The Westerfield Trilogy Read online

  She shrugged. “Well, I had a few dances promised, but none with partners who will arouse such jealous attention from the crowd, so lead on, my lord.”

  The idea of other suitors rankled him. He gazed around the ballroom, looking for the possible rivals. He felt a flash of anxiety about courting Miss Stanley. It could be a long and drawn out process of calling on her and escorting her to balls, without ever knowing if she returned his affection. Now, to realize he had competition irritated him. “To whom are your other dances promised?”

  “Oh, just friends. Gentlemen who wish to be seen with a lady in orange, that sort of thing.”

  He laughed, somewhat relieved. She gazed up at him with an appraising look. “Why did you come here, tonight, my lord?”

  “To dance with you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Not really,” she said doubtfully.

  He nodded.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did my brother put you up to this?”

  He frowned, perplexed. “What?”

  “Did you lose a bet to him, or something? And he asked you dance with me to help boost my status?” She blew out her breath. “I’m not doing that poorly,” she muttered sulkily. “It’s only my second season. I started late, you know.”

  “I didn’t know. And don’t be silly—I did not come for your brother.”

  She looked at him for a moment. “All right—don’t tell me why you’ve come. I’ll find out eventually, my lord. I’m quite good at ferreting out motives.”

  “I’m sure you are,” he said mildly, slightly disappointed she did not believe him to be an actual suitor. But her mention of her brother gave him an idea of how to put the odds in his favor.

  Because Harry had no intention of losing this bet.

  * * *

  “Two dances with Lord Westerfield?”

  “I know, I can’t tell what he’s about.”

  “I think he is about courting you, love,” Teddy said as he swooped her around the room in a waltz. Her best friend Wynn’s rakish brother, Teddy—Lord Fenton—was her favorite dance partner, by far. A childhood friend, he had the same sardonic sense of humor as she about society, and the grace and ease of a man who is far too comfortable with women than he ought to be. She never worried about being held too close by him or giving the wrong signal, as they had a perfect understanding between them that dancing together meant nothing more than it was.

  “Certainly not. Harry Westerfield does not court anyone. He gambles and solves mathematical problems.”

  “Well, he looks like he wants to eat my liver right now, so I think you are mistaken.”

  She tried to crane her head to catch sight of Lord Westerfield, but Teddy was spinning her about the room too quickly and everyone was a blur.

  “There is no reason on earth he would court me. No one courts me. I’m the sort who is better enjoyed from afar.”

  Teddy snorted. “What sort am I, then?”

  “The sort that is better enjoyed by the already married. Speaking of which, Lady Dunning has been making eyes at you all night; are you ignoring her on purpose?”

  “Dear lord, yes. I had her once and she was worse than a virgin. Now she won’t stop sending me love letters. I’m trying to discourage her attentions.”

  “You could foist her onto Captain Morse. He seems positively wretched since he returned from the war. A little attention might do him some good.”

  “He has a wife!”

  “Yes, but I believe his wife is otherwise occupied.”

  “With whom?”

  “Lord Merriweather.”

  “Well, no wonder Captain Morse is wretched.”

  “Exactly. So if you could redirect Lady Dunning, everyone would win!”

  Teddy gave another snort. “And precisely how do I do that?”

  “Tell her you’re stepping back because a dear friend of yours is madly in love with her and you don’t want to cause a rift. I’ll hint to her who it is.”

  Teddy laughed as the short dance came to a close. “Thank you, Miss Stanley,” he said with a graceful bow and mock formality. “I shall take your advice and I appreciate your assistance with the matter.” He brought her gloved hand to his lips for a kiss, looking over her shoulder as he did. “Mmm hmm,” he said with satisfaction.

  “What?” she said and started to turn around, but he stayed her with a slight tug on her hand. “Don’t look yet—he’s burning a hole through your back with his gaze.” Teddy gave her a wink and departed as she digested that information.

