Regency Marriages: A Compromised Lady / Lord Braybrook's Penniless Bride
- -
- 100%
- +
Thea arose early the following morning and dressed without summoning a maid—she could manage her short wraparound stays herself. Unsurprisingly when she went downstairs, she found the breakfast parlour empty. Having been out the previous evening, Lady Arnsworth would probably not arise until noon. Fully expecting to have to ring for tea and toast, she was startled to find a varied selection of food set out in chafing dishes on the sideboard, including, to her great surprise, sirloin.
Puzzled at this very masculine inclusion, Thea helped herself to toast, poached eggs and ham, and made a pot of tea from the urn steaming in the corner.
She enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, and afterwards sipped her tea with lingering enjoyment, wondering what she might do with her day. A day in which she might do precisely as she pleased.
Contemplating this rare treasure, Thea poured another cup of tea. She might take one of the maids and go for a walk. She could visit Hatchards. She might—
Stare at Mr Richard Blakehurst strolling into the breakfast parlour as though he owned it! At this hour! Swallowing her tea with difficulty, she realised that his limp was far less noticeable these days, more a slight halt in the stride than a limp. The harsh lines pain had etched in his face made him look rather forbidding.
Until he smiled his familiar crooked smile.
Which he was doing now, the corners of his eyes creasing in the way she remembered. His whole face lightened. She remembered that too, Richard smiling at her as he clumsily partnered her in a country dance. But he’d always been just Richard. An extra brother. Someone dependable. A dear friend. She didn’t remember that she had ever thought of him as attractive …
‘Good morning, Thea,’ he said pleasantly.
She found herself smiling back.
Attractive? Surely not.
Oh, yes, he was. Even more so as his smile deepened in response to her own.
‘Good morning,’ she returned, confused. ‘Er, Lady Arnsworth is not yet down, sir.’
His brows rose. ‘Just as well,’ he said, strolling to the sideboard. ‘Or you would have to revive me with burnt feathers.’
A giggle escaped her at the image, and with a perfectly straight face Richard added, ‘No proper lady leaves her bedchamber before noon, you know.’
Laughter bubbled up. ‘Are you implying, sir—?’
‘That proper ladies bore me,’ he said, grinning. ‘That’s better. You should laugh more often. And stop calling me sir, Thea. It makes my teeth ache. Now, what have we here?’ He lifted the lid of one of the chafing dishes.
She glared at him. ‘A trifle early for morning calls, is it not?’ she enquired. ‘Especially when your aunt is still abed.’ Better to ignore the implication that she didn’t laugh enough.
He looked around, with a sudden frown. ‘She didn’t tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’
The frown deepened. ‘This isn’t a morning call. I’m staying here too.’
‘What!’ Her teacup clattered into its saucer. ‘Why?’
‘Heiress hunting,’ he said blandly, carving some sirloin.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said icily.
‘Absolved,’ he said promptly. ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to be rude.’
Her mouth twitched. She had forgotten his ability to turn the tables so neatly in any verbal sparring.
He helped himself to mustard, sat down and smiled at her again. ‘Don’t blame me. Curse our mutual godmother.’ He took a mouthful.
‘But why are you staying here?’ she asked, refusing to return that annoyingly infectious smile. Smiles like that ought to be outlawed anyway!
He finished his mouthful and said, ‘Because I have business in London and Almeria invited me.’
‘Oh.’ His business was none of her concern. ‘Then—’
‘I am not pursuing you,’ he growled. ‘And so you may tell your fire-eating brother! You could have twice the fortune and I wouldn’t be interested in it! I have a little more pride than that!’
For a moment shocked silence hung between them.
Shame burnt her cheeks, and deep inside, coldness spread, leaching through her, a slow poison welling up. She fought it down, forcing herself to seem untouched, unmoved.
‘I suppose I must thank you for making your sentiments so plain,’ she said stiffly. It didn’t matter. It didn’t! After all, she didn’t want him, or any man, to pursue her. The chill spread further. How had he known? Lady Arnsworth?
Then—’Oh, damn!’ said Richard. ‘I mean, I beg your pardon, Thea. That was not at all how I meant to put it. What I meant is that I am not on the catch for an heiress. Any heiress. Unfortunately for us, Almeria has other ideas.’
