Almost a Countess by Jenna Jaxon
Chapter 27
“Absolutely out of the question.” Lord Downing was living up to his reputation as far as Finn could see. The little rotund man in the gray wig—a replica of the one Finn had worn when impersonating the viscount at Bromley—had grudgingly agreed to see Finn and his uncle. Now, having laid his suit before the blustery man, he could see why Dora had held out little hope he would agree to the marriage.
“My nephew is a most eligible parti, Lord Downing.” The man had tried Uncle Abernethy’s soul from the moment they arrived and were shown into a small, dim receiving room. “He is more than financially sound—I was his guardian and in charge o’ the purse strings from the time he inherited the title at age eight until he reached his majority four years ago. Despite his youth, Aberfoyle is as steady as they come, nae vices tae speak o’, and he has a genuine fondness for yer daughter. There is nae sound argument ye can give that he is no’ a perfectly acceptable suitor.”
“I will determine who is and who is not an acceptable candidate for my daughter’s hand, Abernethy.” Downing strode to the sideboard, poured a small amount into a glass, and drank it down. No invitation to join him was forthcoming. Inwardly, Finn ached for what Dora must have had to put up with for so many years. “After much deliberation, I have decided on a man of impeccable character, with strong ties to our family, who will take my willful daughter in hand and make certain she is cared for and protected from her own undisciplined actions.”
Scotland was beginning to look like their only option. They’d already been here an hour, and Downing wasn’t budging a bit.
“If ye mean Sir Harry Walters, my lord, I think ye may have been misinformed.” Uncle Abernethy sat, hands on his cane, impassive as stone.
“Why do you think I speak of Sir Harry?” Downing whirled around to face them.
“Let us say I take care tae put my ear tae the ground and listen tae what people say.” Uncle had a knack for gathering information, true. He’d been inquiring about Sir Harry from the moment they arrived in Town. “What I have learned does no’ agree with yer estimation o’ the man.”
“Do you malign Sir Harry’s reputation?” Downing puffed out his chest like a bantam rooster.
“I dinna dae that, my lord. However, on behalf o’ my nephew, I have looked intae Sir Harry’s bona fides and I must say he is no’ what he may seem.” Uncle looked down his nose at the viscount.
“What can you have heard? I only met Sir Harry when I was in London, just last month. Lord Swindon introduced us.”
“Swindon?” His uncle sniffed. “No’ ’tall surprised then. A more thoroughly despicable man I’ve ne’er met. Sir Harry’s no’ in that league, thank God, but still he’s got some shade in his past. Did ye ken he’s been widowed three times?”
That took Finn by surprise. His ears perked up. No one should have so many wives, save Henry the Eighth.
“Well, no.” Downing’s mouth twitched, and he glanced away. “I knew he was widowed, but I believed only the once.”
“Sadly, the first was killed by a runaway carriage. She and Sir Harry had only been married a year. He said he loved her and regretted they hadn’t had children, but he married within a month o’ the woman’s death.”
Terribly hasty to wed so soon after such a tragic death. Especially when there were no little ones to have to look out for.
“The second one died in childbirth, with her second child.”
“Well, there’s no fault to that, my lord.” Lord Downing came to sit across from Finn and his uncle.
“Likely no’. But it was her second child in eighteen months.”
“Egad.” Startled, the expression slipped out of Finn’s mouth. How unkind to his wife.
“Sir Harry apparently wishes for masses and masses o’ children. He came from a family o’ fourteen and believes it is his duty tae populate the world.”
Scowling, Downing sipped his drink. “I suppose the third wife died in childbed as well?”
“Nae, she apparently tripped going down a flight o’ stairs. Broke her neck.”
Wincing, Finn glanced from his uncle to Lord Downing’s shocked face. Sir Harry’s wives certainly had some of the worst luck imaginable. How could Downing countenance sending his daughter off to what would probably be a death sentence?
“Poor lady.” Uncle Abernethy shook his head. “They too had been married about a year. Also without being blessed with children.”