  She met Wynn, who was also leaving the dance floor, and hooked elbows with her friend. “How was he?” she asked in a low, conspiratorial tone about Wynn’s dance partner.

  Wynn made a disapproving sound in her throat, though her expression remained bright and friendly to all who might see her.

  “That bad?”

  She nodded, still smiling pleasantly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Wynn shrugged. “Is it just me, or does it seem like we’ll never get married?”

  “It’s just you. I’m hoping for a few more years of freedom, myself.” She looked around and saw her brother leading a young lady out on the floor. “Although with Maury’s gambling habits I’ll be wearing these same dresses next season.”

  “I think you should write to Edward about it,” Wynn said, referring to Kitty’s other brother, the practical one, who was respectably married and ran their family’s estate in Penrock.

  “He’d be furious. He’s doing all the work in Penrock to ensure a decent profit, while Maury’s squandering it at gambling halls and brothels. And what’s poor Edward to say or do about it, anyway?”

  “Well, he’ll find out soon enough, won’t he?”

  “Yes, unless Maury’s luck changes.”

  Wynn chuffed. “If I were you, I’d try to find a husband as soon as possible, before Maury’s reputation crumbles and drags yours down with it.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s possible. Or, better said, I do a fair enough job of damaging my own status with my blunt tongue. I’ve heard what they say about me—that I’m odd, and that ‘no man would want to hear that tongue at his dining table.’”

  “Don’t be silly. Plenty of men would enjoy your conversation. I always do.”

  She gave Wynn a fond glance. “You have to say that, dear, you’re my best friend.”

  “No, it’s true! Teddy thinks so as well.”

  “It was Teddy who told me what the gentlemen say about me,” she said drily.

  Wynn giggled. “Then don’t believe it—he was teasing you. Anyway, I think you just pretend you don’t want a husband so you don’t have to make an effort. You prefer to act the wallflower so you can criticize rather than jump in with the rest of us.”

  Kitty bit her lip. That observation came closer to the truth than was comfortable. Seeing she’d struck a nerve, Wynn gave her hand a squeeze. Kitty forced a smile and gave a faint shrug.

  * * *

  Maury watched Lord Westerfield stonewall conversation with his companions, fixing his attention instead on Kitty. For the first time in all the years he’d known the man, he could tell how he held his cards. In retrospect, he should have known the moment Westerfield agreed to attend this ball it was for Kitty. But he’d never seen his friend take an interest in any woman before. He sauntered over to stand beside him.

  “Penchant for orange dresses?”

  Westerfield gave him a sidelong glance. “Yes.”

  He was surprised at the acknowledgment, but not with the attraction. His sister was beautiful, and while many found her aggressive style improper, it was born of a witty intelligence, which might very well entertain a man like Westerfield, whose silence probably stemmed from boredom with most conversation. Whether Kitty would find him attractive, he couldn’t say. But he did know she needed a man at least as bright as she, and Westerfield surpassed that requirement.

  “Twenty thousand for her hand in marriage.”

  M
aury nearly choked on his champagne. He cleared his throat, knowing full well he’d just shown his hand. Not that Westerfield hadn’t known it to begin with. It was exactly the amount for which he was in debt to Spencer’s.

  “Ten to sign the contract, ten when the marriage is complete.”

  He bit back the question foremost in his mind—why did Westerfield believe it was necessary to buy his sister’s hand? But to ask the question would suggest it wasn’t necessary, and of course, he needed the money.

  He watched his sister as she danced with a handsome young captain in the army. Westerfield’s eyes narrowed when they swept past and Maury understood. He was shoring his bets. He was locking in the prize through legal contract to minimize any gamble relying on a lady’s fancy.

  How would Kitty take to this arrangement? He pushed the thought from his head immediately. It didn’t matter. He needed this money. They both needed it. And Westerfield was an excellent choice for any young lady.

  He held out his hand. “Deal.”

  Westerfield shook it, looking satisfied. “I’ll bring the contract and a cheque by tomorrow.”