Thea took a shaky breath. She had thought—for one dreadful eternal instant—that he knew. ‘I … very well …’ Then his remark about Lady Arnsworth’s plans crashed into her. ‘What do you mean, Lady Arnsworth has other ideas?’
He looked at her in disbelief. ‘Thea—stop wool-gathering. Think—her goddaughter with a fortune of fifty thousand pounds; her godson and favourite nephew, a younger son with no expectations whatsoever—clearly a match made in heaven.’
Her eyes widened as that stabbed home. Oh, God! Why hadn’t she seen it? No wonder Lady Arnsworth had assured her that there would be no swarms of fortune hunters! She took a couple of careful, deep breaths and met Richard’s gaze.
He was looking at her oddly. ‘Are you feeling quite the thing?’
She took a sip of tea. If she looked as shocked as she felt, then he had some cause for asking. ‘Perfectly well, thank you, sir,’ she lied. ‘Er, thank you for your honesty.’ At least he had been honest.
He frowned. ‘Thea, if you think I am going to call you Miss Winslow and stand upon ceremony with you, then think again,’ he said in rising irritation. ‘And stop calling me sir!’
At this inauspicious moment the door opened and the butler came in with a coffee pot.
‘Your coffee, sir.’ His tones oozed reproof.
‘Ah, thank you, Myles. That will be all.’
‘Yes, sir. Very good, sir.’ Myles placed the coffee pot before Richard and removed himself with all the air of a man removing himself from potential crossfire.
Thea met Richard’s glare head on. ‘Mr Blakehurst, you have been so kind as to make clear your position—mine is similar. I have no interest in marriage to you whatsoever. If you are concerned that your aunt wishes to promote a match between us, you may rest assured she will receive no encouragement or assistance from me. Good day. Sir. If you will take my advice, any familiarity between us will merely encourage any mistaken assumptions! In future I shall request breakfast in my bedchamber. It will be far safer for both of us if we are not alone together!’
She stalked out, leaving Richard contemplating his breakfast, furiously aware that he had displayed all the finesse of a cavalry charge. Nor had he made his position clear. Now that he thought about it, she had always been able to get under his skin with the greatest of ease, deflecting him from what he wished to say. And that knack she had of getting the last word was like to drive him insane.
But at least their argument had banished the shadows in her eyes. They’d been positively snapping sparks before she walked out. As though the waxwork doll had come to life or split to let out the old, passionate Thea … She was still too pale—or perhaps it was just the effect of the slightly too big, dull grey gown.
Muttering to himself, he poured a cup of coffee and stirred in several lumps of sugar. What really annoyed him was that in one sense she was right about them avoiding each other. The last thing Almeria needed was encouragement. She would be having a field day, dropping not-so-chance remarks about duty and commenting on all the advantages of the union—he paused, quite unable to think of any arguments Almeria would be able to advance in his cause beyond the purely mercenary ones. He didn’t, however, let that fool him into believing Almeria wouldn’t think of some.
He didn’t want to avoid Thea. Why the hell should he? They were friends, and how the devil could he discover if they would suit if they were avoiding each other?
Chapter Three
Thea stared at the rose-pink gauze evening gown in the arms of the modiste’s assistant. She loved pink and this was, without a doubt, at the very forefront of fashion, but … She gulped—it appeared to be missing its bodice … and the sleeves consisted of the tiniest scraps of gauze … but the way the light shifted on it … as though it were alive. Delicate embroidered flowers decorated the rouleau at the hem. Temptation flickered; involuntarily her fingertips brushed over it. So soft, so fine—there was nothing of it at all … She drew back.
‘N … no. No, I couldn’t possibly wear that,’ she said cravenly.
‘Mais, mademoiselle,’ wailed the modiste, ‘it is of the finest, ze mos’ beautiful—madame!’ She appealed to Lady Arnsworth who had stepped away to examine a dress length in softest blue merino draped over a chair.
Lady Arnsworth looked up. ‘Excellent, Monique. Precisely what she should wear! With proper stays, of course.’
‘But, Lady Arnsworth!’ protested Thea, ignoring the reference to stays. She hadn’t worn long stays in years. They were impossible without a maid. ‘The bodice!’
‘Bodice? What about the bodice?’
