His Makeshift Wife

He slowly approached the bed, all at once seeming far taller and broader in his casual attire.

His face seemed different too—younger somehow, with several locks of waving brown hair tumbling over his forehead, and there was a definite intense, almost hungry look in those grey eyes that never for a second wavered from her direction.

‘Have you misplaced something, perhaps?’ she added, all at once feeling decidedly ill-at-ease when he seated himself, uninvited, on the edge of the bed, and placed one bronzed hand so close to her that his thumb rested against her thigh.

‘Only my bride,’ he returned silkily, sending her unease soaring in an instant.

Her response was to draw up her knees and tug the bedcovers up to her chin, clutching them frantically. ‘You—you f-forget yourself, sir!’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded little more than a choked whisper. ‘Or have you forgotten the bargain you made?’

‘I forget nothing. But for appearances’ sake I felt I must at least … er … pay you a visit,’ he responded, his voice growing more and more husky. ‘So whilst I’m here I might as well avail myself of the opportunity to discover if, perchance, you’ve changed your mind and desire to become a wife in … every sense?’

A love of history, coupled with little desire to return to clerical work after raising two sons, prompted ANNE ASHLEY to attempt writing romantic fiction. When not working on a new story she can more often than not be found—weather permitting!—pottering in her cottage garden. Other interests include reading, and a real passion for live theatre. She also very much enjoys relaxing on warm summer afternoons with her husband, watching the Somerset team playing cricket.

Previous novels by the same author:

A NOBLE MAN* LORD EXMOUTH’S INTENTIONS* THE RELUCTANT MARCHIONESS TAVERN WENCH BELOVED VIRAGO LORD HAWKRIDGE’S SECRET BETRAYED AND BETROTHED A LADY OF RARE QUALITY LADY GWENDOLEN INVESTIGATES THE TRANSFORMATION OF MISS ASHWORTH MISS IN A MAN’S WORLD THE VISCOUNT’S SCANDALOUS RETURN

*part of the Regency mini-series The Steepwood Scandal

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

His Makeshift Wife

Anne Ashley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

April 1813

Miss Briony Winters raised her eyes briefly to the leaden sky. It had been a fitting day for the funeral, grey and sombre, matching her mood exactly, she decided, turning away from the window in order to bid a final farewell to the last of the mourners.

‘Thank you for coming, Dr Mansfield. Although you’ve only quite recently come among us, you’ve already earned the respect of many in our community. You certainly made a favourable impression on my dear godmother when she required your services not so very long ago.’

Far from appearing gratified, the young practitioner gazed sombrely down at the slender hand he retained in his clasp. ‘It’s a great pity I was unable to diagnose Lady Ashworth’s condition at the time. She complained only of feeling unusually tired and betrayed no other symptoms of a weak heart.’

‘No one could possibly blame you, sir, least of all me,’ Briony assured him gently, while finally becoming conscious of the inordinate amount of time her hand had been resting in his comfortable, consoling clasp and withdrawing it at once. ‘My godmother was fortunate enough to enjoy shockingly good health throughout most of her life. No one suspected how ill she was. I don’t believe she even realised it herself. She merely thought she was overtired. She made numerous trips during the last twelve months of her life, visiting various friends and relations. She even went so far as to add considerable miles to her most recent journey by visiting London late last year and remaining for a week or two in the capital.’

Briony took a moment to regain command over her emotions. She had stoically maintained control throughout the ordeal of the funeral and had no intention of breaking down now, at least not while mourners remained in the house.

‘Besides which, I believe my godmother would have chosen to go that way,’ she added, determined to appear mistress of her emotions by discussing a topic that was still so very painful. ‘She had scant regard for those who continually cosset themselves, or take to their beds over the slightest ailment. A long drawn-out illness would have been the very last thing I would have wished upon her. All the same, the unexpectedness of Lady Ashworth’s passing is a little hard to come to terms with.’

