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?’

About the Author

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

MILLS & BOON

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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.

It had been a full ten years since the last time she had set eyes on Luke Kingsley; she was grudgingly obliged to own that the years had been favourably disposed towards him. Even the faint lines about his mouth and eyes didn’t detract from his good looks. If anything, they added more character to a face that had lost none of its attractive masculinity during the past decade.

Without conscious thought she stretched out her hand for him to take briefly in his own. ‘Of course I remember you, Miss Winters. But I hope you will not consider it ungallant of me to reveal that I do not believe I would have recognised you.’

‘Not at all, sir, for in truth I did not at first recognise you,’ she returned, sensible enough to accept that it would do her cause no good whatsoever to appear antagonistic towards the very person who would undoubtedly be in the position to throw her out on her ear, should he choose to take possession of the Manor immediately.

Grudgingly she was obliged silently to acknowledge, too, that he hadn’t attempted to retain possession of her fingers for longer than was politely acceptable for persons who were, to all intents and purposes, virtual strangers. Nor had he stared at her in any over-familiar fashion, come to that, attempting to ogle her feminine charms. Given his reputation where the fair sex was concerned, she was forced to own that this came as something of a surprise. Maybe, though, it was simply a matter of her not being to his taste, she reasoned, recalling all at once that he had considered her something of a tiresome nuisance years ago, before he had left the Manor to begin his studies at Oxford.

Perversely, this recollection rather pleased her, for although she sensibly recognised that open hostility would be most unwise, with the best will in the world she could not like him, nor easily forgive him for not attending the funeral of the woman who had done so much for him in his formative years.

‘Earlier this year,’ Mr Pettigrew began, studying the papers in his hand, and obliging Briony to favour him with her full attention once again, ‘Lady Ashworth paid me an unexpected visit, a few weeks after her last trip to London, and made some fundamental adjustments to her will. Now,’ he continued, after staring briefly at each of his listeners in turn, and all at once appearing faintly embarrassed, ‘apart from the few bequests to loyal servants and close friends, she declares that the house, together with the rest of her private fortune, be divided evenly between the two of you …’

Briony could scarce believe her ears. She knew her godmother had cared for her deeply, but never in her wildest imaginings had she supposed she would be left such a generous portion, enough to ensure her continued comfort for the rest of her life. She had wondered how she was going to maintain herself and earn a living, and had seriously considered Janet’s suggestion of setting up home together on the coast. Now it seemed she would have security for life!

She began to gnaw at her bottom lip in an attempt to stop it trembling. A great bubble of combined elation and poignancy rose within her, only to burst a moment later, when Mr Pettigrew added after the briefest of pauses,

‘… on condition that a wedding take place between the two main beneficiaries as soon as might reasonably be arranged after the reading of the will.’

Chapter Two

About to take off her bonnet, Briony gaped across the bedchamber, unable quite to believe her ears. She was still far from mistress of herself, but even so she would have hoped that the female who had been such a pillar of strength during the past two weeks or so would have entirely understood her reaction to what had transpired in Mr Pettigrew’s office earlier that day.

‘What on earth do you mean by saying it’s a godsend, Janet …? It’s nothing of the sort!’ Tossing the bonnet aside in disgust, Briony began to pace the room, a clear indication of her continuing highly agitated state. ‘I just cannot understand what possessed Godmama to consider such a ludicrous thing—marriage to that rakehell of a nephew of hers …? Why, it’s ludicrous! Contemptible! I can only suppose she wasn’t quite right in the attic when she had what was destined to be that final consultation with Mr Pettigrew.’

Concerned though she was, Janet couldn’t resist smiling at the no-nonsense choice of language, which had been so much a part of the younger woman’s character since girlhood. ‘There was nothing wrong with the mistress’s understanding, Miss Briony, as well you know,’ she admonished gently. ‘She possibly thought she was acting for the best. After all, miss, you can’t stay here by yourself. It wouldn’t be proper, not as young as you are. Besides which, I expect she was trying to be fair to both you and Master Luke.’

This was hardly destined to placate Briony, and it didn’t. ‘What, by uniting us both in a loveless marriage? I don’t consider that fair. I call it downright cruel, not to say preposterous!’ Wandering over to the window, she shook her head, still unable to believe her godmother had supposed such a union was conceivable. ‘Good gracious, Janet, apart from anything else, I don’t even like the fellow—have never cared much for him, for that matter. So what hope is there for a successful marriage between us? It’s doomed from the start.’

Janet, who had been occupying herself tidying the bedchamber, paused in the act of collecting the discarded black-taffeta bonnet, and gazed across the room at the slender figure staring broodingly out of the window.

‘Has he changed much, Miss Briony?’ she asked, curiosity having got the better of her. ‘I haven’t set eyes on Master Luke in … oh, must be ten years or more, but I remember him as a nice-natured, handsome lad, fearless, always ripe for any lark.’

‘Nice-natured and handsome?’ Briony repeated, once again unable to believe her ears. ‘He was never anything of the sort!’ she corrected vehemently. ‘He’d never permit me to accompany him whenever he went shooting or fishing. Nor would he ever let me anywhere near those precious horses of his.’

Janet gurgled unexpectedly. ‘And when you dared to take one of his hacks out that time, without permission, he tossed you in the lily pond upon your return to the house for daring to disobey him.’

This ill-timed reminder of an incident almost forgotten was hardly destined to improve Briony’s poor opinion of someone who had always figured in her mind as a tormentor and bully on those rare occasions when she had happened to think about him.

‘Good gracious! The wretch did as well! I’d almost forgotten all about that. Ha!’ she exclaimed triumphantly. ‘More reason, then, don’t you agree, not to attach myself to such an unconscionable bully? Like as not the rakehell would attain the greatest pleasure in taking a stick to me at the least provocation as soon as the knot was tied!’

‘Now, that he would never do!’ Janet parried, instantly coming to the gentleman’s defence. ‘I might not have seen him in a mort of years, but what I always says is, those that are good-natured as children are good-natured when they’re older. Oh, and he were such a handsome lad, as I recall,’ she went on, having fallen into a reminiscing mood. ‘Why, he had only to look at me with those gorgeous grey eyes of his, and give me that special smile, and he could wheedle anything out of me, so he could.’

