The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Six

“Marrying my sister, and you thought nothing of telling me?” Rickard demanded, as he and Ian helped themselves from the punch bowl.

“Really, Rickard, what does it matter? She is happy, I am happy, and you should be happy,” Ian replied, dismissing his friend’s concerns with a casual wave of his hand.

“But I thought you… all those rules you spoke of, and the fact that you were hurt by Cassandra. You as much as admitted that you could never trust a woman again, not ever,” he said, and Ian smiled.

“Are you saying that your own sister is not trustworthy?” he asked, and Rickard scowled at him.

“I am not saying that, and you know it. But all that talk about rules and not falling in love. Surely, you are in love if you have asked my sister to marry you,” he said, and Ian shrugged.

“Listen to me, Rickard,” he said, not wanting to expose the truth of the false engagement to his friend. “Marrying your sister has certain… advantages for me. She is a charming, intelligent, and very pretty young lady, and there is no hardship in it for me, but also a convenience is gained, and an advantage in business,” he said.

“Yes, I can see that,” Rickard replied.

Ian was a man of business, as was Catherine’s father; he held considerable investments in the colonies, involved with the Duke of Sinclair, Nicholas’ father. Ian knew that after consideration, Catherine’s father would not be happy with his daughter marrying a business rival, the intrigues of financial matters enough to cause irreparable rifts amongst even the closest of families.

“If I marry your sister, then I gain certain advantages which may be beneficial to us all, for are you not to inherit your father’s assets on his death,” he said, and Rickard nodded.

“What you say is true, I just wish you had told me first,” Rickard replied, and Ian put his hand on his shoulder and smiled.

“Well, it is not a matter of concern, I assure you, you know now, and that is all that matters,” he said, just as Nicholas came over to congratulate him.

“I had not expected such a thing, I assure you. What splendid news. I am glad to see you settling down,” he said, taking Ian by the hand and shaking it vigorously.

“I do not think any of us had expected it,” Rickard said, rather pointedly.

“Well, the time was right for me. The past is forgotten, here is to the future,” Ian said, raising his glass in a toast.

He had not expected to depart the evening’s festivities with a betrothal in hand, but as he did so, he thought to himself that the matter had worked out rather well. Not only had he enjoyed a tantalizing liaison, but he had also gained an advantage in business, and surely his rules could accommodate further dalliance if it meant a benefit for him…

* * *

“The more I think about it, the more I find myself against it, Catherine. Why could you not simply do as you were told?” Catherine’s father demanded, as they rode home in the carriage that evening.

“Because I had no desire to marry the Earl of Westwood, father. I do not love him, I cannot love him, and I have no desire to try and love him. I have made my choice. Besides, why is Ian Bennet such an unsatisfactory choice? He is titled, he is wealthy, and he has a fine income,” she replied, folding her arms, and glaring at her father through the gloom of the carriage, which now pulled up outside the townhouse in Mayfair which had been her home since childhood.

But Catherine knew very well why Ian Bennet was out of favor with her father. It was all to do with money and the rivalries which existed between men of business who could amicably share a glass of punch one evening and proverbially slit one another’s throats through financial dealings the next. Ian Bennet and Catherine’s father were business rivals, and even a betrothal could not bring the guarantee of peace between them.

“He is of lower rank to begin with,” her father said, as a footman opened the carriage door for them.

“But of higher rank than you, father,” she pointed out, causing her father to harrumph.

“Perhaps so,” he retorted, and Catherine giggled. She enjoyed having her own way for once, and knowing that there was nothing which her father could do but accept the situation as it was. She was betrothed, and the betrothal had taken place on perfectly legitimate terms, albeit without her father’s permission to begin with.

But Catherine did not need permission to marry a man whose fortune outweighed that of her father and whose reputation, though a little risqué, was hardly the cause of scandal. Catherine knew that Ian Bennet enjoyed his dalliances with women, but so did her brother, who had stayed behind at the Somerset residence to drink with Ian and the other gentlemen, assuring her as she left that he was in full support of her decision to marry.

“Ian is an excellent choice,” he had assured her, and Catherine had smiled and thanked him.

Only Rebecca and Samantha knew the truth, and Catherine knew she could count on their utmost discretion. She was little concerned with the future, content instead to allow events to play themselves out as fate accorded them. That evening, she had left the townhouse in Mayfair with a heart filled with despair.