A sickening realization had Finn ready to leap up, grab Dora, and head for the Scottish border. He’d never allow her to marry this madman and end up constantly breeding or dead of a well-timed accident. “My lord,” Finn rose and stood before Dora’s father, “I have every intention o’ making yer daughter happy for the rest o’ her life, if ye will allow me t’ dae sae. Whatever ye require in the way o’ settlements, my uncle will see tae it.”
“I still do not believe Sir Harry—”
“What my nephew has neglected tae tell ye, my lord, likely from the embarrassment o’ the situation, is that he and yer daughter contracted a match some weeks ago.”
Covering his face with his hand, Finn turned away from Lord Downing. He’d hoped his uncle would not have to divulge his and Dora’s faux indiscretion, but if Downing was still dead set on Sir Harry even after that scathing indictment of the man he’d just heard, it was time for desperate measures.
“That’s no concern of mine, Lord Abernethy.” A sneer appeared on Downing’s face. “My daughter has not reached her majority and therefore cannot sanction her marriage to anyone.”
“Perhaps no’. However, both yer daughter and my nephew have confessed that on the strength o’ that contract, they anticipated the wedding night,” his uncle stared into Downing’s unhappy face, “several times in the ensuing weeks. We are awaiting news noo as tae whether or no’ Miss Harper is, in fact, increasing with a child that could be my nephew’s heir.”
The more his uncle talked, the narrower Lord Downing’s eyes became until they were mere slits spitting loathing at Finn. “Nevertheless, I have, in good faith, given my word to Sir Harry.”
Uncle Abernethy rose, tall and imposing. “I’m certain, should the word get out about the young couple’s scandalous liaison and Miss Harper’s ‘interesting condition,’ that Sir Harry will be verra forgiving o’ her, with her ruined reputation. And the child she would bear who would no’ be o’ his getting.”
Downing rose, his face florid to the point of apoplexy. “Fine, let the two marry. I’ll be certain to get my pound of flesh in the settlements.”
Letting out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours, Finn had to restrain himself from shouting to the rafters. A moment before, he’d all but lost hope, the man had seemed so determined to marry Dora to Sir Harry. Thank goodness and his uncle’s unblinking countenance, he and Dora could look forward to a wonderful life together.
“I’ll call around tomorrow about the settlements.” Uncle Abernethy bowed, a slight smile on his lips. “Meanwhile, Aberfoyle and I will apply at the Archbishop o’ Canterbury’s office tae acquire a special license. I believe the couple means tae marry as soon as possible.”
“That they will not.” Lord Downing looked up at his uncle, a fierceness in his stance.
“I beg yer pardon?” Finn would have thought the last thing Downing would have wanted was a protracted courtship.
“I said you will not marry in haste and have everyone know your shame. Those who marry by special licenses do so for this very reason in most cases. I will not have my daughter’s reputation sullied with a trumped-up wedding.” He swayed a little from foot to foot. “A proper wedding at St. George’s Hanover, that’s what she’ll have. With the banns read for three Sundays beforehand.” He wagged a finger at Finn. “Mark me, Aberfoyle, not one day before that final Sunday. If you want my permission, you will dance to my tune.”
On the verge of telling Downing something he’d rather not hear, Finn was surprised to find his shoulder clamped in a vise-grip as his uncle began to drag him from the room. “Verra well, Lord Downing. I will attend ye at, shall we say, ten o’clock tomorrow for the settlements? My nephew will then busy himself with acquiring a wedding suit that will dae yer daughter credit. Until then, good day, my lord.”
Before he knew it, Finn was whisked into this uncle’s carriage, and they were en route to the duchess’s townhouse in Mayfair. When they were announced by the duchess’s ancient butler, Finn wanted to hurry to Dora’s side, but his uncle kept him right by him, as he greeted the duchess.
“Good afternoon, Lord Abernethy. You and Lord Aberfoyle have just come from Lord Downing’s house, I take it.” The woman eyed them keenly. “And is everything settled to our satisfaction?”
“Indeed it is, Duchess.” Uncle Abernethy nodded.
“Please be seated, my lord. I want you to tell me everything but let me order tea first. Dora, call William.”
