A Hasty Betrothal (6 page)

She swallowed hard, summoning the reserve she'd been taught to carry, the fortitude to face unpleasant situations with grace and regal bearing. “You're avoiding answering me, but the truth is that your response no longer has any bearing on the situation we find ourselves in. There are three things you ask of me. I shall do them regardless of how I feel. And if I do these tasks, you will marry me and not break our betrothal?”

“Yes,” he said.

She found the courage to look at him. His eyes were unreadable, his jaw set in a stubborn line. It reminded her of the time he took the punishment for breaking cook's favorite bowl when he and John were fighting over the last bit of dough. John had let him take the punishment, too, which she'd deemed quite dishonorable at the time.

Miles would go through with marrying her, no matter how unpalatable he found the union. It was in his nature to fix situations and help others. She lifted her chin and met his troubled gaze.

“This is not ideal for me either. I am giving up the possibility for true love. At least pretend that we are on somewhat good terms. I shall not bother you overly much, Miles. After these first few months, we may go our separate ways.”

His brows lowered and if possible, his glower deepened. “Trust me, madam, I shall not forget that you are only marrying me out of desperation.”

The barouche jolted to a stop just in time, for Elizabeth did not know how to respond. She had assumed he found marriage to her a cumbersome burden, but it almost seemed as though her first rejection had tainted his view of her. But how could that be? He was as resistant to marriage as she, though for quite different reasons.

Befuddled by his response, she waited for the barouche door to be opened. She took the footman's hand and descended. No matter. They had chosen their course, and there could be no turning back.

She glanced around her. People crowded Gunter's. It was April, after all. The start of a fabulous Season, and everyone who was anyone knew that ices on a warm day were a perfect opportunity to see and be seen.

She braced herself for the stares and conversation, taking the parasol Miles so kindly handed to her. He had managed to wipe the moodiness from his face and looked the perfect gentleman with his chiseled features and neatly tied cravat. She half expected her skirts to be mussed, but no, as she glanced down, she saw that the silks were in perfect arrangement about her slippered feet.

The purpose of their visit to Gunter's was twofold. To discuss what Miles expected of her and then let all those who had read that unfortunate gossip see that Mr. Hawthorne was far more to her than an illicit liaison during an overcrowded ball.

Her parents wasted no time in informing her that it was her duty to spread the word that she was betrothed, even if only by action. They were quite unhappy with her betrothal to a man of business but since she'd rejected Wrottesley, they had little choice in the matter. Unless they wanted to bring scandal on the family, her marriage to Miles was the only possible solution.

Mother had refused to speak to her this morning.

Wincing, she forced herself to take in her surroundings. Her windpipe shrank.

Well-dressed ladies milled about the emerald grasses of the park, some carrying their own parasols, others wearing broad-brimmed bonnets. Gentlemen strolled beside them, using stylish canes and carrying ices. Servants darted back and forth, and even the waiters looked pristine in their uniforms as they brought treats to those who'd rather sit in curricles.

Clouds provided the perfect shade for those who chose to walk the paths designed for couples and families. Not everyone wanted to be cloistered on such a lovely spring day. Elizabeth clutched her parasol closer, battling the urge to turn her head at an angle. Why had she agreed to this?

The overwhelming sense of inferiority and failure that accompanied public appearances pounded through her. A duke's granddaughter should be poised and, if not beautiful, then regal. She supposed she should be thankful she had not been sent to a country house to live out her days, free of the stares of those who had never experienced mottled, discolored skin. She supposed she should be thankful...and yet she was not. How often she wished to live in solitude, with only the company of unseeing books.

This morning's escape from her parents' disapproval had seemed a smart choice, but now she wasn't so sure. Panic edged her throat, circling her thoughts like a vulture feeding upon her sanity.

Pressure on her arm caused her to glance over to see Miles offering her a tender look. “All will be well, dear Bitt. Hold your head up and show these people how the granddaughter of a duke behaves.”

She nodded stiffly. He was right, of course. His confidence bolstered her as she gripped his arm and let him lead her to a pretty little bench situated on the side of the hill. He left her there to get ices, and when he returned, he settled beside her and handed her one.

The treat was as delicious as she remembered. Almost enough to take her mind off the curious glances they received. At last one woman meandered over. Elizabeth knew she should recognize the striking blonde, who was dressed in an outfit that must be eminently fashionable, covered in ruffles and lace and shrieking wealth.

Her lady's maid followed behind, eyes averted. Oh, yes, certainly a woman Elizabeth should know. A sense of failure threatened to take hold.

