The Wrong Mr. Wright Page 2

  But George had wisely chosen to place himself beyond his brother’s reach. No doubt he hoped that in time Stephen would find it in his heart to forgive this sin as he had forgiven so many before. In time society, too, would forget the particulars, and should George return, he would have only added to his reputation as a rakehell.

  But Stephen would not forget. Would not forgive. One day George would return, and on that day he would get what he deserved.

  And there was a certain guilt in him as well. How much of the responsibility of this mess was his? Had Stephen’s past indulgences only encouraged George in his willful misconduct? Perhaps if he had been stricter with George when George first came to London. After that first scandal with the duke’s mistress, Stephen should have insisted that George make his apologies and accept banishment from London until the scandal had died down. But he had given in to Caroline’s tearful pleadings, allowing his stepmother to convince him that George was truly sorry and would mend his ways.

  Instead, his younger brother had careened from one scrape to another, and nothing Stephen said or did seemed to have the slightest influence. Indeed, his very disapproval seemed to only encourage his brother to even wilder acts.

  And now there was Miss Somerville to consider. Miss Somerville, who might even now be carrying his brother’s child. He would have to find some way to make amends to her and to her family for the harm his brother had wrought.

  In such a situation there was only one honorable course of action. Marriage would resolve everything, in the eyes of society. If George had the least shred of decency, he could be made to see his fault and to know that there was only one course of action. He would have to offer himself in marriage to pay for his transgressions.

  But he could not count on George to do the honorable thing. Even if his brother had not fled England, it was doubtful that Stephen would have been able to convince him to make an offer of marriage. Not when George’s actions so clearly indicated that he had no intention of taking responsibility for what he had done.

  So, it was up to Stephen to make amends. To offer himself in place of his brother. Even the mere news of their engagement would be enough to restore Miss Somerville’s reputation. And once married, she would have the protection of his name and rank.

  Not to mention a father for any baby that might come. Indeed, if they were married swiftly enough, there would be no one to question the baby’s paternity. Even Stephen, himself, would not know if he was raising a son or a nephew.

  It might not come to that, he consoled himself. The Somervilles might have already arranged a quiet match for their daughter, finding an amiable gentleman who was willing to accept a wife with a blemished reputation.

  Or they might be horrified by his proposal and refuse to have anything to do with the brother of the man who had ruined their daughter.

  Most likely, though, they would be grateful for his offer and hastily accept lest he change his mind.

  But in the end, what mattered was that he had to make the offer, to restore at least some portion of his family’s honor. Whether she chose to accept it or not was Miss Somerville’s decision, and he would agree to be bound by her wishes.

  Two

  Lord Endicott paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. The sitting room was the best the country inn had to offer, but it was not large and seemed to get smaller with every moment that ticked by.

  Six paces to the wall. Turn. Six paces back. Three more paces and he stopped, clasping his hands behind his back as he gazed at the burning coals. Would Mr. Somerville even respond to his message? Would he think it impertinent? Would it have been better to call upon him at his residence? He had thought that a meeting here, on neutral territory, was less likely to give offense. But now, as the moments passed, he realized that summoning Mr. Somerville to meet with him, when by rights it was he who should be calling upon the other, might be seen as arrogance.

  There was a double rap on the door, and then it swung open, revealing a middle-aged gentleman with a ruddy complexion, his black hair liberally streaked with white. Next to him was the innkeeper.

  “Here he is, Mr. Somerville, the gentleman that is expecting you,” the innkeeper said. “Shall I bring you gents summat to drink?”

  Mr. Somerville glanced at him. “The cider here is quite fine,” he said.

  “Cider it is, then,” Stephen replied.

  The innkeeper nodded and bustled off.

  Mr. Somerville had a kindly face, with laugh lines around the eyes and mouth. He looked like an altogether decent man. Now that he was face-to-face with the father of the woman his brother had so wronged, Stephen’s palms began to sweat, and he felt a queasiness in his stomach.