  Chapter Two

  Harry sat back on Stanley’s red leather settee and crossed his legs. He had the soaring sense of satisfaction he always had upon winning a bet and collecting his reward. Lord Stanley had signed the contract, as promised, and sent for his sister.

  Kitty tapped first on the door, then pushed it open, entering with a puzzled look.

  He stood and bowed.

  She curtsied. “Lord Westerfield, how nice to see you again,” she said, looking surprised. Clearly Lord Stanley had not discussed the matter with her.

  “The pleasure is mine,” he said.

  “Sit down, Kitty, we have something to discuss,” Stanley said, waving her to a chair.

  Her smile faded and her brows came together. He gave her what he hoped was a pleasant smile, which only seemed to increase her concern. She perched on a chair and folded her hands in her lap primly.

  “Lord Westerfield has come to ask for your hand in marriage, Kitty, and I have granted it.”

  Kitty’s jaw dropped. “Pardon me?”

  “The bans will be published tomorrow and you’ll be married in two weeks’ time.”

  “Absolutely not!” she flared. “Are you not forgetting one small part of this arrangement?” She raised her eyebrows with challenge. “Am I not to be consulted in this matter at all?”

  Stanley’s brow wrinkled. “I’m sorry, Kitty, but it’s already done.”

  He groaned inwardly. Stanley was not handling this well.

  Kitty stood and placed her hands on her hips. She turned an ice-cold gaze on him. “May I speak with my brother alone for a moment?”

  “No, Kitty,” Maury interjected. “This matter concerns Lord Westerfield, and besides, there is nothing to discuss. As I already said, it is done.”

  “How can it be already done?” she demanded, her voice raising in pitch. “Have I stood before the clergyman and sworn to love, honor, and obey? Nay, I have not, nor will I ever if I am not properly courted and asked for my consent, and instead of being informed by my bull-headed brother as if we were still in medieval times!”

  Stanley stood as well, his voice booming. “You will do it, because I’ve ordered it and because you have no other choice. If you refuse, I will shut off all my support of you—no more dresses, no more balls, no more London seasons.”

  He jumped to his feet, wishing to end the quarrel. Both heads turned to look at him and a silence fell. Kitty’s chest was heaving as if she were having difficulty breathing in her corset. He cursed himself for not giving more thought to this part of his plan.

  “If she wishes to be properly courted, she will be properly courted,” he said soothingly, trying to recover the situation without further damage. “Kitty,” he began, and saw her eyes flicker at his use of her given name. “Give me a month to properly court you, and then you may make your decision.”

  She looked suspicious.

  “It will be your decision,” he promised.

  Her eyes were locked on his, warily reading for sincerity.

  “Absolutely not,” Stanley interjected.

  Damn the man, could he not keep his mouth shut?

  “Without penalty,” he gritted, not looking away from Kitty.

  She froze, her eyes wide. She turned very slowly to look at her brother.

  “Without what penalty?” Her words were soft with danger.

  Even Stanley knew the mistake. “It’s nothing,” he said immediately.

  She turned back to him. “Without what penalty?”

  He could not answer. His grand scheme of assuring himself of his bride did not seem quite so grand now. In fact, it appeared he had made a huge tactical error.

  “Did you sell me, Maury?” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, yet it carried the wrath of the Furies.

  “It’s done, Kitty,” he said grimly. “You have no choice.”

  She stumbled back from them both, fisting her dress at the waist in what he realized was an effort to loosen her corset to breathe. She trembled visibly and put a hand out as she stumbled back, reaching for the mantle. He closed the distance between them in a long stride and caught her elbow to steady her. The focus left her eyes and he moved in, ready to catch her if she swooned, but she recovered, repeating the gesture of tugging at her corset. When her eyes focused on him again, they were glittering with tears.

  Oh, God.

  His heart contracted. Tears were far worse than her anger.

  “Why?” she croaked.

  Why?

