Be My Bride (21 page)

As they rejoined their already laden liveried footman and continued their walk up New Bond Street, they had to stop every few moments to accept additional congratulations from various acquaintances. The weather was chill for early May. Joanna hugged her blue satin pelisse to her and wished she’d thought to wear a shawl over the top as her mother had done with her own serpentine satin pelisse.

Yet as she was forced to smile and offer her thanks for each fervent wish for her happiness, she began to wonder whether it was the weather or her situation she found uncomfortable. Surely this uneasiness she felt was only the pre-wedding jitters of any bride. She nodded at Lady Wentworth’s advice on household management and promised Genevieve Munroe to visit as soon as possible. Her mother managed to call everyone by their correct names and remember to thank them for their kind thoughts. It should all have been very endearing, but by the time they reached the dressmaker’s several shops down, Joanna could feel her smile becoming strained.

“And how might we serve madam today?” the heavy-set dressmaker sang out, rushing forward in a cloud of lilac perfume.

“Yellow,” Lady Lindby pronounced. “Though not a bright shade. I would not want Joanna to blind the fellow before she got him home.”

“That is to say,” Joanna supplied hurriedly as the dressmaker frowned in confusion, “my mother would like a gown in an understated tone. I am to be married, in June.”

Of course more congratulations followed, but Joanna was glad when the woman led her to a velvet-upholstered seat before a mirrored dressing table.

“Cream is all the rage,” the dressmaker confided, removing Joanna’s bonnet, “but with your coloring, I’d try for something more dramatic.”

She draped a swatch of silver-white satin over the shoulders of Joanna’s pelisse. The color complimented her pale skin and brought out the shine in her thick black hair. Above the swatch, her dark eyes glowed warmly.

“I have just the lace for it,” the dressmaker continued. “In the finest Brussels rose pattern with silver embroidery. It will match that lovely diamond ring of yours. You’ll be more regal than a queen. He won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

As her mother stepped forward to discuss design and fittings, Joanna glanced down at the heavy diamond engagement ring, twisting it about her finger. She’d been so happy when Allister had slipped it on her hand. Yet somehow in the days that had followed, clouds had crossed the sunshine of her delight. She was now certain that the design of her wedding dress would make little difference. Allister found it all too easy to take his eyes off her. She was afraid the wedding would not change that.

Walking back to their carriage with her mother, she scolded herself for her lack of confidence. She should be thankful. No one had ever expected her to make such a brilliant match. Oh, she had had suitors. Her dark coloring and elegant figure had guaranteed that she would be sought out. But that same composure, coupled with a shy nature, had deterred close connections. Her widowed mother had begged her to try harder, but she couldn’t seem to do so. Consequently, she had earned the reputation of being cold.

Yet she knew nothing could be farther from the truth. A passionate heart beat in her breast. She had simply waited for the right man with whom to share it.

Enter Allister Fenwick, Baron Trevithan. One could not ask for a more likely hero. His hair was as dark and thick as hers, and wavier, swept back from a square-jawed face. His deep-set eyes were chips of sapphire that warmed with his mood. His figure was trim; he prowled with the grace of an African predator. To top it all off, he was something of a mystery, having been on assignment to the War Office since graduating from Oxford ten years ago. That this dark and dangerous lord should show interest in her was beyond anything she could have imagined. Yet the first time she had danced with him she’d known he could unlock the door of her heart, and after a month of courting she had been willing to hand him the key. The day he had proposed had been the happiest day of her life.

Except . . .

He had yet to introduce her to any of his friends. While it seemed many people knew
of
him, few
knew
him. She could not help but wonder whether there was something amiss that so perfect a specimen of manhood would have so few intimates.

Except . . .

She could not seem to keep his interest when discussing wedding plans. A certain reticence on the part of the groom was to be expected; in her experience gentlemen seldom cared about the details of decoration and deportment the way a lady did. But she couldn’t help noticing that there were moments when she was talking to him about more serious subjects and his eyes would dim. If she questioned him he could answer readily enough, but she had the impression that his thoughts were elsewhere.

Except . . .