‘It doesn’t have one!’ said Thea. The thought of appearing in such a gown, exposed to the gaze of all—her skin crawled at the thought of people, men, staring at her, leering. Touching her. No. It would be unbearable. But the gown really was very pretty …
Lady Arnsworth examined the gown. ‘Dreadful the way some females flaunt their charms,’ she said, subjecting the non-existent bodice to keen scrutiny. ‘If charms one can call them when they are exposed to every vulgar gaze!’
Thea nodded.
‘It is of the first importance that you should not draw attention to yourself,’ continued Lady Arnsworth. ‘But …’ She hesitated. ‘As an heiress, there will of course be those only too swift to be spiteful, whatever you do! It is a very lovely gown, Dorothea, but if you do not like it …’
Thea remained silent. That was the problem; she did like it. Very much.
The modiste, her mouth primmed in distaste, cast an affronted glance at Thea’s grey dress, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like sackcloth! and issued a stream of voluble instructions to her assistant, along with the pink gown, which was borne away.
Sackcloth? Thea considered her current wardrobe. Her gowns were all grey … or brown. Discreet, modest, and … dull. No doubt any gowns provided by Madame Monique would be beautifully cut, and the material exquisite … but, did she really want them to be grey?
Sackcloth? She swallowed. That was the word that came to mind when she thought of her wardrobe. And there were probably some ashes about somewhere as well.
The old, rebellious spark, dimmed for years, flared. After all, she had never meant to dress in grey for the rest of her life. It was just the way it had turned out after … after Lallerton’s death. There had been no money with which to purchase other clothes after her period of official mourning … decreed by her father, and enforced by Aunt Maria … even a pink riband for her hair had been burnt.
The spark ignited. How was shrouding herself in more grey helping her to enjoy herself? She took a very deep breath.
‘If you please, madame—’ she directed what she hoped was a friendly smile at the modiste ‘—that pretty pink gown—I should like to try it on after all.’
Madame’s eyes brightened. ‘Mais oui! But of course.’ Now beaming, the modiste continued, ‘The colour will be ravissement, of course. It will bring out the pretty colour in mademoiselle’s cheeks. We will put away ces robes tristes. One does not wish to cover oneself in sadness. The pink. Oui—the pink. And there are others, mademoiselle!’ She rushed away.
Others? Thea gulped. What had she let loose?
No. She pushed the doubts away. She might feel alive again in the pink gown. A dangerous thing being alive, but the pink gown beckoned. She would enjoy the pink gown. As for the non-existent sleeves—well, she would be wearing long gloves. It would be concealing enough.
Madame came back, bearing the pink evening gown as tenderly as a babe. An assistant trailed behind, a rainbow of silks and satins cascading from her arms. Thea viewed it all with intense satisfaction.
Her gowns. Her choices.
Her life. To enjoy.
Lady Arnsworth gave an approving little nod. ‘Excellent. Very sensible, my dear.’
By the time Thea left the modiste she had ordered an entire new wardrobe from the skin out, and was garbed in a new walking dress and a pelisse of turkey red. She still couldn’t quite believe that she had spent so much money. And she felt completely different—just as Lady Arnsworth had predicted.
‘That bonnet,’ announced the other woman as she settled herself in the barouche, ‘is an abomination. It always was, I dare say, but it is far more noticeable with your new clothes. We shall have to buy you a new one. Several new ones. Now.’ She leaned forward to give directions to the coachman. ‘And afterwards,’ she said, ‘we shall drive in the park.’
Her old bonnet consigned to a dust heap, Thea found herself being driven at a snail’s pace through the leafy green of the park. Fashionable London had returned to life after the festivities of the previous evening and their progress was impeded by the number of times the coachman was obliged to stop so that Lady Arnsworth might exchange greetings with her acquaintances.
Just as Thea had expected, no one seemed terribly surprised to learn the identity of Lady Arnsworth’s companion; most remembered her from her first Season.
The carriageway was crowded, horses ridden by nattily turned-out gentleman and elegant women, weaving between the carriages, chatter and laughter filling the air as society preened itself. A show, she reminded herself. Like a peacock’s tail. Nothing more. And she wasn’t frightened of peacocks after all.
‘Oh!’ Lady Arnsworth’s exclamation pulled her back. ‘Goodness me—’tis Laetitia Chasewater. I dare say given your connection, Dorothea, that she will call. Nothing could be more fortunate.’
