Regency Marriages: A Compromised Lady / Lord Braybrook's Penniless Bride

David’s light knock on the door was answered by a loud injunction to enter. She did so, reminding herself to keep her face blank, her eyes downcast.

A swift glance located Lord Aberfield seated before the fire, one foot heavily bandaged, resting on a footstool. Thea uttered a mental curse: gout. He’d be in a foul mood.

David escorted her over to a chair. He smiled at her and cast a warning sort of glance at their father.

‘Good afternoon, sir.’

Aberfield shot a glare at David. ‘Took your damn time, didn’t you?’

David looked amused. ‘Next time I’ll arrange winged horses, sir.’

Aberfield scowled and turned his gaze to Thea. ‘Sit down. Hurry up. I’ve not got all day to waste on this. As for you, sirrah—’ he turned to his son ‘—you may wait outside to take her over to Almeria Arnsworth. You’ve no more to do here.’

‘I think not, sir,’ said David calmly. ‘I’ll stay.’ Grey eyes snapped fire.

‘The devil you will,’ said Aberfield. ‘You’ve interfered quite enough. Writing your lying letters.’

A satisfied look of understanding came into David’s face. ‘So that’s it. He did receive my letters before he died!’

‘Out.’ The softness of Aberfield’s voice did not disguise his fury.

‘Go to hell, sir.’

Thea blinked as she sat down. David’s tones were as polite as they had been when he bid their father good day, and she didn’t understand in the least what they were talking about. To whom had David written and what did it have to do with her coming to London?

Unable to quell his only son and heir’s outright defiance, Aberfield snapped his attention back to Thea. ‘Get that mealy mouthed look off your face,’ he shot at her. ‘You don’t fool me, girl. I know what you—’

‘Enough!’ said David sharply.

Aberfield’s eyes bulged, but he said only, ‘Suppose he’s told you already why I sent for you? Eh? Interfering cub!’

‘No,’ said Thea.

‘No?’ His colour rose. ‘If I say he’s an interfering—’

‘I’ve no idea why you sent for me,’ she interrupted him.

‘Don’t speak over me!’ he snarled. ‘Surrounded by worthless fools!’ He caught David’s eye and took a deep breath, evidently attempting to control himself. He continued in bitter tones, ‘Well, he’ll have told you that you are to go to Almeria Arnsworth for the Season?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, sir, but I don’t understand why.’

He snorted. ‘Aye. And well you might not! God knows what I did to be saddled with you!’ He caught David’s eye again and said, ‘Everything’s different now.’ He swept up a sheaf of papers from a wine table beside him and thrust them at her. ‘Read those—if you can! What a damned mess! Thought I’d made things plain to the fool; but a few fairy tales, spun by—’

‘I did what I thought right, sir,’ said David.

An extraordinary noise burst from Aberfield, but he controlled himself and said to Thea, ‘David must needs meddle, blast his eyes! I’ve no choice; but by God, if you’re to marry, you’ll marry as I say!’

Again she met David’s eyes. This time he shook his head, his expression faintly apologetic.

‘Read them, Thea,’ he said gently.

What had he done?

Leaning forward, Thea took the papers from her father, forcing her expression to utter stillness, her hands to steadiness, despite the shaking of her insides.

The first paper was straightforward enough—a letter from a firm of London solicitors, assuring Lord Aberfield of their humble duty and informing him that it was their sad task to apprise him of the death in Bombay, some months earlier, of his brother-in-law, Theodore James Kirkcudbright. Thea bit her lip. Uncle Theo had been her godfather. She had been his heiress. Once.

She continued reading. The lawyers drew Lord Aberfield’s attention to the enclosed copy of Mr Kirkcudbright’s Last Will and Testament, which they believed to be rather different from the previous one. There were also two letters from the late Mr Kirkcudbright: one to his esteemed brother-in-law, the fifth Viscount Aberfield, and one to his goddaughter, Dorothea Sophie Winslow, only daughter of the said Viscount Aberfield. They believed the letters would sufficiently explicate Mr Kirkcudbright’s intentions and remained his humble servants, et cetera, et cetera.

Puzzled, Thea turned to the letter addressed to herself. Her godfather had not written to her in several years … not since he had written to express his shame and disappointment in her.

