Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (2 page)

An arrangement she would be forced to endure for the rest of her life.

Her stunned disbelief turned to anger, and she found her tongue. “I will marry if and when I choose, and at this moment it is
not
my choice to marry Lord Harlech . . . or any other man!” Her heart pounded riotously, keeping her from drawing a steady breath. Thoughts raced through her mind, colliding with each other, one barely started before another took its place, each worse than the preceding one. But she would not let her uncle know the extent of her distress. She must, at all costs, keep her wits about her now.

She smoothed her skirts, hoping her uncle didn’t notice how her hand trembled. She could not marry, especially not a wastrel such as Lord Harlech.

“You know Papa’s will as well as I. I don’t need to marry, if I do not wish to. And I do
not
wish to. As disagreeable as it may be for me to answer to you for the next two years until I receive my inheritance, that is my plan, and you shall not gainsay me. So, if you are quite finished, I will be about my business.” She arose with as much dignity as she could rally, determined to make her escape before her uncle could challenge her.

She wasn’t quick enough.

“This conversation is not over!” Nathan’s voice thundered through the room, stopping her before she had taken two steps. “I’ve given my word and you will marry Harlech, I say. Do you understand?” His face was red and tight with fury. “Because if you don’t, allow me to remind
you
of a little clause in your father’s will, the clause that gives your guardian the authority to make decisions for you, should your decisions be deemed inappropriate. I have friends with influence; it would be an easy task for me to have you found incompetent. And lest you are not thinking clearly, realize that Stonecrest cannot survive for the next two years without an allowance from
me.
If you refuse this offer, you won’t see another penny.” He sneered at her. “What shall you tell this band of impoverished peasants you call servants when you are forced to turn them out hungry?”

Lucy shrank back at the venom in his voice. She had not thought him capable of such cruelty, of such selfishness, but she should have. He had not bothered to hide his true nature; she had simply chosen not to see it for what it was. Remembering her aunt’s words of advice, she quickly decided that a pretense of going along with his plans might be the best avenue for her, at least until she could decide what to do.

“I-I hadn’t thought of that, uncle. But I see what you mean. If I must marry, then I must. If you will excuse me, I’m very tired and should like to retire.”

“If you think to trick me, you’d best think again.” Her uncle’s voice took on an ominous quality as he moved closer, his eyes narrowing to slits. Only inches from her face, he lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “Make no mistake. You will accept Lord Harlech’s proposal or I will ruin Stonecrest, now and forever.”

Lucy drew her breath in a gasp. She could hardly believe such a threat, but the diabolical gleam in her uncle’s eyes supported his words. Unable to utter another syllable, she turned and fled.

How she made it back to her bedchamber, she didn’t know. Her legs were shaking so violently she could hardly stand, and she gave in to the weakness and threw herself across her bed, taking in deep gulps of air.

How could he threaten such a thing? He knew what Stonecrest had meant to her father, what it meant to her. She loved every inch of the hewn stone of the medieval manor. She found peace in its quaint stable, fertile lands, and pristine lake. She thought of the repairs and improvements her father had made, and she remembered her vow to carry on with his plans to restore the manor to its former glory so that the villagers and their tenants and servants could lead decent lives once again.

And her uncle would, with one swipe, destroy it all.

Her heart thudded in her chest. Her dowry was
her
fortune. Her father had given her a choice as to her future, and her despicable uncle would rob her of everything.

Anger replaced fear, and with the anger came determination. Her uncle would not win; she would not let him.

She arose from her bed and wiped away her tears. This was no time to cry. She must think clearly and analyze her options.

She must come up with a plan.

T
he Grantham ball was the event of the Season. For the past half hour Lucy and Eleanor’s carriage had crawled along, keeping its place in an interminable line of conveyances, but they’d finally arrived at the Grantham’s town home. Carriages packed the street and footmen scurried to them, leading parties of elegantly dressed guests up the walkway to the open double doors. Lucy’s trepidation at putting her plan into action was momentarily forgotten as the excitement of attending her first ball obliterated all else.

She leaned toward the window to take in the scene. Light spilled from the ballroom windows, pooling like liquid silver onto gravel paths. Strains of music underscored by a current of voices drifted through open windows. Guests crowded the ballroom though it was only half past ten and the ball had just begun. Evidently no one wanted to miss a moment of this prestigious affair.

“You must keep your shawl about you,” her aunt said, a disapproving stare fastened to Lucy’s daringly low neckline, “else every rake in London will be at your side.”

Lucy did as her aunt bid, murmuring another apology for waiting until the very last minute to try on the gown. It wasn’t true. She had not waited until the last moment as she pretended to her aunt, but had, in fact, spent hours trying on each and every gown, all of them fashioned for her first Season, which had only just begun when her father was killed. Though two years had passed and Lucy’s girlish figure had blossomed into that of a woman’s, the elegant dresses still fit. Well, mostly.

