it would be.” The idea of taking the
man with the unbridled temper into her bed made her shiver—and not in a good way. “I am sorry, but I have to tell you I cannot
see myself ever submitting to such an intimacy with you.”
“I understand.” To give him credit, Lord Longford didn’t harden his voice, didn’t look daggers at her, or try in any way to
persuade her things might be different at some time in the future. He knew as well as she they weren’t likely to change their
opinions about one another.
Such a pity he was the only man who’d even entertained the idea of marrying her. Curse her cousins for making her a pariah
in society. Her lips began to tremble, but she bit them, refusing to succumb to self-pity. She was quite literally making the bed
she would lie in for the rest of her life—and it could not be beside Lord Longford.
“There is another option, Miss Edgerton, my lord.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon spoke for the first time in a very long while. “You
could divorce Lord Longford.”
All three heads snapped toward the figure in black, Diana’s neck popping loudly. “Divorce is almost impossible to obtain.”
“Almost, but not quite.” The woman’s words had a smile in them, as though she knew something no one else did.
“If Miss Edgerton wished to divorce me, she’d have to prove both infidelity and cruelty.” Lord Longford sounded as though
he might be considering how the thing could be done. “It might be easier for me to divorce her. Then all I’d have to prove was
infidelity.”
“Which you could never do.” Diana was appalled at the thought. She didn’t wish to marry the man, but if she did, she’d not
be disloyal to him. “Couldn’t we just have the marriage annulled? If we married, there would be no consummation.”
“That is not so easy, my dear.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon shook her head. “Non-consummation alone is not grounds for annulment.
Lord Longford would need to be proved…incapable of bedding you.”
“Hah!” His lordship’s sharp laugh made Diana jump. “No one could ever prove such a thing, even if my appetites were not
well known in London.”
Diana’s cheeks heated until she wished for a fan to cool herself. She didn’t like to be reminded of Lord Longford’s
appetites.
“I’m certain your virility is well known in Society, my lord.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons’s voice had a hint of merriment in it. “So
divorce is a much better option.” The figure in black headed to her desk and pulled what looked like a letter from a tall stack of
papers. “Just not in England.”
“What…what do you mean?” Diana found herself clutching her throat. She glanced at Lord Longford, whose frown made
him look less like a toad and more like a gargoyle.
“This is a letter from a dear friend of mine. She made an excellent marriage, or so she thought. She wasn’t one of my clients
or I would never have married her to the man. Still, she stuck it out for five long years of cruel abuse, only to find the English
courts unsympathetic to her petition for a divorce. Her husband then dragged her over the pond to America following some
land deal in the state of Pennsylvania. From her letters to me, I know she was even more unhappy there. But eventually her
fortunes turned as the man left her and took up with another woman.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons’s head moved from Diana’s face to
Lord Longford. “After several years alone, she fell in love—again—with a gentleman who actually does deserve her it seems,
but of course she is still married to the man who abandoned her.”
Interested in spite of herself, Diana leaned forward. “What did she do?”
“She wrote telling me she’s petitioning for divorce from her husband on grounds of desertion, which is a valid claim in
Pennsylvania.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon shrugged. “She has only to wait a few more months—that state requires the spouse to be
abandoned for at least four years—so she expects to be rid of her first husband in the new year and married to the second one
shortly thereafter.”
“That’s all there is to it?” Lord Longford seemed suddenly very interested in the lady’s words. Diana was more than a little
intrigued herself. “And English law will uphold the divorce decree?”
“Much as England hates to admit it, America is a sovereign country. We want laws governing our citizens—such as
marriage—to be acknowledged by them, so we in turn recognize theirs.” Mrs. Dove-Lyons shrugged. “My friend has resided in
the state of Pennsylvania long enough to establish residency there. She and her estranged husband are obviously not together
and the state acknowledges that. The case for divorce is heard in the civil court there, not an ecclesiastical one. It makes all the
difference, or so she says.”
“Can I see her letter, please?” Diana held her hand out and Mrs. Dove-Lyons gave it to her. Diana perused the letter,
marveling at how casually the lady spoke of the petition for divorce. Here in England, the subject was anathema. Still, this
scheme could solve the major impediment to their marrying. Finally, she looked up into the dark eyes of Lord Longford. “If you
are willing to allow me to divorce you once we reach America, then I believe we can reach an accord, my lord.”
“I assume we would both need to travel to America for this scheme to work.” His brows dipped fearfully over Lord
Longford’s nose. “We would need to be seen as a married couple for a period of time, then I would desert you and return to
England. You would remain in Pennsylvania for whatever length of time the law demands, then petition for divorce.” A
brooding shadow seemed to touch his face, then suddenly vanished to be replaced by a charming smile. “I think it is an
admirable plan, my dear. If you are willing to put it in motion, I am as well.”
Sighing in blessed relief, Diana returned his smile. “I am, my lord, thank you.” Perhaps something good was going to come
from that awful day in June after all. “Do you think you can secure the special license this afternoon?” She glanced at the clock
on the mantle, whose hands said it was almost four o’clock. “There’s not much time, as I must be married by tomorrow in order
to comply with my uncle’s will.”
With a smug grin, Lord Longford pulled a long sheet of parchment from inside his blue superfine coat. “I took the liberty of
securing this yesterday.” The grin widened. “I am nothing if not prepared.”
Diana had to give the devil his due. Lord Longford had thought of everything. Well, almost everything. “But we will need to
find a clergyman willing to marry us on such short—”
Lord Longford held up a finger, his eyes twinkling. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon was kind enough to procure, at my request, the
services of a vicar of a nearby parish. He is waiting for us, in the…?” He looked inquiringly at the lady in black.
“In the Ladies’ Parlor, my lord.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon motioned toward the door.
“There is the matter of the settlements.” Diana looked at her prospective bridegroom and pulled a sheaf of papers from her
folder. “They tie the money up so only I am in control of it.”
“We discussed this earlier, Miss Edgerton.” His lordship sounded testy again. “I am in full agreement with that stipulation.”
“But will you be as acquiescent to the further condition that the marriage never be consummated?”
Lord Longford stared at her, then his mouth twitched. “Believe it or not, Miss Edgerton, I am perfectly content to agree to
that specification. It will be no more of a hardship for me than I assume it will be for you.”
Feeling as though she’d been insulted, although not quite sure how, Diana laid the papers on the desk before him. “Do you
have a pen, Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”
“But of course.” The lady pushed pen and ink toward Lord Longford who bent over the desk and signed as nonchalantly as
though he gave away vast fortunes every day. He straightened and dropped the pen onto the polished mahogany wood. “Done.”
“Now, if you will follow me, my lord, Mrs. Beaumont, Miss Edgerton I believe we will have you married in good time to
satisfy your uncle’s will.” The lady made as if to leave, then turned back to Diana, who had been gathering the precious
settlement papers back into the folder. She must get these to Mr. Boniface as quickly as possible. “The fee for my services can
be made once you’ve received your inheritance, Miss Edgerton.”
“The fee?” Diana cut her gaze to Aunt Frances. “How much—”
“Do not fret, my dear.” Her aunt took her arm, propelling her into the hall. “You will be well able to afford it this time
tomorrow.”
“But she will find it unnecessary to do so, madam.” The deep, rumbling voice of Lord Longford right behind her sent a chill
down her spine. “I will gladly pay Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s fee for procuring me so lovely a bride.”
Something in his tone—Diana had no idea what, although the image of two smoldering black eyes came to mind—made the
shiver he’d elicited extend all over her body. She squeezed her aunt’s hand and hurried down the hallway behind Mrs. Dove-
Lyon, refusing to look behind her at her bridegroom. Afraid the look in Lord Longford’s eyes would mirror the one in her mind.

