Wickedly Ever After

  Athena grew livid. “What has this man been telling you?”

  Mason leaned over the desk. “He told me that your school has been instructing ladies on lovemaking. Is that true?”

  She glanced sidewise at the man in uniform. If her grandfather weren’t in the room, she’d run him through with his own sword. “It’s true.”

  Mason banged on the surface of the desk. “I couldn’t believe it of my own granddaughter. I thought you had a sound head on your shoulders. But now I see that you’ve been given far too much freedom. Are you aware that a journalist is going to investigate and expose the lewdness that’s been going on there? You’ve pitched this family headlong into a scandal. I’ll be very surprised if you can even still marry after this.” Mason fell into the chair, shielding his eyes with a wrinkled hand. “I’m at a loss. Captain Hawkesworth, I can’t apologize enough for my granddaughter’s actions. I hope she hasn’t completely corrupted your sister.”

  “Your sister?” she asked.

  He shifted his sword and sat down. “Justine Hawkesworth.”

  Illumination dawned on her. She remembered that Justine was the daughter of the Marquess of Warridge, who was now deceased. As she was one of two children, that made the man in front of her his successor.

  “Does the Duchess of Twillingham know what’s been going on at your school?” her grandfather demanded.

  Her mind reeled from all that they had spoken of and done with one another. “No, Grandfather. She doesn’t even know I started the school.”

  “Damnation!” shouted her grandfather. “Captain Hawkesworth, the fault of all this lies with me. At first I thought it wholesome—amusing even—that a former bordello would be turned into a schoolhouse for virgins. But now I see I was wrong. Clearly, that blasted Pleasure Emporium never truly ceased to exist. I just don’t understand it. Athena has always been a levelheaded and intellectual girl, not prone to lasciviousness. Now she’s done this foolish and detestable thing.”

  She stood before the two men like a miscreant child whose shameful actions were being discussed. She could no longer look at either of them. Her face fell to the floor.

  Captain Hawkesworth crossed his legs. “I didn’t want the scandal to befall your granddaughter or indeed any of the other students, some of whom are from noble families. I thought the best course of action to be to disband the school immediately, which might hinder any investigation by this unscrupulous journalist. He seems out for blood, and he will ruin anyone in his path. I therefore came to you, Lord Penhaligan, in the hope that you might use your influence over Athena to bring her and her students out of immediate danger.”

  “Of course, Captain. I’m in your debt. I’m very glad that someone is looking out for Athena’s welfare. I realize now I may have been too indulgent with her. When her parents were murdered . . . I was beside myself with grief. After their death, I found myself feeling obligated to give Athena whatever she asked—to compensate for the loss of her parents, I suppose. But I gave her too much freedom, too much independence. I shall have to consider very carefully what is to be done with Athena now.”

  Athena’s gaze was riveted to a spot on the carpet, which began to blur as tears filled her eyes.

  “What about marriage, sir? Has any thought been given to that?”

  Mason gave a hollow laugh. “No one will have her. She’s pretty enough, but too obstinate, too opinionated. I thought that book would have transformed her into a more tractable sort of girl. To think she was supposed to be modeling that behavior to her students! Clearly, she was teaching them to be more like her. I can’t apologize enough.”

  Tears fell from her eyes, and she did nothing to hide them.

  Her grandfather shook his head. “I can’t have her fend for herself. She’ll need to be betrothed at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Sir,” she heard Captain Hawkesworth begin slowly. “May I have Athena’s hand?”

  She blinked, birthing new rivulets of tears. Slowly, her gaze drifted upward to Marshall’s face. The earnestness in his eyes was evident.

  “I realize that it is customary for a gentleman to ask the guardian first, and as Athena’s future is being contemplated, I thought now would be the best time to present my intentions.”

  Mason drew back in disbelief. “Sir . . . you shock me.”

  “Is my suit unwelcome? I assure you I am able to provide for her.”