‘Oh, heaven spare me!’ Briony groaned in disgust. ‘You’re as besotted as those trollops in London must be to throw themselves at him. And I really fail to see the attraction,’ she went on, perversely determined all at once to knock the gentleman in question off the pedestal on which certain persons seemed bent on placing him. ‘You’re as bad as Godmama. She always viewed the wretch through a rosy haze. Well, I do not! He’s well enough,’ she conceded, ‘but not what I’d call handsome.’

Warming to the theme, she moved away from the window and settled herself comfortably on the edge of the bed. ‘Now, Dr Mansfield is what I do call a handsome gentleman. Kingsley’s well enough, as I’ve said before, but not in the good doctor’s league by any means.’

‘Ah! So that’s the way of it, is it!’ Janet declared triumphantly. ‘Could tell by the way he’s taken to looking at you that he’s halfway smitten already. Well, you could do a lot worse, I suppose,’ she went on, all at once appearing very well pleased. ‘And if you’re set on the good doctor, then I perfectly understand you not wanting to have anything to do with Master Luke.’

It took her, gaping in astonishment, a moment or two to comprehend fully in which direction the housekeeper’s thoughts were heading. ‘You must be all about in your head, Janet!’ Briony at last exclaimed. ‘I’ve no designs on Dr Mansfield whatsoever. I’ve no desire to marry any man. You should know that. Why do you suppose I always flatly refused to accompany Godmama on any one of her many trips away when I knew her intention was to stay over for any length of time in the capital? I knew what she was about. She’d have had me parading the Marriage Mart in front of all the eligible bachelors before I knew what was happening. Eventually even she realised she’d never persuade me to marry.’

‘Ah, but, Miss Briony,’ Janet murmured, ‘not all men turn out like that father of yours.’

‘Maybe not,’ she conceded, ‘but young as I was I never forgot what he did to my mother.’ Briony fixed her gaze on the wall opposite, her eyes all at once losing every vestige of softness. ‘The Honourable Charles Winters … Ha! There was nothing honourable in him. He married my mother for her money, pure and simple. Then, the instant he had his hands on her dowry, he deserted her for the fleshpots of the capital. I don’t even recall what he looked like now, his visits were so few. I only remember the change in my mother, after his excesses had killed him, and she was forced to sell the family home in order to pay his debts. For five years we lived in cramped, rented accommodation, with poor Mama taking in sewing in order to buy a few luxuries. I never knew what life might have been like had Mama married a half-decent fellow. It was only after Lady Ashworth brought me here to live with her that I started to appreciate just how comfortable my mother’s life had been before her marriage.’

Reluctantly accepting it would be futile to discuss the topic of marriage further, Janet sighed and went across to the bed to place an arm around those slightly drooping young shoulders, which showed more clearly than words just how dejected her young mistress was feeling at the present time.

‘Chin up, Miss Briony! I’m sure the mistress left you something. She was far too fond of you to have left you penniless, even if you did flatly refuse to marry Master Luke. And I’m sure she left me a little something as well. Who knows, it might just be enough to start us up in our little boarding house by the sea.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Janet.’ Capturing one work-roughened hand, Briony held it between both her own, her personal woes momentarily forgotten. ‘I was so angry, I didn’t stop to think about anything or anyone else. I took one look at Kingsley’s asinine expression, as though he found the whole interlude highly diverting, and stormed out in high dudgeon.’

Releasing the hand, Briony went across to the window once more, all at once feeling slightly ashamed of herself. ‘I shall pay another call on Mr Pettigrew, if only to apologise for my behaviour. And I’ll ask him then about your bequest. I meant to ask about Mary Norman, as it happens. Even that slipped my mind. All the more reason to swallow my pride and return. But I’ll leave it for a day or two, until I’ve calmed down and am more myself.’

Unfortunately, even this slight respite was to be denied her, as Briony discovered the following morning, when the young maid Alice came in search of her to reveal that Mr Kingsley had called and awaited her in the front parlour. For a moment or two Briony toyed with the idea of denying him an interview, but then swiftly thought better of it. Sooner or later she was going to be forced to consult with him, if only to discuss what was to be done with Lady Ashworth’s personal effects. Surely he would not be so mean spirited as to object to her keeping a few personal items once belonging to the woman who had become a second mother to her?

Either he genuinely did not hear, or he chose not to acknowledge her entry into the parlour, for he continued to stand with his back to the door, seeming to contemplate the flower bed directly in front of the window. Surprisingly, Briony didn’t take offence at this initial lack of acknowledgement to her presence, mainly because it provided her with the golden opportunity to study him closely and, more importantly, unobserved.

Grudgingly, she was obliged silently to own that he was a fine figure of a man by any standard. Tall and straight-limbed, he carried his clothes exceptionally well—clothes in the latest mode that clearly boasted the workmanship of an expert tailor. His appearance alone suggested strongly that, already, he was a man of no small means.

Memory stirred and she recalled her godmother once having revealed that his father, although her younger brother, and therefore not the direct heir to the viscountcy, had married well and had become a wealthy young gentleman in his own right, boasting a fine property in Derbyshire, as well as a town house situated in one of the most fashionable areas in the capital.

This wealth must surely have been bequeathed to Luke, his sole offspring, Briony reasoned. Furthermore, since the tragic death of Viscount Kingsley’s only son and heir a matter of two years before, Luke Kingsley had become the heir to the viscountcy and, as a consequence, must surely have been receiving an allowance from his uncle. So, unless he had been consistently squandering vast sums at the gaming tables and elsewhere during the past couple of years, he shouldn’t be short of money. So, why was he here? Surely he wasn’t seriously contemplating his aunt’s ludicrous proposal?

He turned suddenly, too suddenly for her not to be caught red-handed appraising his manly attributes, and she was obliged to witness a crooked, self-satisfied smile curl his lips as he moved towards her, as though he was quite accustomed to finding favour in feminine eyes.

‘Briony, forgive me, I didn’t hear you come in.’ He grasped her hand briefly, much as he had done at the lawyer’s office the previous morning, and as he did so scrutinised her face.

Although perhaps not conventionally beautiful, Briony knew she was well enough, having features both regular and very pleasing. If there was a serious flaw, it was that her countenance tended to be far too expressive on occasions and, as a consequence, very prone to revealing precisely what was passing through her mind to any discerning soul.

