Page 11 of Pride of Lyons

This marriage would not be as simple as he’d originally believed.

“You are likely correct in that, Miss Quinn. Will your family be scandalized by the news of our marriage?”

She shrugged but shook her head. “I’m not sure what they will think.” Her head came up, determination in every line of her. “But I will make them understand that your intentions are nothing but honorable, my lord.”

Her change in demeanor took Thomas aback. Here was the flicker of a woman of substance. “Will you tell me of your family?”

She nodded and seemed to relax a bit. “My father is Mr. Aeneas Quinn, vicar at the parish of Fletching in Lower Clapton for the past twenty-five years. My mother is Anne, formerly Miss Bagley of London. They met at a social gathering shortly after my father was ordained.”

Very respectable people, then. For Miss Quinn’s sake, he hoped they would be as accepting of the circumstances surrounding her marriage as she believed. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

She nodded. “Two sisters and a brother. My sister Thalia is two years younger than I am. And the twins, Althea and Hector, are now twelve.”

“You are fond of them, I believe.” Her tone when she spoke of them had held a special warmth.

“I am.” The smile that touched her face brought out a beauty in her he’d not seen before.

“If I may ask, then, Miss Quinn, what led you to leave them and take a position as a companion in Lord Danford’s house?” He’d wondered that from the beginning. Bracing for unpleasant news, he asked, “Are your families connected in some manner?”

“Oh, no, my lord.”

Thank God. That would have been disastrous news on both their parts.

“It began with Mrs. Tyne, the sister of one of my mother’s best friends, in London.” Miss Quinn’s mood lightened, seeming to have shaken off some of her fear and distrust. “Mrs. Tyne had been widowed and wished for a companion to help her in her grief and for propriety’s sake. When my mother heard of it, she asked if I’d be willing and, having nothing much to keep me busy at home, I was eager for the change.”

“But you left her?”

“No, she remarried after her mourning period was over.” Miss Quinn’s eyes had a fond gleam. “Not long after I returned home, Mrs. Tyne, then Lady Sackett, wrote to tell me that she’d recommended me as a companion to Mrs. Edwards, Lord Danford’s mother-in-law.” She stared at him, a rueful purse to her lips. “I’m certain she couldn’t have known about the earl when she made the recommendation.”

“Of course not.” Even Thomas had no idea about Danford’s rakish proclivities, and they’d belonged to the same club for years.

“And what of your family, my lord? What will they say about your sudden marriage?”

A good question. “I have only a sister and some distant cousins. Be assured my sister Joanna, Lady Rochdale, will welcome you with open arms. She’s been hinting for the past year that I should marry and set up my nursery. I daresay she will be delighted.”

An unexpected look of alarm flitted across Miss Quinn’s face. Thomas frowned. What had brought that on?

The door opened, and Geoffrey stepped in, followed by a footman carrying a tray with three glasses and a decanter filled with blood-red wine. “My pardon, Thomas, but it took an unconscionable time for the footman to procure the wine. Your carriage is even now at the front door, so,” he swept his hand toward the footman putting the tray on the sideboard, “we must toast your betrothal with haste. I persuaded this fellow to commandeer the best bottle in the cellar.”

As the footman bowed and left, Geoffrey poured the wine and handed the cut crystal glasses to Thomas and Miss Quinn. “To your health and happiness, Thomas,” he raised his glass, “and Miss Quinn.”

“To our health and happiness, my dear.” Thomas raised his glass and was encouraged when his bride-to-be did as well.

“To our health and happiness, my lord.”

Happiness, however, was not present in his betrothed’s face. Determination, trepidation, and perhaps a little fear lurked in her eyes. As they were virtual strangers that was only to be expected. He hoped he could allay those fears once they were married. After that, he hoped some form of happiness would follow. For both their sakes.

Chapter Six

As Lord Danford’s carriage turned the corner from Margaret Street onto Cavendish Square, the bright rays of the afternoon sun pierced its window, rousing Louis, the eighth Earl of Danford from his unconscious state and eliciting a loud groan from the earl. He rubbed his jaw, which hurt abominably, and struggled up from his ungraceful sprawl across the black leather bench seat. “Where the bloody hell am I?”

Squinting out the window, he peered at the scenery flying by and recognized it as the block on which his townhouse sat, thank Christ. His head was splitting where Braeton had planted him a facer. Lucky punch, that. He moved his jaw and winced. Damned interfering cur. Blearily, he gazed at the houses flashing by, vaguely aware that he was fast approaching his own residence. Good Lord, what was he to tell Caroline about Honoria’s absence?

Reaching up, he rapped on the trap. “Holwell! Go around the block once more.”

A mumbled “Yes, m’lord” filtered through the carriage’s roof, and Danford sat back, satisfied that he’d bought himself a little time before he had to go face his wife.

If his scheme had gone as he’d planned, this very moment he’d be luxuriating in bed with the beautiful Honoria and not, instead, attempting to concoct a tale to tell Lady Danford about why her mother’s companion wouldn’t be returning to the house. Damn Braeton.