My dear Dorothea,

I shall be dead and buried before you read this, and can only pray that your brother has not been misled by his Partiality into overstating your comparative Innocence in the Affair your father related to me several years ago. You will understand that in reinstating you in my Will I have placed the strictest controls upon your inheritance, so that you are not placed in the road of Temptation again. It is not my intention to reward any Transgression, but to show my Good Faith, and give you the opportunity to redress the situation by making a good marriage.

I remain your affectionate godfather and uncle,

Theodore Kirkcudbright

David had persuaded him to reinstate her.

Her stomach churning, she turned to the letter addressed to her father—then hesitated. ‘This one is addressed to you, sir—’

‘Read the lot!’ he said savagely. ‘Damn fool! I told him! Warned him what you were—and he does this!’

Sick and shaking, Thea looked at the letter to her father. And frowned. She was to have two hundred a year? From her twenty-fifth to thirtieth birthday, unless she married with her father’s approval in the meantime, after which she would have the rest of the income … that Mr Kirkcudbright understood from his nephew that not all the blame could attach to Thea … that Aberfield’s foolish attitude … She risked a glance at her father over the letter. No wonder he looked apoplectic.

Her world spun and reshaped itself. Two hundred a year—her twenty-fifth birthday was less than three months away … she would be free. Independent. What happened after her thirtieth birthday?

She turned to the will. Apart from various minor bequests, the major one was to herself. And after her thirtieth birthday she received the entire income from the bequest.

Dazed, she looked up and met her father’s bitter gaze.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘God, what a coil! I told him what had happened! And he does this! Now there’s no help for it—you’ll have to marry! Almeria Arnsworth will find you a husband.’

‘Only if that’s what Thea wants,’ interrupted David.

Aberfield ignored that. ‘It shouldn’t be too hard with fifty thousand to sweeten the deal.’

Thea dropped the papers. ‘Fifty thousand?’

Lord Aberfield snorted. ‘That’s about the figure. In trust, of course. Thank God Theodore retained that much sense, despite David’s meddling. And believe me, I’ll see that you never get more than the two hundred a year if you don’t marry with my permission!’

Two hundred a year until her thirtieth birthday. Thea said nothing, retrieving the papers from the floor. It was wealth. An independence. And it would be hers in less than three months. All she had to do was to avoid her father’s matrimonial plans until then. An odd crunching noise distracted her. She looked up. Aberfield was grinding his teeth.

‘Don’t get any ideas about setting up your own establishment after your birthday,’ he warned her. ‘You’ll be married long before then. In fact,’ he said, ‘you’ll be married by the end of the Season!’ He looked triumphant. ‘Dunhaven—he’ll have you.’

‘What!’

This exploded from David. ‘Dunhaven? For God’s sake, sir! Are you insane?’

Aberfield banged the arm of his chair. ‘Who else would have her?’ He cast a contemptuous glance at his daughter. ‘No point being fussy at this stage. Thing is to get her married off.’

‘Thea,’ began David, ‘you don’t have to—’

She waved him to silence and lifted her chin a notch and considered Aberfield from an entirely new perspective—that of having a choice.

Playing for time, she said, ‘I assume, then, that Lord Dunhaven is now a widower?’

‘Just out of mourning,’ confirmed Aberfield. ‘And looking for a bride.’

Her mind worked furiously. Appearing to fall in with his plans would be far safer. Safer than outright defiance anyway. He had shown once before that there was little he would not do to force her compliance … If she allowed him to think that she would toe the line …

Calmly she rose to her feet. ‘I shall look forward to renewing my acquaintance with Lord Dunhaven then. I won’t keep you any longer, sir. I have no doubt that I shall be perfectly safe under Lady Arnsworth’s roof.’

David’s sharply indrawn breath told her that he had understood her meaning perfectly.

Aberfield’s face was mottled. ‘Just remember: this time, you’ll do as you’re bid. Don’t expect me to protect you if you play fast and loose with another suitor!’

Her temper slipped its leash very slightly. ‘Nothing, sir,’ she said, ‘could possibly lead me to expect anything of the sort.’

‘Miss Winslow and Mr Winslow, my lady,’ Myles announced. His eyes flickered briefly to Richard, with what Richard would have sworn was a look of amused sympathy.

So he’d been right. A trap. And Myles knew all about it. He wouldn’t have been surprised had the dainty gilt chair he sat in suddenly sprouted shackles as Almeria rose and swept forward to greet her visitors.