  “Not at all, sir. Not at all.” Mason smiled broadly and reached over the desk to shake Marshall’s hand. “You do us too much honor. But I had not expected that you knew Athena well enough to offer for her.”

  He glanced over at her. “We’ve had a few run-ins—that is, we’ve run into one another several times.”

  Her grandfather turned to her. “Well, Athena? What do you say to that?”

  She sniffed and wiped her face. “What do I say? Why, I’m speechless. I can’t seem to find the right words to express myself fully, and yet there is only one sentiment that comes to mind.”

  “And that is?” asked her grandfather.

  “Bollocks.”

  Mason sank into his chair. Marshall was not too surprised.

  “I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth. Grandfather, this man has been after my school. He knows what a lucrative enterprise it is and he wants it for himself. By fair means or foul, he intends to assume control over it. Even if it means he has to marry me to get it.”

  “That isn’t true,” Captain Hawkesworth said.

  “Isn’t it? Then why do you want to close it down?”

  “I’ve told you. A journalist wants to expose you.”

  “Ha! You’ll say anything to get me to shut it down. First that folderol about Countess Cavendish, and now some fiction about a newspaperman.”

  “Both those things are true.”

  “You’re just like all the rest. Traitorous to a man. Like a field of Scottish thistles . . . lovely to look at but covered in sharp prickles. I wish you and the devil together!”

  “That’s enough! Now sit down and listen.”

  Athena’s chin started to wobble, so she stopped ranting and sat down. She’d be damned if she was going to start bawling in front of these men. Anger was infinitely more dignified.

  “Sir,” began Captain Hawkesworth, “please allow me to speak with Athena alone. I believe I can make her understand the practical wisdom of accepting my offer of marriage.”

  “Practical wisdom?” she retorted sarcastically. “Please continue. Your profession of eternal love and devotion will surely overcome my tender heart.”

  Her grandfather shook his head. “Athena, marriage doesn’t work that way. It should, but it doesn’t. I know I filled your head with fairy tales and the romantic escapades of medieval knights and their ladies, but this is the nineteenth century.” He threw his arms open. “This is the real world. Men and women don’t marry for love, they marry out of duty. And the time has come for you to do yours.”

  “I won’t marry him,” she said, jerking her head toward the adjacent chair. “I’d rather marry Calvin.”

  “Calvin Bretherton may end up retracting his offer of marriage,” her grandfather said.

  “What?” A horrible sinking feeling went through her. In her stomach and in her heart. “That’s impossible.”

  “Bretherton came to see me last night in a state of distress. He told me that although he had renewed his proposal to you by letter, the only reason he had asked to marry you was that he had made certain assurances to the Duchess of Twillingham. But he confessed last night that he wanted to marry someone else, and he begged me to speak to the duchess on his behalf in order to acquit him of his offer of marriage on the grounds that you did not want him.”

  Athena wished the ground would swallow her up. It was bad enough that Calvin didn’t want her, but to have it admitted in front of Captain Hawkesworth was more than she could bear. And yet her options were perfectly clear. If she didn’t marry Marshall or Calvin, she’d remain a spins
ter. It was the best choice by far.

  “Then I shan’t marry anyone.”

  Her grandfather clasped his hands on the desk. “Athena, if you don’t want to marry Calvin, then please reconsider Captain Hawkesworth’s offer.”

  She turned to look at him. He was even more handsome in his uniform. But he had presented himself fictitiously, and she had no idea how much of what he told her was true and how much was a lie. She doubted she could ever trust him again. “I have considered it. My mind is made up. No.”

  Marshall turned to Mason. “I’m afraid I must insist upon my suit.”

  Mason’s grizzled eyebrows knitted together. “Captain?”

  “I claim Athena for my wife . . . on account that she is already mine.”

  Athena turned in Marshall’s direction, her reddened eyes wide with incredulity. She couldn’t believe what he was about to say.

  The wrinkles on her grandfather’s face deepened. “What calumny is this? Are you claiming she has already given herself to you?”