  “Mr. Somerville, I thank you for coming so swiftly,” Stephen said.

  “Lord Endicott, I do not believe we have met before,” Mr. Somerville observed.

  “No, we have not.”

  “Then, it is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Somerville said as he advanced across the room and offered his hand.

  The gesture surprised Stephen, but he hesitated only an instant before taking it and shaking his hand.

  “I assure you, the honor is mine,” Stephen said. He had not expected to be greeted so civilly. After a moment, he realized that Mr. Somerville was unaware of who he was. Or, more to the point, of who his brother was.

  “Do our families know one another?” Mr. Somerville asked.

  Stephen was saved from having to reply by the innkeeper, who bustled in carrying two pewter tankards of cider. As he left, Stephen closed the door firmly behind him.

  “Please have a seat,” he said. He waited until Mr. Somerville had sat down before taking his own seat.

  Mr. Somerville took a long draught of the cider, and Stephen sipped at his own for politeness sake before setting it aside.

  “Our families are acquainted, although under unfortunate circumstances,” Stephen said, by way of explanation. “This is why I wrote to ask for the courtesy of a private interview with you.”

  Mr. Somerville put his cider aside. “Why do I have the feeling that this is not a pleasant topic?”

  He could delay his errand no longer. “My given name is Stephen Frederick Wright, and I am Viscount of Endicott. My brother is George Wright.”

  He waited for the explosion of anger, but none came.

  “I do not recall a George Wright,” Mr. Somerville said.

  How could he not know the name of the man who had ruined his daughter? Had George sunk so low as to use a false name? Or maybe this was all some impossible mix-up. Could there be more than one Miss Somerville?

  “Your daughter is Diana Somerville, is she not? Who disappeared from Lady Payton’s ball under questionable circumstances?”

  Mr. Somerville placed the tankard down on the wooden table with a solid thud. “I fail to see what concern that is of yours, sir,” he said.

  So this was the right family. The father was angry, but he had not denied the events of that evening. It was time for some truths of his own.

  “Then, you must know that when she left the ball that night, it was with my half brother, George. George Wright.”

  Mr. Somerville gazed down at the floor for a moment. When he looked up, he appeared ten years older than he had just a moment ago. “Stubborn chit never told us his name. Did not explain anything really. Just said she was sorry for causing a fuss.”

  Sorry for causing a fuss. “Are you saying she went with him willingly?”

  If she had gone with him willingly, then that changed everything. If she bore at least some of the blame, then there was no need for Stephen to sacrifice his bachelor status.

  “Of course not,” Mr. Somerville barked. “Diana is a decent girl, properly raised. No, she said she was sorry she had trusted someone who was no gentleman. But she refused to tell me his name. Said she feared I might call him out or some such nonsense.”

  The brief hope that had flickered within him died. It was as he feared. George had,
indeed, ruined this girl, much as Mr. Fox had related.

  “I cannot tell you how sorry I am that this happened,” Stephen said.

  “And why isn’t your brother the one here, making a pretty speech and begging my forgiveness? As if I could forgive the man who ruined my daughter.”

  “George left England over a fortnight ago. Before I knew anything of what had happened,” Stephen said. But even if George had stayed, it was unlikely that Stephen would have been able to force him to do the right thing and to make his apologies.

  “And is he likely to return?”

  “To be blunt, I have no idea what my brother’s plans are,” Stephen said, letting the bitterness he felt color his voice.

  “So your brother’s the black sheep,” Mr. Somerville said. “Happens in most families, from time to time. You have come here and said your piece, and now it is done with.”

  Mr. Somerville drained his tankard and then stood up, preparing to leave.

  “That is not all,” Stephen said. “I came to ask your permission to speak with your daughter.”

  “Why? So you can make your apologies to her as well? I see no reason to disturb her with such. Your brother is the one at fault, not you. It was decent of you to come here, but there is really very little you can do.”