‘And that is why you must not shut yourself away from the world for too long,’ the doctor cautioned, while at the same time casting an expert eye over much-admired features, which clearly betrayed those telltale signs of strain and grief. ‘I know you’ve many good friends hereabouts who would be only too willing to offer comfort and support. And I sincerely trust one day you will come to look upon my sister Florence and me in just such a light.’

The pretty young woman at his side readily concurred and went on to issue a verbal invitation to dine in the not-too-distant future. Unfortunately Briony couldn’t imagine she would ever attain much pleasure in socialising again, most especially as the wonderful person who had stood in place of a mother during the past dozen years would no longer be at her side. None the less, mindful of the social niceties which her beloved godmother had succeeded in drilling into her during their time together, she sounded sincere enough when she announced she would look forward to the evening.

The invitation to dine at the vicarage, which followed immediately afterwards, was no less graciously accepted. Even so, the instant the vicar and his good lady wife had accompanied the Mansfields from the room, Briony slumped down on one of the comfortable sofas, feeling all at once emotionally drained, yet attaining some comfort from the knowledge that she had behaved on what had been one of the most trying days of her entire life as her dear, late godmother would have wished.

Sighing, she rested her head against the comfort of the upholstery, wondering why, now that the last of the mourners had finally taken their leave and she could give way to emotion, the tears simply refused to come.

Maybe there were no more left to shed, she reflected. After all, hadn’t she cried bucketfuls since the morning her beloved benefactress had been discovered lifeless in her bed? Would she ever forget the moment when she had taken that cold hand in her own and had realised the heartrending truth? She had never forgotten the day a dozen years before when that self-same hand had grasped hers, warm and consoling, as she had watched her mother being placed in the ground. She would never have supposed it possible, then, that she would ever come to look upon another female in the light of a mother, but she had. Lady Ashworth had quickly won a young girl’s love and respect, and in so doing had succeeded in transforming a somewhat tomboyish rapscallion, too fond of climbing trees and getting into all sorts of mischief, into a young woman who would not seem out of place in the most elegant London salon.

No mean feat! Briony was silently obliged to acknowledge, a moment before her attention was claimed by the late Lady Ashworth’s cook-housekeeper, and almost lifelong companion, who had slipped silently into the room.

‘Seen the last of them to their carriages, Janet?’ A spontaneous smile clearly betrayed the fond regard in which she held the middle-aged servant. ‘What would I have done without you this day?’

The smile in response held no less warmth. ‘Oh, you’d have coped, miss. Hidden depths, that’s what you’ve got, Miss Briony. Mistress always said so. Said you’d always come through in times of trouble.’

‘And I sincerely hope she will be proved to be right.’ Experiencing anything but conviction over her hidden reserves of fortitude, Briony rose from the sofa and went across to the window once again. This time, as she stared out, it wasn’t the grey and overcast sky she saw, only the prospect of a somewhat gloomy future. The truth, however, had to be faced. Better to do so now, she told herself, than retain false hopes.

‘Of course, I shan’t know until I’ve had the meeting with Lady Ashworth’s man of business, but it’s almost certain I shan’t be able to continue living here. Apart from anything else, I simply couldn’t afford to do so.’

Turning away from the window, Briony considered the house she had called home for half her life. Although perhaps not a very large or particularly opulent dwelling for the widow of a wealthy baron, at least not by some standards, the building was well proportioned, boasting half-a-dozen roomy bedchambers and a very elegant west-facing main reception room. The drawing room was undoubtedly her favourite salon, she decided, glancing absently about her, possibly because she had spent so much time here in the company of her godmother.

‘Mistress wouldn’t have left you without the means to support yourself, miss, that I do know,’ Janet assured, after catching the wistful expression on the delicate face that was quite without flaw, except perhaps for a slightly over-generous mouth. ‘She came to love you, looked upon you as the daughter she’d never been blessed to have.’

‘That’s as may be, Janet. But she also looked upon that wretch Luke Kingsley as the son she’d never been blessed to have. And he is blood kin, let me remind you.’

Briony gave herself a mental shake in an attempt not to allow personal prejudice cloud her judgement, but she was only partially successful in her endeavours, as her next words proved.