Now, she returned home hopeful and happy, and it was all thanks to Ian Bennet, the handsome gentlemen who had stolen a kiss from her and promised her his hand, albeit on a loan. She was looking forward to knowing him better, excited at the prospect of his helping her learn the art of seduction, an art she was convinced he would enjoy teaching her as much as she would enjoy learning…

* * *

The next morning, things had barely improved. In fact, they had gotten worse. When she came down to breakfast at around ten o’clock, Catherine found her father in a foul mood, which did not improve as the day went by. He had convinced himself that the match between Catherine and Ian was wrong and intended to do everything in his power to prevent it.

Catherine was not overly concerned, given that she had no thought of really marrying Ian, but she was forced to play along for the sake of the ruse, praying that the deception could last long enough so that the Earl of Westwood would find a new scent to follow, one that would soon agree to his desire for marriage, leaving Catherine a free woman.

“It is simply outrageous. And to think that he did not bother even to speak with me, to pay a call on me, and that you, Catherine, conspired against me. I was so taken aback last night that I could barely comprehend what had happened, but now that I see it in the clear light of day, I can only tell you I am utterly opposed to the notion of it,” he said, banging his fist down hard on the table and sending the crockery rattling.

“A fine thing to say, father, when you yourself consulted me not one bit as to a betrothal to the Earl of Westwood,” Catherine retorted, smiling at the maid, who was standing fearfully by the sideboard waiting to serve the breakfast.

“That is different. I am your father,” he replied, glancing angrily at the maid, who hurried to pour the tea.

“And you treat me in just the same manner as you treated my mother,” Catherine said, helping herself to a slice of toast, which she spread liberally with marmalade.

“Do not compare the matter. Your mother was quite happy,” he snarled, but Catherine laughed.

“You used her as a mere commodity. She came from a far wealthier family than your own, and you used that fact to make a rod for her back. I saw it all, father, and I will not be used by you for your own personal advancement. I have made my choice, and that is that,” she said, pushing aside her plate and rising to her feet.

She had heard quite enough from her father already that morning, and she was not about to be cowed by him for choosing something other than the destiny he had sought for her.

“It will not last, Catherine. The man is a devil when it comes to women. I have observed him before on many occasions. He will not be able to resist the allures of pretty women and then a scandal shall break out and that will be that,” he said, as Catherine fixed him with an angry stare.

“Do you mean to say that you will go out of your way to create a scandal?” she asked, and her father shrugged.

“What I am saying is that I shall do my utmost best to discover something on that rakish man that will ensure your engagement cannot go ahead,” he threatened, fixing her with a malevolent gaze.

“Why do you insist on taking away my happiness?” she demanded, but her father only waved his hand dismissively.

“Because, Catherine, I am your father, and I know what is best for you. The word is “infatuation,” that is what you are, infatuated, and the sooner you realize that, the better. Now, go and contemplate what I have said, and think again about this foolish engagement which will only lead to unhappiness,” he said, turning to glare at the maid, who hurried to the sideboard to bring his breakfast.

“Unhappiness for whom, father? You?” she demanded, and her father banged his fist on the table.

“He is only doing this to spite me. We are rivals in business, you know that well enough, and he is the sort of man who would do anything to gain the advantage,” he replied.

Catherine stormed out of the room. She was angry with her father for the cruelty of his words, but more so, she realized their implications for Ian. If he did have some scandal from his past, then her father was bound to discover it, and if that was the case, then their harmless ruse would soon become a tragic legacy.

She did not want to cause any difficulties for Ian, and was resolved to prevent such a thing at all costs. Now, she took up her shawl and bonnet, and hurried from the house, intending to pay a call on Ian and tell him everything which her father had said.

“I hope that Ian does gain the advantage,” she said to herself, as she tied the ribbon of her bonnet under her chin, “it would serve my father right.”

“And where do you think you are going, Catherine?” her father demanded, emerging from the dining room, and fixing her with an angry stare.

“Out, father,” she replied, and he shook his head.

“Not alone, and not without a chaperone,” he exclaimed, before returning to the dining room.

Catherine sighed and summoned one of the servants – her maid, Jenny – to accompany her.

“Tell no one where we are going,” she instructed her, as they left the house a few moments later, “this must be a secret.”