LESS THAN TWENTY minutes later Geoffrey emerged from The Lyon’s Den a married man. Not at all the way he’d have wished
his wedding day to have gone, but the deed was done, for better or worse, and he would have to find a way to reconcile
himself to the reality of it. And he’d best do it quickly before he lost his bride. “Lady Longford,” he called to the woman trying
to climb into a waiting hack. He strode over to her and grasped her arm gently. “Lady Longford.”
Startled, the lady looked up and around, then stopped, her pink lips dropping open. “Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord. I
didn’t realize you were calling to me.”
“I thought you might not. It may take some getting used to. Can we talk for a few minutes, my lady? We have some things to
discuss now we are married.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of things, my lord?”
“Practical things regarding our newfound situation. May I sit in your carriage with you and your aunt to discuss them?”
The suspicion in her face softened and she nodded.
Thank goodness the woman was at least willing to hear him out. Geoffrey assisted first her, then her aunt, into the hack, then
climbed in himself, opting to sit on the back facing seat beside her aunt. Mrs. Beaumont must have assumed he’d wish to sit
next to his wife, although nothing could have been further from the truth. Once he’d settled himself, Geoffrey squared his
shoulders and began. “The first thing we need to discuss is where you will reside, my lady.”
“That is an easy one, my lord. I will reside where I have for the past year, with my aunt.” Lady Longford’s gaze never left
his face, her eyes steady, her manner calm. “Until we actually leave for America, I see no reason why we should not go about
our lives as we have before now.”
“That is because you do not know my circumstances.” Every time Geoffrey thought about the evening to come his stomach
clenched. “This evening, I will return to Longford House and tell my mother and sister that I am now a married man and I did
not inform them of my betrothal nor allow them to attend my wedding.” He turned to Mrs. Beaumont whose eyes had widened
considerably. “You may understand how hurtful this is going to be for them.”
The lady nodded. “I did not know you had close family, my lord. I wish they could have attended, but I understand why you
have not told them.”
He turned back to his wife, whose face had softened slightly. “I would like to take you home with me to Longford Manor,
introduce you to my family, and tell them most of what has happened.”
“Most of it?” Lady Longford sounded puzzled. “What part would you leave out, my lord?”
“The part where I married you to gain twenty-thousand pounds.” Geoffrey gritted his teeth, but hurried on before the lady
could object further. “They know nothing of the debts owing on my properties and I wish for them to remain ignorant of it. I
wish only to tell them that we married to save your inheritance.”
“Making you the hero of the story, Lord Longford?” His bride’s wry tones were only to be expected. “And me the damsel in
distress?”
“Well, that part is true, Diana,” her aunt tried to come to his defense. A valiant but completely useless endeavor. “You did
need Lord Longford’s help.”
“Because Sir Harry died at an inopportune time,” his wife shot back.
“I’m certain he didn’t do it on purpose to thwart your plan, my lady.” Geoffrey didn’t want to antagonize her any more than
necessary, but damn it, the woman wouldn’t give an inch where he was concerned. “The fact remains, my dear, that you
married me, and I am asking this boon of you. You must admit, it will look very odd if you do not reside with me in my home.
Especially when we absolutely do not want anyone to doubt we are married.” There was only one further inducement he could
think of to tempt her with. “If you can think of something I can do for you in return, name it and if it is in my power, I will do it
for you.”
A fearsome frown came over Lady Longford’s face and he steeled himself to have a fine peal rung over him, but after a
moment the lines on her face smoothed themselves out, and she shrugged. “Very well. I will hold you to that boon, Lord
Longford. I will agree to remove to your house…when?”
“Day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll be returning my mother and sister to Longford. As I have only the one carriage, I will
transport them tomorrow and come back for you and your things the day after.”
She paused, then nodded. “Very well. I will spend tonight and tomorrow night at my aunt’s. After we go tomorrow to
provide Mr. Boniface proof of our marriage, I will have my belongings packed and be ready to move to Longford Manor.”.”
Amazed that at last the lady had decided to cooperate, Geoffrey thanked heaven for the small concession from his wife.
Relieved, he rose, easier in his mind than he’d believed he could be, under the circumstances. He stepped out of the carriage,
then stuck his head back inside, a genuine smile on his face. “Thank you, my lady. I appreciate your agreement with my plan.”
“Not at all, my lord.” She smiled sweetly at him, which instinctively put his hackles up. “I will spend most of the time
devising that boon you promised.”
Geoffrey bowed and left quickly, not wishing to ponder what the cunning lady might actually come up with. Of some things
he was happy to be kept ignorant.
 Chapter Six
ARRIVING HOME JUST in time to dress for dinner, tired and weary, Geoffrey thanked the heavens he’d have an additional hour to
figure out how he was going to tell his mother and sister that he had married so out of hand. As he stood still, allowing Taylor
to dress him, he kept trying out bits of conversation that might lead naturally to his explaining how he’d come to be wed to a
woman he knew very little and liked even less. The best thing would be to stick to the truth as much as possible and at all costs
avoid mention of his wife’s promised gift of the money to pay off Dandridge. Under no circumstances could he let his mother
know he’d basically sold himself to keep Joanna from the clutches of that criminal. His mistake in keeping Griffin on as
steward was one he also wished to take to his grave.
By the time his valet had brushed his coat and straightened his cravat, Geoffrey was fairly certain he could tell the tale
without faltering or bringing up anything unsavory. “Very good, Taylor. Thank you.”
A final glance in the mirror showed his face flushed, as might be expected with the antics he’d had to endure today. Perhaps
his mother wouldn’t notice. With a shrug, he quit the room and hurried down the stairs to the small drawing room where his
mother and sister sat waiting for him.
“Geoffrey!” His mother rose and bussed his cheek. “You have arrived on time for a change. What a pleasant surprise.”
“You are quite a sight to behold, brother.” Joanna came to him and hugged his tall frame. “Things have been rather dull
without you. I thought planning my come out would be fun, but it is beyond boring at this stage.”
They would certainly not remain boring now. Putting on a huge smile, he offered his arm to his mother. “Good evening,
Mother. Good evening, Joanna. Shall we go in?”
“Of course, my dear.” His mother gave him an odd look but took his arm and he led her into the dining room, seating her at
the far end as was her custom, then moved to his own place at the opposite end. Joanna sat halfway down the table on his left,
looking at him curiously.
As the footman served the first dish, mock turtle soup, Geoffrey kept his gaze on his plate, avoiding eye contact with his
family members. He still had reservations about how he was going to broach the subject of his marriage.
“Geoffrey, what is the matter? Has something happened?”
He jerked his head up to find his mother staring at him, a slight frown creasing her brow of her otherwise beautiful face.
“Why would you think something amiss, Mother?”
“Because there are two spots of high color on your cheeks, my dear.” His mother dipped her spoon into her bowl,
nonchalant to a fault. “That always tells me something is worrying you.”
A glance at Joanna showed her nodding also. They knew him too well, apparently.
Best confess the deed then and be done with it. “I do have an announcement to make.” He picked up his wine glass and took
a large sip, then set it down and looked directly at his mother. “I married Miss Diana Edgerton this afternoon. We have
business to attend to in the morning, then I will help transport you both back to Longford, before I return for her and her
belongings the day after.”
His mother’s eyes widened to two single dots of blue in the middle of a sea of white. “Geoffrey!”
Joanna gasped, her hand going to her chest. “Gracious, Geoffrey!”
“Are you having us on, Geoffrey?” His mother’s frown was thunderous. “You know I cannot abide such ill-bred behavior.”
“I’m sorry, Mother, but no, it is no joke. Far from it.” Geoffrey couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze on his
wine glass as he played with the stem, twirling it this way and that until he feared it would snap off. “The lady was having
some difficulties, and I agreed to marry her to put everything to rights.”
Mother sat bolt upright, her hand closing convulsively on her napkin. “She isn’t breeding, is she? For God’s sake, tell me
she isn’t with child.”
“No!” He almost shouted the word. “God, no. I assure you she is not.” His conversation with Miss Edgerton and her aunt in
June had convinced him of her innocence as far as the vicious rumors were concerned. So some good had come from that
fiasco in the park.
 “The lady’s only concern was meeting the requirements of her uncle’s will in order for her to inherit his vast fortune.”
In any case, he believed with conviction that if the lady had been increasing, Mrs. Dove-Lyon would have informed him
immediately. That woman knew everything that went on in London.
“But Geoffrey,” his mother took a long sip of the madeira, then set her glass down, “isn’t Miss Edgerton the lady who
embarrassed you so badly last spring?” Mother frowned, but her expression was one of concentration, as if trying to recall
something important. “You have been railing against her ever since as the woman who made you the butt of so many unfortunate
jests all summer long and now in the autumn as well.” She pursed her lips. “Mrs. Rogers told me the other day you have been
renamed Toad Longford.” His mother’s face was livid. “And now you say you have married the woman responsible for that
vile moniker? Have you lost your mind? What do you think the ton will say now?”
Joanna’s head—her face pale as the keys of her pianoforte—nodded frantically. “That’s true, Geoffrey, you must admit. You
have not had a civil word to say about the lady these past months. You told me yourself if given the choice of marrying Miss
Edgerton or a gargoyle, you’d rather have the gargoyle as it would be the softer of the two to share a bed with.” His sister
shook her head. “Why would you marry the lady out of hand when you dislike her so much?”
Why indeed. But if he informed his sister of the real reason for his marriage, she would be devastated. Most likely she’d
blame herself for his misfortune for the rest of her life. And that he could not have. He had to protect her from Dandridge, from
society’s ugly rumors that would surely raise their heads about her and the bloody scoundrel who dared to try to extort her hand
in marriage from him. That was simply his duty to her as her brother. How he chose to do so was his choice alone.
So he couldn’t divulge that. Not now, at least. Mother and Joanna were flabbergasted enough at the news of the wedding.
To add to that the knowledge of Dandridge’s interest in his sister would alarm them even more. And if the ghastly news of the
earldom’s insolvency came to light…
No, he needed to turn the conversation to something less traumatic, although he assumed they would still have all kinds of
questions about his nuptials and his new wife.
“Why would I marry her?” He raised his glass as if in salute. “In order to play the hero of course, Joanna. I can’t allow
Thomas to garner all the praise for marrying a damsel in distress. You told me yourself you thought his marrying Honoria was
romantic and likened it to the chivalry of the knights of the Middle Ages.” Geoffrey grinned at her. “And I believe I’ve actually
proven myself more selfless than he, as I married a lady who I don’t know well and, as you say, I have not liked very much in
the past.” His gaze shifted to his mother, still staring at him, but now likely wondering if he’d married Miss Edgerton to
continue the competitions he’d always had with Thomas. Well, let her think that, by all means. “Now that she’s my wife, I shall
endeavor to like Miss Edgerton more.”
His mother and sister exchanged a speaking glance, then both settled back to their soup.
“You say she’s the lady who’s to inherit a great fortune from her uncle?” Joanna’s question made Geoffrey cringe.
They were skating too close to the truth for his liking, still he smiled at his sister and nodded. “She is.”
Joanna’s eyes got round and large. “So you have married to gain a fortune, Geoffrey?”
“No, that’s not the way of it.” God, exactly what he didn’t wish them to think. He’d thought about how to answer this
question though without having to lie outright. “The lady’s uncle stipulated that she must be married in order to inherit that vast
sum. There were circumstances in her life that made marriage to me the best option for us both. But I insisted on signing
settlements that leave the fortune in her hands, not mine.”
“What?” His mother’s head jerked up, her spoon clanging against the blue China bowl. Her eyes suddenly turned hard.
“Why would you do such an irresponsible thing, Geoffrey?”
“Because it is her inheritance, my dear.” He could finally meet his mother’s gaze evenly. “She only married me in order to
claim it. As a gentleman, I refuse to take advantage of her or of the situation.” He glared at his parent, possibly for the first time
in his life. “Knowing me, you cannot believe I would do anything else.”
“But to leave such a sum in the hands of a young woman who cannot know how to manage it…”
“Would you not have known how to manage it, Mother, had you had such a sum at your disposal at the age of one and
twenty?” He raised an eyebrow at her, very interested in how she might answer. His mother had always been a force to be
reckoned with—not unlike his new wife if he thought about it.
After a long, hard glare, his mother looked away. “Very well. It is done, in any case, so I hope she does have some skill in
financial matters. When will Miss Edgerton…” His mother began, then stopped herself. “I beg your pardon, Geoffrey, when
will we meet the new Lady Longford?”
“We have some business to take care of with her solicitor early in the day, then she will continue to reside with her aunt
until I come to fetch her home.” A reprieve, albeit a short one before he would have to actually live under the same roof as his
wife. Lord, just thinking the word sounded wrong. What appetite Geoffrey possessed suddenly vanished.
“I shall set my maid to packing our things first thing in the morning.” His mother sipped her wine, then picked up her soup
spoon again. “I am certain you will wish her to occupy the countess’s bed chamber next to yours at Longford.”
“It is the custom and we do not want it to look odd.” He feared his wife was going to have something to say about it, but
he’d have to persuade her his interests did not lie anywhere in that vicinity. “Once we return home, she should occupy the
countess’s apartments and we can set you up in the Peacock Room.” He hated the thought of his mother being supplanted by
Miss Edgerton, but it couldn’t be helped. “I shall give orders immediately to have the Dowager Cottage readied for you.”
Although if he and his bride sailed for America within the next few weeks, that move would be moot.
“Thank you, Geoffrey. I believe that will be best.” His mother sipped her wine, then glanced at the footman. “You may
remove the soup, James, and bring in the next dish.” She returned her attention to Geoffrey. “So tell me, my dear, how did you
come to find out about Miss Edgerton’s dilemma?”
With a sigh, Geoffrey took up his glass again and drained it. Dinner—and its attendant inquisition—would be a protracted
affair tonight, he feared.