Thea’s breath jerked in. The lady in question was seated in her own barouche on the opposite side of the carriageway a little further along. Elegantly gowned in soft grey, tastefully trimmed with black, the lady smiled and inclined her head.
‘There … there is no connection, ma’am,’ said Thea, her stomach churning. ‘I should not like her ladyship to feel obliged—’
‘Nonsense,’ said Lady Arnsworth. ‘Why, ‘tis common knowledge that poor Nigel was by far her favourite child, and that she was very happy about the match between you. There! She is beckoning to you! Of course you must step over to greet her. Edmund …’ she indicated the footman perched up behind them ‘ … will attend you.’
Immediately the footman leapt down from his perch and opened the door. Thea dragged in a breath as she stepped out, bracing herself to greet the woman who would have been her mother-in-law. It would have been quite distressing enough without the awareness that a large portion of fashionable London had stopped in its tracks to view the exchange of greetings. Peafowl, she reminded herself, were harmless.
‘My dear Miss Winslow,’ said Lady Chasewater, with a sad smile, holding out her hand. Hesitantly Thea laid hers in it, and thin gloved fingers tightened like claws. ‘How delightful to see you again,’ said her ladyship. ‘I think I have not seen you since, well …’ The grey eyes became distant for a moment, before she went on. ‘’Tis all a very long time ago. I am glad you have come up to town again.’ She patted Thea’s hand. ‘One cannot mourn for ever, my dear.’
No. One couldn’t. Nor could one jerk one’s hand away from an elderly lady.
Cold and clammy, Thea managed a polite response, her stomach tying itself in knots.
‘And how does Aberfield go on? I understand him to be suffering dreadfully from the gout at the moment.’ She did not pause for a response, but continued, ‘I found some letters from him to Chasewater some time ago.’ Her smile became reminiscent. ‘After Chasewater died. Such memories as they brought back! All our hopes!’
Nothing in Lady Chasewater’s languid voice betokened more than polite interest, but Thea’s heart raced.
‘Did you, ma’am?’ she said with forced calm. ‘I am sorry if it was distressing for you.’ Of course Aberfield had corresponded with Lord Chasewater … it would have been unavoidable.
Lady Chasewater patted her hand again. ‘Oh, no. Why should you regret what is past? I shall do myself the pleasure of calling on Almeria very soon. Now, I must not keep you.’ And she gave Thea’s hand another gentle pat as she released it.
‘Good day, ma’am,’ said Thea, relaxing slightly as she stepped back from the carriageway.
The barouche moved on and Thea breathed a sigh of relief, trying to quell the shivering that persisted despite the warmth of the sun and her new pelisse.
Upon reaching Arnsworth House again, Thea retired to her chamber to remove her gloves, bonnet and pelisse. Several dress boxes were already piled on her bed, having been delivered from the modiste’s in her absence.
Not bothering to summon a maid, Thea set about unpacking them. These were only a fraction of what she had bought. The rest had required alteration, including the dusky pink evening gown which madame had promised would be delivered that same day, assuring Thea that her minions would not rest until it was done.
Thea could only gulp at her expenditure. In one afternoon she had spent ten times more than she had in the preceding eight years. And that was just at the modiste. She had—she was forced to admit—enjoyed it, once she had let herself go. Not that she wanted to fling her money about all the time. After this spree there would be no need. But, oh, it was lovely to know that when she dressed tomorrow morning there would be something pretty to put on. That—
‘Ah. There you are, Dorothea.’ The door had opened and Lady Arnsworth looked in. ‘Do come down when you are ready. I have asked for tea to be brought to the drawing room.’
She looked critically at the new dresses on the bed and hanging over the back of the chair. ‘Hmm. That will do for a start. Once a few more invitations have arrived, we shall think again. Do be quick, dear.’
Thea gulped as the door closed behind her godmother. A few more invitations sounded as though some had already arrived.