“Lady Elizabeth, how good to see you out. And with a suitor, no less.” The woman's eyebrows twitched, and Elizabeth thought she saw a frown in her smile. She waited, presumably for Elizabeth to introduce them.

Miles had stood in the lady's presence. Elizabeth forced herself upward, racking her mind for the lady's name. For something. Anything. But a name failed to form.

“Lady Englewood, is it not?” Miles offered her a crisp bow, to which the lady held out her hand for his perfunctory kiss upon her silken glove. He straightened, offering Elizabeth a twinkling smirk. “We met the other evening, I recall.”

“Ah, yes. Mr. Hawthorne. Lord Wrottesley mentioned you in passing, and I do believe you were a part of our little group at Lady Charleston's. Such a fashionable woman.” The lady turned her sharp words to Elizabeth, who wavered beneath her peer's scrutiny. “It is good to see you in the fair weather, my dear. Your parents have expressed concern for your health, citing it as the reason you've been in the country for so long. Though I do remember you coming out last year, did you not?”

“I have been out for several years now,” Elizabeth said carefully. And now to play her parents' plan to perfection. “Mr. Hawthorne has graciously extended me an offer of marriage, and so we are celebrating with ices. There will be invitations going out for a celebratory ball. An event you will not want to miss. It's sure to be a crush of the most gigantic proportions.”

Miles made a noise that sounded like a cough. She quickly patted him on his nicely muscled arm. “My affianced is quite excited to meet my parents' circle of friends.”

“Is that so?” Lady Englewood's nose thrust upward and Elizabeth could almost imagine a quizzing glass stuck to her eyeball. “We shall most eagerly await the invitation.” She gave them one last look, her gaze lingering upon the right side of Elizabeth's face, as though perhaps wondering how any man could possibly want such a marred human being.

Miles was not any man though, as annoying as he could be. Suddenly Elizabeth felt happy to be out with him. They shared a conspiratorial smile as they returned to their seats and watched the loose-lipped lady spread the word that the heiress had found a gentleman.

And for a moment, as Elizabeth tasted the tartness in her ice and inhaled the aroma of Miles's cologne, she quite felt that all was right with the world, and that perhaps life would not be as horrible as she anticipated.

Chapter Six

M
iles had certainly wasted no time in making Elizabeth's life miserable.

She scowled at herself in the mirror.

“Be calm, my lady.” Jenna came up behind her. She touched Elizabeth's hair, which she'd put up earlier that morning. “You look lovely and shall enjoy yourself.”

“Now that I'm betrothed, you won't need to go with us everywhere.”

“Quite fortuitous for me.” A shy smirk edged Jenna's lips in the mirror's reflection. “I have several duties to complete before I meet you at Windermar.” Jenna would be leaving the next morning for the estate. “Your pink chiffon is in need of an update. I was thinking roses and silk stitching.”

Elizabeth waved a hand, her gaze straying to her birthmark. In the glare of morning, the rippled redness appeared remarkably noticeable. “I despise that dress. Destroy it.”

Jenna laughed. “Nonsense. I know of several lower maids who are in want of a fancy dress. Why, Betsy is marrying in two months. She could use the material for something quite lovely.”

A twinge pinged Elizabeth, but not enough to take her attention from the face staring back at her. “Just get rid of the dress. Is there no other way to disguise this...?”

“I purchased a new powder but hesitate to try it on a day you're going out with Mr. Hawthorne, on the chance you have a negative reaction. You have such sensitive skin, my lady.”

Elizabeth frowned, tracing the outline of her birthmark. The edges scraped her fingertips, the texture quite different than the rest of her skin. Indeed, if it were not for this infernal marking, she might have quite beautiful skin. Naturally creamy and pale, with cheeks that blushed easily and required no rouge. Her lips also were often full colored, requiring none of the dreadful lip antics she'd seen other ladies resort to.

Jenna put a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder as if to comfort her. “We will try the powder tomorrow. Will that do?”

“After so many years, one would think we could find a way to hide my blemish.” Elizabeth pushed up from her seat and faced Jenna. “You have been a most excellent lady's maid. Give that dress to Betsy, finish whatever duties await you and then take the afternoon off.”

“Really, my lady?”

“Of course. You are leaving for Windermar in the morning?”

“I had planned to.”

“Grandmother can spare a maid to help me when I arrive.” Elizabeth forced a smile to hide the dread curling inside as the time to visit Miles's factory drew near. His arrival was imminent. Their trip would be an all-week affair, as the factory was located in Cheshire County, near her grandmother's estate.

After Miles informed her of their upcoming factory visit, she'd written to Grandmother, procuring permission to stay for several days. Elizabeth was looking forward to returning home. She had procured a telescope several months ago but had not been able to use it nearly as much as she'd hoped.