Luke Kingsley might indeed have possessed many of those attributes she most disliked in his sex, but no one could ever have accused him of being slow-witted, or lacking perception, as his next words proved.

‘Oh, come now! Surely we need not stand on ceremony?’ he cajoled, clearly having accurately interpreted her slight feeling of chagrin at his familiar use of her given name. ‘We played here together as children, as I recall, even if it was over a decade ago.’

‘We did no such thing!’ she took great pleasure in refuting. ‘But if you wish to dispense with formality, I do not object. In fact, I believe it will save time if we dispense with needless pleasantries altogether and come straight to the point of your visit.’

Again she witnessed the half-crooked smile curl what she was silently obliged to acknowledge was a rather attractive masculine mouth that was neither too narrow nor too broad. Just perfect, in fact. ‘I’d quite forgotten how forthright you could be on occasions. You were never one to hide your teeth. Very well, let us have plain speaking, but at least let us make ourselves comfortable first.’

Although she complied readily enough by seating herself in one of the chairs, something in her mien once again betrayed the fact that she wasn’t perfectly at ease in his company. Nor was she quite able to conceal the annoyance she was still experiencing over the contents of her godmother’s will from those all-too-perceptive and rather fine grey eyes of his, as he confirmed a moment later.

‘Evidently you are still feeling immensely peeved at what the good Mr Pettigrew revealed to us both yesterday. Very understandable. I wasn’t altogether overjoyed myself,’ he freely admitted, clearly surprising her somewhat. ‘I might have wished my aunt hadn’t attempted to interfere. I think we might possibly have rubbed along very much better without outside interference. But there it is. For reasons best known to herself, she chose to do so. And I’m afraid we must make the best of it.

‘No, please allow me to finish, Briony,’ he went on, when she attempted to interrupt. ‘I can guess what you are desperate to say—that a union between us is out of the question, preposterous. And in normal circumstances I would be inclined to agree with you wholeheartedly. But these circumstances are not usual and I would ask only that you do not dismiss the notion out of hand. Hear what I have to say, then take time to consider carefully.

‘But first,’ he continued, rising to his feet, ‘shall we have some refreshment? If my memory serves me correctly, Aunt Lavinia always kept a tolerable Madeira in her cellar.’

Strangely enough, Briony didn’t take the least exception to his helping himself and even went so far as to accept graciously the glass he poured for her. After all, she reasoned, he had as much right to Lady Ashworth’s possessions as she had, perhaps more so as he was a blood relation. Besides which, with every passing minute, curiosity was getting the better of her and she wished to discover precisely why he had called.

‘Perhaps I should begin by revealing the salient points contained in my aunt’s will—those you failed to discover for yourself in your haste to flee Mr Pettigrew’s office,’ he began, after resuming his seat, and noting the colour that had risen in her cheeks at his blunt reminder of an interlude that really didn’t redound to her credit.

‘Firstly, if we are to comply with the terms of the will we must be married not later than two months hence.’

‘But surely you’re not proposing that we should comply?’ she demanded to know, wanting this issue at least quite clear between them, if nothing else.

‘Please, Briony, allow me to finish, then we can discuss matters,’ he returned with a calmness that she was beginning to find faintly irksome. ‘My aunt also specified that the marriage should last no less than a period of six months. After which, if we should find we do not suit, we may go our separate ways, seemingly with her blessing. The house and the majority of her private fortune would then be divided evenly between the two of us. In the meantime Mr Pettigrew, being one of the executors, would arrange for a monthly allowance to be made to us from my aunt’s legacy in order to cover household expenses and other reasonable necessities. However, if one, or the other, should choose to remove from the Manor before the six-month period is over, then the one who had done his, or her, utmost to abide by the terms of the will would receive the whole fortune.’

Briony took a sip from her glass in an attempt to calm her. Against all the odds, was he seriously proposing they should abide by the terms of the will? It certainly sounded like it. And, true enough, for a six-month period she would undoubtedly be able to command most any luxury. But at what cost to herself? No, it really was too base even to contemplate. Why, it would be like selling herself, body and soul, merely for financial gain!

‘Before I put my proposition before you,’ he continued, once again obliging her to listen, ‘I should tell you that my aunt has made other provisions for you, should you choose not to contemplate wedlock.’

He rose to his feet and, as he did so, she thought she could detect a suspicion of that crooked smile returning briefly, as though at some private thought, before he positioned himself once more by the window.

‘In the local town there is, so I understand, a certain haberdashery, the property of my late aunt. This she bequeaths in full to you. A young woman rents the property, so I believe, and is also in the process of repaying a loan. Mr Pettigrew assured me there would be room enough for you to remove there and help run the business, should you choose to avail yourself of this alternative, for if we do not marry, this fine old house, together with all its contents, is to be sold and the money raised, together with my aunt’s private fortune, is to be divided between a number of worthy causes.’ At last he turned to look directly at her once again to add, ‘Which, although extremely altruistic, hardly benefits either of us.’

‘Perhaps not, sir,’ Briony agreed, ‘but I think it is the only honourable course for us both.’

‘Therefore, I’m proposing an alternative solution,’ he continued, just as though she had not spoken, ‘that I believe shall suit us both and will also comply with all the terms set down in the will. We shall marry and live here for the six-month period. But the marriage will be one of convenience only, no more, no less.’

He noted the flicker of doubt and mistrust in her expression, as though she had yet to appreciate fully what he was suggesting, and moved towards her, drawing her to her feet by the simple expedient of grasping her wrists.

‘Let me make things perfectly clear, Briony,’ he murmured, staring down into clear blue eyes that were suddenly aglow with dawning wonder. ‘The world will believe ours to be a conventional marriage, a joyous union between two people who after many years have been reunited. But I shall make no attempt to claim my full rights as a husband. In other words, the marriage shall not be consummated and therefore can be annulled once the six-month period is over, or a little before. After which, I give you my word that I shall not attempt to claim either my share of the property, or my aunt’s personal wealth. All I should wish to take with me when I go is a few personal effects, books mainly, as mementoes of my aunt.’

Briony could hardly believe her great good fortune, or that he was prepared to give up so much. It just didn’t make any sense at all. If he wasn’t interested in either the house, or the fortune, why bother to go through with the farce of a marriage in the first place?

