The Unwilling Miss Watkin Page 14

  Lord Watkin raised a thin brow as if mildly intrigued. “And why would I refuse, Mr. Darby? Are you a fortune hunter?”

  Jareth laughed. “By no means. I hope soon to have an estate of my own in Somerset. You will have heard of my father and brother, the Earls of Wenworth?”

  “Of course. Those Darbys. Let me see. The oldest son died in Naples a few years ago. Your older brother Justinian is the current earl, I believe. The young major married some time ago. That would make you …”

  “The black sheep of the family,” Jareth supplied readily. “I have only recently returned from exile on the Continent. But I promise you I have put all that behind me. I can have my family vouch for me if you like. However, I feel it only fair to admit that I was the man who seduced Eloise in school.”

  There, he had said it. He waited for the explosion. The baron merely eyed him with a slight frown.

  “I am afraid, Mr. Darby,” he said, “that someone has played a joke on you. My daughter left school several years ago, and she was never troubled there. I am certain she would have told me if that were the case.”

  Jareth stared at him. “Eloise never mentioned the matter to you?”

  His frown deepened. “My daughter’s name is Eloise, that is true. But she never mentioned any difficulties with boys, and neither did her headmistress.”

  Jareth’s mind reeled. Eloise had claimed that only a few knew of their liaison, that the headmistress had prevented her from confessing, but he had assumed she’d eventually told her father. “Forgive me, Lord Watkin. I don’t know what to say. I can only encourage you to speak to your daughter about the matter. I know it has caused her some distress, and for that I am gravely sorry. For now, I can only repeat my request that you allow me to pursue her hand in marriage.”

  “You put me in a difficult position, Mr. Darby.” He tapped his chin with his finger. “You tell me you are a reformed scoundrel, yet you wish me to give you complete access to my greatest treasure, Eloise. Even if I believe you are a gentleman now, I cannot feel comfortable with your offer.”

  “I understand. You are within your right to refuse me. May I point out in my own defense that if I were still a scoundrel, I would have ensured beforehand that your daughter was in a position in which she could not refuse me.”

  His brow went higher. “And you think it noble you have not done so?”

  “No, not noble. Merely an indication that I now try to follow the proper way of doing things.”

  He pursed his lips. “If I were to agree, Mr. Darby, what do you think your chances are of gaining my daughter’s acceptance?”

  “In the short term, miserable,” Jareth admitted. “Some days she is unwilling to so much as see me. But I hope to prove to her that I am utterly devoted. I want to be the man to make her happy. If, however, I find I cannot be that man, I will step aside.”

  Lord Watkin regarded him. Jareth held his breath. Abruptly, Eloise’s father nodded. “Very well. You have my permission to pay your respects to my daughter. But I expect to be kept apprised of your progress.”

  Jareth breathed in relief. “Of course, my lord. Thank you. I will give you no cause to regret this decision.”

  “See that you do not. Now, I would be delighted to call Eloise for you, but I believe Bryerton told me she is out.”

  “I made certain she was away before calling on you,” Jareth confirmed. “I was uncertain of my reception and did not wish to trouble her. But you can be assured I shall return later, ring in hand, with your permission, of course.”

  “Granted. Good luck, Mr. Darby.”

  He grinned. “Thank you, my lord. I have a feeling I shall need it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eloise had barely returned from shopping that morning when Bryerton announced that her father wished to see her. She stiffened in the act of allowing the footman to remove her pelisse. “Did he say why, Bryerton?”

  The butler’s long nose was high. “I am certain I could not say, Miss Watkin.”

  She should have known better than to ask. She thought carefully how to phrase the next question as she puffed up the sleeves of her green-sprigged muslin gown where the pelisse had flattened the lace edgings. “Can you say whether Mr. Darby has been here this morning?” she tried.

  “He called on your father,” Bryerton answered. By the light in his grey eyes, she had the feeling he knew exactly how much that information meant to her.

  “And the nature of that conversation?” she asked carefully.

  “Is not something to which I was privy. If you would follow me?”

  Follow him and have him hear that Jareth had confessed all? She thought not. “No, thank you, Bryerton. I know the way to my father’s study.”

  Bryerton drew himself up and walked away without another word. No longer caring whether she insulted him, Eloise gathered up her full skirts and hurried down the corridor and up the stairs.

  At the door to her father’s study, she paused to smooth her curls back from her face. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and knew it wasn’t from climbing the stairs. What would she face inside that door if Jareth had explained their situation to her father? She should have been more forceful in her warning to him last night. But the very fact that he truly did wish to marry her had stunned her.

  She wanted to be happy about that. Jareth Darby claimed to be in love, and in love with her. Why didn’t that delight her beyond words? Isn’t that what she’d hoped for years? If she were truly honest with herself, wasn’t that why she had derived those silly tests to begin with? She’d wanted him to have a change of heart, and miracle of miracles, that was exactly what had happened. But when it came down to asking her father for permission to offer, she had refused.