“Thank you, my lady.” Jenna curtsied and left the room. Reluctantly, Elizabeth followed. As she trudged downstairs, she heard Miles's voice coming from her father's study. The sound of his husky, deep tones sent an odd shiver through her.

Nerves, of course. For being forced into a factory tour, surrounded by strange staring people... She shuddered but then squared her shoulders. A small price to pay for what Miles had given up to keep her from ruin.

That niggle of guilt did not leave her as she reached the hall. She determined to make the best of today. At least she no longer had to put up with Wrottesley. He'd turned his attentions to a country baron's daughter rumored to be in possession of an impressive dowry. She hoped the poor girl's parents possessed some sense.

Her stomach pinched and she was aware of a tight, painful feeling beneath her breast bone. Nausea rose as she stood near the front door. She battled the feeling down, not wanting Miles to see how horribly uncomfortable she was. He might back out of the betrothal if he thought she could not handle being his wife.

Though she hadn't read the gossip rags this morning, she was sure they must be worse. Unless some other unsuspecting debutante had made the grievous error of venturing out alone, making herself ripe for ruin. Less than two weeks ago there had been speculations about a betrothal announcement and a veiled threat that should it not be done soon, a certain heiress risked ruination.

Their visit to Gunter's several days ago had helped in settling the rumors. For the past week, Mother had been making calls and the banns would be announced soon enough.

Elizabeth had attended another ball last night, and it had been a tricky business. She'd tried her best to smile, to engage, but she had not danced a single dance and she'd felt the speculative gazes of matrons and debutantes alike. No one had cut her though, and for that she was thankful.

Miles had not attended the event, for he'd been busy working.

“There you are.” Father emerged from his study, followed by her betrothed. “Your mother has left to pay calls and find out where we stand with your...situation.” He cleared his throat, his immaculate visage contorting with the supposed pain of having to think of his daughter's less than stellar choices.

“Are you ready?” Miles walked toward her, his expression inscrutable.

Wordlessly, she nodded. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than she thought necessary. She wrinkled her face at him. His lips twitched. He turned to her father and held out his hand.

“I trust I've answered your questions thoroughly, and that we may proceed with our contract?”

“My man of business will be in touch.”

The two men nodded in a masculine code that, frankly, Elizabeth had no desire to understand. It did not escape her that Miles probably had a man of business, too. He probably spent hours each day immersed in contracts, which she'd never really considered before.

What a lot of boring reading.

Give her a good piece of fiction or an informative article on the newest technological advances...but contracts? She repressed a shudder.

Her father returned to his study, hardly glancing at her. It was time to leave. She felt quite sick, and moistness slicked her palms. Surreptitiously she swiped them against her dress. Miles took her arm gently. Warmth radiated from him. His cologne surrounded her. And it seemed as he looked down at her that his eyes held unexpected compassion. Their gray calm reminded her of a quiet sky, overcast with no wind and plenty of shadow.

Did he guess how difficult this journey was for her? How inept and terrified she felt? She swallowed and forced herself to stand straighter, to look brave when she felt perilously close to bursting into childish tears. The last thing her family needed was for Miles to withdraw his offer because he thought Elizabeth incapable of being the kind of wife he wanted.

Soon they were situated in the carriage. Elizabeth clutched her novel, hardly speaking as the rig rolled down the road, heading out of London and toward Cheshire. Bright skies promised safe travel and little to fear on the journey.

They had mapped out which inns to stay at, should the journey require more than one night of rest.

Elizabeth swallowed, very aware of Miles's proximity and the lengthy travel ahead. His satchel bulged with papers. Her book felt light in comparison.

Who was this man she'd pledged her life to? Busy searching his satchel, Miles did not appear to notice her perusal, for which she was thankful. He was not in a brooding mood. Of that she was sure. But not once had he cracked a smile or teased her. His solemnity concerned her and added to the coiled rigidity of her emotions.

He set a pair of spectacles on his fine nose and drew a thick stack of papers from the satchel. He looked up, catching her open gaze.

“I see you brought a book.” There was not the slightest hint that he'd noticed her gawking at him, nor that he even cared if he had. “If it is all the same to you, I'll be reading through these papers for the bulk of our travel. I trust you can entertain yourself?”

So formal. So distant. Elizabeth nodded slowly, at a loss. Who was this man in front of her? Certainly not the carefree gentleman who had always chided Elizabeth's bibliophilia. Nor was he the mischievous boy who'd yanked her pigtails and dared her to climb Grandmother's tallest oak.

No, this man across from her, with his long legs encased in breeches and shiny Hessians and his serious brow fastened to the work before him, was not the Miles she had always known.