‘I have my reasons,’ was the prompt response, the instant she had voiced her doubts. ‘Mr Pettigrew intends to call here tomorrow. He will only confirm what I have already told you. He knows nothing of my proposal and I wish it to remain that way. I give you my word that, after the marriage is annulled, you will be able to remain here at the Manor in comfort for the rest of your life, should you choose to do so. The one precondition is that you do everything possible to convince the world that the union between us is genuine … in every sense.

‘Now, I shall leave you to consider my proposal, and shall return the day after tomorrow to receive your answer.’ With that he left her, without so much as a backward glance, or even a final word of farewell.

Once back at the most comfortable inn the local town had to offer, Luke sent for his most trusted servant-cum-confidant and awaited his arrival in the private parlour, which he had hired for the duration of his stay. After pouring himself a glass of wine, he took up a stance by the window, idly watching the moderate amount of traffic travelling down the main street at this time of day.

‘Nothing like London, eh?’ he remarked on detecting the click of the door opening. He didn’t need to turn round, for the slight scraping of one foot along the ground told him clearly enough that it was his former batman who had entered the room.

After securely closing the door, Benjamin Carey limped slowly towards the man whom he had served loyally throughout their years in the army. ‘Born and bred in the country, sir, so I don’t mind the peace and quiet. Can always find plenty to fill my time.’

Study him though he might, Ben could read nothing in that sharp, hawk-like profile to reveal whether his employer was pleased or quite otherwise. But, it had ever been so! he reminded himself. A genius at disguising his feelings was Major Kingsley. Which was perhaps just as well considering his master’s present activities, Ben mused.

‘May I ask how it goes with you, sir?’

‘I’m not altogether sure, Ben.’ Abandoning his position by the window, Luke settled himself at the table and gestured for his servant to do likewise before pouring a second glass of wine and refilling his own. ‘Fillies in London I can have a-plenty … But there’s a distinctly chilly wind circling Miss Briony Winters. Do you know, Ben, I’ve gained the distinct impression the gel don’t quite like me for some reason. And she certainly has no desire to marry me. She does a fellow’s ego a power of no good, I can tell you!’

At this display of mock-hurt, Ben threw back his head and roared with laughter. He was among the very few who knew when Luke Kingsley was putting on an act for the benefit of others and when he was in earnest. ‘Well, sir, fine-looking man that you are, you can’t be expected to charm all the fillies.’

‘I don’t want to charm them all,’ Luke returned sharply. ‘But I’m obliged to charm that pert and headstrong miss!’ He shook his head, betraying his genuine annoyance by a severe frown. ‘Curse Aunt Lavinia! What on earth possessed her to make such a will?’ His sense of humour then began to reassert itself and he couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘But, of course, I know well enough why. It would seem I’ve played my part rather too well in recent months, Ben. Even dear Lady Ashworth was beginning to suppose her nephew was turning into a rakehelly wastrel and needed bringing back into the fold, as it were. And she evidently considered Miss Briony Winters equal to the task. The chit must have qualities I have yet to unearth!’

A look of sympathy flickered over the older man’s face. ‘She ain’t ill favoured, is she, sir?’

‘Oh, no. Quite the opposite, in fact!’ Luke had little difficulty in conjuring up a face boasting, surprisingly enough, both character and loveliness in equal measure. ‘And in the normal course of events Miss Winters would have been most acceptable as a future bride. She’s pleasing in both face and form. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her birth. Her mother came from old and respected wealthy-yeoman stock. Sadly, the family disowned the woman, I seem to recall, soon after she’d married an impoverished baron’s younger son, a ne’er-do-well whose excesses killed him at a young age. When Briony’s mother passed away a few years later, my aunt took the child into her household. She quickly grew to love her goddaughter and I believe the affection was reciprocated. They were certainly very happy together. But whether Miss Winters can be trusted is a different matter entirely.’

He took a moment to consider other difficulties ahead. ‘I expect, too, she’s headstrong. I remember, now, she was somewhat wayward as a child. Unfortunately I’m not in the position to attempt to bridle her ways, at least not until after the knot is tied. And then I suspect I’ll need to tread very warily until I’ve got the chit’s full measure.’

‘But will she wed, do you suppose, sir?’

‘I’m far from certain, Ben,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve dangled the proverbial carrot before the donkey … or should I say jenny. All I can hope is that the treat offered is tempting enough. If not, I’m damned if I know what course of action to take that will not arouse suspicion!’

Later that same afternoon Briony ventured into the Manor’s finest bedchamber. Even though her own room was next door, she had not once attempted to gain entry, not once since the morning she had come in by way of the communicating door, only to discover her beloved godmother cold and lifeless in the bed.

Clearly Janet had been in the room. The bed had been freshly made with clean lacy pillows and frilly-edged bedcovers, all neatly in place. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen anywhere, testament to the housekeeper’s high standards and devotion to her late mistress. In fact, it looked exactly how it had always looked—the neat and elegantly furnished bedchamber of a middle-aged lady of means.

Absently Briony sat herself at the dressing table and pulled open the drawer containing some of her late godmother’s jewellery. Taking out the wooden box, she flicked open its lid to discover several sparkling trinkets, each of which she clearly recalled her godmother wearing on some occasion or other. How much they were worth, she had no notion. The pearls were fine and possibly very expensive. But it wasn’t their worth. Money wasn’t important. It was the sentimental value that really mattered.

For a moment temptation almost overcame her. Hand poised over the open box, she knew it would be a simple matter to extract a few pieces and hide them in her room—keepsakes, reminders of someone whom she had loved so dearly. After all, no one would know, she reasoned. As far as she was aware Mr Pettigrew had never come to the house to take an inventory of the valuables. Surely he wouldn’t know if a few items of jewellery were missing? And neither would Luke Kingsley, come to that. Only Janet would know for sure and she would never betray her.

The instant the last thought had passed through her mind Briony closed the box with a snap and put it back in the drawer, thereby placing temptation out of sight. No, she couldn’t involve Janet in such a deception, motivated though it was by love and not financial gain. No, it wasn’t right. Nor was it fair to help herself to valuables that Luke Kingsley had as much right to have. But if she were to accede to his proposal …?