‘You know better than anyone how she raised him from when he was little more than a babe in arms. Showered everything upon him. Even persuaded her brother to arrange a commission for him so that he might enter the army when he’d finished at Oxford. And how does he repay all those years of devotion …? He cannot even bestir himself to attend his aunt’s funeral!’

‘Well, I expect Master Luke had his reasons for not being here today,’ Janet countered, proving at a stroke that she held her late mistress’s favourite relative in somewhat higher regard. ‘Since he became his uncle’s heir, and left the army, he’s been kept busy, I expect. What with dancing attendance upon Lord Kingsley in Kent, and travelling so often to the capital, I don’t suppose he’s time for much else.’

‘Much else other than his string of light-skirts!’ Briony countered. ‘If the gossips are to be believed, the infamous Lady Tockington’s his latest strumpet. I wonder how long she will reign supreme? Not long if past conquests are anything to go by. He’s not what you’d call constant in his attentions, now is he? His list of entanglements is legend!’

‘Well, upon my word! What would the mistress say if she heard you talking like that?’

Briony couldn’t resist smiling at this pitiful attempt at a reprimand. ‘She’d try to appear affronted, much as you’re doing now. But she’d have made a somewhat more convincing show of doing so.’ All at once she was serious. ‘But even you must own to the fact that Godmama began to despair at some of the rumours circulating about her precious nephew.’

‘That’s as may be,’ the housekeeper conceded, ‘but that don’t alter the fact the mistress thought highly of Master Luke, no matter what the gossipmongers said about him. And mistress was a fine judge of character. After all, she knew you’d turn out well, right enough. So very proud of you she was, too.’

The sudden shadow of grief passing over Briony’s features was unmistakable and resulted in the housekeeper rushing across to her side to offer comfort, just as she had done time and again during the past ten days or so.

Slipping an arm around Briony’s slender shoulders, she held the younger woman close. ‘There, there, Miss Briony … chin up! The servants are all looking to you to see them right, remember? The Lord alone knows what will become of us all! As you say, Master Luke might well inherit the house. But who’s to say he wouldn’t sell it? When all’s said and done, he’s been content to remain most all year round in the capital since he left the army. And don’t forget he’s got his own fine place in Derbyshire. Mayhap he’s no taste for country life n’more.’

‘No, perhaps not,’ Briony agreed. ‘All the same, I’m sure he’d do everything within his power to ensure you, at least, could remain in the house. Even I recall how very fond of you he used to be.’

‘That’s as may be, miss,’ Janet responded, after releasing her hold to go about the room in order to plump up cushions. ‘But I shan’t stay here, not without you.

‘Now, miss, it’s not a ha’p’orth of good you trying to change my mind,’ she went on, when Briony was about to protest. ‘I decided what I was going to do the day we found the poor mistress cold in her bed. Lady Ashworth would have expected me to continue caring for you. I’m sure the mistress has left you something in her will. Just as I’m certain she wouldn’t have forgotten me. Said she’d look after me in my old age. And mistress always kept her word. I’m not saying it’ll be much, but enough, I shouldn’t wonder, for us to set up house together.’

All at once she appeared almost cheerful. ‘Why, we could go and live on the coast together and mayhap open a small boarding house for genteel ladies! Sea bathing has become quite popular in recent years, so I’m told.’

Briony smiled fondly. ‘It would seem you have our futures all mapped out for us. And who knows, opening a genteel little boarding house might be just the thing for us! But until I’ve had that all-important interview with Mr Pettigrew, I’ll not know for sure just how we’re situated.’

Briony had duly received a letter from the notary to say that he would attend her at the house at her convenience. She had sent a reply directly back to suggest the meeting take place at his office, as it would enable her to carry out other errands in the local town.

As she stepped down from her late godmother’s somewhat antiquated carriage a few days later and entered the premises of the well-patronised haberdashery in the main street, she was very thankful she had made the effort to travel to the thriving little community. Apart from the servants, she had had no contact with anyone since the day of the funeral. Being a healthy young woman, she had always enjoyed outdoor pursuits, and was already heartily sick of her own company and of remaining within the confines of the garden back at the house.