The moment she saw her reflection in this gown, with its high cinched waistline and deeply cut square neckline, she knew it was exactly the thing to attract a rake. The shimmering pink set off her dark hair and pale complexion, but it wasn’t the color that would garner attention. It was the wide-ribboned waist and the underlying stays that forced her breasts upward until they threatened to escape the fabric altogether. She did worry she might get more than she bargained for—she’d not be able to take a deep breath the entire evening—and she wondered how she’d manage to dance without breathing. But she would make do. She must.

Her heart pounded as their turn came and footmen escorted them up the lantern-lit walkway. The thrill of attending the ball was quickly squelched when she recalled her purpose. She wasn’t searching for a handsome man to fall in love with and marry, as her father had so often teased her about during those happy months preceding her presentation. Indeed, if all went according to plan, no honorable man would ever look at her again.

For a few brief moments her heart ached as the anticipated consequences of her plan hit her anew, but she turned her mind from those thoughts. She’d made her decision; it was time to move forward. Now she must concentrate on finding her closest friend and conspirator, Sara Wharton.

She sneaked a peek at her aunt, then studied the crowd around them, relaxing with relief as she noticed several of the older gentlemen turning attentive gazes in their direction. Eleanor would be too busy warding off the advances of her own would-be suitors to pay attention to Lucy. Widowed almost two years, and with a trim figure, dark lustrous hair and violet-blue eyes, Eleanor was quite as beautiful as any young woman present, and the interest of the gentlemen was evident. Yes, Lucy thought, as a silver-haired gentleman with a determined glint in his eye made his way in their direction, her aunt would be quite busy indeed.

The instant they were through the receiving line, she searched among the hundreds of guests for Sara. A moment later she caught a glimpse of her in a gown of pale blue satin that complemented Sara’s slim figure and blond curls. Lucy smiled back gaily when her friend’s excited gaze fell on her.

As sweet and lively as she was pretty, Sara had been besieged by hopeful young men since her debut. She’d told Lucy she hadn’t accepted an offer because she was having so much fun, but Lucy knew Sara’s heart was set on Stephen Thurston, the Earl of Aster, who was expected to attend the ball. Sara’s note had been brief, but there was no mistaking the excitement with which she’d written, “He’s in Town! He’s coming to the Grantham ball and bringing an American privateer!”

Lucy’s scheme had blossomed at that moment, and thus began the flurry of notes between the two girls as Lucy shared her dilemma and secured Sara’s assistance. Sara, whose four gossiping brothers were also in town, assured Lucy she could quickly discover the latest
on dit
about the American.

As the dance ended, Lucy excused herself to her aunt and hurried in Sara’s direction.

“Well?” Lucy said the moment she reached Sara, whose porcelain skin was flushed a soft pink from dancing. “Have they arrived?”

Sara drew back in feigned shock, her eyes twinkling with good humor. “What? A rake of the first order arriving at a ball before midnight? It could not be!”

“He
is
a rake, then, and unmarried?” Lucy felt an almost dizzying wave of relief. A rake should be easy to entice, and an American would fit into her plan so much better than an Englishman would. An American would return to his own country. He wouldn’t be a constant in London society, his every appearance stirring up an old scandal again and again.

Sara smiled. “Utterly and completely. According to my brother Ethan, this privateer has plundered more ships, seduced more women, and amassed a greater fortune than any man alive, and James complained that he is handsome enough to make the ladies swoon!”

The sparkle in Sara’s eyes dimmed as she studied Lucy. “Are you certain you wish to go through with this? Your reputation, Lucy. Once it’s ruined, you shall never have that back. Your whole life, everything as you know it, shall be gone. Can you not simply refuse to do your uncle’s bidding?”

If only she could refuse as Sara suggested. If only life were that simple. Her dear friend was a sheltered young woman, as Lucy had been before her father’s death. If someone had told her two years ago that she would be forced to wed against her wishes, she would have thought him addled, but that was before she learned that some men would do anything for money. Her uncle had revealed his greed in countless ways already. Now that she’d fully considered his threat, she was certain that he and his foul friend Harlech had made an agreement to split her dowry. Why else would her uncle relinquish control of the estate?

“I cannot refuse,” she told Sara quietly. “I did not wish to say so in my note, but my uncle has threatened to ruin Stonecrest if I challenge him.”

“But how?” Sara’s brows drew together. “Stonecrest will belong to you in two years. What can he possibly do between now and then to ruin the estate?”

“We are barely hanging on. It wouldn’t take much.” Sara had no knowledge of running an estate; it was pointless to explain how Stonecrest tottered on the brink of ruin. Her uncle was spiteful enough to destroy the entire harvest and forfeit his cut rather than let the tenants sneak away with what little they did, and that meager harvest was vital to their families’ lives. If the tenants left, the fields and the small gardens would lay fallow. Her uncle might not even wait for the tenants to leave of their own accord. Perhaps he would drive them away by setting fire to a cottage or two. He would not have taken such care to whisper his threats to ensure the servants not overhear unless he meant to do harm. His gaze had held true malice. She no longer had disillusions about her uncle, if she ever had.