For perhaps the hundredth time since his visit that morning, the idea of doing precisely that filtered through her mind, only to be dismissed a moment later as unthinkable. Yet, she couldn’t deny, as she had wandered about the house that afternoon, visiting each and every room, the temptation to become the mistress of such a fine house, where she had been so happy, had been strong. She would have every right to the jewellery then, all of it, she reminded herself. Moreover, for the first time in her life she would be able to come and go as she pleased. Married women enjoyed far more freedoms, and so would she, even though the marriage would be one of convenience only.

Well, there was no denying it might prove to be highly convenient for her. If Luke Kingsley was a man of his word the marriage would be annulled after the specified period, then she could continue living at the Manor, its mistress and its sole owner.

But could Luke Kingsley be trusted to keep his word? That was the burning question. After all, she had never known the man, and the boy hardly at all. Moreover, although her childhood memories didn’t precisely redound to his credit, she was obliged to acknowledge that for a youth of eighteen, which he had been when first she had arrived at the house, a twelve-year-old girl was hardly an ideal companion. Troubled though she was, she couldn’t resist smiling as this thought crossed her mind. Why, he must have found her a confounded nuisance, forever trailing after him whenever he spent his holidays at the Manor!

Then, of course, he had gone up to Oxford, she reminded herself, and she had seen hardly anything of him at all. Afterwards the army had beckoned, and he had been away from these shores for several years fighting in Portugal and Spain—firstly, under the command of Sir John Moore, and then Wellesley. Not once since his return, after hearing of his cousin’s death and becoming heir to the viscountcy, had he paid a visit to the Manor, until today. If the gossips were to be believed, he enjoyed all the pleasures the capital had to offer a well-heeled bachelor and, apart from the occasional visit to the ancestral pile in Kent, he was happy to live all year round in the metropolis.

She shook her head. No, none of it made any sense at all. Why this sudden desire to reside here now? Moreover, surely if he had had any genuine attachment to the place he wouldn’t be so willing to forfeit his half-share? Furthermore, it was absurd to suppose he’d taken one look at her and fallen head over heels in love. No, ridiculous! But, unless he was a complete simpleton, and she didn’t suppose for a moment he was, there had to be some very good reason for his wanting to comply with his aunt’s will. So what was it about Dorsetshire that had instigated the desire to rusticate in the county for a period of time? Whatever it was, it must be vastly important if he was willing to forfeit his bachelorhood.

Unable to come up with any logical explanation, Briony wandered across to the escritoire in the corner of the room and sat herself down. Throughout her life Lady Ashworth had been an avid letter writer. Briony had seen her sitting before the fine piece of French furniture on countless occasions, writing missives to her relatives and numerous friends.

Sooner rather than later she and Luke Kingsley were going to have to get together in order to sort through Lady Lavinia’s personal effects, she told herself, after opening one of the drawers to discover piles of letters, neatly tied together with lengths of ribbon. Picking out one of the bundles at random, she noted the direction was written in a childish scrawl. They were from her nephew, written when Luke had been away at school. She quickly discovered another bundle penned by him when up at Oxford and another pile sent during his years in the army.

Curiosity got the better of her and she began to read them in strict chronological order. The light was fading fast by the time she was reading the very last letter he had sent to his aunt from London dated a month before her death.

… I hope during your impromptu visit to the capital late last year I succeeded in setting your mind at rest, that you no longer believe everything the gossipmongers circulate about me. You could do no better than trust your instincts, Aunt Lavinia, and be sure I shall never bring dishonour to the proud name I bear …

An odd thing to have written to his aunt, Briony decided. Evidently Lady Ashworth had been concerned about the numerous rumours circulating with regard to her nephew—his excessive gambling, not to mention his womanising. That was possibly why she had made that unscheduled stop in the capital after visiting her friend. One thing was certain, though—the letters had revealed how very fond of his aunt he really was. There was no mistaking that.

So why had he never made the effort to pay her a visit in recent years? Lady Ashworth, as far as Briony was aware, had seen him on three occasions only since he had sold his commission and had left the army, and that was because she had gone to the trouble of paying short visits to the capital herself. Furthermore, why was it that a gentleman who wrote in such fond terms to his aunt could not even put himself out to attend her funeral?

Increasingly Luke Kingsley was becoming something of an enigma. Quite unfathomable!

Chapter Three

‘You may kiss the bride,’ the vicar had invited, his benign, lined face beaming with delight, Briony all too vividly recalled. And for one heart-stopping moment she had thought Luke had meant to exert his rights as a husband and do precisely that! But, no, he had kept his word and, after staring fixedly at the curve of her mouth for endless moments, had merely raised her left hand in order to press his lips lightly against the plain gold band he had slipped on her finger a short time before. But would he continue to keep to his part of the bargain now the knot was tied? That was the all-important question.

Raising her head slightly, she peered through her long lashes down the length of the table at her sole dinner companion. For perhaps the hundredth time since the ceremony had taken place earlier in the day, the thought that she must surely have been utterly insane to have gone through with it once again filtered through her mind. What did she know of Luke Kingsley, after all? Next to nothing, if one disregarded the gossipmongers’ tittle-tattle. Even though he had visited the Manor several times during the past month, she knew little more about him now than she had when he had paid that first unexpected call, after his very long absence.

Yes, he continued to remain an enigma. No, more, she decided, a dichotomy. She had seriously begun to suspect there might be two distinct and quite opposite personalities locked inside that well-muscled frame of his.

Whenever he was in company he resembled nothing so much as the light-minded profligate the gossips had painted him since his return from the Peninsula. Yet, on other occasions, when they had chanced to be alone, she had thought she had detected a look in those attractive grey eyes of his that had betrayed innate wisdom, an expression flickering over those distinctly aristocratic features that had strongly suggested the shallow care-for-nobody attitude might well be assumed. But if so, why on earth should he wish the world to think so poorly of him? There must be some reason behind the feigned triviality, surely? Or was he merely putting on an act for his own amusement?

‘Something appears to be troubling you, m’dear? I sincerely trust you are not regretting so soon the vows you made? That would be unfortunate indeed.’

So, the drawl, too, had returned, had it? That most certainly was assumed for her benefit, and the benefit of others, of course, Briony decided, favouring him with her full attention. ‘And I sincerely trust you do not give me cause to regret having uttered them,’ she parried, never having been afraid to speak her mind, at least where he was concerned. Which was most strange, now that she came to consider the matter.