  “It wasn’t her fault, sir. I seduced her. But I never meant to dishonor her. I still don’t. It is one of the reasons I am offering for her now.”

  Mason leaned back in his chair, his face ashen. “Is this true, Athena?”

  Her heart turned to water. “It was a mistake.”

  Her grandfather covered his face with both withered hands.

  She felt so utterly despicable, so far removed from innocence. She looked guiltily at his hands, which she loved to watch as they turned the pages of the books of romance and heroism that he read to her after dinner each night. Now, those hands, spotted with age, kept his face from even looking at her.

  Finally, he stood. “Captain Hawkesworth, you have denigrated my family by your thoughtless actions. If I were a younger man, I would call you out, sir, the law be damned.”

  Marshall came to his feet. “Yes, sir. I apologize for the insult to you and to your granddaughter. I feel my guilt keenly, having left her wingless and wounded. I can only hope that you’ll accept my sincere apology by allowing me to do the honorable thing. I will give Athena my name, and pay the bride-price you name. And if you accept my gesture, you may rest in the knowledge that our marriage will keep Athena safe from criminal prosecution—should the events at Athena’s school come to light and an investigation ensue, no one can compel my testimony, as a husband cannot testify against his wife.”

  Disappointment marred Mason’s features. “Very well. Athena is yours.”

  “Grandfather!” she yelped.

  The old man turned his face to her, and he looked considerably older. “You chose him, Granddaughter, not I. When you took him to your bed, he became inextricably part of you, and you of him. Now you are damaged. If you’re upset, you have only yourself to blame. You let him rob you of the privilege to choose your husband.” With slow, weighted steps, Mason left the room.

  Athena left too, fleeing to her room as swiftly as her feet would carry her.

  NINETEEN

  Marshall raked his anxious fingers through his hair before knocking on the door. Despite Athena’s reluctance to marry him, there was an even bigger obstacle to their union—Aquilla Hawkesworth.

  His mother’s boudoir was one of the largest rooms in his home. At the far end of the room, a bronze bath was hidden behind a screen. Adjacent to the fireplace were two couches upholstered in a darker shade of pink than the floral wallpaper. Three long windows breathed light and warmth onto the comfortable furniture. Aquilla’s boudoir was her sanctuary, and she spent a great deal of time in it when there were no guests in the house.

  He found her writing at her desk underneath one of the windows.

  “Ah, Marshall. I’ve been giving some thought to the matter of Justine. Her birthday is approaching. I was thinking to hold a supper this Friday. We can invite Herbert Stanton, and perhaps get him round to our way of thinking.”

  Marshall perched himself on the arm of one of the couches. “Mother, I’d like to talk to you about another happy event in prospect.”

  “Oh?” she remarked absently, scribbling onto another sheet of paper. “What?”

  “My wedding.”

  The quill stilled, and she gasped. “Cordelia said yes?”

  Marshall shifted uneasily. “I didn’t ask her, Mother. I proposed marriage to Athena McAllister.”

  Aquilla paused. Marshall detested those frigid silences of hers, because it implied her intense displeasure. “The headmistress of Justine’s school?”

  “Yes.”

  “But she’s no one.”

  His jaw tensed. “She’s someone to me.”

  “I mean she’s no one of any real consequence.”

  “She’s the granddaughter of Mason Royce, the Baron Penhaligan.”

  His mother snorted delicately. “I don’t even know who that is.”

  “Well, that’s neither here nor there. The Baron Penhaligan is a noble man, in every sense of the word.”

  “Then why did his granddaughter go into business? Granted, Miss McAllister and her curriculum are sanctioned by Countess Cavendish, so naturally I sent Justine to be educated there. But just because there’s a title in her family somewhere doesn’t make her a marriageable prospect for you.”

  The entire sordid truth flashed in his head like cold water on sizzling oil. “Are you telling me that she’s good enough to teach your daughter but not good enough for me to marry?”

  “Of course. She’s little more than a glorified servant.”

  It was his mother’s disdain that he had to battle. “I urge you to reconsider your position. That ‘servant’ as you call her is going to be my wife.”

