Page 115 of The Last Chance
Late December, 1831
Aaron married Joanna in St George’s, Hanover Square, not because marrying in a house of God was part of his penance. The King decreed that the Earl of Berridge must adhere to tradition and marry in the same church as his predecessors.
The King of Compromise was Aaron’s new moniker.
His Majesty was happy to overlook Ignatius Chance’s misdeeds but quickly reminded Aaron his great-great-grandfather had played a crucial role in brokering the Treaty of Utrecht. His great-grandfather was a patron of science, supporting Gray in his understanding of electrical conduction.
And so, Aaron James Lawrence Delmont-Chance, 9th Earl of Berridge was born, though men knew to address him as Chance when possible—etiquette be damned. Hearing the name Berridge still felt like a knife twisting in his gut, but Aaron was adept at making sacrifices for the greater good.
Hence he stood in the lavish drawing room at Studland Park, home of The Marquess of Rothley, who had kindly offered tohost a wedding banquet while Aaron had builders and architects redesigning his new Mayfair home.
“Do you make a habit of gaping at your wife?” Rothley said, in the smooth aristocratic voice women loved. “Did you hear what I said about Arthur Lovelace?”
No, Aaron was busy watching Joanna from across the room, mentally pinching himself because loving her felt like a dream.
Her pale blue gown accentuated the deep sapphire of her eyes, eyes full of mischief because she was on a matchmaking mission to find wives for her brother’s unmarried friends.
“I’m rarely shocked,” he said, dazzled by her smile. His gaze slid over her figure, though he suppressed a sensual hum. They had spent last night apart, every minute feeling like an eternity. “I expected to die a bachelor. When the power of true love grips you, it never lets go.”
“Love is like an entity unto its own,” Rothley said, his hand shaking slightly as he sipped his port. “Remind Joanna it will take more than an interest in medical procedures to convince Gentry to marry Miss Moorland.”
Aaron glanced at the mismatched pair. Miss Moorland hid behind her spectacles and her unflattering green dress. Gentry oozed confidence in his expensive tailoring. He was a man of the world. Miss Moorland was always lost in the pages of her book.
“I believe Joanna is helping Miss Moorland to mingle.” It wasn’t a lie. The lady lacked confidence in crowds. “And giving her a lecture on how to speak to men and not hide behind potted ferns.”
“Most men despise artifice,” Rothley said, shifting slightly so the footman could stoke the fire. “A woman is more attractive when she can be herself. Perhaps you should remind Joanna why you fell in love with her. I doubt it was because she excels at mingling at parties.”
Aaron recalled the first time he felt a pang in his chest, not his loins. Joanna was waiting in his study late at night, hergolden hair tied in a braid, the hem of her nightgown visible beneath her pelisse. She had come to report a crime, her intervention helping to save the life of Christian’s wife.
“Joanna shares my passion for justice,” he said, his heart thumping that bit harder. “She’s not afraid to voice her opinion. I’ve always admired that about her.” She possessed a strength of mind that belied her years.
“Yes, and her capacity to endure hardship sets her apart.” Rothley gave a wistful sigh that had nothing to do with Joanna. “If only all women had the same tenacity. Some run at the first sign of trouble.”
Aaron wondered if Rothley was speaking from his own experience of lost love and decided to test the waters. “The gossips say you’ve loved the same woman since you were nineteen.”
Rothley stiffened and muttered a curse. “The gossips say I killed my closest friend, that I keep a harem of women at Studland Park and have an opium addiction. None of which is true.”
Aaron didn’t challenge him and swiftly changed the subject. “What were you saying about Arthur Lovelace? I know you hired a former Bow Street Runner to find him.”
Rothley leaned a little closer. “Joanna doesn’t know, but I’ve been paying the fool’s debts for years. Arthur left London when I refused to settle his last lot of bills.” Rothley glanced at Joanna, whose smile lit up the room. “I offered to provide Joanna with an income, but she insisted on supporting herself.”
Aaron was grateful she’d had the sense to refuse. Rothley cared for Joanna like a sister, but thetonwould have marked her as his mistress.
“I wish I could say the wastrel is rotting in hell,” Aaron said with burning disdain. “But I put my brother-in-law Flynn on the case. He’s skilled at finding missing people.”
Rothley straightened. “Has he located the devil?”
“By all accounts, Arthur Lovelace boarded a ship belongingto the East India Company, heading for Calcutta.” The coward fled London, leaving his daughter to struggle alone. “He has a friend who negotiates with merchants abroad. The gentleman offered Arthur work in exchange for passage.”
Rothley snorted. “Good riddance. Does Joanna know?”
“Yes.”
With an indifferent shrug, she had seemed relieved.
“Introduce me to Flynn,” Rothley said, surveying the guests with interest. “A man of his talents will prove useful in the future.”
Rothley meant in his quest to find Joanna’s brother. Nothing would persuade him Justin was dead. It’s why he refused to attend the memorial service at St Michael’s or stand at the graveside when they laid the new headstone.
