A Hasty Betrothal (5 page)

The thought bolstered her resolve to extricate herself from the perfidy her parents planned. Her chin notched upward. “Will you take away my books just as you are stealing my freedom?”

“Do not be melodramatic, Elizabeth. It doesn't suit you.” But a fine blush swept her mother's cheeks.

“My lady.” The footman, whose name Elizabeth did not know, entered the room. His gaze skittered away from Elizabeth to land on Venetia. “Lord Wrottesley has arrived to call on Lady Elizabeth. Do you wish to receive him?”

“Very good, Stockton. Show him to the parlor.”

Stockton bowed and then left. Once again Elizabeth was reminded of her failure as an earl's daughter. She should know the servants' names, but most often she found herself avoiding them. There was that dreadful time during her fifteenth year...

She sighed. “May I go back to reading?”

“No.” Her mother studied her. “This is as we hoped, and sooner than we expected. Go upstairs, put on your best dress and then return to meet Lord Wrottesley. I shall welcome him and see that he's made at home. Do not tarry.” Mother swiped a scornful glance at Elizabeth's morning gown, a simple cotton dress she'd been wearing for years.

“I cannot believe that you are actually going to make me see him. After what he did?”

Mother had the grace to look away from Elizabeth. “It is not uncommon for a man to lack self-control. In the future, keep your lady's maid or companion nearby. It is your job, as the more refined gender, to keep a man's base instincts in check.”

Clenching her jaw, Elizabeth rose, grabbed her book and went to her room. Jenna dressed her speedily.

Elizabeth's nerves coiled. A great wall of anxiousness descended upon the anger she felt with her mother. The utter betrayal. As she slunk to the parlor, she realized her palms were damp and her jaw sore. She rolled her shoulders back but the movement did not ease the kink winding up her neck.

Odious Wrottesley. She prayed he came to apologize for kissing her. For putting his hands upon her person in an unacceptable manner. Couldn't he find some other heiress to annoy? A quick rap of her knuckles and the parlor door swung open. It had not stuck closed as she'd hoped it would.

Lord Wrottesley looked up as she entered. Mother was not in the room. The scratch upon his cheek had rather disappointingly faded. Elizabeth suppressed her chagrin at not leaving her mark in a more permanent way. An elaborate cravat decorated his shirt. True dandy fashion. His smooth cheeks and empty eyes reminded her of a book without words. Or perhaps a gossip rag. Yes, full of lies and cruelty. Though his lips tilted in a facsimile of a smile, she detected triumph. Her nerves flamed and for the briefest moment, she was tempted to begin carrying smelling salts.

Oh, to be able to faint at the slightest upset. It was truly disheartening that Grandmother had not passed down the condition.

Pushing the thought aside, she curtsied. Lord Wrottesley performed his requisite bow.

“You are looking much better than you did the night of the ball.” He eyed her carefully, as though examining her for evidence that his actions then had greatly affected her.

She kept her features placid. “My headache has subsided.”

Was that dissatisfaction crossing his features? She dearly hoped so. He clasped his hands and walked toward the fireplace, face tilted to study the portraits on the wall. “I will come straight to the point of why I am here.”

“Please do,” she said.

His form stiffened, but he did not look at her. “Yesterday morning's gossip rags were distressing, to say the least. To think I have called on someone capable of such misbehavior.”

“You caused it by manhandling me.”

“Ah, so you also recognized yourself in the column.” He turned to her and now she was certain of his disdain and his gloating. “There is a way to solve this, to keep your family's name intact and preserve your future. I have spoken with your father in the past and have been patiently waiting, but I will not wait forever. Now seems the time to right the unlikely situation which has presented itself.”

Knots twisted in her stomach. She could only stand immobile, heart pattering in uneven beats against her ribs, fingers clenching her skirts... She could not marry this man. Could not. He repulsed her in every way.

Memories from the ball crowded her mind. His sour breath upon her face, his fingers digging into her skin and his laugh... He had found it funny to frighten her, to catch her unawares.

She wanted to speak but found that her lips had numbed, her tongue had swollen. He advanced. He put his hands on her shoulders and, because of their difference in size, she felt even more threatened. Her pulse galloped within her skin.

“Ah, Lord Wrottesley.” Mother's voice sounded behind her and Elizabeth thought she really, truly might faint from relief.

He removed his hands and moved forward to greet her mother, kissing the top of her presented hand.