 He hadn’t told her he loved her. She’d been so brazen as to ask him outright once, but his smile and wink in response had been only momentarily satisfying. Oh, it wasn’t that he was indifferent. He demonstrated a kind consideration whenever they were together. And certainly she had no complaint for his romantic abilities. He sent her flowers, he took her for long walks and held her hand, he waltzed with her more often than was strictly proper, and he stole kisses at flatteringly frequent intervals. In fact the touch of his lips to hers raised a tempest inside her that usually resulted in a swollen mouth, tousled hair, and a beaming smile. But not once had he seemed so affected.

As Joanna and her mother alighted from the carriage and climbed the stairs to the cheery red door of their small stone townhouse off Grosvenor Square, she sighed. Perhaps she had no confidence in his devotion because they had only known each other a short time. He had only courted her for three months before proposing after all. How could anyone feel comfortable after only three months? She’d lived in the trim three-story townhouse since her father had died eight years ago, and it still felt stiff and cold to her, for all that her mother had decorated it in shades of yellow and bought many fine paintings and porcelains to enhance it. If she took so long to welcome change, she could not expect Allister to change his bachelor ways so quickly. She had to remember that he
had
proposed – that was the important thing. While he may not love her as deeply as she loved him, they had time. She had every confidence that she would make him a good wife. Perhaps, with time and proximity, he would lose his heart more fully.

“So much to do,” her mother lamented as they entered the marble-tiled foyer. “We’ve only sent out the first batch of invitations. The family is already sending presents. My friends are clambering to know if they may throw parties for you. This wedding will be the death of me as long as I live.”

“I promise I’ll be right there to help, Mother,” Joanna assured her. Pausing by the half-moon hall table, she thumbed through the stack of cards and invitations that had arrived in their absence. One cream-colored note stood out from the others on the brass tray. It was addressed to her mother, and the sealing wax bore no signet.

“What could this be?” she asked her mother.

Lady Lindby handed her reticule and pelisse to the waiting elderly butler and crossed to her daughter’s side. Raising an eyebrow, she took the note and opened it. As her button brown eyes moved down the page, all color drained from her face. Joanna watched in alarm as her mother collapsed into the Hepplewhite chair beside the table.

“Mother!” she cried, kneeling in front of her. “Dames, get the smelling salts from my mother’s dressing table.

As the butler hurried away, her mother moaned. “Oh, my poor heart.” She stared off into the distance. Tears sparkled again, but Joanna knew they could not be from joy. Her mother focused on her with difficulty. “Oh, my poor Joanna!”

“Mother, what is it?” she begged, taking the nearest hand in her own. The short fingers were cold in her grip.

Her mother held out the note with her other hand. “I’m so sorry, dearest.”

“Allister?” Joanna gasped in realization. “Has something happened to Allister?” She snatched the letter from her mother’s trembling fingers, rising to scan it.

“Lady Lindby,” it read in a firm masculine hand, “it is with great distress and after many hours of consideration that I must rescind my offer for your daughter. I find I am simply not ready to embark on the sea of matrimony. I wish you luck in the future.” It was signed merely “Trevithan.”

Joanna felt cold to the center of her being. How could he? Had she been so uninteresting that she could be summarily dismissed? How dare he end their engagement with this disgustingly inadequate note? How could he send it to her mother, like some coward afraid to face her? How could he offer no reason, no excuse for putting them through such embarrassment, such pain? Did he think she was without sensibility, without feeling?

“Oh, my poor dear,” her mother moaned, gazing up at her with tears staining pale cheeks. “What will we do?”

“Do?” Joanna asked with a cold fury. “Do? Oh, I promise you, madam, we will do something. This is insufferable. Unthinkable.” She drew herself up to her full height and glared at her mother, the gaping footman, and the butler who had just returned with the smelling salts.

“I will be married,” she swore, “in June.”

Chapter Two

Allister Fenwick, Baron Trevithan, generally did not have second thoughts. He had lived too long in a world of split-second decisions. One made a choice with the best information available and either reaped the rewards or paid the consequences. Now that he had chosen to leave that world behind, it only remained to be seen which result it would be this time. He had every expectation and hope that with Joanna Lindby, he had found his reward at last.