A chill started at the base of her toes and rippled upward. Trembling, she pressed her lips together and stared out the carriage's window, scarcely seeing the change of countryside as they traveled north.

For suddenly the prospect of meeting new people appeared far less dangerous than a future spent with a man who had become a complete and utter stranger.

* * *

Miles exhaled with relief when the carriage pulled up to his newly acquired factory. The journey had been smooth but long. He was a little ahead of schedule, arriving before his man of business expected him. He'd decided not to send a post, the better to keep Mr. Shapely on his toes. Though such underhanded tactics were not a common method for him, his father had taught him that it sometimes paid to be unpredictable. It kept employees accountable.

Not that Shapely had given him any cause for worry. His longtime man of business sent detailed reports and kept meticulous records. Miles had no reason to doubt his abilities.

When he'd first toured the factory months ago, he'd decided to buy it. He'd known he'd need to make changes, because the sight that assailed him had been heart wrenching. Vacant-eyed mothers and emaciated children worked the bulk of the machinery.

Not only were the employees ill-treated, but the factory was dirty and mismanaged. After the contracts had been settled, he had given the factory manager a month to improve conditions. That time was almost up. He'd planned to return to oversee the changes, and in the meantime, he'd left Mr. Shapely to facilitate the process.

Inheriting the family business was a responsibility Miles didn't assume lightly. His father taught him and his brother to treat their employees with respect and fairness. Unfortunately, not all factory owners valued their workers. Then again, not all owners had risen from the depths of poverty to become wealthy men as had his father. He had left his children not only with a financial inheritance, but with a reputation of being worthy of the title gentleman. It was a responsibility Miles did not assume lightly.

He put aside the studies he'd been perusing and watched Bitt. Head bent, she read with a quiet ferocity that befuddled him. Her hair was twisted in a neat auburn chignon that allowed two pretty curls to drape over her petite shoulders. She had not noticed that their carriage had stopped.

The footman opened their door. Sunlight drenched the innards of the rig. Bitt looked up, blinking like an owl caught unawares. A strange and unwieldy emotion knotted in Miles's chest. There was something so intensely feminine and gentle about Elizabeth.

After their visit to Gunter's, he wasn't sure he'd done the right thing in agreeing to this betrothal. She was a rare flower, a fragile bloom of womanhood in need of protection. He may not be able to give her his heart nor his time, but could he provide a safe haven for her soul?

“Thank you, Thomas.” Miles held out his satchel to the footman, who took it before stepping to the side while Miles exited the carriage. The sound of the mill greeted him. Water charging over the mill wheel created a constant rushing noise.

Once on the ground, he beckoned Bitt to step out of the rig.

Clutching her book, she held out a hand.

“Leave the novel,” he said.

“Must I?” The timidity he'd so often seen on her in the past had returned. Her obvious fear clawed at his resolve to remain distant when every instinct propelled him to comfort her.

Feeling grim and tamping his emotions down to a more manageable place, he took her hand. “The book may be ruined or destroyed if you bring it in. A cotton mill is no place for dreams.”

Her chin quivered for the briefest moment before notching up as though she'd found some starch in her spine. She set the book on the seat and then allowed him to help her out.

He caught a whiff of her perfume, wildflowers and honey. He set her quickly on the ground, releasing her, forcing himself to forget how soft her skin had felt against his, how tiny her waist beneath his palm.

“This belongs to you?” She offered him a tremulous smile as she pointed toward the factory before them. An imposing brick building, it offered little in the way of gentility. The first time Anastasia had seen his other factory, she'd had a fit of the vapors.

Bitt was made of sterner stuff, he guessed, for her color remained healthy and her eyes direct.

“Yes,” he answered. “I've some changes to make. It was in disrepair and not producing a profit.” He shifted on his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Perhaps he should have waited to bring her here. Waited until flowers and shrubs had been planted in the barren landscape. Anything to escape the illusion that they were about to enter a prison. An illusion he hoped to change very soon.

“Owning a factory seems as though it requires a great deal of time.”

He grimaced, fighting the urge to look down at her lest she see his discomfiture. One of Anastasia's greatest complaints had been his lack of time spent with her. “Most of my reading involves articles regarding profit and loss, how to run a mill in the most efficient ways. Sometimes I enjoy a good, scientific discourse on new inventions.”

She shot him a look of surprise, which he couldn't decipher. A part of his preoccupation during their travel was because he had wanted to avoid conversation that might turn toward uncomfortable topics. It was bad enough that her perfume had filled the interior of his carriage, making focusing impossible because all he could think of was the woman sitting across from him.