“Good to see you, Wrottesley.” Father emerged in her periphery, shaking hands with the dreadful viscount. “I see Elizabeth has made it down. Have you two discussed...anything?”

“I was just getting to that.” Lord Wrottesley flashed his supercilious smile and Elizabeth battled the urge to run as far as she could. “I would be honored if Lady Elizabeth would accept my proposal of marriage. In light of what's being said, now is the best time to put rumors to rest and I am prepared to offer her the security of my title and hand.”

“Daughter?” Father peered at her.

She swallowed. Though her parents were in many ways strangers to her, there resided a deep need to make them proud. To show them that she was not just a deformed castoff who brought shame, but a productive member of the family. Could she marry for that alone?

Her dire predicament struck her fully as the three stared at her expectantly. Waiting.

“I...” She faltered beneath their gazes. Her mind raced. “I thank you, Lord Wrottesley, for your generous offer. It is with regret that I must decline it.”

“But we will be ruined!” Mother's sharp exclamation was cut off by her hand to her mouth.

Father's brows furrowed. “There is no room for scandal in this family, Elizabeth.”

“I know that and I would never cause you such pain. The truth is...” She gulped deeply, knowing her next words would change the course of her life forever. “The truth is that I am betrothed to another.”

Chapter Five

“L
ady Elizabeth to see you, sir.” Powell announced the news quietly, but the words punched Miles out of his deep study of contracts and into the present. He blinked at his valet.

“Lady Elizabeth Wayland?”

“The very one. She has requested your presence immediately.” Powell paused, his serious features perplexed. “She claims the matter to be most urgent, and if I may say so, she appears rather...winded.”

“Thank you. Tell her I will be there shortly.” Miles pushed his chair out, gut twisting. He could not forget yesterday morning's ride. What had he been thinking? Offering marriage? He must have temporarily gone insane. Thankfully, she'd refused. He'd done his part, as he'd scribbled in a quick note to John when he returned home.

Should Elizabeth need to marry, there would be plenty of willing suitors. His gut twisted at the thought of Elizabeth in a loveless relationship, but he pushed the feeling aside.

He well knew how love brought pain. He frowned. He did not wish to see Elizabeth today, but he could think of no reason for her to be at his house, alone, except for some unexpected predicament.

Had she changed her mind? Panic shot through him. He prayed not.

He found her pacing his library, hands wringing and dress fluttering with the force of her walk. Her hair escaped in disorganized ringlets around her cheeks, and when he entered her gaze flew to his.

“Miles,” she breathed.

He hardened himself against the relief so clearly etched on her face. Perhaps his pride still rankled from her cold dismissal. “Lady Elizabeth, won't you have a seat?”

Surprise fluttered across her face. Perhaps she'd expected a less formal greeting.

“I cannot sit. Something dreadful has happened. My hand is being forced, you see, and I said what I had to but now... I'm truly at my wit's end. I know not what to do. I pray you forgive me.”

He did not move from his position in the doorway. What was happening here? Fingering his cravat, he gave her a questioning look. “Surely things are not so terrible.”

“Oh, but they are.” She stooped and plucked a paper from the chair. Marching to him, she held it in front of his face. The words blurred without his spectacles, which he'd left at his desk.

“What is it?” he said irritably.

“That article. They are referencing me.” She lowered the morning rag. “It's still the gossip this morning, though there is no more mention of a factory owner. There is simply the implication that I...” Her face blanched. “Behaved inappropriately. They do not go so far as to write something to my complete ruination, but a betrothal is the only option to fix this, for if it continues as a topic of conversation, or widespread rumor, then I could very well be ruined and throw my family into the worst sort of scandal.”

“Did you not say you cared ‘not a whit' about your family's standing?”

Elizabeth wrinkled her face. “Empty words. I wish I had not uttered them.” She drew a deep breath, looking down at his feet. “Lord Wrottesley has offered marriage, and my parents would have me accept.”

Miles's spine went rigid. He held up a hand, stopping her midspeech. “The same man who so cruelly mauled you and caused this fiasco?”

Bitt flushed. “Do not repeat this, please, but I believe he may be the one behind the rumors. They are too expedient. I cannot marry him, Miles. I dare not.”

“After what he did to you? Do your parents know?”

Her blush deepened. “I told Mother, but she feels I brought his behavior upon myself. I will say that he was a gentleman in the library, in the presence of my parents. I told him I could not marry him. That I was not at liberty to do so.”