  Stephen knew he could accept Mr. Somerville’s dismissal and walk out of this room a free man. He could go back to London and resume his life, and the Somerville family would think none the less of him.

  But he would think less of himself. He still felt at least partially to blame for not having acted sooner to curb George’s wildness. And thus, the sense of honor that had driven him here insisted that he go forward with his original plan.

  “On the contrary, I think there is something I can do,” Stephen said. “With your permission, I would like to ask your daughter to marry me.”

  Mr. Somerville gaped at him openmouthed. “Diana? To marry you?” He sat down heavily and then reached across the table and pulled Stephen’s barely touched tankard to him, taking several deep gulps of the sweet cider. Then he took out his handkerchief and began to mop his brow.

  “You are generous, my lord, but that would never do. No, she would not stand for it,” Mr. Somerville declared, once he had regained his composure.

  “Why ever not?” Stephen asked. He felt positively insulted. Here he had come prepared to do the noble thing—to sacrifice himself—though many persons, his friend Tony Dunne included, would argue that such was far beyond what anyone else would expect him to do in the name of honor. Mr. Somerville should be expressing his heartfelt gratitude, not staring at him in disbelief.

  There was nothing wrong with him. He was a viscount of England, after all, a far better catch than his wastrel brother. His appearance was unremarkable, his fortune good, and his reputation unblemished. What possible objection could the young lady have to him?

  “Do you have any sisters?” Mr. Somerville asked, folding his handkerchief carefully and stuffing it back inside his breast pocket.

  “No. There is just my brother.” And even that was one sibling too many.

  “I have daughters,” Mr. Somerville said, leaning forward as if confiding a secret. “Seven of them. Plus my wife. A house of females it is, and I the lone rooster surrounded by cackling hens. Is it any wonder that I come to the Green Inn, from time to time, to drink Bob Jones’s cider in peace and quiet?”

  At some point the conversation had taken a turn for the bizarre, and Stephen was left to follow as best he could.

  “I suppose any man in your circumstances would feel the same,” Stephen said.

  Mr. Somerville nodded emphatically. “Precisely. Just think of it. Seven daughters, all of whom will have to be taken to London and launched upon society. And Diana, the eldest, is the worst of the lot. Setting a bad example for the others, with her stubbornness and her outlandish ideas. Not that I do not love her. I do, you know. But what is a man to do when his daughter declares that she has no intention of being married? Instead, she plans to explore the jungles of Africa or some such nonsense. I mean, what would you do?”

  “I have no idea, sir,” Stephen said. The jungles of Africa? The Diana Somerville her father described was very different than the woman of his imaginings. He had expected her to be like George’s other inamoratas, pretty, shallow, and more than a trifle vain. But it seemed that Miss Somerville was cut from a different cloth. An original, as it were. Imagine, a woman proposing to explore Africa. She was either very brave, very foolhardy, or quite likely both.

  “But you have no objection to my meeting with her to offer her marriage?” Stephen asked.

  “No, of course not. I will give you my blessings, and what is more, I will wish you the best of luck. Not that it will do you any good,” Mr. Somerville said. “Once Diana has made up her mind, a team of horses could not budge her from her course.”

  “We shall see,” Stephen said.

  He could be stubborn as well where matters of his honor were concerned. No matter what her father said, he found it unlikely that Miss Somerville would reject. Not, that was, until she was certain that there were no consequences from her encounter with George.

  He would meet with this Miss Somerville and hear from her own lips what she wished from him. And if Miss Somerville declined the honor of becoming Lady Endicott, then he would take his leave and count himself fortunate.

  Stephen arrived at the Somervilles’ residence at half past two. A footman showed him into a small study, where Mr. Somerville sat reading.

  “You are late,” Mr. Somerville said, closing his book and glancing up at the clock. “Thought you had changed your mind.”