“NOW TO HOARES in Fleet Street.” Diana spoke to Lord Longford as he helped her into his carriage that had delivered them to
Mr. Boniface’s office earlier this morning. Much to her surprise, his lordship had been most accommodating today. He’d called
for her at ten o’clock, assisted her into and out of the carriage instead of leaving it to his tiger. And he’d been very attentive to
her as they entered the solicitor’s office with her on his arm. His attentions had rather helped settle her, for she’d been as
nervous as a cat all morning, dreading the meeting with Mr. Boniface, fearing he would question her marriage and refuse to
relinquish her uncle’s money to her.
Apparently, she’d worried for nothing. Perhaps it was simply that the paper—their marriage lines written in Lord
Longford’s surprisingly clear hand and duly signed by the vicar—removed any doubt as to the validity of the marriage. Or it
could have been the intensity of Lord Longford’s stare that made Mr. Boniface hurriedly agree that the terms of the will had
been met.
She now possessed a letter from the solicitor authorizing Hoares to transfer the money from her uncle’s account into an
account in her name. To that end, she had also brought the settlement papers signed by Lord Longford, just in case the banker
had doubts about who would control the funds.
As they strode into the vast stone building, Diana’s gaze rose, taking in the towering height of the room before she lowered
her head to stare at the busy entry hall of the bank. Larger than many a ballroom she’d danced in, Hoare’s was delightfully airy,
the morning sun streaming in through the myriad twinkling windowpanes. The area bustled with gentlemen in morning coats,
many with ladies dressed in the first stare of fashion on their arms.
For the first time Diana wished she’d had clothes made for her already so she could look the part of a prosperous lady. Her
aunt had suggested many times that she visit the modiste before she inherited her fortune, but Diana had feared such an action
would tempt Fate, and so had refused. They’d had clothes made for her for the Season of course, and why that seemed different
she wasn’t sure, but it had. Now, unfortunately, the spring and summer wardrobe wouldn’t do for October.
The gown she wore today was one she’d owned for several years, serviceable and plain. Lord Longford had looked her up
and down but said nothing save “Good morning” before escorting her to the carriage. Still, she’d feared there’d been
judgement in that glance. He must wonder at her appearance after seeing her dressed so well during the Season. More than
ever, she regretted that she’d be leaving shortly for the country. Otherwise, she and Aunt Frances could have found a modiste
who could sew like the wind and bespeak her some decent clothing before she met Lord Longford’s family.
Lord Longford led them over to a bank of railings and spoke to a young man in a coat and hat. “Lord Longford to see Mr.
Hoare.”
A hush went round the room, although her husband seemed to pay no attention to it.
“Mr. Hoare, my lord?” The young man looked shocked, his eyes agog.
“Mr. Charles Hoare, for whom this institution is named, sir.” Lord Longford’s tone was only a few degrees above icy.
“Do you have an appointment, my lord?” The man’s voice was hushed so Diana could scarcely hear him. His fear, whether
of Lord Longford or Mr. Hoare, was almost palpable.
“I do not, however, I believe Mr. Hoare will see me. There is an account that needs to be opened and I wish no one else to
do it.” Her husband’s gaze never left the bank clerk, much to that young man’s dismay.
“Very well. May I have your name, my lord?”
“Lord Longford, but more importantly it is Lady Longford he will wish to see.” He stared straight into the man’s terrified
eyes. “He will know the name of her uncle, Mr. George Edgerton, in any case.”
“Very good, my lord.” The clerk backed away, then hurried down the row of clerks waiting on other customers, turned a
corner and vanished.
“Do you often have that effect on servants, my lord? If so, I don’t know how anything gets done in your house. Your staff
must live in terror of you.” His little display had actually managed to put Diana more at ease. Her husband was a formidable
man. One who could help her navigate the unfamiliar territory of the ton.
Lord Longford chuckled. “If you think I’m terrifying, wait until you meet my mother.”
The smile froze on Diana’s face. She could have done without that reminder just now. Accepting the appalling idea of life
with Lord Longford was bad enough. The added presence of his mother might send her running back to Aunt Frances. She
glanced up at her husband, whose smile had lingered, and was oddly comforted. If she had battles to fight, she understood she
had an admirable ally in Lord Longford.
The twittering clerk returned and showed them into a palatial office at the end of the marble-floored corridor. The room
featured stark white walls with dark furnishings, including a massive desk at its center behind which sat an imposing older
gentleman in a dark suit who watched them as they entered, his eyes dark and glittering. He then rose to his feet and bowed.
“Lord Longford, Lady Longford, welcome to Hoares.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hoare.” Lord Longford’s voice sounded much more genial than it had to the clerk, still there was an
undertone of impatience that Diana wondered at. Was her new husband so powerful he could show disrespect to a man such as
Mr. Hoare, who wielded considerable power of a different sort? “We have come from Mr. Boniface who should have made
you aware of our business here today.”
“Indeed, my lord, I received a note from him yesterday, advising me of Miss Edgerton’s impending nuptials. May I offer my
felicitations to you and Lady Longford?” The older man looked eagerly at them both.
When her husband didn’t speak immediately, Diana took hold of herself and smiled at the gentleman. “Thank you, Mr.
Hoare, on behalf of myself and my husband.” She looked up at Longford, whose mouth seemed pinched. “That is kind of you.”
“Do have a seat my lady, my lord.” Mr. Hoare motioned to the two leather chairs drawn up before the desk before returning
to his seat. “I will be more than happy to attend to your banking needs.”
Lord Longford nodded and assisted her to the left-hand chair then took the right one. “I assume Mr. Boniface apprised you
of the situation. We wish to open an account here at Hoares for my wife’s inheritance, from her uncle, Mr. George Edgerton. I
believe you hold his account.”
“We do, my lord.” Mr. Hoare frowned. “As we hold your account. But you wish to open a separate account for the
inheritance?”
“We do.” Lord Longford leaned back in his chair, a smile playing about his lips. “An account in my wife’s name only.”
Mr. Hoare’s mouth dropped open in a most comical way.
Diana had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud.
“The account is to be in your wife’s name, my lord?” The banker seemed unable to take the words in. “In yours and your
wife’s names, you mean?”
“No, Mr. Hoare, I assure you.” Her husband seemed to be enjoying the older man’s discomfort. “The funds are to be at my
wife’s disposal. In her name alone, sir. It is her inheritance, after all.”
Mr. Hoare shook his head, muttering to himself and shooting disbelieving looks at Lord Longford. “Very irregular, my lord.
Very irregular.” His eyes became unfocussed as he stared off over Diana’s shoulder. “To have an account of such momentous
value in the unrestricted hands of a woman…”
“Irregular is not impossible, Mr. Hoare.” Lord Longford stared at the banker, his mouth pursed. “But, if you find you cannot
accommodate our request, we will be forced to close both accounts and take our custom to The Bank of England.” His smile
was far from pleasant. “I am certain they will be more than willing to accede to our request.”
At the mention of the rival establishment, Mr. Hoare’s eyes regained their focus and he straightened in his seat. “I assure
you, that will not be necessary, my lord. As you say, irregular does not mean impossible.” The banker rang a bell and the clerk
scurried in. “Bring me the forms for opening an account, Perkins. And be quick about it.”
“Yes, sir.” The younger man hurried out faster than he’d come in.
Mr. Hoare beamed at them across the large mahogany desk. “It won’t be but a minute, my lord, and we will have Lady
Longford’s account open and at her disposal.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hoare.” The look of satisfaction on Lord Longford’s face sent an unexpected frisson of pleasure down
Diana’s spine. “I never doubted you for a moment.”
 Chapter Seven
THE AFTERNOON SUN was just setting as Geoffrey’s carriage pulled up before Longford Manor. The three-hour drive—the
second in as many days—had been more silent than he’d expected, but he’d been grateful for the solitude. His wife had
surprised him by making only a few remarks—on general topics such as the smoothness of the road and the brightness of the
day—before falling asleep with her head pillowed on the plush leather side of the carriage.
Geoffrey had watched her for a long time, trying to ascertain if she was indeed asleep. When her mouth opened and a gentle
snore issued forth, he’d smiled and settled back in the seat, availing himself of the time to take stock of what had just been
accomplished and what there was yet left to do.
The first thing he’d done this morning, upon arrival in London, was to inquire at Hoare’s if his instructions regarding the
twenty thousand pounds had been carried out. Mr. Hoare himself had assured him that the full amount had been deposited into
the account of Mr. Dandridge at the Bank of England and Geoffrey had felt an immense weight slide off his shoulders. Joanna
was safe. That was all that mattered.
Then he’d called at Mrs. Beaumont’s house and collected his bride. She’d brought very little with her, only two trunks that
had fit easily on the back of the carriage. Geoffrey wondered if his wife had sufficient clothes for the coming winter. The
ensembles she’d worn yesterday and today were decent, but scarcely as stylish as he would have expected. Of course, she’d
likely had little in the way of funds until day before yesterday and today he was whisking her out of Town before she could
have clothes made. Not that it was any of his business, of course, but Geoffrey suddenly felt badly about that. He might not like
the woman, but dash it, he didn’t wish her to be unhappy while under his roof. Perhaps he could find an appropriate time in the
next few days to suggest a trip back to London to the modiste. His wife could stay with her aunt and he could open Longford
House briefly as his digs. At least he assumed such an arrangement would be satisfactory to her. Perhaps such an outing would
help persuade her that he was trying to make their time together palatable. It wouldn’t hurt to try.
The carriage pulled to a halt in front of the weathered wooden door and Geoffrey put a light hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“Lady Longford?”
She jerked away from him, her left hand flailing out, catching him a wallop on his right cheekbone.
Geoffrey grunted and dodged away from her, but his wife was shaking the sleep from her head and looking around at him,
his hand over his eye.
“What happened to you?” She blinked at him.
“I had no idea you were an expert at fisticuffs, my lady.” Geoffrey pressed his palm against his eye gently. “I will have to
take more lessons at Jackson’s next time we are in London.”
“I am sorry.” She did look rather sheepish. “Was I asleep? I tend to flail about when I am.”
“Another excellent reason for couples to have separate bed chambers.” Opening his eye and discovering he could still see,
Geoffrey opened the door and hurried out of the carriage. “This way, my lady.” He took her hand and assisted her down the
steps. “I only have one request of you this evening.”
“Not to blacken your other eye?” Her lips puckered in a smile.
“Two requests, then.” He smiled in return. Geoffrey had to admit he enjoyed his wife’s quick wit. “The other one being for
you not to say anything about our coming voyage to America or why we are making it. My mother and sister have just been
informed of our marriage. Please give me some time before I break that news to them as well. As we will be absent for some
time, I need to put my affairs in order and provide for them while we are gone.”
Her eyebrow rose and she made a moue. “I believe I can restrain myself from revealing our plans, my lord.”
They had reached the front door and a footman opened the door for them.
“Thank you.” Geoffrey ushered his bride over the threshold, sending up a little prayer that everything else would go this
smoothly. Perhaps one did catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
“AND YOUR MOTHER was Miss Reed before marrying your father, Mr. Edgerton?” Her new mother-in-law was being polite, but
the avid questioning throughout dinner had become wearying to Diana. To his credit, her husband had tried his best to steer the
conversation away from her, but naturally his mother wished to know everything about the woman her son had married without
so much as a hint that it was going to happen.
“Yes, my lady. Miss Reed of St. Albans. She and her sister, my aunt. She met my father one summer when her family was on
holiday at Lyme Regis.” Diana hoped her little tale wasn’t too boring for the countess. Dowager countess. Lord, she had to
keep reminding herself that she was the Countess of Longford now.
“And your father was a physician, you said?” The dowager was watching her like a hawk, all the while seeming to enjoy
her poached pears.
“Yes, first in Lyme Regis, then in London.” Diana sipped the wine, her throat parched from answering all the questions.
“Although my parents were not in the city for more than a year before they contracted scarlet fever and died. When I was ten.
That is when I went to live with Aunt Frances.”
“I am so sorry to hear about your parents, my dear.” The dowager set her fork down, her countenance suddenly contrite. “It
must have been devastating to lose both of them at such a young age.”
“You must have been so grief-stricken.” Joanna leaned toward her, her eyes kind. “We lost my father five years ago and that
was the worst pain I think I have known.”
“May I offer my sympathies as well, my dear?” Lord Longford’s face too was filled with sympathy.
“Thank you all, but that was many years ago.” Diana toyed with the food on her plate. She hadn’t meant to bring gloom and
doom to her first meal in her new home. Even if it wouldn’t be her home for long. “Perhaps we should speak of more pleasant
things at dinner?” She looked at her husband, who nodded. “Lady Joanna, do you garden much at Longford Manor? I was an
avid gardener at my aunt’s house, although the garden was scarcely larger than a pocket handkerchief.”
Her sister-in-law giggled, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, but there are so many gardens here. There is quite a large rose garden
just to the rear of the manor house, with a little wilderness beyond toward the trees. If you like, I can show it to you tomorrow
after breakfast.” She flashed Diana a smile that lit up her entire face. “And please, as we are to be sisters, you must call me
Joanna.”
“I would be honored to, Joanna. And you must call me Diana.” Somehow, she hadn’t thought Toad Longford would have
such a charming sister. She hadn’t thought she’d like anyone here. But Joanna was so vivacious, Diana found herself wishing to
be her friend, something she’d never wanted before. It might actually be fun to have someone close to her own age to talk with,
which she’d never had. Odd that the lady looked so much like her brother, around the eyes and mouth, however they were
totally different in temperament. Though if she thought about Lord Longford before the wretched incident at the water’s edge,
she had to admit he’d been charming too. Perhaps brother and sister were similar in more than just their physical appearance.
“Would you like to suggest we retire to the drawing room, now?” Lady Longford rose, glancing pointedly at Diana.
“Oh, yes,” Diana shot up out of her seat, glancing around the table first at Joanna, then at Lord Longford, her cheeks heating
as though he’d been privy to her thoughts. “I’m sorry. I should have remembered. Will you remain here, my lord, or—”
“Yes, Geoffrey will stay and enjoy his port before he joins us,” his mother cut in before her son could speak a word. Well,
Lord Longford had warned her about his mother. “Joanna and I wish to have Lady Longford to ourselves for a while, don’t we,
my dear?” The dowager spoke to her daughter, but her gaze rested firmly on Diana.
“Of course, we do,” Joanna nodded eagerly and took Diana’s arm. “There is so much we would like to know about you.”
Well, that was nothing but the truth. “And so much I wish to know about you as well.”
The dowager smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Then let us withdraw. This way, my dear.”
Said the spider to the fly.