Richard rose automatically as Thea Winslow and her brother came forward. Then he blinked in frowning disbelief. Could this be Thea? Dressed all in grey, not a scrap of colour, not a frill nor flounce relieved the drab, functional appearance of her pelisse and bonnet. She looked more like a governess or companion than an heiress.

Almeria said, ‘Welcome, my dears.’ She took Thea by the hand and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. ‘Dear Dorothea, do come and sit down.’ She led her to a chair, still patting her hand affectionately. ‘I am sure you are exhausted after your journey. Shall I ring for some tea?’

Even her cheeks looked grey. A pang went through him. Did she still mourn Lallerton?

For an instant their eyes met, and shock hit him as her gaze blanked. She hadn’t recognised him.

But would he have recognised her? The soft tawny curls were doubtless still there, hidden beneath the bonnet and cap. And her eyes—perhaps it was the grey of her gown, but he remembered them as more blue than grey. He remembered her face as vivid, expressive—not this blank mask with shuttered eyes. And she was thinner than he remembered.

He could have passed her in the street, even spoken to her, and not realised who she was. Yet now that he looked closely, in some strange way he did recognise her—as one sees the likeness between a waxwork doll and a friend.

The ache inside deepened. Had grief done this to her?

Thea’s breath jerked in as she realised that Lady Arnsworth had a gentleman with her.

The gentleman had risen and regarded her with a friendly smile on his face. She lifted her chin a little. Surely he was familiar … tall, a spare frame, dark brown hair, his face lined a little … no, it couldn’t be—

‘I am sure you both remember my nephew, Mr Richard Blakehurst.’

It was. Richard Blakehurst. Lady Arnsworth’s nephew and other godchild. Richard with his broken leg. As a boy he’d spent months here at Arnsworth House recovering after a riding accident that left it doubtful if he would ever walk again without the aid of crutches.

David was the first to speak, his voice coldly biting. ‘Blakehurst. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

Richard’s eyes narrowed at this chilly acknowledgement. ‘A mutual feeling, Winslow. How do you do?’

Eyes glittering, David strode forward and took the proffered hand.

‘Servant, Blakehurst.’ His tone suggested anything but cordiality.

Thea felt her cheeks burn. For heaven’s sake! Surely David did not imagine that Richard could possibly have joined the ranks of fortune hunters? Or that he could pose the least danger to her?

Seemingly unconcerned, Richard turned to her.

Swallowing hard, she nodded. ‘I … yes. I remember Mr Blakehurst. You are well, sir?’

The dark brows shot up. His eyes. She had forgotten how expressive they were. And she did not remember him as being quite so tall. Or the planes of his face to be so … so hard.

He inclined his head. ‘Very well, I thank you, Miss Winslow. Delighted to meet you again.’

Panic flooded her as he came towards her, hand outstretched. He was going to take her hand. He would touch her. And she had stripped off her gloves in the hall …

Richard. This is Richard … you knew him as a boy … She forced herself to stillness. But Richard Blakehurst was no longer a boy. Tall, broad-shouldered—despite the remaining halt in his stride, Richard was a man …

Deliberately she lifted her chin. She knew Richard; he had been her friend—it wouldn’t be too bad … Braced to withstand her usual panic, she held out her hand. A gentle vice gripped it. Her breath jerked in and caught as tingling warmth laced every nerve.

Their eyes met, his suddenly intent, even startled. She was wildly conscious of the strength of his long fingers. They tightened very slightly, as though staking a claim, and an instant later released her.

The sudden silence seemed to hum with awareness as she struggled to understand what had happened.

Lady Arnsworth bustled up. ‘Do sit down, dear Dorothea,’ she said. ‘How nice that Richard was here to meet you. It must be several years since you met.’

‘Eight, or … or thereabouts,’ Thea temporised, as she sat down. He had attended her come-out ball. Eight years ago, though his touch hadn’t seared her.

‘Of course,’ said Lady Arnsworth. She turned to her nephew. ‘Although I dare say, Richard, that you see Mr Winslow from time to time?’

‘Not often of late years,’ said Richard, resuming his seat.

Thea tried to listen, nodding occasionally, as Lady Arnsworth outlined all her plans for the Season, which were comprehensive to say the least.