She hurried with the dresses. No doubt Lady Arnsworth had further plans to unveil for the Season. Balls, routs, dinners, soirées, making calls. All the activities of the social whirl. At least she had a day or two before she must plunge into it. Hardly anyone yet knew that she was in town, which meant she was safe for a couple of nights at least …
‘Good God! That’s … it can’t be! Not the Winslow chit!’ Richard, whatever he’d been saying to Braybrook forgotten, stiffened as he heard the middle-aged matron’s amazed tones ring out in the middle of the Fothergills’ very crowded drawing room that evening. Forcibly he resisted the temptation to turn and stare her down. Whoever she was.
Instead he looked around for Thea. He found Almeria almost immediately, regal in purple, and …
The unknown female behind him continued. ‘I had the most interesting letter, my dear! Why, she was barely out when …’ Her voice dropped, and turning his head slightly, Richard could see several be-turbaned matrons, feathers a-quiver, nodding and casting startled looks at Thea as the knowledgeable one disgorged her burden of gossip.
‘And you say there was something more to it? Some indiscretion? I understood that story about her grief to be …’ began one. Damn it all! Could a girl not be absent from society for a few years without the tabbies deciding that there must be ‘something more to it’? Were their own hearts so withered that they could not understand grief?
Another lady leaned forward, murmuring behind her fan. All he heard was, ‘—hurst!’
‘No!’ Eyes popping, the first lady cast another, disbelieving look at Thea. ‘How much? And Almeria actually has him staying with her? In the very house?’
There were times when the mercenary tendencies of society amused Richard. This was not one of them.
Braybrook caught his eye. ‘People are so predictable, are they not, Ricky? And, no, you cannot tell her off for it. Much less demand satisfaction.’
Richard had to unclench his jaw before he could respond. And Julian did it for him anyway.
‘It should be entertaining to watch them all trying to work out precisely how great an indiscretion can be glossed over with fifty thousand pounds.’ There was an odd snap in his voice.
‘What indiscretion?’ growled Richard.
Julian’s brows drew together, and he nodded to another acquaintance. Then he said lightly, ‘The imaginary one they are talking about, of course, Ricky. And do, please, unclench your fists.’
Looking down, Richard was startled to discover that his fists were indeed clenched. Since Julian hadn’t even glanced at his hands … He glared at his friend.
Braybrook raised a dark brow. ‘Your voice, old chap. It always gives you away.’
Behind them the matron continued, ‘Well, I can’t say I should like the connection for Marianne, but—’ a tinge of scornful condescension crept into her voice ‘—I dare say Aberfield can’t afford to be fussy getting this one off his hands; after all, Dunhaven does need an heir.’
Her companion tittered in agreement.
All consideration of discretion crashed to splinters as Richard spun and skewered the startled women with a glare that could have felled a gorgon. He didn’t waste time on words, merely stared at them coldly as they flounced and muttered, before hurrying off through the crowd. Dragging in a deep breath, he turned and looked again … this time he found her.
Every nerve taut in shock, tension rippled through him. What the hell did she think she was doing? No longer the grey mouse who had snapped his head off at breakfast, but a vision in shimmering rose-pink gauze. A soft, dusky shade—exactly like … like something waiting to be plucked. He backed right away from that analogy. The light brown curls were piled high, a pink bandeau holding them in place, gold lights glinting in the blaze of candlelight … but it wasn’t the change in her appearance that had fury simmering through every vein.
Aberfield had lost no time at all in offering his daughter up on the altar of political expedience—Lord Dunhaven hovered beside her like a dog guarding a juicy bone.
‘Ah.’ Braybrook nudged him. ‘That is Miss Winslow over there, is it not? In rose pink?’ A brief pause and then Braybrook added, ‘With Dunhaven.’
‘Yes,’ Richard grated. Inside him something growled, and Braybrook’s less-than-parliamentary remark about old goats went unanswered—Richard was already forging a path through the crowd.
Braybrook blinked. Then his gaze narrowed. How very unlike Ricky not to think a strategy through first. And while a full-frontal assault might be sufficient, a little flanking manoeuvre would not go astray.
Thea had completely underestimated the speed with which news could travel through fashionable society. Any number of people had seen her in the park and realised her identity. And of course all the people to whom Lady Arnsworth had presented her had been only too happy to mention their acquaintance with the latest heiress. Mrs Dallimore had been swift to bear the tidings to her sister, Lady Fothergill, who had dashed off a charming note assuring Lady Arnsworth that of course she would be delighted to welcome dear Lady Arnsworth’s protégée to her little party that very evening.