‘Why, Miss Briony! What a pleasure it is to see you out and about again!’ the young proprietress proclaimed the instant Briony stepped inside the shop. Her smile of welcome faded almost at once as the sight of strict mourning attire recalled to mind recent sad events. ‘I was so sorry not to attend the funeral, but my assistant was taken poorly that day, miss, and I couldn’t find anyone else to mind the shop for me for an hour or so at such short notice. I can’t afford to close it and turn custom away. I need to work to pay back the loan. Lady Ashworth was real good to me, Miss Briony, setting me up in my own little business.’ All at once she appeared more troubled than sad. ‘I suppose I still keep paying Mr Pettigrew at the end of each quarter, as usual?’

Briony shrugged. ‘I assume so, Mary, though I suppose it will ultimately depend on the wishes of Lady Ashworth’s beneficiaries. Although,’ she added, noting that the troubled expression on the hard-working dressmaker’s face still remained, ‘I’m sure Lady Ashworth would have ensured that you can never be turned out of these premises whilst you continue to repay the rent and the loan.’

Clearly comforted by the assurance, Mary invited Briony to step into the back room where they could talk without being disturbed, leaving her young assistant to mind the shop.

‘You’re clearly very busy today, Mary, so I’ll come to the point of my visit,’ and so saying Briony placed a package down on the table. ‘Lady Ashworth purchased this length of material during her last visit to the capital. As you can see, it’s the finest silk, so I should prefer your skilful hands to make it up into an evening gown, rather than my own. I know my own limitations!’

‘Oh, it’s beautiful, miss!’ Mary declared, after unwrapping the package and running expert fingers over the pearl-grey material. ‘And just the thing for when you’re in half-mourning!’

‘Yes, it will serve very well,’ Briony agreed, a moment before she caught sight of a bolt of dark-blue silk, of equally fine quality, appearing almost discarded on a chair in the corner of the room. ‘Oh, and that is quite eye-catching, too! Where on earth did you come by it? Such an unusual shade!’ she added, after going over to take a closer look.

‘Well, I … I … don’t—er—quite remember just where it came from.’

‘Oh, it’s beautiful!’ Briony enthused, having paid little heed to the vague response. ‘Yes, I rather fancy I shall be extravagant and have another gown made up in this colour. Heaven alone knows how many dresses I shall be able to afford in the future! But Lady Ashworth was always most generous with the allowance she made me. I have funds enough at present to afford two, so—’ She broke off as she noted at last the look of concern on the face of, perhaps, her godmother’s most successful protégée.

The daughter of hardworking but impoverished farm-labouring stock, Mary Norman had been little more than a child when both her parents had died. The young girl’s plight had soon come to the attention of Lady Ashworth, who had instantly taken both Mary and her young brother into the household. Mary had been placed under Janet’s care, while her brother Will had been set to work in the stables.

Not many weeks had passed before Lady Ashworth had first begun to appreciate Mary’s innate skill with a needle. She had then nurtured the gift, even going so far as to allow her protégée, young though she had been at the time, to make day dresses for her mistress to wear. When Briony had become a member of the household, and a governess had been engaged, Lady Ashworth had been generous enough to allow Mary to attend certain lessons. Consequently, not only had Mary acquired a well-rounded education, she had had the great good fortune, on attaining her majority, of being set up in business by her generous employer. Furthermore, she and Briony had been close friends for years, close enough for Briony to realise at once that all was not well with her childhood companion. Sensing that more than just the death of her beloved Lady Ashworth lay behind the sombre look, she asked outright what was wrong.

‘Why, nothing!’ The denial was not at all convincing, as Briony’s sceptical expression betrayed, and Mary released her breath in a sigh of resignation. ‘Well, it’s that material, you see. I had every intention of returning it. I don’t think it will sell very well.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Briony countered, still not wholly convinced she was being told the absolute truth. ‘And you’re never likely to find out if you keep it hidden, here, in your back room. Put it on show in the shop, for heaven’s sake!’ When no response was forthcoming, she added, ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else troubling you?’