  “No,” Stephen said, “though I apologize for the delay. It was unavoidable.”

  He knew he was late, but it was not his fault. Not really. If there were any fault, it lay with Josiah, who had been impossibly slow this day.

  After lunch, Stephen had donned formal attire, as befitted such a solemn occasion. A dark blue coat of superfine, pants of the same fabric, striped waistcoat, snowy white linen shirt, and black shoes polished to a mirror shine. Five cravats had been ruined in trying to achieve the perfect knot. But then, regarding his appearance in the mirror, he had decided that he looked too stiff. Too formal. It might appear as if he were trying to impress Miss Somerville with his elevated status.

  So he had changed, donning instead buckskin trousers, a bottle green jacket, and butter-soft riding boots. Ordinary attire, as if this were an ordinary social call. Three more cravats were ruined trying to create a more casual knot, until Josiah finally took pity on his master and tied it for him.

  Glancing at Mr. Somerville, who still wore the frock coat he had worn this morning, Stephen felt glad he had decided to appear in his less formal garb. It was a simple matter of courtesy, really, not wishing to outdo your host. It had nothing to do with his wanting to make a good impression on this Miss Somerville.

  “Shall I send for Diana?” Mr. Somerville asked.

  “If you would be so kind.”

  He waited, standing by one of the bookcases, idly perusing the titles as the footman was dispatched in search of Miss Somerville. He felt nervous as only a man can be when he realizes that the next few minutes might very well decide the rest of his life.

  “Papa, can this not wait? I was busy helping Emily with her paints.”

  A woman entered the room, and Stephen blinked in surprise. She was tall, slender, with dark black hair that was piled in a knot on her head, from which tendrils had escaped to curl down the sides of her face. There was a smudge on the end of her nose, and he fought the urge to wipe it away.

  “Papa?” she asked, her eyes darting in Stephen’s direction.

  Mr. Somerville rose to his feet. “Diana, this is Stephen Wright, the Viscount of Endicott. George Wright’s brother. Lord Endicott, this is my daughter Diana.”

  Miss Somerville drew herself up to her full height and looked him directly in the eye, a thing few women could achieve
. “I have nothing to say to this man. Nothing,” she repeated, dismissing him with a scornful glance. She spun on her heel and prepared to leave.

  “Diana!”

  At the sharp command her steps faltered, and slowly she turned around.

  “I have promised this gentleman he may have five minutes of your time,” her father said. “As this is still my house, and you are my daughter, you will grant him that courtesy. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly. Five minutes and no more,” she said, enunciating every word clearly. Her blue eyes shot daggers at Stephen.

  “I wish you luck,” Mr. Somerville said, clapping one hand on Stephen’s shoulder. Then he left, shutting the door behind them, and they were alone.

  Now that he was in her presence, Stephen did not know what to say. The carefully rehearsed speeches flew out of his head, leaving his mind a blank. Finally, realizing that she was waiting, he began to speak.

  “Miss Somerville, I came to apologize to you for the injury my brother has done to you.”

  “I wish to have nothing to do with you or, indeed, with any member of your family. You are not welcome here. If you wish to please me, you will leave. At once.”

  She was angry. That much he had expected. And with George far distant, Stephen was the only target for her wrath.

  “I came to make my apologies on behalf of my family. And to offer you a way out of this situation. A way to redeem your name and restore your reputation.” He took a deep breath and then said the words that were irrevocable. “Miss Somerville, I ask you to do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

  He held his breath, awaiting her answer.

  Miss Somerville blinked. She had uncommonly fine eyes, he noticed.

  “Mad. You are quite mad,” she said, with a decisive nod.

  It was the second time today that his suit had been dismissed as unworthy of even a moment’s consideration. His pride could not bear such an insult.

  “Mad? You are the one who is mad. Any other woman in your position would leap at the chance to reclaim her reputation. Not to mention the chance to become a viscountess. Not a bad bargain for a night’s work.”