She could hardly admit to their having become friends during the past month. Perhaps the most she could own to was that, over certain matters, they were well on the way to achieving a better understanding and drawing up boundaries beyond which the other was prepared not to tread. For instance, he had made it perfectly plain that he had no intention of completely changing his lifestyle, merely because he had been prepared to relinquish his bachelor state; he had every intention of making visits to the capital during the next six months. For her part Briony didn’t object to this in the least. Not only would it offer her the golden opportunity to come and go as she pleased, without having to respect another’s wishes, but it would no doubt make him easier to live with if he was able to visit his present mistress whenever the inclination happened to take him.

In fact, he had travelled to London on one occasion already during the past month. Although she wouldn’t have gone so far as to say she had been glad to see the back of him, it certainly hadn’t aroused the least resentment or jealousy in her breast to see him go. Whether he had taken the opportunity to visit his mistress or not she had no way of knowing, but he most definitely hadn’t been idle during his time away. He had arranged for several of his personal belongings to be brought down to Dorsetshire and had installed two of his own servants at the Manor.

‘No, nothing is troubling me,’ she assured him cordially, determined to do her part to keep their relationship as affable as possible, ‘except, perhaps, trifling domestic concerns. I trust you’ll find the master bedchamber to your liking. I hope you approve the colour scheme.’

‘I’m sure I shall. And so long as my own bed has been installed in there I’m certain I’ll be comfortable.’

‘It arrived earlier in the week,’ she was able to assure him, ‘and has been made up with fresh linen and merely awaits its master.’

All at once there was a hint of an unnerving sparkle in those grey eyes of his. ‘All this talk of bed, madam wife, might give me every reason to suppose you’re eager to get me in there.’

Now, how was she supposed to react to that piece of deliberate provocation? Briony wondered, deciding to nip such foolishness on his part in the bud. ‘What time you choose to retire, sir, is entirely your own concern.’ She rose to her feet. ‘But I have eaten my fill and so shall bid you good evening and leave you to your port.’

‘There’s no need for you to scurry away like a frightened rabbit.’ Although the drawl had disappeared completely, his eyes retained a glimmer of something, possibly a challenge this time. ‘It isn’t late and we must both accustom ourselves to being in each other’s company for at least part of most days. Besides which, I cannot imagine you’ve found the day such an ordeal that you must retire so early. Considering everything had to be arranged in such a short space of time, I thought things went rather well.’

While speaking, he had risen to his feet and had come slowly down the length of the table towards her, bringing the port decanter with him. He was undeniably continuing to be deliberately provocative. Yet, behind the gentle goading, she sensed there was a genuine desire for her to remain. She hovered for a moment, undecided, then, against her better judgement, resumed her seat, curiosity having got the better of her.

‘No, I haven’t found the day an ordeal in the least, sir.’ She shrugged, attempting to appear more at ease than she in fact was, now that he had positioned a chair so close to her own that she could almost detect the warmth his body exuded. She watched the strong yet shapely hand tilt the decanter and fill a glass. ‘As—as weddings go, I suppose it did go rather well, even though it was perhaps unusually private,’ she added tentatively, feeling a little more comment was expected of her.

He regarded her in silence for a moment. ‘Since the marriage was, to all intents and purposes, forced upon us, it would have been somewhat hypocritical to have had a grand affair to celebrate the union, attended by all our relations and friends,’ he pointed out. ‘Those who needed to be there to witness the event were present—Mr Pettigrew and … your Janet.’

Was that a note of disapproval in his voice? ‘My Janet?’ she echoed.

‘She’s quite evidently become devoted to you.’

Briony saw no reason to deny it. ‘Yes, I suppose we have become very close over the years. You don’t object, surely?’

‘No, not at all …’ his regard all at once became more intense ‘… providing, of course, your obvious affection for the housekeeper doesn’t induce you to confide in her more than is wise. The result might be unfortunate for you if you do.’

Very much resenting the evident threat, she made no attempt to disguise the fact. ‘I have confided in no one, sir. You above anyone should realise how far I’ve been prepared to go to make this farcical union of ours appear real. Was it not I who suggested you should occupy your late aunt’s bedchamber so that we might be as close as possible in order to allay any suspicions with the household staff, which might ultimately result in gossip spreading throughout the locale? I assure you your mistrust is quite without foundation. I have every intention of keeping to my part of the bargain, providing you keep to yours.’

‘Come down off the boughs, girl!’ he ordered gently. ‘Here, drink this,’ he continued in the same mildly authoritative way, after filling another glass and steering it across the table towards her. ‘It might help calm you. We must at least attempt to appear perfectly at ease with each other, even if we are not. And six months is a very long time to maintain the pretence.’

She couldn’t argue with that and meekly took the glass of port he had offered, which obviously pleased him, for his smile was clearly one of approval.

Undoubtedly, he was going out of his way to be amiable in an attempt to maintain cordial relations between them. Yet, she wasn’t so foolish as to suppose there mightn’t be a darker side to his nature, which might so easily surface if she was to prove an annoyance. At the moment, though, he seemed intent on remaining in an affable mood, so she decided to take advantage of the fact by attempting to discover what had really induced him to relinquish his bachelor state, if only for six months. After all, everything was for her benefit. She couldn’t for the life of her see where he profited at all!

The instant the question had been voiced, he lowered his eyes and appeared to consider what remained of the rich liquid in his glass. ‘There were several reasons, m’dear, for taking such a drastic step.’

The response was hardly destined to satisfy her, and it didn’t, of course. Furthermore, she wasn’t overly impressed, either, by the quick return of that infuriating drawl he continued to affect whenever the mood happened to take him. She was instantly on her guard, all at once intensely suspicious of his motives.

‘Come, sir, let us have a degree of honesty between us at the outset, otherwise relations between us are likely to become strained indeed, if we become mistrustful of each other,’ she suggested, refusing to admit defeat so easily. ‘I made no secret of the fact why I agreed to marry you. My motives were purely mercenary. Marriage offered me financial security, which I would never have attained without it.’

‘True, but I strongly suspect you would never have married for money alone, otherwise you would have done so long before now.’ There was a suspicion of a challenge in the look he cast her, almost daring her to deny it. ‘I clearly recall Aunt Lavinia being quite vexed because you flatly refused to accompany her to London for a Season. Hardly the actions of an avaricious miss, now were they, m’dear?’