  It was ridiculous. A part of her was glad Jareth had seen through her posturing and come calling anyway. But the far larger part of her stood trembling outside the door of the study, regretting that he had put her in this position. Their past was over. Why should she have to face it again with her father?

  She almost turned to leave, then remembered that her father had asked for her. She had no choice but to walk through that door. Steeling herself, she hazarded a knock. At her father’s call to enter, she stepped boldly through the door on shaking limbs and shut the panel firmly behind her.

  “You asked for me, Father?” she asked, bracing herself against the door for strength.

  He smiled and indicated the chair before his desk. “Yes, my dear. Please sit down.”

  The air in the room was warm yet she felt chilled. She did not budge from the door. “Is something wrong?”

  “Now why would you think that? Do I only call for you when there is trouble?”

  “Well,” she admitted, shifting nervously, “the number of times you have called for more frivolous reasons is limited.”

  “Is that true?” He frowned thoughtfully. “How very remiss of me. I shall attempt to rectify that in the future. For now, please take a seat. I would like you to tell me how you know Jareth Darby.”

  She had moved toward the chair, but his last words caused her to sink onto the hardwood seat with a bump. “Jareth Darby?” she managed. “Why would you ask after him?”

  “He was here this morning to see me. He wished my permission to offer for you.”

  Her heart could not help but leap at the confirmation. “And did you grant it?”

  “Reluctantly. The fellow is charming enough, I suppose. However, his confession that he had seduced you while you were still in school was a bit daunting.”

  Eloise gripped the arms of the chair, knowing her face must be ashen. This was so much worse than she thought. She could see her father’s brows drawing into a deeper frown. “Father, I …” She swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Is it true, then?”

  Lie! her brain shouted. Tell him a story, lead him away from the truth. He could never understand the choices you made. He will despise you if he knows. The fears crowded around her until h
er shoulders slumped under the weight.

  “Eloise?” Her father’s voice was gentle. “Will you answer me, please?”

  She met his gaze, no warmer now than the day her mother had died. What truly did she risk? She had lost his love long ago.

  “Yes, Father,” she said. “It is true.”

  “I see,” he replied with the same thoughtful tone. “And why did you not tell me sooner?”

  She sucked in a breath. “Miss Martingale forbid it. She thought I had led him on, you see. She thought I was trying to trap him into marriage.”

  He rose abruptly and went to look out the window, hands clasped behind his back. She could see his fingers curling in a pale sickle against the brown of his wool coat. “And what would you have told me if you could?” he asked the glass of the window.

  She hesitated. What good did it do to bring it all up now? In truth, she wanted only to forget the past. Yet something in his manner told her that he very much wanted to know. She swallowed the lump that persisted in her throat.

  “I would have told you that I was alone and frightened. That I was afraid you would despise me for what I’d done, just as Miss Martingale seemed to despise me. I would have begged you to understand that I was so in love I could have refused him nothing. That I believed my choice was right. Very likely I would have pleaded with you to find him and return him to me. I’m sure you would have been able to tell that at that moment I would have done anything to be loved.”

  Her father’s shoulders bowed as if she had somehow transferred her burden to him. Indeed, she marveled that she felt lighter. His voice was grave. “I seem to have failed you when you needed me most.”

  “No,” she replied, refusing to blame him. “You could not know. And later, I didn’t have the strength to tell you.”

  “I should have asked.” He turned to eye her, face set in deep lines. “I have felt for some time that there were things left unsaid between us. I thought perhaps it was your mother’s death, and I can no more talk of that now than when she died over ten years ago.”

  “I understand, Father,” she said, although in truth, she had never been able to understand why they had drifted apart.

  “Do you? Then I have done a far better job than I suspected of raising you.” He shook his head. “But I did not raise you, did I, Eloise? I left it entirely too much to the hands of others. Talented others for the most part, but others to be sure. What else have I missed in your life?”

  “Nothing of import,” she assured him. “You know about my troubles before Cleo befriended me last Season.”

  He nodded. “I remember Lord Hastings assuring me that the ton had begun to think you fast. Perhaps you were still looking for that love you were denied.”

  She shook her head, more to remove that vision of herself than to argue with him. “I have changed, Father. I am attempting to be a woman who can be respected. I have friends now and suitors who claim to care. I no longer need to chase after love.”

  She was shocked to see moisture pooling in his eyes. “You should never have had to chase it, Eloise. You should have grown up knowing you were loved. I have no one to blame if you did not but myself.”

  “Father,” she started, voice rough with the emotions she felt building.

  He held up a hand. “Hear me out. I am not a demonstrative man, Eloise. Very likely I did not show you the attention you could have expected from your mother. But I love you, with all my heart. Nothing could ever change that. Please forgive me for making you doubt that.” He opened his arms.

  She stared at him, stunned, but there could be no mistaking his gesture. Rising, she met him halfway and fell into his arms. Her father held her so close she could feel the warmth of his wool coat against her cheek, see it darken from the tears that coursed down her cheeks. One hand patted her back awkwardly, and he murmured words of comfort as if she were a child again.