“At the risk of ruining your family?”

“Not quite.” Her eyes, a startling crystal blue, shone in the morning light streaming through his library windows. “I know you believe me spoiled and selfish and that I care nothing for my family's standing, but you are mistaken.”

“Bitt.” A lump rose to his throat. “I do not think those things of you.”

She smiled, but it was halfhearted and sent a pang through him. “Nonsense. You said as much the other day. My concern for my family is precisely the reason I am here this morn.”

He waited, knowing her well enough to trust that she'd circle to her purpose at her own leisure.

“I was hoping your proposal still stands,” she said.

Miles couldn't control the shock that pierced him.

Bitt walked to him and placed a hand on his sleeve. “When Lord Wrottesley arrived today, I knew I would do anything to avoid being joined to that odious toad. So I told him we were betrothed.”

Shocked by her words, he wrenched away from her and glanced out the study door. There were no servants to be seen. “You were adamant you'd never marry me. Yet now, in a moment of desperation, you have changed your mind?” A curious hurt resided in his chest. From whence it came, he knew not, but nevertheless it was there, a heavy pressure beneath his sternum that turned his stomach sour.

Why did he care? He did not want marriage.

Bitt winced. “My hasty words hurt you. I see that now. It is simply that I never thought to find myself in this predicament. I felt that I would never marry in order to appease my family's need for good standing, but now that the moment has come and I have seen the pain I would cause, I cannot bear to be the author of such scandal.”

Miles walked to the window and peered outside. His view faced the street. A carriage pulled to the curb. He recognized the crest as Dunlop's. “Your parents have arrived.”

Bitt's silence weighed on him. He knew she wanted him to renew his offer, to ignore her earlier rejection of him and pretend that they could move forward. They very well could marry. He knew that. He also knew he would fail her, just as he had Anastasia. Then again, a marriage of convenience was different than what he and his deceased wife had shared. Their relationship had begun with him already mired in the pit of love.

Or infatuation.

Whatever it had been, once married, reality had set in for both of them. Perhaps he needn't worry about that with Bitt. Swiveling, he took in her unkempt hair, her begging eyes and nervous fingers. He remembered her laughter in childhood, followed by somber silences. And that day he'd heard her sobbing...

If he married her, she'd have his protection. No one would dare mock her or make her feel ugly. But she'd told him that she only wanted to marry for love. And that was the one thing he could not give her.

“Miles.” Her voice caught, the tang of guilt residing in her broken syllables. “There is something else you should know.”

He regarded her carefully. Quiet, unobtrusive Bitt. When had she grown into such a stubborn creature? “Yes?”

Her fingers knotted in the folds of her dress. “I did not only tell Wrottesley I'm betrothed to you. My parents believe it, as well.”

“You lied.” His jaw hardened. Every tendon in his neck tightened. This explained her sudden appearance at his door. She'd dug a hole and expected him to rescue her from its trap.

“No, I have simply changed my mind. I hoped your offer might still stand. I—I promise to be a good wife, Miles. If you will only understand that I did not know the repercussions when I rejected your kind offer. Although I hoped to marry for love, that is no longer an option.”

Mouth dry, he said, “Anastasia was unhappy married to me.”

So much so that she took her own life. But he could not utter that terrible truth. Could hardly bear to remember the depths of misery she'd endured in their relationship. Marrying for love, as he'd learned, was a foolhardy reason for what essentially amounted to a contract.

“I do not know the truth of your words,” Bitt said quietly, “but I would rather be unhappy with you, a man who sees past my visage and cares for my soul, than unhappy with one who would empty my pocketbook and treat me with cruelty.” The sounds of her parents' arrival in the hall filtered to them. She lowered her eyes, knotting her fingers. “They shall be in here in a moment and if you can find it within yourself to marry me, then I will proudly take your name.”

Miles studied her. Surely she lied to herself, whether or not she knew it, but he owed John a great deal, and if he married Bitt, his debt would be paid. No doubt her parents would demand he marry her, as well. Especially since she'd rejected Wrottesley. He blamed her not at all for such a decision.

He could not forget his own part in her situation either. Had he pressured her to take a companion with her, Wrottesley would have not found her vulnerable. What a mess he'd gotten himself into. John was right. There was only one acceptable solution to this situation.

He expelled an uneven breath. “It will be a marriage of convenience. A business contract. No more or less.”