WEARY TO THE bone, Diana sat holding her third cup of tea, trying her best to follow the conversation between Lord Longford
and his mother regarding plans for a wedding reception for them in the early days of December. The words washed over her,
however, her tired mind was unable to capture more than a third and make sense of them. All she wished to do now was go
back upstairs, stumble into her bed, and close her eyes. The past week had been stressful, but the past two days had been
horribly draining. She might sleep the clock around if the new maid Lord Longford had hired to attend her would allow it.
“Will that be acceptable to you, my dear?” His lordship was looking straight at her, although she had no idea what she
would be agreeing to.
“I beg your pardon, I wasn’t attending as closely as I should.” Diana tried to focus her gaze on her husband’s face, but her
eyes kept trying to close.
“I am sorry, my dear.” Lord Longford rose immediately. “I should have realized you must be dropping from exhaustion.
This conversation can wait for another time, Mother. Lady Longford needs her rest.”
“Lady Longford?” The dowager countess’s eyebrows rose suddenly like birds taking flight. “Will you continue to address
one another so formally even en famille?”
Without missing a beat, her husband nodded. “We have not known one another long enough to be comfortable using our first
names, Mother. Please give my wife a little time at least to adjust to her new position and station.”
His mother opened her mouth although what she might have said Diana was grateful she would never know. Her husband
cut her off before she could make a sound. “Come, my dear. Let me escort you to your chamber.”
Diana bounded to her feet so quickly she tottered and Lord Longford had to catch her before she fell against him. “Thank
you, my lord.” Pulling herself together, she nodded to her mother-in-law. “Good night, my lady.” And sent a warm smile to
Joanna, who had been most pleasant when she could steal a minute to talk with her. “Good night, Joanna.”
A firm hand pressed the small of her back, sending a frisson of heat down her body as Lord Longford led her from the
drawing room, into the cool, dim corridor lit at intervals by sconces on the rough-hewn walls. Longford Manor had stood on
this very spot since the fourteenth century according to the dowager countess. “Thank you for the rescue, my lord.” Diana tried
to stifle a yawn but wasn’t very successful. “I am all but asleep on my feet.”
“I should have thought to whisk you away earlier, but I was trying to placate Mother by going along with the plans for the
reception.” Lord Longford’s face appeared as chiseled as the stone surrounding them. “If you wouldn’t object, we could wait
until afterward to leave for America. The passage is less perilous after December, so I’m told.”
Despite the fatigue that fogged her brain, Diana frowned. “We agreed to take passage as soon as possible, if you recall, my
lord. It is the middle of October. I will not wait more than two months to take sail.” That would mean more time spent with the
constant reminder of that awful day in the park. “The sooner we arrive in Pennsylvania, the sooner we will be able to part
company.”
Longford’s frown deepened as they ascended the staircase. “Oh, I assure you, madam, I am every bit as eager to be done
with this arrangement. I was merely thinking of your comfort. I’ve taken ship in rough weather and it is not a pleasant prospect,
however I will accede to your demands gladly. Next week I will head back to London and secure passage for us both on the
first ship bound for Pennsylvania.” He scowled at her as they arrived at her chamber door and he thrust it open. “I’d suggest
you tell your maid not to unpack your clothes, unless that will leave you without suitable attire for the next week or so. Of
course,” he smiled disdainfully, making Diana feel suddenly very out of place, “you only have the two trunks. They shouldn’t
take long for your maid to repack in any case.”
The cruel barb sent a sickening roil through her stomach. He had been judging her wardrobe just as she’d thought.
“Good night, my lady.” With a curt nod of his head, Lord Longford turned and strode down the corridor to the next door,
entered and slammed the door shut.
Blinking back tears, Diana glared toward the place where Lord Longford had disappeared and called loudly, “Goodnight,
Toad Longford!”
No response, which rather disappointed her. However, she did feel better for her outburst. Lord Longford’s disdain had not
gone unanswered. Holding her chin up, Diana proceeded into her chamber and shut the door. Round one had been a draw. She
hoped round two in this battle of wills would go squarely in her favor.
 Chapter Eight
NEXT MORNING, GEOFFREY tapped lightly on the door of his mother’s new quarters, guilt still sitting heavy on him. What had
been the best guest room before was now his mother’s chamber and it sat ill with him that she’d had to quit the countess’s
apartments upon their return from London with his bride. Especially when his bride was a wife in name only. He’d spent a
miserable night, tossing and turning, wishing there had been some other way to save his sister and his properties. But what was
done, was done, and his wife, not his mother, was now ensconced in the rooms right next to his own. Anything else would have
incited speculation that he was not willing to endure.
As soon as he’d arrived home with his mother and sister, he’d given instructions that the dowager house, located about a
quarter of a mile away from the main manor house, was to be readied for the dowager countess. Unfortunately, repairs would
take some weeks to complete. Geoffrey hoped he could persuade his mother to remain at Longford Manor until his return from
America, at which time her removal would no longer be necessary. Of course, news of the journey was going to sit very ill
with her indeed. So he was not looking forward to the coming interview for several different reasons.
“Come in.”
He entered the elegantly furnished Princess Charlotte room, decorated in royal purples and pinks. The focus of the room
was the massive four-poster bed jutting into the center of the room, draped in purple jacquard, the mattress standing so far off
the floor one required a step stool to climb into it. His mother was situated in the sitting area of the chamber sipping coffee, the
remains of her breakfast tray before her on the table. “Good morning, Mother.”
“Ah, Geoffrey. This is excellent timing.” She placed her cup in its saucer and rang the bell. “I’ll have Fitz bring you coffee
and we can finish our conversation from last night.” She gave him a piercing glance from beneath lowered eyelids. “Before we
were interrupted by your bride falling asleep in her tea.”
“It had been an exhausting day for her, Mother. I don’t wonder she was dropping where she sat.” Why he was defending his
witch of a wife Geoffrey couldn’t fathom. He should be making sarcastic comments about the dreadful woman to his mother,
not taking up for her. Last night he’d heard her faint but clear call of “Toad Longford,” for God’s sake, just because she wanted
her way. He waved the thought away. They would set sail next week if he could make it so. “But I did wish to speak to you
about the reception you’re planning for us and ask you to postpone it for another time.”
“Good heavens why, Geoffrey?” His mother frowned, looking put out and perplexed. “You went off and married the woman
out of hand, with no thought for how it would look either to London Society or to our friends here at Longford. The very least
you can do is allow me to make the most of what cachet there is left of your marriage and help me plan and hold the reception
as quickly as we can.”
“I am afraid that is going to be impossible, Mother.” Geoffrey sighed, then leaned back in his chair. He’d have to be as
blunt with her as he’d been with his wife last night. “My wife has informed me that we must sail for America immediately.”
“What?” His mother sat bolt upright, her blue eyes wide. “Whyever must you do that?”
“Her uncle left her some property there, in a place called Pennsylvania. She insists we must go there as quickly as possible
to attend to some business…” Geoffrey cast his mind about for a reason dire enough that would call them three thousand miles
away. Then he recalled a situation his father had spoken to him about involving their estate in Cumbria. “Apparently the estate
has been mismanaged and is in peril of being lost due to a property boundary problem. It is similar to what happened to
Hillcrest all those years ago.”
“Can you not appoint a steward to go in your stead to take care of the matter?”
“My wife insists that we go ourselves. The property is quite valuable, and she believes I will be the best hope of her
keeping it. Especially as I understand the issue involved.” A sound enough argument—if only it were the truth. He hated lying
to his mother, something he’d been forced to do all too often of late.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, his mother shook her head. “Well, if you must go, you had best do it quickly.” She cocked
her head and began muttering under her breath. “Six weeks, or better say two months total…a month to take care of the
business…six weeks to return…” After a pause she nodded. “If you have good luck and good winds you should be able to
arrive back in London no later than the end of March. And even if you are delayed until mid-April, you will still be back in
time for the presentation.”
Geoffrey shook his head. “What presentation?”
“Really, Geoffrey. Has marriage muddled your mind so very much already?” Mother looked as though she thought him an
imbecile. “Joanna’s presentation at court. Her come out is in April. You must be back by then.”
The room suddenly started to spin around Geoffrey, whirling faster and faster until he feared he’d fall off his chair. He’d
been wrapped up with the logistics of presenting his wife to his family and with the scheme of traveling to America to get rid
of said wife. His sister’s come out Season had been pushed far back into the recesses of conscious thought. Now, however, it
was front and center once more. “I…I’m not certain how long the business might take, Mother.” He gulped, already knowing
the answer to what he was about to ask. “Can her Season be postponed for a year, perhaps?” That would actually suit him
down to the ground as it might give Dandridge the time and impetus to find another society lady to pursue. “There is no reason
she must be presented at the age of eighteen.”
“Geoffrey.” His mother’s voice sounded as though he’d suggested murdering his sister instead of merely denying her entry
into Society. “How can you even suggest such a thing when all Joanna has talked about for the past year is her come out? Ever
since the Braeton’s party we allowed her to attend celebrating their marriage, she has done nothing but prattle on about
attending the balls and entertainments next year.” His mother stared straight into his eyes. “Are you going to be the one to tell
her she won’t be coming out in the spring? Because I certainly will not.”
The sickening clench of his stomach told Geoffrey he could not be the one to take the joy and excitement from his sister, no
matter what the cost to him. And there would be a cost—hell to pay, no doubt—when he informed his wife that their plans must
be put on hold for the better part of a year. Because when Joanna had her Season, Geoffrey must, at all costs, be there.
Once he’d paid Dandridge off, he’d dismissed the man from his mind, but he’d be more than a fool to think the rogue had
been dissuaded from marrying her just because Geoffrey had paid off his debts. The man would be back, trying to compromise
his sister or worse in order to get Geoffrey to agree to the marriage. Damn, but he needed to discover why the scoundrel was
so set on marrying Joanna. In any case, Geoffrey must be there, in London, to defend her from that devil in gentleman’s clothing.
“I take your point, Mother. So, that settles it.” Geoffrey rose, unable to sit still any longer. “I will inform Lady Longford that
we must wait until after the Season to set sail for the New World.”
As the ancient maps had cautioned, Here there be Dragons.