Another sigh quickly followed. ‘It’s my brother Will,’ Mary at last revealed. ‘He’s gone and got himself in with … with some very bad company, that’s all I can say. Why he ever left Lady Ashworth and went to work for Lord Petersham I’ll never know!’

‘Of course you know why,’ Briony countered, unable to suppress a smile over her friend’s motherly attitude towards a brother who, although a year or so younger, was now inches taller, besides being as strong as an ox. ‘Lord Petersham offered him more money and a chance to better himself. It’s common knowledge the head groom at Petersham House is due for retirement within a few years. Will’s sure to be offered the position.’

‘Yes, if he can keep himself out of trouble in the meantime.’

Briony sensed that there might be some justification for Mary’s concern and that she wasn’t simply behaving like an overly protective mother hen towards her younger sibling. Unfortunately, before she could even attempt to get to the truth of the matter, they were interrupted by the young shop assistant who informed Mary that a customer required to see her personally.

Briony rose at once to her feet. ‘I mustn’t keep you from your work any longer. Besides, I must be on my way too, Mary. I don’t want to keep Mr Pettigrew waiting,’ she announced, leading the way back into the shop. ‘I’ll remind him to get in touch with you just to put your mind at rest, although I expect he’s every intention of doing so. You know my measurements well enough by now to make a start on the dresses. So, I’ll call again in a week or two to see how they’re coming along. Perhaps if you’re not too busy we can talk together again then?’

Even though Mary said she would be delighted, Briony yet again wasn’t altogether convinced of the truthfulness of the response. Clearly Mary was desperately worried about her brother, but just why this should be was destined to remain a mystery, at least for the present.

Thrusting her friend’s concerns to the back of her mind, she set off once again down the thriving little market town’s main street and was soon entering the premises of Mr G. W. Pettigrew, Notary and Commissioner for Oaths. The neat little man of business rose from behind his huge desk the instant she was shown into his private office by a young clerk and requested her to be seated in his faultlessly correct and professional manner.

‘I was so sorry I was unable to speak to you after your godmother’s funeral, Miss Winters, but I’m afraid urgent and unavoidable business obliged me to leave earlier than I would have wished. Lady Ashworth and I had known each other a very long time; I believe she came to look upon me as a trusted friend.’

‘Indeed, she did, sir,’ Briony concurred, seating herself, while at the same time vaguely wondering why a second chair had been placed on her side of the desk. ‘I distinctly recall her mentioning once that it was none other than your good self who found the house she occupied for much of her adult life.’

He nodded. ‘When she became a widow, tragically so soon after her marriage to Lord Ashworth, the family homes, of course, went to Lord Ashworth’s younger brother and heir. Thankfully her late husband left her financially secure, but even so she was never frivolous with money. She could quite easily have afforded to reside all year round in a fashionable house in the capital had she wished to do so. She chose, instead, a charming house close to the Dorsetshire coast. I believe she was always contented at the Manor.’

‘Indeed she was, sir,’ Briony once again concurred, experiencing a pang of regret to think that she would no doubt quite soon be forced to leave the house where she, too, had been so very happy.

But there was little point in trying to pretend that she stood the remotest chance of remaining at the Manor. She was on the point of asking, without preamble, how she was placed financially, when the door behind her unexpectedly opened. Mr Pettigrew rose at once to his feet when a smooth and deeply attractive masculine voice announced, ‘I trust I have kept no one waiting,’ and, naturally curious, Briony slewed round to discover herself the recipient of a faintly ironic grey-eyed gaze.

‘Not at all, sir,’ Mr Pettigrew assured, gesturing to the vacant chair beside Briony’s as he did so. ‘Do make yourself comfortable, Mr Kingsley. You remember Miss Winters, I trust?’

By the new arrival’s wholly impassive countenance Briony wouldn’t have known for sure whether this was true or not. She certainly hadn’t recognised him, however, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to stop herself gaping in astonishment as her late godmother’s sole nephew strolled leisurely over to the desk, removing his stylish beaver hat as he did so to reveal a healthy crop of slightly waving brown hair.