“He keeps more than half the manor’s quarterly allowance now and if he withholds more, I don’t know how we will purchase fuel for the tenants come winter. I fear I may be forced to pawn my mother’s necklace.” She touched her neck automatically before remembering that she’d removed the beloved keepsake for the ball. Being without its comfort for a single night was difficult. The thought of losing it forever was unfathomable.

“Oh, Lucy, no. You mustn’t give that up. Perhaps I can help in some way—borrow from my brothers or
something.”

Lucy stared unseeing at the dancers, registering nothing but a blur of movement and color through her tear-filled eyes. She could not accept Sara’s help, nor did she want to pawn the cherished necklace, but she might not have a choice. Even if her plan succeeded and she remained unwed until she was one and twenty, without an allowance from her uncle she would have no funds to live on. The necklace would bring in much more money than all the manor’s furnishings combined, and she had nothing else to pawn, except her remaining gowns. She knew how little those would bring; it would not be enough to tide them over for two years. She swallowed the lump of constricting sorrow before tears could begin to fall.

“Whatever else your uncle may threaten, he cannot force you to the church,” Sara insisted.

“Perhaps not
force,
” Lucy replied as her gaze scoured the perimeter of the dance floor, seeking a rakish stranger who surely would stand out from the English gentleman strutting about in their evening finery. “But I cannot be on guard my every waking—and sleeping—moment. Indeed, while staying at my uncle’s town house, I keep a chest against the door at night for fear I will awaken to find Lord Harlech in my bed! Such conniving is not beneath my uncle’s character.”

“Nor yours, evidently,” Sara replied with a wry smile.

A stab of conscience pricked Lucy, but she refused to let it linger. “I’m doing this for Stonecrest and at no harm to anyone. Surely this American privateer won’t care about his reputation. Lord Harlech, on the other hand, will be so shocked by the scandal that he’ll certainly beg off before our betrothal is announced. I’m quite certain no other respectable man will step up to take his place.”

Sara nodded. “From what I hear of Lord Harlech, his pride—or at least his Mama—won’t permit him to marry a lady used and cast aside publicly by another man, especially if it becomes known that you threw yourself at the man. Other gentlemen will feel the same, no doubt. This American must have had plenty of women throwing themselves at him, yet he’s escaped the parson’s net, or
noose
, as Ethan likes to call it. Therefore, we can assume he has no wish to give up his freedom, honor or not.”

Lucy chuckled but it caught in her throat.

“What if your uncle bids you to marry
him
—the American?” Sara asked.

“Marry an American?” Lucy scoffed. “My uncle would never force me to that. He cares as much about his rise in society as he does for money, and he can only rise higher if my marriage takes him there. I daresay a pirate in the family would ruin his reputation more than marriage to one would save mine.”

Sara laughed. “This captain is a
privateer.
Lord Aster would never associate with a pirate.”

“Pirate, privateer.” Lucy shrugged. “Whatever else he is, he’s an American rake who surely can’t be forced into marriage with an English girl. I can’t see a man such as your brothers describe being intimidated by the likes of Uncle Nathan with his perfect curls and lace-edged cravats.”

“But how shall you do it? What exactly is your plan?”

Lucy shivered, though the ballroom’s temperature seemed stifling. How would she accomplish it? She had no idea. She managed a weak smile. “I confess I haven’t worked everything out, but this American is the perfect pawn for my scheme, and the Bellingham country party offers the best opportunity to do the deed. You are certain they were invited?”

Sara nodded and linked her arm through Lucy’s. “Yes, and I am certain they’ve accepted. If you are set on this, I shall help. At the very least I should be able to garner an introduction to the American through Lord Aster. That will make conversation less awkward next week at the party.

“Oh, dear,” she added, nodding toward a fast-approaching woman whose face was hidden by a surfeit of drooping feathers. “Here comes Mama. Let’s guide her closer to the staircase where we’ll see our quarry the moment he arrives.”

A
s the girls moved away, a stylish woman stepped out from behind the nearest marble column. Isabelle, Lady Foxworth, hadn’t planned to eavesdrop, but once the conversation had begun, she could hardly have made her presence known. Besides, it had been a fascinating conversation, one she was pleased to have overheard.

“So Lady Louisa is plotting ruination,” she murmured. It came as no surprise that Chelton would try to marry off his niece to Lord Harlech; there was speculation that Chelton had pledged his niece’s dowry against his debts. Lord Harlech was a man of many unpalatable secrets, secrets Chelton had undoubtedly uncovered, since blackmail was his living. The young lady’s plan for the American privateer added a stimulating dimension to the entire affair.

Lady Foxworth smiled, anticipating the delights that the Bellingham party might hold in store. The situation would certainly bear watching.