GEOFFREY ARRIVED DOWNSTAIRS for dinner in the small receiving room before anyone else had appeared. He’d spent the best part
of the day in his study, ostensibly going over the accounts of the past five years, trying to form a plan for the future, but in
reality, the only plan he had truly thought about was how to inform his wife that she was not going to get her way in the matter
of their journey to America. When to tell her was just as important as how it should be done. Not during dinner, certainly. He
didn’t want the woman browbeating him before his mother and sister. That she would try to bully him into changing his mind
was a given. She always had to have things her way. Except this time. There was no way around this. Geoffrey sighed. He
simply needed to find a place where her voice could be raised without letting the whole world know what she thought of him.
The garden might suffice if he waited until they were far enough away from the house. If the weather held another day, it
would be crisp, but not too cold for a protracted walk. Then the harpy could do her worst and no one but him would be the
wiser. She would lose the argument in the end, but she had to be given the opportunity to try to change his mind. Perhaps it
would be best to tell her the reason for the change of circumstances—if he could get a word in edgewise.
Geoffrey had mused thus far when the door opened and Lady Longford entered, dressed in what might pass for evening
attire in a middle-class household. The gown was well-worn and had little style, but he had to admit the pale blue color
became the woman well. Her cheeks were pink, the bright spot in her creamy complexion and the gown brought out the blue of
her eyes perfectly. There was an odd sort of stirring in his nether regions. But it was true. If given the right clothing his wife
would actually be quite stunning. “Good evening, my lady.”
She stopped immediately, glancing around the room for the others. “Good evening. Am I early?”
At least she was speaking to him. After last evening he’d wondered if she would. “No, well, perhaps we are both a bit.
Mother and Joanna should be down presently.”
His wife strode over to a Chippendale chair covered in flowery embroidery and sat without another word. She glanced
around, avoiding his gaze, eventually settling on looking at her hands in her lap.
The silence continued until it became obvious she was not going to begin a conversation with him. Well, perhaps Geoffrey
should enjoy these golden moments as they would certainly be the last ones they had after he gave her the news. Still, that was
for tomorrow. Tonight’s dinner would hopefully be filled with conversation with his mother and sister, although he hoped his
mother did not begin again on the wedding reception. That would surely bring the wrath of his wife to a head before the soup
could be removed.
The door opened and both of them looked eagerly toward it, but instead of his mother or sister it was Fitz the butler who
entered, bearing a silver tray with a note on it. “From your mother, my lord.”
Geoffrey took up the note, dread striking his heart. “Thank you, Fitz. That will be all.” The servant withdrew as he
unfolded it and his spirits sank. “My mother writes that she is not feeling well and will have a tray in her room.” Well, that was
unfortunate, though perhaps her way of pushing him to settle things with his wife over dinner. Reading on, he pursed his lips.
Worse and worse. “She says too that Joanna is dining with the family of her closest friend tonight.” He glanced over at his
wife. “Apparently, we are on our own.”
Lady Longford rose, a look of relief on her face. “Then let us dispense with dinner all together. I will have a tray in my
room as well and you can do as you please with regard to your dinner.”
On the tip of his tongue to agree, Geoffrey stopped himself. Cook had gone to the trouble of preparing the dinner and the
footmen were dressed and ready to serve them. Common decency demanded they carry on as though they were part of a party
of twenty. “That would be ill-advised, I fear. The servants would take note and I would not have such a thing gossiped about in
the neighborhood. We must be seen to be happy or at least content in our marriage if our scheme is to work. Having dinner
together, even just the two of us, will accomplish that.”
With a sigh, the lady nodded. “Very well, then. If we must dine together, we must.” She looked up at him expectantly. “Are
you going to offer me your arm?”
Rather taken aback at the demand, Geoffrey nonetheless offered her his elbow and dutifully marched them into the dining
room. He seated her at one end and was about to situate himself at the other one, when he motioned to the footman. “Bring my
place down here. I will sit at Lady Longford’s right tonight.”
The lady cut her eyes at him but made no comment as the footman brought the place setting and chair as Geoffrey had
instructed. He seated himself and dropped his napkin into his lap. “I realized we have much to speak of and I didn’t think
shouting across the entire expanse of the table would do either of us any good.”
She nodded and laid her napkin in her lap as well. “That is true. We do need to discuss plans for the trip.”
His wife was nothing if not tenacious. “Let us begin to dine before getting into the details of our trip. I for one am rather
hungry.”
“Of course.” She signaled to the footman who brought them the soup, tonight an artichoke cream that was particularly good.
For several minutes they ate in silence, until Geoffrey deemed it best to take the reins of the conversation. “I have spoken to
Mother about postponing the reception.” That was the truth, in and of itself.
“Is she amenable to that? She seemed particularly keen on announcing our marriage to the county.”
“She has concerns. Our neighbors will think it odd that I married and announced it to no one.” Geoffrey put down his spoon
and picked up his wine glass. “We do not wish to become the objects of gossip in the county.”
“What gossip could they possibly have about us?” His wife’s brow furrowed. “They don’t know me at all.”
For the first time Geoffrey had an inkling of just how naïve his wife might be. “The first thing they will think, because we
married so suddenly, is that you are increasing.”
The spoonful of creamy soup Lady Longford had been conveying to her mouth stopped short and began to tremble. “You
mean they think I am…that we have…”
“It’s the logical explanation for such an unexpected marriage.” Geoffrey had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from
laughing at the look of abject horror on his wife’s face.
“But how…how do we let them know that is not the case?” She grabbed her wine glass and drank deeply.
“Well, the reception Mother is planning is one way. We could then talk to everyone, explain that the marriage came about
unexpectedly due to your uncle’s will.”
The footman removed the soup and brought forward the roast mutton.
Geoffrey dug into this dish with gusto. Perhaps the threat of scandal would keep his wife from wishing to leave so quickly.
“Of course, if our explanation was not believed, it would be born out eventually when no child appeared in the spring. If we
have sailed by then, I suspect speculation will be rife that we left to hide the pregnancy.” He popped a forkful of the savory
meat into his mouth, delighting in the delicious flavor. “Likely because, they will say, the child wasn’t mine.”
His wife paled and laid her knife and fork down. “So you think we should remain here until it becomes obvious that I am
not with child.”
Geoffrey shrugged. “It would certainly refute any such gossip. Especially if we are seen about the county during the entire
spring. Then we could not be accused of trying to hide anything. I know you wish to…” He glanced up at the footmen and
paused, “journey on our wedding trip soon, however if we wait a while, there will be less talk in the county to travel up to
London.”
His wife was silent for a while, sipping her wine and staring at her plate. “I will consider this, my lord,” she said at last. “I
would not wish for either of us to be the topic of idle and erroneous gossip.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Utterly pleased with the turn the dinner and conversation had taken, Geoffrey gave her a genuine
smile. “I do appreciate that, as will Mother.” In return for being so reasonable—where until now she had been anything but—
Geoffrey wanted to devise something to show his appreciation. His thought from their carriage ride yesterday sprang to mind.
What a perfect gesture. “I know we have just arrived from London, but I confess I felt somewhat guilty spiriting you away
before you could bespeak a proper wardrobe. Would you like for me to accompany you back to Town so you could visit a
modiste?”
Her face lit up for the first time ever. “Oh, yes, my lord. I had thought the very same thing on the way here. That I wished I
could have gotten the proper gowns before meeting your family.”
“Well, in appreciation for considering the matter of postponing our ‘wedding journey’, we will embark on a journey of a
different sort. I will write to Vickers to open the house for us day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, but…” The color in Lady Longford’s cheeks deepened and she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Will it be quite
proper for us to be alone together in Longford House? I can just as easily stay with my aunt.”
It was on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue to retort that they were married so why would it not be proper, but caution stilled his
harsh words. He didn’t wish to ruffle his wife’s feathers when he was so close to smoothing them down. “It would certainly be
proper in the eyes of the ton, of course, my dear, but I take your meaning.” He paused, but the answer rose to his mind with the
ease of a fish to a fly. “Why don’t we take Joanna with us? She will enjoy shopping with someone her own age, and she can
introduce you to her modiste,” he paused, hoping he hadn’t made another faux pas. Ladies set store by their modistes to judge
from his mother and sister. “Unless you already give your custom to a particular seamstress?”
“Oh, no, not really.” The pink in her cheeks deepened. “Not one who would know what gowns I need now.” She took a sip
of wine and turned back to him. |I would be happy to have Joanna’s company. However,” she hesitated, almost as if afraid to
continue her thought, “will she be enough of a chaperone for us?”
At last it occurred to him, as it probably should have before this, that Lady Longford still thought of herself as Miss
Edgerton, not as a married woman for whom it would be perfectly fine to spend the night with her husband. He bit back a smile
and without missing a beat said, “Then invite your aunt to stay at Longford House with us. It will be quite a gay party, don’t you
think?”
“Oh, I would like that quite a lot, my lord.” Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, reminding him that she was an extremely
attractive woman.
“Then it is settled. I will ask Joanna as soon as she returns and will send off a note to Vickers to make ready for our party
day after tomorrow.”
Geoffrey raised his glass in a salute to her. “To a fruitful and merry party, my dear.”
She raised her glass and drank, then gave him a dazzling smile. “Thank you for your kindness, my lord.”
“Think nothing of it, my dear.” Geoffrey relaxed for the first time today. He wasn’t usually an optimist where such things
were concerned, but something about the look of happiness on his wife’s face gave him hope that things would come right and
he would be able to navigate between Scylla and Charybdis without getting ground to pulp in the process.
 Chapter Nine
TWO DAYS LATER, just after noon, Diana found herself on Fleet Street in London along with Joanna and Aunt Frances, bidding
farewell to Lord Longford, who had left the carriage at their disposal after accompanying them to one of the best shopping
areas in the city. Joanna had recommended Mrs. George as a modiste and Aunt Frances, who kept up with that sort of thing,
concurred that the lady was one of the most fashionable seamstresses in Town. Now her husband was relinquishing them to a
day of shopping for fabrics, gloves, hats, handkerchiefs, and stockings, as well as shoes and half boots. “I don’t know how we
will find everything in one day, my lord.”
Her husband chuckled. “There is no need to rush, my dear. We can take as long as you like to choose everything to your
satisfaction. We have no need to rush back to Longford. Unless your aunt has a pressing need to return home, we can stay for a
week or two if you wish.”
Diana all but gaped at this jovial Lord Longford. He reminded her so much of the gentleman who had asked to meet her so
he could ask for a dance. Had something changed in him? Had something changed in her to notice? “Let us see what we can
accomplish today. We can leave tomorrow for tomorrow.”
“As you will, my dear.” He squeezed her hand before letting it go, sending a frisson of excitement down her spine. “Ladies,
I will see you at Longford House in good time for dinner.” With a jaunty little wave, he crossed the street and headed down the
way, soon becoming lost to sight.
Diana surreptitiously pinched herself to make certain she wasn’t dreaming. Her dreams last night, after a lively dinner with
their little party, had been more than a little disturbing. She’d awakened from a dream of Lord Longford kissing her near the
pond in Hyde Park. Jerking herself upright, she’d almost fallen out of bed. The kiss had been so real, she’d touched her lips to
assure herself there was no lingering sensation. And now Lord Longford was being so amiable toward her, she wondered if he
was thinking about actually kissing her. Of course, he couldn’t know what she’d dreamed, but perhaps he’d been thinking of it
on his own. Why else was he being so agreeable to her? Had he been able to put the memory of that harrowing day at the pond
behind him? Had she?
“Diana, we must go.” Aunt Frances tugged on her arm, casting a glance back over her shoulder. “We are beginning to attract
the notice of that gentleman there.”
Startled, Diana turned to look and saw the man her aunt must be referring to, although she wasn’t certain the word
“gentleman” was the correct description for him. His clothing was impeccable, enough to make Beau Brummel envious.
However, something in his manner made her think he didn’t belong in such well-cut clothing. His brows were dark and heavy,
his skin swarthy as well. He wasn’t as tall as Lord Longford, however something menacing in his manner commanded respect.
He stood across the street, consulting his pocket watch, then looking up and down the street, as though he was waiting for
someone. At one point, his gaze struck Diana and their little party, and she shivered as though a cold wind had blown down the
street. She recognized that face.
The gentleman’s eyes seemed to ravish her with that one look, but it didn’t linger on them, no more than a moment to
register they were ladies of quality, perhaps. Then he continued his search for someone or something along the street.
Diana tugged at her aunt’s arm. “Aunt Frances! Isn’t that Mr. Dandridge that you warned me about last summer?”
Her aunt peered across the street. “I can’t be sure, my dear. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be. But if it is, we must
certainly go inside. We do not wish to attract the attention of the likes of him.”
Suddenly, the gentleman set off down the pavement, hurrying with long strides that carried him away from them in short
order. Diana shivered, shaking her shoulders as if trying to wrench his gaze from her.
“Do let’s go now, Diana.” Aunt Frances took her arm. “What a frightful man! Lady Joanna, did you see him?”
“No, Mrs. Beaumont,” Joanna turned from the window of the modiste’s establishment that held all manner of fabrics and
trims, smiling at them. “I was trying to decide which of these blues would become Diana best. Do you think the muslin that
catches the light just right, or does the lutestring’s deeper color match her eyes better?”
“Oh, the deeper one for certain, I think.” Aunt Frances leaned closer, over Joanna’s shoulder. “That is a lovely color and
just the thing for an evening gown.”
“Come along, aunt.” Diana tried to shepherd the two of them into the modiste’s shop. “Let’s go in and actually examine the
fabrics. I fear we will have an entire afternoon of choices to make.” She opened the door and Aunt Frances eagerly entered,
followed by Joanna. Diana didn’t wish for any more distractions this morning. She had a lot of gowns to order and having odd
thoughts about her husband compounded by an eerie feeling about the stranger outside had her keyed up.
The three of them crowded around the counter as a pert brunette came from the back of the shop, stopped and dropped a
curtsey. “Lady Joanna, so good to see you again. Are you here to order another gown for the Christmas season?”
“Good morning, Joan. How are you?” Joanna smiled warmly at the younger girl.
“Very well, my lady, thank you.”
“You seem to have gotten over your cough. You must continue to dress warmly and rest as much as you can.” Joanna turned
to Diana and her aunt. “Poor Joan had a terrible cough the last time I came in. I had Geoffrey send around some of the elixir we
use whenever we have a chest cold.” She turned and beamed at the clerk. “It seems to have worked wonders.”
“You were too kind to send it, my lady.” Joan ducked her head and looked uncomfortable. “Can I help you, my lady? Or
should I get Mrs. George?”
“We will need both you and Mrs. George I fear, Joan. My sister-in-law, Lady Longford, needs an entire wardrobe for the
winter. For the same parties I will be attending, so we have quite a lot of gowns to bespeak.”
The girl’s eyes widened, then she dropped another curtsey. “Yes, my lady. Let me run and get Mrs. George.” Joan turned
and ran back through the curtain that separated the shop from the back rooms.
“You certainly galvanized her, my dear.” Diana chuckled as she gazed about the room at several already completed
garments. “Oh, but look at this.” She gently fingered a beautiful, well-made gown of pale blue velvet, trimmed elaborately
about the hem with flounces. “This is lovely.”
“We must ask Mrs. George to try it on you. If it fits and is not promised to another lady, I’m certain she will be happy to
send it home with you.” Joanna’s grin was terribly like her brother’s, mischievous and infectious.
“Good morning, Lady Joanna.” Mrs. George appeared through the curtain, a middle-aged lady of perhaps forty, with dark
hair and a pleasant smile. “My lady.” She curtsied to Diana, then looked inquiringly at Aunt Frances. “This is my aunt, Mrs.
Beaumont.”
“Very good, my lady.” The modiste addressed herself to Diana. “Joan says we are to outfit you with a winter wardrobe.”
“That is correct, Mrs. George.” Joanna stepped up, seeming to take charge, which would suit Diana. She’d never ordered
gowns on such a grand scale before.
“We will need to see all of your current sketches Mrs. George, as well as the latest edition of Ackerman’s.” Diana was
slightly in awe of the way her sister-in-law knew exactly what to ask for. If left to her own devices, Diana wouldn’t know how
to go about this at all. “Then we will need her measurements taken, and we can discuss materials and trims.” Joanna turned to
Diana. “Will that be satisfactory?”
Diana nodded, quite at a loss. “Will today be enough time to have all of this done?”
Joanna chuckled. “As my brother said, we have all the time in the world.” She leaned closer. “You must have fun shopping
for your new gowns, Diana. I insist upon it.”
Very well, then. She would have fun. Diana raised her gaze to the modiste, who was looking at her appraisingly. “Mrs.
George, could you please fit the velvet day dress to me? If it’s not spoken for, I would very much like to take it with me.”
“Of course, my lady.” Mrs. George sent a speaking look at Joan, who rushed to the wicker mannequin, and began taking the
garment off it. “Ladies, would you like tea while we peruse Ackerman’s designs and my latest sketches?” Mrs. George rang a
bell and a skittish maid appeared instantly.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. George.” Diana spoke up, happy to follow Joanna’s lead. She did wish to have fun today.
“Mary, tell Cook to put the kettle on. Joan, once you’ve finished with that gown, fetch the sketches to the drawing room.”
Mrs. George opened a door to a small, well-furnished room. Blue paper with a design of flowers graced the walls, white
molding all around, and a crackling fire before which were several large, comfortable looking chairs. “Please have a seat,
ladies.”
Diana sank into one of the overstuffed chairs and Mrs. George put a copy of the most current Ackerman’s Repository in her
hands. Sighing with delight, she began poring over the latest fashions. Fashions that in a very short time would adorn her for the
first time in her life. Oh, yes. She was going to enjoy this!

EVEN THOUGH HE’D breakfasted with the bevy of women at home, Geoffrey hurried down Fleet Street to Lynn’s Oyster Shop. He
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 VII