  And, just for a moment, she was a child again. A frightened, lonely child, abandoned by everyone who had claimed to love her. She sobbed against her father’s shoulder, crying out the pain of years of fear, regret, confusion, and longing. She cried for the child she had been and the woman she would have become but for Cleo’s friendship and her own determination. She cried for the woman she still might become if she could not find the courage to love again.

  And in that instant, she realized why that courage was so very hard to find. She had thought she had put her past behind her. She had thought she was focusing on becoming a woman of character. She had forgiven Cleo for the times her friend had doubted her. In her heart, she had already forgiven Jareth. This moment she released any hurt she had been harboring against her father. What she had never faced was the hurt she had caused herself.

  She had made her choice those years ago and worked her way through the consequences. But some part of her was angry, angry at Jareth, angry at Cleo, angry at her father, but most of all angry at herself. She should have been smarter, she should have seen more clearly what would happen if she indulged her passionate heart. She saw those arguments now for what they were: the pain of a lonely child. She was no longer that child. She was the woman of character she had dreamed of becoming. She surrendered the last of her pain and resolved to look only toward the future and what more she might become.

  She straightened out of her father’s arms. His cheeks were as damp as her own. She wiped at her face with her fingers. “Thank you, Father.”

  He smiled, laying a hand on her shoulder as if to prevent her from pulling any farther away. “Thank you, my dear. I shall endeavor to never again cause you to doubt my love.”

  She returned his smile and laid her own hand on his in a pledge. “And I hope I never give you cause to doubt mine.”

  “I am certain that will never happen,” he replied, releasing her at last. “And in that regard, would you like me to make Jareth Darby disappear?”

  “Have you a magic wand, Father?” she teased as she returned to the chair.

  “No, but a number of good friends and connections. Has he hurt you?”

  She paused. Feeling for the pain, she was surprised and pleased to find that it had disappeared. “Not recently,” she replied. “And I do believe he has changed.”

  Her father was watching her closely. “Then you would welcome this suit?”

  She smiled. “Yes. Though I wonder whether there might be too much between us. He is a rogue. Yet I think if I had not known him before I would still be charmed by him. He sees the ridiculous in every situation. He lives life on his own terms, but not in defiance, in supreme self confidence, shackled only by his own convictions, however skewed.”

  “And I believe some young ladies find him attractive.”

  “All ladies find him attractive,” she corrected him with a wry grin. “Young and old alike. Yet though you know you must be one of many, he has a way of making you feel as if you are the only one whose opinion he values.” She stopped herself. “Do you hear me, Father? Despite my best efforts to hold myself away from him, he has managed to gain a foothold on my heart.”

  Her father cocked his head, birdlike. “Does this disturb you?”

  “It should! Look at the wreck he made of my life the last time he chose to join it. And yet, if he asked me this moment to marry him, I would answer yes.”

  He nodded. “Mr. Darby is a fortunate man. I am glad he insisted I talk with you.”

  “Jareth insisted we talk?” She frowned. “Why?”

  “He seemed to feel you needed my support. He was obviously quite right. In that, we both owe him a debt of thanks.”

  “I suppose we do,” she marveled. Indeed, it was the most unselfish thing she had ever known Jareth to do.

  “You need not fear him, you know,” her father continued. “Surely you see that the situation is completely different this time. Then you were inexperienced, alone, and defenseless. Now you are a confident young woman, you have friends and family behind you, and you are quite able to defend yourself. Follow your heart, and you ha
ve nothing to fear.”

  His logic wrung a laugh from her. “But Father, my heart is exactly the problem!”

  He smiled at her. “Because it says Mr. Darby is to be trusted this time?”

  “Precisely!”

  “Why is that wrong?”

  So many reasons flooded her mind. He had betrayed her, he had dallied with other women, he had run away to the Continent, he sought her only for her forgiveness. But as she considered each, she realized they were all founded on the fears of the past, fears she no longer needed to heed. Since his return, Jareth had repeatedly proven himself a gentleman, someone worthy of her trust, someone worthy of her love. He had never attempted to harm her. He had consistently put her needs before his own—going through with her tests, breaking off kisses to suit her, even urging her father to help her.

  Yet she felt as if Jareth were hiding something from her. There was the way he had reacted when she suggested that money motivated him to seek her forgiveness, and the way he refused to meet her gaze when explaining why he had never returned for her. She could think of no good reason to explain those actions, but neither could she think of a nefarious one. Surely these feelings of hers were only more ghosts from the past. She should ignore them until she had reason to do otherwise.

  She leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek. “Thank you, Father. You are right, of course. There is nothing wrong with trusting Mr. Darby. If he decides to call and offer, I shall listen carefully and trust my heart to answer.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Eloise had just finished luncheon with her father when Bryerton announced that she had a visitor. Her father smiled at her, but she felt her heart leap into her throat. She rose from her seat as the butler continued.

  “Miss Sinclair is here, Miss Eloise.”

  She froze. “Miss Sinclair?”

  “Miss Portia Sinclair,” he intoned. “She is in the sitting room, alone.”