“I understand. I take that to mean that...well...that there will be no wedding kiss?”

He understood her question. He remained silent at the hesitant inquiry. By offering her a marriage of convenience, he would save her reputation and yet steal her chance for the intimate love of a husband and wife. Let alone the experience of a first kiss.

“Forgive me,” she rushed on, before he could respond. “I will not ask such assurances from you. It is enough that my family shall remain in good standing.”

He nodded slowly. “If you recall, I mentioned certain stipulations. I need to be certain that you can be moderately happy married to me.”

Miles did not care for the strain on Bitt's face, but it had occurred to him that if their marriage was to have any success, he should test their compatibility. Make certain she could fulfill the duties of a gentleman's wife. Nothing strenuous, just enough to set his mind at ease. After all, he was about to be shackled for life. Not his idea of a happy ending, but he could not leave his childhood friend in distress.

He waited for her to respond, every muscle tight and clenched.

Footsteps pounded down the hall. Bitt's parents appeared in the doorway. Her father's face wore somber lines as he advanced into the office. “Is it true, Hawthorne? Are you set to marry my daughter?”

Bitt looked at him, a mix of fear and desperation plastered on her features. She gave him a slow nod, and he knew that she had accepted his terms without even knowing them.

A stiff foreboding crawled down Miles's spine. He bowed crisply. “Forgive me, Lord Dunlop. I meant to speak with you sooner. If you will allow so, I shall marry your daughter.”

* * *

“Why, Miles, this is positively insulting.” Elizabeth scanned the paper he handed to her. Ensconced in his barouche, they were to discuss the “business” of marriage while taking a trip to Gunter's for ices.

It was all very tedious and though she did enjoy sweets, she'd much rather be curled up on her bed with a good book than sitting in this rig, looking at a list of tasks she must accomplish in order to be considered suitable for marriage. How like Miles to create a list. So very methodical. She found the entire business humbling, for he was changing his life to accommodate her. She worked hard to squelch the irritation throbbing within.

“You agreed to this arrangement,” he said, his voice unusually hard.

Wincing, Elizabeth dipped her head in concession. “Quite right. I did. Though may I remind you that I was under a great deal of pressure at the time? Is this truly necessary? A house party? To celebrate our betrothal? That is farcical.”

“You and I will have a marriage of convenience. Nothing more.”

A pang hit Elizabeth square in the ribs. Indigestion, no doubt, brought on by the stress of her future being destroyed. She peered at the paper more closely, attempting to decipher his scrawl whilst acknowledging the terrible fact that due to her own irresponsible actions, she had given up her dreams of true love forever. A surreal realization, to be sure.

“Instead of writing what you want from me in overwrought detail, you could have simply told me.” She handed the paper to him, thankful her fingers did not tremble. She had not slept well last night, strange dreams troubling her sleep. “Am I to understand that you ask only three things of me?”

“That is correct.” He steepled his fingers, his face dark and brooding. “Are you certain you can do what I've asked?”

“I said that I would.” She drew an unsteady breath. Miles had been backed into a corner. He had done an honorable deed, one she should be thankful for. It was her duty to make this as painless for him as possible. “Visiting your new factory shan't be an issue, I'm sure. But planning a betrothal ball is a bit excessive. And I confess I fail to see why I should visit Vauxhall Gardens with you, as well. These are odd and unlikely requests. They will not make me a better wife.” The very thought filled her with dread. Her shoulders slumped. She could never measure up to Anastasia.

How could a homely caterpillar ever compare to a fragile, colorful butterfly?

He held up a hand. “Familiarity with my business and associating with others in social settings is something you may be called upon to do. If you can't handle these situations gracefully, it is better to know now, before we are bound for life.”

Elizabeth didn't dare look at Miles. When he'd picked her up this morning, she'd felt the darkness of his demeanor. He was in a mood, to be sure, and it did not reassure her of their upcoming nuptials. It was no surprise that marrying her brought him great irritation. If she had any other option, she would not have accepted his reluctant proposal.

The thought sparked her temper. “If marrying me is such a daunting task, why did you ever ask in the first place? I did not compel you to act the honor-bound gentleman.” She dared not go so far as to offer to back out of the nuptials.

“I am still asking myself the same question.”

His words sliced her. She was truly in a mess of her own making. Oh, why had a walk outside seemed like a good idea? That dreadful viscount had ruined everything.