Improperly Wed (Aristocratic Grooms #3)(7)
Author: Anna DePalo

“Are you volunteering to be my publicist?” Belinda joked.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I issued a public statement or a press release for a bride,” Pia responded. “Media relations is part of the job for society wedding planners these days.”

Belinda sighed. “What could I say, besides confirming that I am in fact still married to Easterbridge?”

“I see your point,” Pia conceded, “and I don’t disagree. But I thought I’d give you the opportunity to respond to Mrs. Hollings if you want to.”

“No, thanks.”

The last thing Belinda wanted was for this scandal to play out in the media. After all, a public statement by her might just invite Easterbridge to issue his own clarifications.

She would try to deal with Colin privately and discreetly—even if she had to go beard the lion in his den. She wanted to avoid further scandal, if possible. She knew it was a slippery slope from retaining lawyers to sending threatening letters and ultimately going through an ugly and public divorce.

“What the devil has gotten into you, Belinda?” Uncle Hugh said, coming around his desk as Belinda stepped into the library of his town house in London’s Mayfair neighborhood.

The mark of disapproval was stamped all over her uncle’s face.

She was being called to account. She, Belinda Wentworth, had done what none of her ancestors had—betrayed her heritage by marrying a Granville.

Belinda knew when she’d gone to London on business that she’d be compelled to pay a visit at the Mayfair town house. She had been able to escape in-depth conversations—and explanations—with her relatives directly after the wedding by departing the church forthwith and having Pia run interference for her at the show-must-go-on reception afterward. Her family had also been preoccupied with trying to save face with the assembled guests—to the extent such a thing was possible.

She glanced above the mantel at the Gainsborough painting of Sir Jonas Wentworth. The poor man was probably turning in his grave.

The London house had been in the Wentworth clan for generations. Like many other highborn families, the Wentworths had fought tooth and nail to hang on to a fashionable Mayfair address that carried a certain cache, if no longer necessarily signifying generations of quality breeding due to the growing number of new money.

Though the Wentworths were not titled, they descended from a younger branch of the Dukes of Pelham and had intermarried with many other aristocratic families over the years—save, of course, for the despised Granvilles. Thus, they considered themselves as blue-blooded as anybody.

“This is quite a tangle that you’ve created,” her uncle went on as a servant rolled in a cart bearing the preparations for afternoon tea.

Belinda worried her bottom lip. “I know.”

“It must be resolved forthwith.”

“Of course.”

As the servant left the room, Uncle Hugh gestured for Belinda to sit down.

“Well, what are you going to do to fix this mess?” he asked as they both sat, she on the sofa and he in a nearby armchair.

By force of habit, Belinda leaned forward to fix tea. It gave her something to do—and the illusion of being in control while not meeting Uncle Hugh’s gaze.

“I intend to obtain an annulment or divorce, of course,” she said evenly.

Despite her self-assured attitude, there was nothing of course about it.

She surveyed the tea tray. A proper English tea was more than loose tea and hot water. There were the customary finger sandwiches, buttery biscuits and warm scones.

Really, she could drown herself in scones right now. Crumbly blueberry ones…rich raisin ones…decadent chocolate-chip ones—

No, not decadent. Definitely not decadent. It came too close to mimicking the behavior that had gotten her into her current fix with Colin.

She was decidedly not into decadent behavior, she told herself firmly.

Nevertheless, an image flashed into her mind of lounging on a king-size bed with Colin Granville, sharing champagne and strawberries high above the flashing lights of Las Vegas.

Her face heated.

“…a youthful indiscretion?”

She fumbled in the process of pouring hot water into a cup.

She jerked her head up. “What?”

Her uncle raised his eyebrows. “I was merely inquiring whether this unfortunate situation came about due to a youthful indiscretion?”

She knew she must look guilty. “Can I claim so even though I was thirty at the time?”

Uncle Hugh regarded her with a thoughtful but forbearing expression. “I’m not so old that I don’t remember how much partying and club-hopping can go on in one’s twenties or beyond.”

“Yes,” Belinda said, more than ready to accept the proffered excuse. “That must be it.”

Her uncle accepted a teacup and saucer from her.

“And, yet, I’m surprised at you, Belinda,” he went on as he took a sip of his tea. “You were never one for rebellion. You were sent to a proper boarding school and then to Oxford. No one expected this scenario.”

She should have guessed that she would not be let off the hook so easily.

Belinda stifled a grimace. Marlborough College’s most famous graduate these days was the former Kate Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, who would mostly likely be queen one day. She, by startling contrast, had failed miserably on the matrimonial front. She now had the wreckage of not one but two wedding ceremonies behind her.

She hated to disappoint Uncle Hugh. He had been a father figure to her since her own father’s death after a yearlong battle with cancer when she’d been thirteen. As her father’s older brother, and the head of the Wentworth family, her uncle had fallen naturally into the paternal role. A longtime widower, Uncle Hugh had been unable to have children with his wife and had remained single and childless since then.

On her part, Belinda had tried to be a good surrogate daughter. She’d grown up on Uncle Hugh’s estates—learning to swim and ride a bicycle during her summers there. She’d gotten good grades, she hadn’t acted out as a teenager and she’d kept her name out of the gossip columns—until now.

Uncle Hugh sighed and shook his grayed head. “Nearly three centuries of feuding and now this. Do you know your ancestor Emma was seduced by a Granville scoundrel? Fortunately, the family was able to hush up matters and arrange a respectable marriage for the poor girl to the younger son of a baronet.” His eyebrows knitted. “On the other hand, our nineteenth-century land dispute with the Granvilles dragged on for years. Fortunately, the courts were finally able to vindicate us on the matter of the proper property line between our estate and the Granvilles’.”