Después de dar noticia de su estupenda liberación, exponiendo con

brevedad los padecimientos del largo cautiverio que había sufrido
escribió frases cariñosas, y una patética declaración de
arrepentimiento por su desnaturalizada conducta y la impía fuga que
tan duramente había castigado Dios. Manifestando después su falta de
recursos, y que más que un viaje a Madrid le convenía su
permanencia en el ejército de Cataluña, rogaba a su madre que
vendiese cuanto había en la casa, y juntamente con Solita se
trasladase a la Puebla de Arganzón, donde a verlas pasaría, pidiendo
una licencia. Concluía indicando la dirección que debía darse a las
cartas de respuesta, y pedía que esta fuera inmediata, para calmar la
incertidumbre y afán de su alma.
Aquella misma tarde habló con el brigadier Rotten, el cual era un
hombre muy rudo y fiero, bastante parecido en genio y modos a don
Carlos España. Aconsejole este que viera al general Mina, en cuyo
ejército había varias partidas de contraguerrilleros organizadas
disciplinariamente; añadió que él (el brigadier Rotten) se había
propuesto hacer la guerra de exterminio, quemando, arrasando y
fusilando, en la seguridad de que la supresión de la humanidad traería
infaliblemente el fin del absolutismo, y anunció que pasaba a la
provincia de Tarragona con todas las fuerzas de su mando, excepción
hecha del batallón de Murcia, que le había sido reclamado por e
general en jefe para reforzar el sitio de la Seo. Monsalud, sin vacilar en
su elección, optó por seguir a los de Murcia que iban hacia la Seo.
Salió, pues, Murcia al día siguiente muy temprano en dirección a
Castellar, llevando el triste encargo de conducir a catorce prisioneros
de San Llorens de Morunys. Seudoquis no ocultó a Salvador su
disgusto por comisión tan execrable; pero ni él ni sus compañeros
podían desobedecer al bárbaro Rotten. Púsose en marcha e
regimiento, que más bien parecía cortejo fúnebre, y en uno de sus
últimos carros iba Monsalud, viendo delante de sí a los infelices
cautivos atraillados, algunos medio desnudos, y todos abatidos y
llorosos por su miserable destino, aunque no se creían condenados a
muerte, sino tan solo a denigrante esclavitud.
Camino más triste no se había visto jamás. Lleno de fango el suelo
cargada de neblina la atmósfera y enfriada por un remusguillo helado
que del Pirineo descendía, todo era tristeza fuera y dentro del alma de
los soldados. No se oían ni las canciones alegres con que estos
suelen hacer menos pesadas las largas marchas, ni los diálogos
picantes, ni más que el lúgubre compás de los pasos en el cieno y e
crujir de los lentos carros y los suspiros de los acongojados
prisioneros. El día se acabó muy pronto a causa de la niebla que, a
modo de envidia, lo empañaba; y al llegar a un ángulo del camino, en
cierto sitio llamado Los tres Roures (los tres robles), el regimiento se
detuvo. Tomaba aliento, porque lo que tenía que hacer era grave.
Salvador sintió un súbito impulso en su alma cristiana. Eran los
sentimientos de humanidad, que se sobreponían al odio pasajero y a
recuerdo de tantas penas. Cuando vio que la horrible sentencia iba a
cumplirse, hundió la cabeza, sepultándola entre los sacos y mantas
que llenaban el carro, y oró en silencio. Los ayes lastimeros y los tiros
que pusieron fin a los ayes hiciéronle estremecer y sacudirse, como s
resonaran en la cavidad de su propio corazón. Cuando todo quedó en
lúgubre silencio, alzando su angustiada cabeza, dijo así:
—¡Qué cobarde soy! El estado de mi cuerpo, que parece de vidrio
me hace débil y pusilánime como una mujer... No debo tenerles
lástima, porque me sepultaron durante seis meses, porque bailaron
sobre mi calabozo y me injuriaron y escupieron, porque ni aun tuvieron
la caridad de darme muerte, sino, por el contrario, me dejaban vivi
para mortificarme más.
El regimiento siguió adelante, y al pasar junto al lugar de la
carnicería, Salvador sintió renacer su congoja.
«Es preciso ser hombre —pensó—. La guerra es guerra, y exige
estas crueldades. Vale más ser verdugo que víctima. O ellos o
nosotros.»
Seudoquis se acercó entonces para informarse de su estado de
salud. Estaba el buen capitán tan pálido como los muertos, y su mano
ardiente y nerviosa temblaba como la del asesino que acaba de arroja
el arma para no ser descubierto.
—¿Qué dice usted, amigo mío? —le preguntó Salvador.
—Digo —repuso el militar tristemente— que la Constitución será
vencida.
 VIII

Hasta el 25 de enero no llegaron a Canyellas, donde Mina tenía su

cuartel general, frente a la Seo de Urgel. Habían pasado más de
sesenta días desde que puso sitio a la plaza; y aunque la Regencia se
había puesto en salvo llevándose el dinero y los papeles, los
testarudos catalanes y aragoneses se sostenían fieramente en la
población, en los castillos y en la formidable ciudadela.
Mina, hombre muy impaciente, tenía en aquellos días un humor de
mil demonios. Sus soldados estaban medio desnudos, sin ningún
abrigo y con menos ardor guerrero que hambre. A los cuarenta y seis
cañones que guarnecían las fortalezas de la Seo, el héroe navarro no
podía oponer ni una sola pieza de artillería. El país en que operaba era
tan pobre y desolado, que no había medios de que sobre él, como es
costumbre, vivieran las tropas. Por carecer estas de todo, hasta
carecían de fanatismo, y el grito de Constitución o muerte hacía ya
muy poco efecto. Era como los cumplimientos, que todo el mundo los
dice y nadie cree en ellos. Un invierno frío y crudo completaban la
situación, derramando nieves, escarchas, hielos y lluvia sobre los
sitiadores, no menos desabrigados que aburridos.
Delante de la miserable casilla que le servía de alojamiento, solía
pasearse don Francisco por las tardes, con las manos en los bolsillos
de su capote, y pisando fuerte para que entraran en calor las
entumecidas piernas. Era hombre de cuarenta y dos años, recio y
avellanado, de semblante rudo, en que se pintaba una gran energía, y
todo su aspecto revelaba al guerreador castellano, más ágil que
forzudo. En sus ojos, sombreados por cejas muy espesas, brillaba la
astuta mirada del guerrillero que sabe organizar las emboscadas y las
dispersiones. Tenía cortas patillas, que empezaban a emblanquecer, y
una piel bronca; las mandíbulas, así como la parte inferior de la cara
muy pronunciadas; la cabeza cabelluda, y no como la de Napoleón
sino piriforme y amelonada, a lo guerrillero. No carecía de cierta
sandunga su especial modo de sonreír, y su hablar era como su estilo
conciso y claro, si bien no muy elegante; pero si no escribía como Julio
César, solía guerrear como él.
No lo educaron sus mayores, sino los menores de su familia, y tuvo
por maestro a su sobrino, un seminarista calaverón que empezó su
carrera persiguiendo franceses y la acabó fusilado en América. Se hizo
general como otros muchos, y con mejores motivos que la mayo
parte, educándose en la guerra de la Independencia, sirviendo bien y
con lealtad, ganando cada grado con veinte batallas, y defendiendo
una idea política con perseverancia y buena fe. Su destreza militar era
extraordinaria, y fue sin disputa el primero entre los caudillos de
partidas, pues tenía la osadía de Merino, el brutal arrojo de
Empecinado, la astucia de Albuín y la ligereza del Royo. Sus
crueldades, de que tanto se ha hablado, no salían, como las de
Rotten, de las perversidades de un corazón duro, sino de los cálculos
de su activo cerebro, y constituían un plan como cualquier otro plan de
guerra. Supo hacerse amar de los suyos hasta el delirio, y también
sojuzgar a los que se le rebelaron, como el Malcarado.
Poseía el genio navarro en toda su grandeza; era guerrero en
cuerpo y alma, no muy amante de la disciplina, caminante audaz
cazador de hombres, enemigo de la lisonja, valiente por amor a la
gloria, terco y caprichudo en los combates. Ganó batallas que
equivalían a romper una muralla con la cabeza, y fueron obras
maestras de la terquedad, que a veces sustituye al genio. En sus
crueldades jamás cometió viles represalias, ni se ensañó, como otros
en criaturas débiles. Peleando contra Zumalacárregui, ambos caudillos
cambiaron cartas muy tiernas a propósito de una niña de quince
meses que el guipuzcoano tenía en poder del navarro. Fuera de la
guerra, era hombre cortés y fino, desmintiendo así la humildad de su
origen, al contrario de otros muchos, como don Juan Martín, po
ejemplo, que, aun siendo general, nunca dejó de ser carbonero.
Salvador Monsalud había conocido a Mina en 1813, durante la
conspiración, y después en Madrid. Su amistad no era íntima, pero s
cordial y sincera. Oyó el general con mucho interés el relato de las
desgracias del pobre cautivo de San Llorens, y a cada nueva crueldad
que este refería, soltaba el otro alguna enérgica invectiva contra los
facciosos.
—Ya tendrá usted ocasión de vengarse, si persiste en su buen
propósito de ingresar en mi ejército —le dijo, estrechándole la mano—
Yo tengo aquí varias partidas de contraguerrilleros, compuestas de
gentes del país y de compatriotas míos que me ayudan como pueden
Desde luego le doy a usted el mando de una compañía. Vamos
¿acepta usted?
—Acepto. Nunca fue grande mi afición a la carrera militar; pero
ahora me seduce la idea de hacer todo el daño posible a mis infames
verdugos, no asesinándolos, sino venciéndolos... Este es e
sentimiento de que han nacido todas las guerras. Además, yo no tengo
nada que hacer en Madrid. El duque del Parque no se acordará ya de
mí, y habrá puesto a otro en mi lugar. He rogado a mi madre que
venda todo y se traslade a la Puebla con mi hermana. No quiero corte
por ahora. Las circunstancias y una inclinación irresistible que hay
dentro de mí desde que me sacaron de aquel horrible sepulcro, me
impulsan a ser guerrillero.
—Eso no es más que vocación de general —dijo Mina riendo.
Después convidó a Monsalud a su frugal mesa, y hablaron largo
rato de la campaña y del sitio emprendido, que, según las predicciones
del general, tocaba ya a su fin.
—Si para el día de la Candelaria no he entrado en esa cueva de
ladrones —dijo—, rompo mi bastón de mando... Daría todos mis
grados por podérselo romper en las costillas a Mataflorida.
—O al arzobispo Creux.
—Ese se pone siempre fuera de tiro. Ya marchó a Francia po
miedo a la chamusquina que les espera. ¡Ah! Señor Monsalud, si no
es usted hombre de corazón, no venga con nosotros. Cuando
entremos en la Seo, no pienso perdonar ni a las moscas. El Trapense
al tomar esta plaza, pasó a cuchillo la guarnición. Yo pienso hacer lo
mismo.
—¿A qué cuerpo me destina mi general?
—A la contraguerrilla del Cojo de Lumbier. Es un puñado de
valientes que vale todo el oro del mundo.
—¿En dónde está?
—Hacia Fornals, vigilando siempre la ciudadela. Los
contraguerrilleros del Cojo han jurado morir todos o entrar en la
ciudadela antes de la Candelaria. Me inspiran tal confianza, que les he
dicho: «No tenéis que poneros delante de mí sino para decirme que la
ciudadela es nuestra.»
—Entrarán, entraremos de seguro —dijo Monsalud con entusiasmo.
—Y ya les he leído muy bien la cartilla —añadió Mina—. Ya les he
cantado muy claro que no tienen que hacerme prisioneros. No doy
cuartel a nadie, absolutamente a nadie. Esa turba de sacristanes y
salteadores no merece ninguna consideración militar.
—Es decir...
—Que me haréis el favor de pasarme a cuchillo a toda esa gavilla
de tunantes... Amigo mío, la experiencia me ha demostrado que esta
guerra no se sofoca sino por la ley del exterminio, llevada a su último
extremo.
Salvador, oyendo esto, se estremeció, y por largo rato no pudo
apartar de su pensamiento la lúgubre fase que tomaba la guerra desde
que él imaginó poner su mano en ella.
Mina encargó al novel guerrillero que procurara restablecerse
dándose la mejor vida posible en el campamento, pues tiempo había
de sobra para entrar en la lucha si continuaba la guerra, como parecía
probable, según el estado del país y los amagos de intervención. Otros
amigos, además del general, encontró Salvador en Canyellas y
pueblos inmediatos; relaciones hechas la mayor parte en la
conspiración y fomentadas después en las logias o en los cafés
patrióticos.
 IX