Resentful though she was, she was obliged to accept that he knew a deal more about her than she did about him. She couldn’t help wondering what else Lady Ashworth had revealed in recent years and was doubly determined to discover the reason for his wishing to marry.

‘What a persistent little madam you are to be sure, Briony!’ he scolded, after she had reminded him that he hadn’t satisfied her curiosity. ‘Still, my aunt did warn me that there was a stubbornly determined streak in your nature. And Aunt Lavinia—bless her!—was a rare, truthful woman.’

He grinned at the look of exasperation he received. ‘Oh, very well, though I’m obliged to own it doesn’t redound to my credit.’

Once again he appeared to find the contents of his glass of immense interest. ‘You may or may not have heard that I’ve been playing rather deep of late. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m even remotely close to ruining myself, but my recent losses have been steadily mounting and, more significantly, have come to the ears of my uncle. Lord Kingsley is a most abstemious fellow, almost to the point of meanness, some might say. All the same, since his son died, and I became his heir, Uncle Augustus has made me a generous quarterly allowance. Furthermore, you’d need to go a long way to find an ancestral pile maintained to such a high standard as Kingsley Hall. It is little wonder that he would be concerned over its future well-being. By marrying and settling down in the country for a spell I hope to put the old man’s mind at rest as to my worthiness to step into his shoes.’

Briony wasn’t at all sure she liked the explanation she was being offered. Or believed it, either, come to that! ‘But won’t he think quite the opposite—that you’re utterly fickle, when the marriage is annulled?’

He shrugged, appearing completely indifferent to the prospect. ‘Oh, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. He hasn’t been at all well of late. That’s why he didn’t attend Aunt Lavinia’s funeral.’

Yes, at least Lord Kingsley had some excuse for not attending. Which is more than can be said for you! Briony longed to retort, but managed to check the stricture long before it reached her lips.

‘In fact, he hasn’t enjoyed good health for some time, not since the death of his only son,’ he continued, quite oblivious to the fact that he had plummeted in her estimation. ‘Sadly, I don’t believe he’s long for this world. Which I cannot imagine troubles him overmuch. He’s never been the same since Giles’s death.’

This did succeed in diverting her thoughts. ‘Yes, very tragic. I only ever met your uncle on one occasion, many years ago, when your aunt took me on a visit to Kent. Giles, like yourself, was at Oxford, so I never met him. His death was due to a riding accident, was it not?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, poor fellow,’ he said softly, and there could be no mistaking the sincerity in the deep voice. ‘It could have happened to anyone, I suppose, but he was the very last person I would have expected to meet his maker that way. He was a fine horseman, one of the best I’ve ever come across.’

‘You were evidently very fond of him,’ she remarked, never having considered the relationship between the two cousins before.

‘When a boy, I spent very nearly as much time at Kingsley Hall as I did here at the Manor. Giles and I were much of an age, attended the same school and, as you rightly mentioned, were up at Oxford together. We were more like brothers than cousins,’ he revealed, before he raised his eyes to discover a pair the same shade as cornflowers regarding him keenly.

His response was to grasp the decanter again, smiling crookedly. ‘But, I digress. What you really wish to know is just why I was willing to marry you. And to be brutally frank, m’dear, it was for the simple reason the Manor offered me the perfect retreat, the ideal sanctuary. You see, there is a certain lady of my acquaintance that I’m finding increasingly—er—wearisome.’

The contemptuous curl that instantly appeared at one side of a very shapely feminine mouth revealed clearly enough that snippets of gossip appearing in newspapers had most assuredly been perused under the Manor’s roof in recent months.

He gazed resolutely down into his glass again, doing his utmost to suppress a twitching smile. ‘As I had no desire to be called to account by the understandably aggrieved spouse, thereby causing a major scandal, I decided it might be wise to abandon the metropolis before I was summoned to pistols at dawn, so to speak.’

‘Such an edifying tale!’ she muttered, quite unequal to keeping the derision oozing from each word. She hurriedly got to her feet, deciding it might be wise to leave before she allowed the contempt she felt induce her to say more than was wise.

He made no attempt to stop her this time, and succeeded in bidding her a pleasant goodnight before she had whisked herself quite speedily from the room. The instant the door had been closed quietly behind her, the faintly inane look he had adopted during the past few minutes vanished completely, and the earnest expression of a gentleman contemplating some ticklish problems took possession of his features.

After arriving at the bedchamber that had been her private retreat for so many very contented years, Briony discovered not the young maid Alice awaiting her, as expected, and didn’t attempt to hide her surprise at finding Janet tidying away some freshly laundered garments.

‘What on earth are you doing here? I imagined you would have been putting your feet up, after taking all the trouble to prepare that delicious dinner this evening. No doubt you’ll be pleased to hear your new lord and master thought the meal couldn’t have been bettered,’ she added, seating herself before her dressing-table mirror in order to begin removing the pins from her hair.

‘That was very good of Master Luke to say so,’ Janet responded, appearing well pleased with the compliment on her culinary skills, ‘although no more than I would have expected from such a thoughtful gentleman. But even so …’ She shot a considering look at her young mistress through the mirror, as she lent a helping hand to take down the long chestnut tresses. ‘I—I thought you’d mayhap be grateful for a word or two of comfort from an older woman … this being your wedding night and all, and you not having had a mother to guide you, so to speak.’

It took Briony a moment only to appreciate to what her dear Janet was alluding. It was perfectly true that she had no very real idea of what took place in the marriage bed, her godmother having only ever touched briefly on the subject by divulging that young brides had nothing whatsoever to fear, providing they had married considerate gentlemen.

She wasn’t so naïve as to suppose all females found the married state entirely to their liking. There were several young matrons in the locale, and not all appeared well pleased with their lot. But what did that matter to her? Her union was one of convenience only, therefore she had nothing to be concerned about.

‘Don’t trouble yourself on my account, Janet. I assure you I’m not in the least uneasy.’

‘Well, of course you’re not!’ Janet agreed, smiling reassuringly. ‘As I’ve mentioned before, Master Luke’s such a kind, considerate soul, one of life’s real gentlemen.’

And it’s in his own best interests to act like one if he desires the marriage to be annulled! Briony mused, attaining more reassurance out of this knowledge than any words of comfort the housekeeper might offer an innocent young bride.

‘And the way he looked at you in church!’ Janet continued, oblivious to her young mistress’s highly contrasting thoughts. ‘Fair touched my heart to see how much he cares for you!’