Richard must be … two and thirty now, surely. He was about eight years older than she. He couldn’t really be any taller than she remembered. It just seemed that way for some reason. She flickered sideways glances at him, trying to understand what it was about him that was so different to her.

Lady Arnsworth continued to expound her campaign. Almack’s, of course. There could be not the least trouble in the world gaining vouchers …

Perhaps it was just that he was broader. Yes. That was it. He was a long way removed from the rather slight young man she remembered. She wondered if he still enjoyed chess … He had been a formidable opponent and she did not doubt that he was even more formidable now. Something about the calm self-contained gaze told her that. Still waters …

Only none of that explained why her whole body had seemed to shimmer and leap to life when he took her hand …

Lady Arnsworth preened a little as she listed the invitations they were likely to receive. Once people knew that dear Dorothea was at Arnsworth House, there would be invitations aplenty. And Lord Dunhaven had already left his card.

An odd choking noise came from Richard, and, glancing at him, Thea had the distinct impression that something had struck a jarring note with Mr Richard Blakehurst. His jaw bore a startling resemblance to solid stone.

A glance at David revealed his jaw in much the same condition, which was no surprise at all after what he had said about Lord Dunhaven as they crossed the Square.

Lady Arnsworth sailed on, listing all the more influential hostesses who would be aux anges to receive the Honourable Miss Winslow.

The Honourable, wealthy Miss Winslow. Lady Arnsworth didn’t bother to spell that out.

Mr Blakehurst’s fathomless gaze met hers over the rim of his glass. Thea forced herself not to look away, to keep her own expression blank … Richard had … had grown up. That was all. It had been surprise, nothing more. Nothing deeper.

Lady Arnsworth finished, ‘I don’t doubt we will be invited everywhere. Everyone will wish to make Dorothea’s acquaintance, you may be sure.’

‘Oh, without a doubt,’ said Mr Blakehurst. ‘How could it possibly be otherwise?’

Thea’s gaze narrowed at the faintly ironic tone, as a spurt of annoyance flared, swiftly suppressed. Control. She could not afford to betray anything.

Lady Arnsworth shot Richard a quelling glare and turned back to Thea.

‘Now, my dear,’ she said, ‘should you like to go up to your bedchamber and rest? Dinner will not be for some time, but perhaps some tea on a tray?’

Another strangled noise came from Richard, but, ignoring this, Lady Arnsworth smiled graciously at David. ‘And I am sure, Mr Winslow, that you will wish to inform Lord Aberfield that Dorothea is safely with me. My nephew will see you out. I shall bid you farewell now.’

Chapter Two

There was something distinctly strained about Richard’s voice as he assured Lady Arnsworth that he would not be in the least put out, but Thea had no time to ponder on it as she bid David farewell, and Lady Arnsworth led her from the room.

All along the upper hallway, Lady Arnsworth waxed lyrical about the joys of London. Especially for ‘ … a young lady as well-dowered as you, dear Dorothea!’

Thea could not repress a chill, remembering how people clustered around heiresses. Gentlemen, smiling, pretending affection, while all the time … She pushed the thought away. She would manage perfectly well once she was accustomed.

Except—’I … ma’am, I would really rather not have dozens of suitors tripping over themselves. After all—’

After all, what? What can you possibly tell her that would convince her you don’t want a husband?

Lady Arnsworth opened the door to the bedchamber, an arrested expression on her face. ‘Dozens of suitors?’

It was as though the idea had never occurred to her.

Thea flushed. Was she that much of an antidote these days? ‘Well, fortune hunters,’ she said, following her godmother across the threshold.

A maidservant was already putting her belongings away.

‘Fortune hunters? Oh, dear me, no! There will be nothing like that.’

And the sun might rise in the west. ‘There won’t?’

‘Oh, no … now I am sure you will be perfectly comfortable in this chamber. And don’t worry about fortune hunters. You may trust me to see to that. Why, the very idea! The maid will have your things unpacked in no time,’ she said. ‘And if there is anything you require, of course you must tell me.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Thea politely. ‘Er, you seem very certain about the fortune hunters.’

‘Ah, the girl has finished.’ Lady Arnsworth flipped her hand at the maid. ‘That will be all.’

The maid dropped a curtsy and left. Lady Arnsworth turned back to Thea.