La Seo de Urgel está situada en la confluencia de dos ríos que all

son torrentes: el Segre, originario de Puigcerdá, y el Valira, un
bullicioso y atronador joven enviado a España por la República de
Andorra. Enormes montañas la cercan por todas partes, y tres
gargantas estrechas le dan entrada por caminos que entonces solo
eran a propósito para la segura planta del mulo. Sobre la misma villa
se eleva la Ciudadela; más al norte, el Castillo; entre estas dos
fortalezas el escarpado arrabal de Castel-Ciudad, y en dirección a
Andorra la torre de Solsona. La imponente altura de estas posiciones
hace muy difícil su expugnación: es preciso andar a gatas para llega
hasta ellas.
El 29, Mina dispuso que se atacara a Castel-Ciudad. El éxito fue
desgraciado; pero el 1.º de febrero, operando simultáneamente todas
las tropas contra Castel-Ciudad, Solsona y el Castillo, se logró pone
avanzadas en puntos cuya conquista hacía muy peligrosa la
resistencia de los sitiados. Por último, el 3 de febrero, a las doce de la
mañana, las contraguerrillas del Cojo y el regimiento de Murcia
penetraban en la Ciudadela, defendida por seiscientos hombres a
mando de Romagosa.
Aunque no se hallaba totalmente restablecido, Salvador Monsalud
volvía tan rápidamente a su estado normal, que creyó de su debe
darse de alta en los críticos días 1.º y 2 de febrero. Además de que se
sentía regularmente ágil y fuerte, le mortificaba la idea de que se le
supusiera más encariñado con la convalecencia que con las balas
Tomó, pues, el mando de su compañía de contraguerrillas, a las
órdenes del valiente Cojo de Lumbier, y fue de los primeros que
tuvieron la gloria de penetrar en la Ciudadela. Sin saber cómo, sintiose
dominado por la rabiosa exaltación guerrera que animaba a su gente
Vio los raudales de sangre, oyó los salvajes gritos, todo ello muy
acorde con su excitado espíritu.
Cuando la turba vencedora cayó como una venganza celeste sobre
los vencidos, sintió, sí, pasajero temblor; pero sobreponiéndose a sus
sentimientos, recordó las instrucciones de Mina, y supo transmitir las
órdenes de degüello con tanta firmeza como el cirujano que ordena la
amputación. Vio pasar a cuchillo a más de doscientos hombres en la
Ciudadela, y no pestañeó; pero no pudo vencer una tristeza más
honda que todas las tristezas imaginables, cuando Seudoquis
acercándose a él sobre charcos de sangre y entre los destrozados
cuerpos, le dijo con la misma expresión lúgubre de la tarde de los tres
Roures:
—Me confirmo en mi idea, amigo Monsalud. La Constitución será
vencida.
Al día siguiente, bajó a la Seo, que le pareció un sepulcro del cua
se acabara de sacar el cuerpo putrefacto. Su estrechez lóbrega y
húmeda, así como su suciedad, hacían pensar en los gusanos
insaciables: no se podía entrar en ella con ánimo sereno. Como oyera
decir que en los claustros de la catedral, convertidos en hospital, había
no pocas personas de Madrid, allá se fue creyendo encontrar algún
amigo de los muchos y diversos que tenía. Grande era el número de
heridos y enfermos; mas no vio ningún semblante conocido. En e
palacio arzobispal estaban los enfermos de más categoría. Dirigiose
allá, y apenas había dado algunos pasos en la primera sala, cuando se
sintió llamado enérgicamente.
Miró, y dos nombres sonaron:
—¡Salvador!
—¡Pipaón!
Los dos amigos de la niñez, los dos colegas de la conspiración de
19, los dos hermanos, aunque no bien avenidos, de la gloria de las
Tres Cruces, se abrazaron con cariño. El buen Bragas, que poco
antes, viendo mal parada la causa constitucional, había corrido a la
Seo a ponerse a las órdenes de la Regencia, cual hombre previsor
padecía de un persistente reúma que le impidió absolutamente huir a
la aproximación de las tropas liberales. Confiaba el pobrecito en las
infinitas trazas de su sutil ingenio para conseguir que no se le causara
daño; y como tuvo siempre por norte hacerse amigos, aunque fuera en
el infierno, muy mal habían de venir las cosas para que no saliese
alguno entre los soldados de Mina. A pesar de todo, estuvo con e
alma en un hilo hasta que vio aparecer la figura, por demás simpática
de su antiguo camarada; y no pudiendo contener la alegría, le llamó, y
después de estrecharle en sus brazos con la frenética alegría de
condenado que logra salvarse, le dijo:
—¡Qué bonita campaña la vuestra...! Habéis tomado la Seo como
quien coge un nido de pájaros... Si he de ser franco contigo, me
alegro... no se podía vivir aquí con esa canalla de Regencia... Yo vine
por cuenta del gobierno constitucional a vigilar... ya tú me entiendes; y
me marchaba, cuando... ¡Qué desgraciado soy! Pero supongo que no
me harán daño alguno, ¿eh...? ¿Tienes influencia con Mina...? Dile
que podré ponerle en autos de algunas picardías que proyectan los
regentes. Te juro que diera no sé qué por ver colgado de la torre a
arzobispo.
Monsalud, después de tranquilizarle, pidiole noticias de Madrid y de
su familia.
Permaneció indeciso el cortesano breve rato, y después añadió con
su habitual ligereza de lenguaje:
—¿Pero dónde te has metido? ¿Te secuestraron los facciosos? Ya
me lo suponía, y así lo dije a tu pobre madre cuando estuvo en m
casa a preguntarme por ti. La buena señora no tenía consuelo. Se
comprende. ¡No saber de ti en tanto tiempo...!
—¿Vive mi madre? —preguntó Salvador—. ¿Está buena?
—Hace algunos días que falto de Madrid y no puedo contestarte —
dijo Bragas mascullando las palabras—; pero si recibieses alguna
mala noticia, no debes sorprenderte. Tu ausencia durante tantos
meses y la horrible incertidumbre en que ha vivido tu buena madre, no
son ciertamente garantías de larga vida para ella.
—Pipaón, por Dios —dijo Monsalud con amargura—, tú me ocultas
algo; tú, por caridad, no quieres decirme todo lo que sabes. ¿Vive m
madre?
—No puedo afirmar que sí ni que no.
—¿Cuándo la has visto?
—Hace cuatro meses.
—¿Y entonces estaba buena?
—Así, así...
—Y Sola, ¿estaba buena?
—Así, así. Las dos tan apesadumbradas, que daba pena verlas.
 —¿Seguían viviendo en el Prado?
—No: volvieron a la calle de Coloreros... Comprendo tu ansiedad. S
no hubiera huido con la Regencia una persona que se toma interés po
ti, que te nombra con frecuencia y que hace poco ha llegado de
Madrid...
—¿Quién?
—Jenara.
—¿Ha estado aquí...? No me dices nada que no me abrume
Pipaón.
—Marchó con el arzobispo y Mataflorida. ¡Qué guapa está! Y
conspira que es un primor. Solo ella se atrevería a meterse en Madrid
llevando mensajes de esta gente de la frontera, como hizo en la
primavera pasada, y volver locos a los ministros y a la camarilla... Pero
te has turbado al oír su nombre... Ya, ya sé que os queréis bien. Ella
misma ha dejado comprender ciertas cosas... ¡Cuánto ha padecido po
arrancar de la facción a un sujeto secuestrado en Benabarre! Ese
hombre eres tú. Bien claro me lo ha dado a entender ella con sus
suspiros siempre que te nombraba, y tú con esa palidez teatral que
tienes desde que hablamos de ella. Amiguito, bien, bravo; mozas de
tal calidad bien valen seis meses de prisión. A doce me condenaría yo
por haber gustado esa miel hiblea.
Y prorrumpió en alegres risas, sin que el otro participase de su
jovialidad. Reclinado en la cama del enfermo, la cabeza apoyada en la
mano, Monsalud parecía la imagen de la meditación. Después de larga
pausa, volvió a anudar el hilo del interrumpido coloquio, diciendo:
—¿Conque ha estado aquí hace poco?
—Sí. ¿Ves esta cinta encarnada que tengo en el brazo...? Ella me
la puso para sujetarme la manga que me molestaba. Si quieres este
recuerdo suyo, te lo puedo ceder en cambio de la protección que me
dispensas ahora.
Salvador miró la cinta; pero no hizo movimiento alguno para
tomarla, ni dijo nada sobre aquel amoroso tema.
—¿Y dices que hizo esfuerzos por rescatarme? —preguntó.
—Sí... ¡pobre mujer! Se me figura que te amó grandemente; pero
acá para entre los dos, no creo que la primera virtud de Jenara sea la
constancia... Si tanto empeño tenía por salvarte, ¿por qué no te salvó
siendo, como era, amiga de Mataflorida, del arzobispo y del barón?
Con tomar una orden de la Regencia y dirigirse al interior del país
dominado por los arcángeles de la fe, bastaba... Pero no había quien
la decidiera a dar este paso, y antes que meterse entre guerrilleros
me dijo una vez que prefería morir.
—Y ¿crees tú que ella podría darme noticias de mi familia?
—Se me figura que sí —dijo Pipaón poniendo semblante
compungido—. Yo le oí ciertas cosas... No será malo, querido amigo
que te dispongas a recibir alguna mala noticia.
—Dímela de una vez, y no me atormentes con medias palabras —
manifestó Salvador ansioso.
—De este mundo miserable —añadió Bragas con una gravedad
que no le sentaba bien—, ¿qué puede esperarse más que penas?
—¡Ya lo sé! Jamás he esperado otra cosa.
—Pues bien... Yo te tengo por un hombre valiente... ¿Para qué
andar con rodeos y palabrillas?
—Es verdad.
—Si al fin había de suceder; si al fin habías de apurar este cáliz de
amargura... ¡Ah, mi querido amigo, siento ser mensajero de esta
tristísima nueva!
—¡Oh, Dios mío, lo comprendo ya! —exclamó Salvador ocultando
su rostro entre las temblorosas manos.
—¡Tu madre ha muerto! —dijo Pipaón.
—¡Oh, bien me lo decía el corazón! —balbució el huérfano
traspasado de dolor—. ¡Madre querida, yo te he matado!
Durante largo rato lloró amargamente.

Creyendo ahora oportuno no trabajar más por cuenta propia, vuelve

el autor a utilizar el manuscrito de la señora en su segunda pieza, que
concuerda cronológicamente con el punto en que se ha suspendido e
anterior relato.
Los lectores perdonarán esta larga incrustación ripiosa, tan inferio
a lo escrito por la hermosa mano y pensado por el agudo
entendimiento de la señora. Pero como la seguridad del edificio de
esta historia lo hacía necesario, el autor ha metido su tosco ladrillo
entre el fino mármol de la gentil dama alavesa. El segundo fragmento
lleva por título De París a Cádiz, y a la letra dice así:
 X