  “Don’t be absurd. She’s Scottish.”

  “Her father’s Scottish. But her mother’s English.”

  “Half a Scot is half too much. Besides, the whisper is that the Duchess of Twillingham only sponsored her as a favor to Miss McAllister’s grandfather. The whole family is absolutely impoverished. Is this who you’re thinking of marrying?”

  “Yes.”

  There it was, the mortal silence. His mother’s face was a mask of refined contempt. “Well, I’ll not have it.”

  “Mother—”

  “You expect me to tell everyone that the Warridge line will now be muddied by thin Scottish blood?”

  He bolted from his chair. “Dammit, Mother, why must you be so disparaging?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Marshall. Haven’t you had your fill of common girls on your travels?”

  He pulled out a fire iron from the tool rack along the hearth. “She’s not common, Mother. She’s Viscount McAllister’s daughter.”

  “A Scottish viscount. She may as well be common.”

  He grunted, stabbing at the shrinking fire.

  “Dearest Marshall, why don’t you marry Cordelia? She’s titled, wealthy . . . a union with her would go far for your descendants.”

  He stood, gripping the iron rod in both fists. “I won’t marry Cordelia. I want Athena.”

  “But why?”

  He could never make his mother understand. Since he had met Athena, he had learned something that changed his life. He had discovered that a hero isn’t just the man at the head of a ship with an upraised sword in one hand. A hero is also the man who is able to transform the heart of a woman. “Because she needs me. And because . . . I think I love her.”

  Aquilla stood and walked straight up to him, a thing most men would cower from doing. “You listen to me very carefully, Marshall. You have a duty to your family, both the one you have and the one you’ll sire. You don’t have the luxury of marrying out of love. None of us do. Marry Cordelia. She is your ideal match.”

  The cold poker heated instantly to the temperature of his skin. Anger burned within him, partly because she stood up to him, and partly because he knew she was right. But she was treating him just as he had treated Justine, dictating to him a spouse not of his choosing, and he was too honest not to recognize his own words to Justine coming from his mother�
��s mouth.

  Marshall looked down into Aquilla’s gaunt face, a shadow of the beauty from the painting in the hallway. Marrying her “ideal match” had made her leather-hearted, and brought decades of misery to all of their lives. He would not allow the same fate to befall himself.

  “Athena will be at your supper on Friday. Upon Sunday, the banns will be published.” He took a step toward the door, then turned around. “And don’t bother inviting Herbert Stanton. He’s not welcome in Justine’s life anymore.” Marshall tossed the poker onto the upholstered chair near the door before closing it behind him.

  Aquilla’s eyes remained fixed on the gray ash stain the poker left on her white-and-gold-upholstered chair.

  The fireplace was not the only thing that smoldered.

  TWENTY

  As the carriage rumbled toward Ashburnham Manor, Athena stared quietly out of the window.

  Hester cast her an anxious glance. Her friend had had three continuous episodes of bad luck. First, she lost her virginity to a man not her husband, inheriting the shame that such a thing entailed. Next, her beloved school was forced into hiatus, and her students sent home only midway through the term. Now she was headed toward a dinner—absent her grandfather—in honor of her betrothal to a man she wanted to hate. Her luck was bound to change soon, but Hester couldn’t make Athena accept it.

  “That emerald dress is very pretty, Athena. Did you order it especially for tonight?”

  No answer. Hester fidgeted, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the tense silence.

  “This is a lovely carriage that Captain Hawkesworth sent for us. Don’t you think so?”

  No answer. Having exhausted all of her small talk, Hester gave up trying. “Athena, do be sensible. It will do you no good to start your betrothal in a difficult frame of mind.”

  Athena turned to Hester. “I have no intention of being difficult. I intend to be positively impossible. If Captain Marshall Hawkesworth thinks he wants me for a wife, he’s in for a great surprise. Tonight, he’s going to get Athena McAllister. Every infuriating facet of her.”