‘My dear, what a sensible girl you are!’ Her ladyship was all smiles as she took Thea’s hand. ‘While naturally your circumstances will attract a certain amount of attention, you may rest assured that as your sponsor and chaperon, I shall be most careful to ensure that only the most eligible suitors are brought to your notice. Two, perhaps three at the most should be quite sufficient.’

Thea blinked as Lady Arnsworth patted her hand and repressed a shiver at even that simple touch. Two or three? What would her ladyship think if she knew that Thea didn’t want any suitors?

She tried. ‘As to that, ma’am, I have no thought of marriage. I … I find the whole idea … that is—’ Her throat tightened.

Lady Arnsworth looked away and fiddled with her rings, turning them to better display the stones. ‘Ah, yes. Your father did mention that—

‘Of course, such things are not quite unknown.’ There was something very odd in her voice, not quite distaste … She met Thea’s puzzled gaze. ‘Generally one does not approve, but under the circumstances—and your fortune is considerable. I am sure you need not worry.’ She fussed with her cuffs, still avoiding Thea’s shocked gaze.

Thea said nothing to this, but gripped her underlip hard between her teeth.

‘Naturally your years of, er, mourning have given you ample time for reflection.’

‘They certainly have,’ said Thea, finding her voice.

Looking far more at ease, Lady Arnsworth said carefully, ‘Indeed your feelings are quite understandable. I found the marriage act most unpleasant myself. But it is our duty. And once you have done your duty and provided the heir—and a spare, of course—if you wish it, most gentlemen will respect a lady’s natural modesty and seek their pleasures elsewhere for the most part. Men, of course, are different. Very different. Now, I must change. I will be out this evening, but tomorrow we will have to do some shopping.’ She cast a pained glance at Thea’s travelling dress. ‘Yes. A new wardrobe is of the first importance! I venture to suggest that you will feel very different when properly gowned!’

And with that, Lady Arnsworth whisked herself out of the room.

Staring at the closed door, Thea faced the fact that her father had told Lady Arnsworth the truth. Or at least the truth as he saw it. And she had the oddest notion that it had not been the fifty thousand pounds that had tipped the balance for Almeria Arnsworth … although that would certainly be the case with most of society. She felt sick to her stomach, thinking of the next couple of months to be spent in the full glare of society and its crowding, jostling throng … all of whom would turn on her if they knew the truth … From nowhere panic ambushed her, sinking familiar claws deep. Her stomach clenched, warding off the striking terror. She forced her body to relax, her lungs to draw breath steadily, blanking her mind. And as suddenly it was gone, a chill warning, leaving her cold and shaking, but free and rational. Free to wonder if she had been completely insane to imagine that she could do this.

As the drawing room door clicked behind Almeria and her houseguest, Richard throttled the urge to swear resoundingly. He could only marvel at the neatness of the trap, as he sat down. A trap compounded of his own good manners. The same good manners that would keep him from strangling his godmother when she returned. Very well, he was fond of Almeria too, and she was family.

‘Quite a coincidence that you are here to greet my sister, Blakehurst,’ remarked David in biting accents.

Richard’s normally even temper flickered. ‘Just so,’ he said. ‘Do take a seat again, Winslow.’

Perhaps he would strangle Almeria. Affectionately, of course. If he lived long enough. Judging by Winslow’s narrowed gaze, there was every chance he might not.

‘You are staying in town?’ David asked, in deceptively casual tones. He remained standing.

Not deceived in the slightest, Richard said, ‘I am. Here, as a matter of fact.’

The silence that followed this admission seethed.

Richard sat back and waited. Winslow’s grey eyes resembled nothing more than twin blades.

‘How very … convenient.’

Richard’s temper did a great deal more than flicker. It smoked and curled at the edges. Winslow’s attitude reeked of protective elder brother, although why he would imagine that Thea required protection from himself was beyond Richard’s comprehension. And there was something else in Winslow’s level gaze: scorn.

‘Can I pour you a brandy?’ he offered politely, damping down his temper.

Winslow declined. ‘Thank you. No. I will take my leave of you.’

Richard smiled. ‘Then no doubt I shall see you again. You will be calling on Miss Winslow, I dare say.’

‘Most definitely,’ her brother replied in clipped tones. ‘If only to keep an eye on all the scaff and raff who cluster around heiresses.’