“Yes, Aunt Mimi. Good afternoon, Lord Abernethy.” Dora curtsied then sidled over to Finn. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
God, but the shape of her mouth as she said the word “lord” was an invitation to ravish it if ever he saw one. But one couldn’t very well start kissing a woman—even the woman one was going to marry—in a public room with others present. They needed to find a more private place. “Good afternoon, Miss Harper.” He peered over his shoulder at his uncle and the duchess, now deep in conversation. “We must talk in private.”
“I do not think Aunt Mimi will allow me to be alone with you. She spent the morning demanding I deport myself as befits my station, by which I’m sure she meant we cannot see one another or be more intimate until we are married. But my father has agreed that we can marry?”
“Yes, praise God. But it took us forever tae convince him.”
“Oh, Finn.” Dora flung herself into his arms. “That is wonderful. In two days, I will go from being almost a countess to Countess of Aberfoyle. Your wife, Finn, just think of it.” She snuggled against his chest, creating an agony in his breeches.
“Aye, my love, ye’ll be that for certain. In a little while.” He cringed as he spoke, but he had to tell her. “Yer father agreed tae the marriage but wants us tae be married at St. George’s in Hanover Square, after the banns are read.”
Slowly, Dora peeled herself off him, coming to stand in front of him, a deep scowl darkening her lovely face. “After the banns— But this is Monday. That means it will be three weeks before we can be married.”
“But we can marry, Dora. That is the main thing.” He must be as positive about the situation as he could be. He didn’t want to upset his bride-to-be, although that horse seemed to have left the barn. Tension thrummed through every part of her, her fingers clenched into fists as she stood before him.
“Finn. How can we be in one another’s company for three long weeks without a private touch or kiss?” She looked so woebegone he wanted to take her in his arms and make all her hurts go away.
“I dinna ken, love. But I dae ken it will be hard.” As he was right now. Just being in her presence made his flesh rigid. When he looked at her mouth—well, he likely shouldn’t do that too often until they were married. “Perhaps we can find a time and place we can meet, happen upon one another, as it were, and steal away for some little pleasure together. Three weeks isna an eternity.”
“It will feel like one, Finn.” Her bottom lip began to quiver. “I almost lost you a few days ago. I want to be with you forever. Beginning today.” She sniffed. “I don’t think I can wait.”
Biting back a groan, Finn managed not to embarrass himself, but Lord, he had to explain to Dora that men couldn’t always control themselves when they were in the presence of very desirable ladies, especially those they were taking as their wives. He’d wanted to wait until they were married, but he’d had no idea their nuptials would be put off so long. There was only so much restraint a man could take. “Who might be willing tae help us arrange a tryst?”
“Aunt Mimi told me my sister-in-law Judith is in town with her new husband and child. She always championed me when Simon was cruel. And she has no love for my father after he tried to take her child away.” Dora smiled at last. “I believe that, to thwart my father’s wishes alone, Judith would agree to help us.”
Finn glanced at his uncle and the duchess, still deep in conference. Good. He hoped they would continue their assignation for some time to come. He’d spotted a likely dark corner just down the corridor. If Dora could tiptoe away, perhaps they could enjoy a few stolen minutes together. If only he could be convincing.
He turned and bowed to the duchess. “If ye will excuse me, Duchess, I must repair tae the necessary.”
“Of course, Lord Aberfoyle. The footman outside can direct you.”
“I can show him, Aunt Mimi.” Dora came forward eagerly. Too eagerly, it seemed.
“You will do no such thing, Dora. Come, sit by me and when Lord Aberfoyle returns, we can begin to plan your wedding. Three weeks is scarcely enough time.” She raised an eyebrow. “When I begin to think about it, there is so much to plan and do, I believe we will need at the least six weeks to make it the wedding of the Little Season.”
Dora looked aghast. “But Aunt Mimi—”
“Or do you think we should take our time and make it eight weeks?” The duchess tapped her finger against her lips, as if thinking.
A look of horror in her eyes, Dora hastened to appease her aunt. “Oh, I am sure you and I can accomplish the perfect wedding in six weeks, Aunt Mimi.”
Inwardly, Finn groaned as Dora sat on the sofa beside her aunt, her face a study in misery. As he left the room, he vowed he and Dora would find a way to thwart those who would keep them apart until their wedding. To him that will, ways are not wanting. It was fast becoming his favorite proverb.