A fines de diciembre del 22, tuve que huir precipitadamente de la

Seo, que amenazaba el cabecilla Mina. No es fácil salir con pena de la
Seo. Aquel pueblo es horrible, y todo el que vive dentro de él se siente
amortajado. Mataflorida salió antes que nadie, trémulo y lleno de
zozobra. No podré olvidar nunca la figura del arzobispo, montado a
mujeriegas en un mulo, apoyando una mano en el arzón delantero y
otra en el de atrás, y con la teja sujeta con un pañuelo para que no se
la arrancase el fuerte viento que soplaba. Es sensible que no pueda
una dejar de reírse en circunstancias tristes y luctuosas, y que a veces
las personas más dignas de veneración por su estado religioso
exciten la hilaridad. Conozco que es pecado y lo confieso; pero ello es
que yo no podía tener la risa.
Nos reunimos todos en Tolosa de Francia. Resolví entonces no
mezclarme más en asuntos de la Regencia. Jamás he visto un
desconcierto semejante. Muchos españoles emigrados, viendo
cercana la intervención (precipitada por las altaneras contestaciones
de San Miguel), temblaban ante la idea de que se estableciese un
absolutismo fanático y vengador, y suspiraban por una transacción
interpretando el pensamiento de Luis XVIII. Pero no había quien
apease a Mataflorida de su borrica, o sea de su idea de restablecer las
cosas en el propio ser y estado que tuvieron desde el 10 de mayo de
1814 hasta el 7 de marzo de 1820. Balmaseda le apoyaba, y don
Jaime Creux (el gran jinete de quien antes he hablado) era partidario
también del absolutismo puro y sin mancha alguna de Cámaras n
camarines. El barón de Eroles y Eguía se oponían furiosamente a esta
salutífera idea de sus compañeros.
Mi amigo, el general de la coleta (ya separado de la pastelera de
Bayona), quería destituir a la Regencia y prender a Mataflorida y a
arzobispo. Mataflorida, fuerte con las instrucciones reservadísimas de
Su Majestad, que yo y otros emisarios le habíamos traído, seguía en
sus trece. La junta de Cataluña, los apostólicos de Galicia, la junta de
Navarra, los obispos emigrados enviaban representaciones a Luis
XVIII para que reconociese a la Regencia de Urgel, mientras la
Regencia misma, echándosela de soberana, enviaba una especie de
plenipotenciarios de figurón a los soberanos de Europa.
Nada de esto hizo efecto, y la corte de Francia, conforme con Eguía
y el barón de Eroles, puso a la Regencia cara de hereje. Por desgracia
para la causa real, Ugarte había sido quitado de la escena política, y
todo el negocio, como puede suponerse, andaba en manos muy
ineptas. Allí era de ver la rabia de Mataflorida, que alegaba en su favo
las órdenes terminantes del rey; pero nada de esto valía, porque los
otros también mostraban cartas y mandatos reales. Fernando jugaba
con todos los dados a la vez. Su voluntad, ¿quién podía saberla?
Entre tanto, todo se volvía recados misteriosos de Tolosa a París y
a Madrid y a Verona. Eguía se carteaba con el duque de
Montmorency, ministro de Estado en Francia, y Mataflorida con
Chateaubriand. Cuando este sustituyó a Montmorency en el ministerio
nuestro marqués vio el cielo abierto, por ser el vizconde de los que con
más ahínco habían sostenido en Verona la necesidad de volver de
revés las instituciones españolas. Necesitando negociar con él, y no
queriendo apartarse de la frontera de España por temor a las intrigas
de Eguía y del barón de Eroles, me rogó que le sirviese de mensajero
a lo que accedí gustosa, porque me agradaban, ¿a qué negarlo?
aquellos graciosos manejos de la diplomacia menuda, y el continuo
zarandeo, y el trabar relaciones con personajes eminentes, príncipes y
hasta soberanos reinantes. Yo, dicho sea sin perjuicio de la modestia
había mostrado regular destreza para tales tratos, así como para
componer hábilmente una intriga; y el hábito de ocuparme en ello
había despertado en mí lo que puede llamarse el amor al arte. M
belleza, y cierta magia que, según dicen, tuve, contribuían no poco
entonces al éxito de lo que yo nombraba plenipotencias de abanico.
Tomé, pues, mis credenciales, y partí para París con mi doncella y
dos criados excelentes que me proporcionó Mataflorida. Estaba en mis
glorias. Felizmente yo hablaba el francés con bastante soltura, y tenía
en tan alto grado la facultad de adaptación, que a medida que pasaba
de Tolosa a Agen, de Agen a Poitiers, de Poitiers a Tours y a París
parecíame que me iba volviendo francesa en maneras, en traje, en
figura y hasta en el modo de pensar.
Llegué a la gran ciudad ya muy adelantado febrero. Tomé
habitación en la calle del Bac, y después de destinar dos días a
recorrer las tiendas del Palais Royal y a entablar algunas relaciones
con modistas y joyeros, pedí una audiencia al señor ministro de
Negocios Exteriores. Él, que ya tenía noticia de mi llegada, enviome
uno de sus secretarios, dignándose al mismo tiempo ofrecerme un
billete para presenciar la apertura de las tareas legislativas en e
Louvre.
Mucho me holgué de esto, y dispúseme a asistir a tan brillante
ceremonia, en la cual debía leer su discurso el rey Luis XVIII, y
presentarse de corte todos los grandes dignatarios de aquella fastuosa
monarquía. Confieso que jamás he visto ceremonia que más me
impresionase. ¡Qué solemnidad, qué grandeza y lujo! El puesto en que
me colocaron los ujieres no era el más cómodo; pero vi perfectamente
todo, y la admiración y arrobamiento de mi espíritu no me permitían
atender a las molestias.
La presencia del anciano rey me causó sensación muy viva
Aclamáronle ruidosamente cuando apareció en el gran salón, y en
realidad inspiraba entusiasmo y afecto. Bien puede decirse que pocos
reyes han existido más simpáticos ni más dignos de ser amados. Luis
XVIII tomó asiento en un trono sombreado con rico dosel de terciopelo
carmesí. Los altos dignatarios se colocaron en pie en los escaños
alfombrados. No se verá en parte alguna nada más grave ni más
imponente y suntuoso.
Su Majestad Cristianísima empezó a leer. ¡Qué voz tan dulce, qué
acento tan patético! A cada párrafo era interrumpido por vivas
exclamaciones. Yo lloraba y atendía con toda mi alma. Se me
grabaron profundamente en la memoria aquellas célebres palabras
«He mandado retirar mi embajador. Cien mil franceses mandados po
un príncipe de mi familia, por aquel a quien mi corazón se complace
en llamar hijo, están a punto de marchar invocando al Dios de San
Luis para conservar el trono de España a un descendiente de Enrique
IV, para librar a aquel hermoso reino de su ruina y reconciliarlo con
Europa.»
 Ruidosos y entusiastas vítores manifestaron cuánto entusiasmaba a
todos los franceses allí presentes la intervención. Yo, aunque
española, comprendía la justicia y necesidad de esta medida. Así es
que dije para mí pensando en mis paisanos:
—Ahora veréis, brutos, cómo andáis bien derechos.
Pero el bondadoso Luis XVIII siguió diciendo cosas altamente
patrióticas solo bajo el punto de vista francés, y ya aquello no me
gustaba tanto; porque, en fin, empecé a comprender que nos trataban
como a un hato de carneros. He sido siempre de una volubilidad
extraordinaria en mis ideas, las cuales varían al compás de los
sentimientos que agitan mi alma. Así es que de pronto, y sin sabe
cómo, se enfrió un poco mi entusiasmo; y cuando Luis dijo con
altanero acento y entre atronadores aplausos aquello de Somos
franceses, señores, sentí oprimido mi corazón; sentí que corría por mis
venas rápido fuego, y pensando en la intervención, dije para mí:
«No hay que echar mucha facha todavía, amiguitos. Españoles
somos, señores.»
Pero no puedo negar que la pompa de aquella corte, la seriedad y
grandeza de la asamblea, acorde con su rey y existente con él sin
estorbarse el uno a la otra, hicieron grande impresión en mi espíritu
Me acordaba de las discordias infecundas de mi país, y entonces
sentía pena.
«Allá —pensé— tenemos demasiadas Cortes para el rey, y
demasiado rey para las Cortes.»
El día siguiente, 1.º de marzo, era el señalado por Chateaubriand
para recibirme. Vivísimos deseos de verle tenía yo, por dos motivos
por mi comisión, y porque había leído la Atala poco antes, hallando en
su lectura intenso deleite. No sé por qué me figuraba al vizconde como
una especie de triste Chactas, de tal modo que no podía pensar en é
sin traer a la memoria la célebre canción.
Pero todo cambió cuando entré en el ministerio y en el despacho
del célebre escritor, que llenaba el mundo con su nombre y había
divulgado la manía de los bosques de América, el sentimentalismo
católico y las tristezas quejumbrosas a lo René. Vestía de gran
uniforme. Su semblante pálido y hermoso no tenía más defecto que e
estudiado desorden de los cabellos, que asemejaban su cabeza a una
de esas testas de aldeano en cuya selvática espesura jamás ha
entrado el peine. En sus ojos brillaba un mirar vivo y penetrante, que
me obligaba a bajar los míos. Pareciome bastante decaído, aunque su
edad no pasara entonces de los cincuenta y dos años. Su exquisita
urbanidad era algo finchada y fría. Sonreía ligeramente y pocas veces
contrayendo los casi imperceptibles pliegues de su boca de mármol
pero fruncía con frecuencia el ceño, como una maña adquirida por la
costumbre de creer que cuanto veía era inferior a la majestad de su
persona.
Entendí que la presencia de la diplomática española le había
causado sorpresa. Sin duda creía ver en mí una maja de esas que
conforme él dice en uno de sus libros, se alimentan con una bellota
una aceituna o un higo. Debió admirarle mi intachable vestido francés
y la falta de aquella gravedad española, que consiste, según ellos, en
hablar campanudamente y con altanería. En sus miradas cre
sorprender una curiosidad reparona, algo impropia de hombre tan fino
Pareciome que miraba si había yo llevado el rosario para rezar en su
presencia, o alguna guitarra para tocar y cantar mientras durase e
largo plazo de la antesala. En sus primeras palabras advertí marcado
deseo de llevarme al terreno literario, porque empezó hablando de lo
mucho que admiraba a mi país, y del Romancero del Cid, asunto que
no vino muy de molde.
Viéndole en tan buen terreno, y considerando cuánto debía
agradarle la lisonja, me afirmé en el terreno literario y le hablé de su
universal fama, así como del gran eco de Chateaubriand por todo e
orbe. Él me contestó con frases de modestia tan ingeniosas y bien
perfiladas, que la modestia misma no las hubiera conocido por suyas
Preguntome si había leído el Genio del Cristianismo, y le contesté a
punto que sí y que me entusiasmaba, aunque la verdad era que hasta
entonces no había ni siquiera hojeado tal libro; mas recordando
algunos pasajes de los Mártires, le hablé de esta obra y de la gran
impresión que en mí produjera. Pareció maravillado de que una dama
española supiera leer, y me dirigió galanterías del más delicado gusto
Por mi belleza y mis gracias materiales, yo no debía ser de palo para
el vizconde. Después supe que con cincuenta y dos años a la espalda
aún se creía bastante joven para el galanteo, y amaba a cierta artista
inglesa con el furor de un colegial.
 XI

Entrando de lleno en nuestro asunto, el triste Chactas me dijo:

—Ya oiría usted ayer el discurso de Su Majestad. La guerra es
inevitable. Yo la creo conveniente para las dos naciones, y he tenido e
honor de sostener esta opinión en el congreso de Verona y en e
ministerio, contra muchos hombres eminentes que la juzgaban
peligrosa. En cuanto a la cuestión principal, que es la clase de
gobierno que debe darse a España, no creo en la posibilidad de
sostener el absolutismo puro. Esto es un absurdo, aun en España: las
luces del siglo lo rechazan.
Hícele una pintura todo lo fiel que me fue posible del estado de
nuestras costumbres y de las clases sociales en nuestro país, as
como de los personajes eminentes que en él había, haciendo notar de
paso, conforme a mi propósito, que un solo hombre grande existía en
toda la redondez de las Españas. Este hombre era el marqués de
Mataflorida.
—Reconozco las altas dotes del señor marqués —me dijo
Chateaubriand con finísima sonrisa—. Pero la conducta de la
Regencia de Urgel ha sido poco prudente. Su manifiesto del 15 de
agosto y sus propósitos de conservar el absolutismo puro, no pueden
hallar eco en la Europa civilizada.
Yo dije entonces, usando las frases más delicadas, que no era fáci
juzgar de los sucesos de Urgel por lo que afirmaran hombres tan
corrompidos como Eguía y el barón de Eroles, a los cuales, con
buenas palabras, puse de oro y azul. Concluí mi perorata afirmando
que la voluntad de Fernando era favorable a los planes de Mataflorida.
—Para nosotros —dijo— no hay otra expresión de la voluntad de
rey de España que la contenida en la carta que Su Majestad Católica
dirigió a nuestro soberano.
 El pícaro me iba batiendo en todas mis trincheras, y me
desconcertó completamente cuando me dijo:
—El gobierno francés ha acordado nombrar una Junta provisiona
en la frontera, hasta que las tropas francesas entren en España.
—¿Y la Regencia?
—La Regencia dejará de existir, mejor dicho, ha dejado de existi
ya.
—Pero Fernando no le ha retirado sus poderes: antes bien, se los
confirma secretamente un día y otro.
Al oír esto, el insigne escritor y diplomático no contestó nada
Conocí que se veía en la alternativa de desmentir mi aserto, o de
hablar mal de Fernando, y que, como hombre de intachable cortesía
no gustaba de hacer lo primero, ni como ministro de un Borbón lo
segundo. Viéndole suspenso insistí, y entonces me dijo:
—Indudablemente, aquí hay algo que ahora no comprendemos
pero que, andando el tiempo, se ha de ver con claridad.
Después, deseando mostrarme un interés filantrópico por la ventura
de nuestro país, afirmó que él había trabajado porque se declarara la
guerra, sosteniendo para esto penosas luchas con monsieur de Villèle
y sus demás colegas; que la resistencia de Inglaterra y de Wellington
habían exigido de su parte grandes esfuerzos y constancia, y, po
último, que aún necesitaba de no poca energía para vencer la
oposición a la guerra que las Cámaras mostrarían desde su primera
sesión.
—Muchos —añadió Chactas— me consideran loco. Otros me tienen
lástima. Algunos, y entre ellos los envidiosos, preguntan si podré yo
conseguir lo que no fue dado a Napoleón. Pero yo fío al tiempo la
consagración de este gran hecho, tan necesario a la seguridad de
orden y la justicia en los pueblos de Occidente.
Habló también de las sociedades secretas y de los carbonarios, que
sin duda le inspiraban vivísimo miedo; y yo empecé a comprender que
el objeto de la intervención no era poner paz entre nosotros, n
hacernos felices, ni aun siquiera consolidar el vacilante trono de un
Borbón, sino aterrar a los revolucionarios franceses e italianos que
bullían sin cesar en los tenebrosos fondos de la sociedad francesa
jamás reposada ni tranquila.
Prometió contestar a Mataflorida, mas sin mostrarse muy entusiasta
de las altas prendas de mi amigo, ni indicar nada que transcendiese a
propósitos de acceder a su petición. Bajo sus frases corteses creía yo
descubrir cierto menosprecio de los individuos de la Regencia, y aun
de todos los que mangoneaban en la conspiración. De un solo españo
me habló con acento que indicaba respeto y casi admiración: de
Martínez de la Rosa. Lo atribuí a mera simpatía del poeta.
Despedime de él, deplorando el mal éxito de mi embajada, y aqu
fue donde se deshizo en cumplidos, buscando y hallando en su fina
habilidad cortesana ocasión para deslizar galanterías, con discretos
elogios de mi hermosura y del país donde florece el naranjo. Me había
tomado por andaluza, y yo le dejé en esta creencia.
A los dos días fue a pagarme la visita a mi alojamiento de la calle
del Bac, y en su breve entrevista me pareció que huía de menciona
los oscuros asuntos de la siempre oscura España. En los días
sucesivos visité a otras personas, entre ellas al ministro del Interior
monsieur de Corbière, y a algunos señores del partido del conde de
Artois, como el príncipe de Polignac y monsieur de la Bourdonnais
También tuve ocasión de tratar a dos o tres viejas aristócratas de
barrio de San Germán, ardientes partidarias de la guerra de España y
no muy bienquistas con el rey filósofo y tolerante que gobernaba a
Francia, convaleciente aún de la Revolución y del Imperio. De mis
conversaciones con toda aquella gente pude sacar en limpio e
siguiente juicio, que creo seguro y verdadero: Las personas influyentes
de la Restauración deseaban para Francia una monarquía templada y
constitucional, fundada en el orden, y para España el absolutismo
puro. Con tal que en Francia hubiera tolerancia y filosofía, no les
importaba que en España tuviéramos frailes o Inquisición. Todo iría
bien, siempre que en ninguna de las dos naciones hubiese
francmasones, carbonarios y demagogos.
Tenían de nuestro país una idea muy falsa. Cuando Chateaubriand
que era el genio de la Restauración, decía de España: allí el matar es
cosa natural, ya sea por amor, ya sea por odio, puede juzgarse lo que
pensarían todas aquellas personas que no supieron escribir el Genio
del Cristianismo. Nos consideraban como un pueblo heroico y salvaje
dominado por pasiones violentas y por un fanatismo religioso
semejante al del antiguo Egipto.
La princesa de la Tremouille se asombraba de que yo supiera
escribir, y me presentó en su tertulia como un objeto raro, aunque sin
dar a conocer ningún sentimiento ni idea que me mortificasen. Yo creo