Briony scarcely knew what to say to this. She could hardly dismiss it as arrant nonsense, thereby arousing the housekeeper’s suspicions. Furthermore, Janet wasn’t fanciful as a rule. Evidently she’d seen something to make her suppose that Luke cared for his new bride. Clearly he was doing his utmost to appear the doting spouse. And she must at least attempt to do likewise!

‘I must own to having come to a—er—better understanding with Mr Kingsley soon after his arrival in Dorset.’

‘That goes without saying, mistress, otherwise you wouldn’t have wedded. And I’m so pleased you didn’t allow your head to rule your heart for very long. It’s plain to see you and Master Luke are made for each other.’

Oh, God! Briony inwardly groaned. Maintaining the pretence of a perfect union might well turn out to be far harder than she had ever imagined. How on earth was she going to pretend to be a blissfully contented married woman for a whole six months?

Striving not to dwell on the ticklish problem, she occupied herself with getting ready for bed. Not attempting to make conversation, and her rather business-like approach to changing into a freshly laundered nightgown didn’t appear to arouse the least suspicion in the housekeeper’s breast. It was only when Briony collected the book she had begun to read a day or so earlier, before settling herself in the bed, that the housekeeper’s greying brows shot up in surprise.

‘Why, Miss Briony!’ Dismay had clearly caused Janet momentarily to forget her young mistress’s new status. ‘You’re never thinking of reading … not on your wedding night?’

Briony was nonplussed for a moment. ‘Why ever shouldn’t I?’

Janet spread her arms in a helpless gesture. ‘Well … because I swear I heard the master’s footsteps along the passageway a few minutes ago.’

‘In that case you’d best not tarry,’ Briony advised.

Which had clearly been the right thing to say, for an expression of approval replaced the look of bewilderment on the housekeeper’s face, a moment before she whisked herself out of the room.

Briony released her breath in a long sigh of relief, as she made herself comfortable against the mound of lacy pillows. At last she could relax with her book and forget about all the subterfuge, at least until morning.

No sooner had the comforting thought filtered through her mind than she detected the click of the door leading to the master bedroom and discovered none other than the tall figure of her husband filling the aperture.

More intrigued than unnerved, she found herself studying his attire, or lack of it, for beneath the crimson-brocade dressing gown she strongly suspected he was wearing absolutely nothing at all. Dark curling hairs clearly showed between ornately embroidered lapels, and there was a suspicion of the same dark covering caressing the ankles of unshod feet.

‘Is there something amiss? I was informed all your belongings had been placed in your room,’ she remarked as 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 increasingly guttural. ‘So whilst I’m here I might as well avail myself of the opportunity to discover if, perchance, you’ve changed your mind and natural maidenly modesty forbids you to reveal that you desire to become a wife in … every sense?’

The response to this was a violent shake of the head, which sent silky chestnut tresses whipping across wide, frightened eyes, and induced slender tapering fingers to clutch more frantically at white linen, as though her very life depended upon it.

Luke wrested the bed sheet from her grasp as easily as if he were depriving a child of its toy and smiled softly. ‘There’s no need to look so terrified, Briony,’ he assured her, reaching out to trace the soft line of her jaw with surprisingly gentle fingers. ‘I’ve never yet forced myself on an unwilling female and I have no intention of doing so now. The marriage will be as you wish … mere pretence.’

Letting his hand fall, Luke rose from the bed. ‘I shall never again enter this room unless bidden to do so. You have my word on that. Goodnight, my dear.’

Briony couldn’t have responded even had she wished to do so. A painful obstruction had unexpectedly lodged itself in her throat, making speech impossible, and her pulse was racing, though no longer through fear. That portion of her face that had been touched by, oh, so gentle fingers continued to tingle strangely, and the unerring feeling that she had just rejected something very precious entered her mind and remained there to torment her long after she had watched the light disappear from beneath the communicating door.

By morning she was once again feeling more herself. Her resolve had reasserted itself and restored her determination to play her part in the mock union in order to secure what promised to be a very comfortable future existence, once the farcical marriage had been annulled.

She woke much later than usual, a circumstance that certainly didn’t seem in any way extraordinary to Janet, who brought in a breakfast tray and cast her young mistress a long, considering look. The smile she received in response appeared to please her because she went about the room humming a ditty as she twitched back curtains to her satisfaction and rearranged several items on the dressing table.

‘I trust you slept well, mistress?’

‘Eventually … yes.’

The housekeeper’s smile widened at this response. ‘Master Luke’s up and about already,’ she revealed. ‘I expect he wants to familiarise himself with all the old property again. People tend to forget that, apart from the large garden, the Manor has quite a bit of land attached to it. Besides which, two of his other people arrived earlier this morning, bringing a whole string of horses with them, not to mention a couple of carriages. The stables must be fair full, I shouldn’t wonder.’

This succeeded in capturing Briony’s interest. She’d always enjoyed riding herself and was curious to see what kind of horses Luke now kept in his stables. Whether she liked him or not—and the jury was still very much out on that particular issue—honesty obliged her to own that he had been a fine judge of horseflesh even in his youth, and she doubted that would have changed. ‘I’ll wander over to the stables presently myself.’

‘Well, you take your time, Miss Briony … Oh, there I goes again! Can’t get used to calling you madam.’

‘Don’t concern yourself, Janet. I don’t object.’

‘You might not. But I dare swear the master would. He’s already taking an interest in your well being, bless him! Said as how you weren’t to be disturbed too early and that you’d be taking breakfast in bed.’

Briony wasn’t altogether sure she cared to have another making decisions for her. She wasn’t accustomed to breaking her fast in bed; although she didn’t object to doing so this morning, she had no intention of making a habit of it just to please the new master of the house. So the sooner she made that perfectly plain the better!

After the wonderful dinner she had consumed the night before, she wasn’t feeling particularly hungry and was soon setting the tray aside and turning her attention to getting herself ready for the day ahead. She had finished dressing and was on the point of seating herself before the dressing table in order to do up her hair in a simple chignon, when she noticed the housekeeper staring fixedly down at the crumpled mound of bedcovers.

‘Something amiss, Janet?’

The housekeeper turned to look at her young mistress, her expression clearly troubled. ‘I trust not, Miss Briony … I sincerely trust not.’

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