  “Am I such an awful option?” he asked in a near whisper.

  She blinked and the tears escaped her lids, running in perfect lines down the centers of her cheeks.

  “It’s not that—I just don’t understand. What do you want with me?”

  He stared at her. Did she really still not believe he desired her? “There’s no trick, Kitty, I want you for my wife.”

  She shook her head, leaning her back against the mantel and withdrawing from his grasp without making a point of it.

  “And so you arranged a business transaction? A contract?” The hollowness of her tone was echoed in the defeated slump of her shoulders and the grim set to her mouth.

  Neither man answered.

  She looked from one to the other, her eyes finally resting on Stanley. It seemed she saw something inflexible there, because a muscle in her jaw jumped and she let out her breath with a puff. Long practiced in removing himself from any emotional situation, Harry was in perfect anguish. Kitty’s pain was torturous to him, yet he could not offer her comfort, except to dissolve the contract, which he would never do.

  But even as he watched, Kitty rallied, swallowing, composing her face and lifting her chest. “Very well, I see I have no choice in this matter. Here are my conditions: I require two months, not one. And a budget for my dress. I want a ring, and I require your proper escort to the remaining social events of the season.” Her chin had jutted out, as if she dared him to refuse. “You can add that to your contract.”

  “Done,” he said softly, admiring the swiftness with which she had assimilated her new situation. “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” she said, turning to her brother. “You quit gambling. Permanently.”

  She was aware of her brother’s problems, then.

  “No,” Stanley said flatly. Clearly the two shared a family trait of stubbornness. “We are not in negotiation. I told you—the deal is done.”

  She pressed her lips together and turned back to him, bobbed a small curtsy, and swept from the room with the air of royalty.

  “I’m sorry for that,” Stanley muttered when the door had closed.

  He glowered at the man. “She’s your sister; you might have anticipated how she might react.”

  “She will come around,” Stanley promised, but he thought he detected doubt behind the words.

  * * *

  Kitty did not say a
word to Maury the next day. Her companion, Miss Anderson, counseled her to make the best of it all, but she was still too angry. She understood Maury needed money, possibly desperately. Had he simply appealed to her, just asked, she would made any kind of sacrifice necessary for her family. But to order it, as if she were chattel—well, it was unforgivable.

  The following morning after a breakfast of strained silence, Maury finally spoke. “I’m sending an invitation to Lord Westerfield to dine with us tonight.”

  “Very well,” she said coldly. She grit her teeth a moment, then added. “I shall send an invitation for Wynn and Teddy to join us as well.”

  Maury frowned and she braced herself for an argument, but then he sighed. “Very well.”

  “Very well,” she repeated, knowing she sounded like a spoiled twelve-year-old, but unable to wrench herself free of the seething anger she still felt toward him.

  Lord Westerfield arrived first, and to irk her brother, she remained in her room, “getting ready.” Miss Anderson fretted at the doorway, twisting her fingers together.

  “Come, Miss Stanley, you’re getting off on the wrong foot with the man. You must remember you’re going to spend the rest of your life with Lord Westerfield. Do you wish to live in love and respect, or do you wish to be the shrew until he takes you over his knee, or dallies elsewhere?”

  “You are not helping me,” she replied through gritted teeth. She heard the brass knocker of their front door and jumped up. “That will be Wynn.”

  She’d sent a note to Wynn, telling her she desperately needed her presence that evening, and to expect a shock. She hurried down the stairs to the sitting room. Wynn and Teddy were escorted in by their butler as Lord Westerfield stood to greet her. She rudely offered her hand to Teddy first, then kissed Wynn. Only when they turned to greet Lord Westerfield did she acknowledge him.

  “Are you acquainted with Lord Westerfield?” She turned her body in his direction, but did not look at him. “My lord, may I present Lord Fenton and his sister, Miss Fenton?” She turned back to her friends. “Lord Westerfield and I are affianced.”

  Wynn gasped. “What a surprise!” she exclaimed.