Page 19 of Their Brazen Countess
All the little things Jo had mentioned were suddenly adding up. The chores she had to do, her father’s unwillingness to hire staff, the housekeeper answering the door in lieu of a butler, his forcing Jo to marry against her will: the man really was new money, though Arthur would wager they were just on the cusp and living above their means.
It was sad that the man chose to put money and status above the welfare of his flesh and blood. How had Jo turned out so innocent and kind?
The man’s eyes dulled to a flat green shade that held no interest or care. “I’m afraid that one is spoken for. In fact, as a result of that, I am about to be on my way to London. The women already traveled ahead earlier this morning.”
Arthur glanced at the clock on the mantle, aghast. Earlier that morning! It was only half-past eight, a ridiculously early hour for calls but a monstrous time to make ladies travel. He must have pushed the women out the door at first light. No wonder that poor maid looked so harried. “Mr. Marshall, I’m an earl. I can give your daughter—no, both your daughters—access to my noble friends, and all that comes with it. I can even say I have a modest income that will allow me to support my future wife in comfort.”
“You’re too late. A deal’s a deal. She belongs to Whitestone now, or she will before the sun sets.” The man stacked a few papers on his desk, not even deigning to look up.
“But you must procure a license,” Arthur pressed, his chest tightening with panic.
“It was procured weeks ago. The wedding is today. Speaking of which, I need to leave.” The man stood, revealing his bulging middle and less than impressive height. “Unless you’d consider Rebecca? I’m yet to receive a satisfactory offer for that chit.”
“I told you, I’m only interested in Josephine,” Arthur growled at the repulsive man.
“Suit yourself. Since you two managed to show yourselves into my home, I assume you can show yourselves out as well?” He turned his back on them and gathered some documents from his credenza.
Furious, but with little recourse, Arthur and Linc strode from the room and the house. Outside, they mounted their horses and rode for Arthur’s home in silence. The only question was, how quickly could they pack and get back to London? How would they even find her? And could they do it all in time to stop a wedding?
It was midafternoon by the time they reached town. Before leaving they had sent a telegram to their friend, Stonemere, before they caught the train and by the time they’d arrived in London, he had a footman waiting to meet them at the station with the address they required.
Determined to save their Jo, Arthur and Linc rode straight to the crumbling townhouse that belonged to the Marquess of Whitestone. Tossing their reins to a groom who happened to be out front, they raced to the front door and knocked soundly until the portal opened.
A butler appeared in worn, but immaculate livery. The uniform was likely of the finest quality twenty years ago, not unlike the man wearing it. “Sirs, how may I help you?”
“We are looking for Mrs. Fulton, we were told she could be found here.” Arthur resisted the urge to plow through the flimsy obstruction of a butler and search the house from attic to cellar for their Jo.
“I’m afraid Lord and Lady Whitestone are not home. They’ve left on their honeymoon.” The devastating news was delivered in the blandest of tones.
Arthur reeled back. Only the steadying hand of Linc on his shoulder kept him upright.
“Do you wish to leave a calling card?”
Arthur felt his mouth open and close a few times, but no sound would come out.
Linc grabbed him by the shoulders. “No, thank you.”
They retrieved their horses and Arthur found himself heading somewhere. Where precisely, he did not know; Arthur merely followed Linc’s lead.
Gone. She was married off. Their Jo, the woman he loved. She now belonged to another man. There was an ache in his chest where his heart should be.
As they arrived at his townhouse in the city, Arthur looked over to see Linc was just as upset. “What do we do now?”
Chapter Nine
Lincwantedtolifthis head up and howl his anguish to the sky—or at least to Arthur’s roof. There was a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be. Certainly, it still beat. His blood pumped through his body. He breathed, but it all seemed rather overrated in his estimation, perhaps even unnecessary at the moment.
Jo was married.
“What do we do now?”
Arthur’s question still rang in his ears as Linc turned his attention to the devastated man.Bloody hell. There was no time to wallow in his own mire of self-pity. Arthur was in much more agony over this. The man had puffed himself up to marry the woman, only to be burst like an over-inflated balloon.
Letting out a sigh, Linc slapped his friend on the shoulder and nudged him down the corridor toward the man’s study. “We drink, Arthur. That is what we shall do now.”
Determined to numb the pain of loss, Linc splashed two healthy portions of whisky into the cut crystal tumblers that matched the decanter sitting on the sideboard. He handed one to Arthur and took one for himself. They each stood there a moment, awkwardly staring at each other, clearly at a loss for any kind of toast or, more aptly, any words of wisdom.
“Fuck it,” Linc murmured and then tossed back the contents of the glass.