“Then you’re certain I can’t entice you into coming back to the Service?” Davis asked.

Allister eyed his long-time friend and partner as they sat in the sparsely furnished flat Allister had rented in London. Despite ten years of intense work, Davis Laughton still looked like a newly graduated Oxford scholar in his simple brown coat and pantaloons. His round boyish face, soft brown hair, and large liquid brown eyes habitually caused the enemies of the Crown to underestimate him. Behind his innocent facade lurked a keen mind and a determined spirit. No doubt those traits had been what had induced Lord Hastings to recruit him along with Allister into His Majesty’s Secret Service immediately after they left college. For many years, neither had regretted it. The excitement and challenge had been more than enough to compensate for loss of family and friends.

Until recently.

“Sorry, old chap,” Allister said with true regret, crossing the legs of his chamois trousers. “It’s time to hang up the sword.”

“If you quote me the verse about plough shares I shall demand brandy,” Davis threatened. “In fact, I may demand a brandy anyway. Are you really intent on leaving me to go it alone?”

Allister grimaced. “They’ll give you a new partner. Lord Hastings already has several candidates.”

“Untried steeds,” Davis complained. “And I get the dubious pleasure of breaking them in.”

“We were young, once,” Allister reminded him. “We turned out all right.”

“Well, one of us did,” Davis joked. Then his dark eyes clouded. “Seriously, Trev, I’m going to miss you. Are you sure this Lindby chit is worth it?”

“She isn’t a chit,” he corrected his friend. “Joanna Lindby is a diamond of the first water. She is well-bred, well-educated, and well-respected. I am the most fortunate of men.”

Davis sighed. “I was afraid of that. I had a feeling you were smitten the first time you pointed her out across the room. You had a look in your eye I’d never seen before. I envy you.”

Allister felt himself squirm internally under the praise, though he was too well-trained to allow it to show in his demeanor. Joanna was everything he had claimed to Davis, and more, but he was acutely aware that his feelings did not do her justice.

He knew it was no fault of the lovely Joanna. Her midnight black tresses, thick and lustrous, framed an oval, high-cheek-boned face. Her skin was like alabaster, her eyes dark and soulful. Her figure was willowy and elegant, with just enough curves to set a fellow dreaming of what lay beneath the fashionable silk gowns she wore. She was modest and soft-spoken, intelligent and gracious. That this virtuous paragon should agree to his proposal was the best for which he could have hoped. The first time he had danced with her he’d known she was special, and after a month of courting he was certain she’d make the perfect wife. The day she had accepted his proposal had been the happiest day of his life.

Except . . .

He wasn’t sure how honest he was capable of being with her. He had spent the last ten years of his life pretending. He’d been a carter, a courtier, a coachman, and a Compte. He’d had to hide his thoughts, his opinions, his feelings. Could he now learn to share them openly as was required for a good marriage?

Except . . .

He wondered whether he could live the life other men of his class seemed to live. Could he settle down with no more excitement than watching prices on the Exchange and visiting Whites? Courting had held a certain charm; it was a bit like matching wits with the enemy. But once life moved to happily ever after, would he be satisfied with his lot?

Except . . .

He wondered what kind of husband he’d make. He had never had a proper relationship with a woman. Any other lady had been wooed either in the service of his country or to forget it. Both types had seemed rather pleased with his abilities; certainly he had never had any complaints. And by the way Joanna kissed him, full of innocent fire, no passion would be lacking from her side. Still, she was a proper young lady and what he felt for her was far superior to anything he had felt before. He wasn’t certain what he felt was love.

“Is it Daremier?” Davis asked quietly.

Allister started. “The Skull? Certainly not. Why would you ask?”

“Silly question,” Davis quipped. “Why would I ask about a master French spy who’s been a thorn in your side for years? I’m certain no one but me has noticed your retirement from the Service coincides with him besting you. Shall I warm the fire for you? Would you like the covers turned back for your afternoon nap?”