The Counterfeit Betrothal (2 page)

“Very well,” Barnett said curtly. For a moment he hesitated, and when he spoke again his voice was softer and slightly tremulous. “You may not believe me when I say so, Jeremy, but I am thinking of your good when I propose this match. It may well be the making of you.”

Jeremy did not answer, however, and his father sighed. Then, consulting a clock on the mantelpiece above him, his lordship said, “You have scarcely enough time to dress for dinner if it takes you half the time it used to. You had best go upstairs at once.”

With a bow, Jeremy Barnett did so.

2

Sir
Osbert Delwyn had bought for his bride, some thirty years before, a neat little house in the Hampshire countryside near Selborne to which they had happily retreated, and over the years it had become a comfortable home. Its chief advantage, so far as Emmaline was concerned, was that it practically ran itself with little required on her part in the way of direction to the servants. The rooms were well cared for, the kitchen sufficiently modern to encourage excellent meals, and the situation presented pleasant views from almost every window. In happier days, the house had been noted for conviviality, and the Delwyns had been famous for their potluck suppers. When Emmaline’s sisters had been courting, the house had frequently been filled with young men, and none had gone away complaining of a lack of hospitality—whatever their reception by the elder Miss Delwyns.

But it had been some years since the ring of laughter had filled the house. After Emmaline’s mother had died, Sir Osbert had grown quieter and quieter and finally suffered a stroke that left him bedridden. His care had fallen upon Emmaline’s shoulders since both her sisters had been caught up in motherhood. Emmaline had not complained then nor did she complain now, but it could not be denied that her thoughts often went to the London Season it seemed she would never have. To be sure, her sisters had not had such Seasons either, but they had each been wed scarcely a year out of the schoolroom and had made the choice themselves.

For Emmaline the future seemed to stretch ahead with no prospect of change. The doctor said her father might die next week or linger on for years. Either way, in the end, Emmaline felt she faced only spinsterhood.

Still, it was not Emmaline’s nature to dwell upon such things. In general she took each day as it came and tried to maintain her habitual cheerfulness, for it could not, as she frequently told Mrs. Bailey, the housekeeper, help her father to be forever surrounded by gloomy faces. And so she showed little discontent that the only regular visitors to the Delwyn house were Lord Barnett, the vicar, the doctor, and her two sisters. Of these her favorite was Lord Barnett because he could, at times, rouse her father to a vivacity that Emmaline remembered from the days before her mother died. He always looked, moreover, beyond the superficialities and seemed to grasp the intelligence in her fine brown eyes and to respect the strength of character that others were inclined to disparage as foolish
stubbornness
.

On this particular morning Emmaline sat in the garden with both her sisters, who were competing with one another to describe the horrors their dear children had undergone with a recent bout of chicken pox. Emmaline could not help but send up a silent prayer of thanks that her duties as nurse to her father had precluded being asked by her sisters to come and nurse their darlings. Nor could she help but contrast, with a pang of envy, their fashionable dresses of brightly colored silk with her own of practical checked muslin. Shining dark hair in ringlets framed their faces while her own chestnut locks, brushed neatly back, seemed dull in comparison. It was not that Emmaline did not care about her appearance, rather that the duties that fell upon her shoulders precluded the time needed to be so fashionable. And last night had been a bad one for her father, and therefore for Emmaline, who had to rise and go to his bedside three or four times before dawn. Indeed, the doctor had said, upon his dawn visit, that while there was no certainty in such matters, he despaired of her father lasting out the year.

Jeremy Barnett, coming into the garden unannounced, paused in the doorway to look at the young woman who was supposed to become his bride. With a pang he realized that the face he had yesterday been unable to recall was suddenly achingly familiar. How easily he now remembered all the times Emmaline had come chasing at his heels. Jeremy flushed, however, as he also recalled the cool facade he had always adopted to prevent her or anyone else from seeing how much he had needed such adoration.

At Jeremy’s shoulder Lord Barnett said quietly, “You must not be thinking Miss Delwyn is a dowd. Nothing of the sort! Generally, of course, she is dressed quite practically for nursing her father, as she is today. But I have seen her dressed as fine as any London lady.”

“Quite,” Jeremy murmured ironically, playing the London fop to the last.

Contrary to his father’s scornful belief, however, Jeremy did not think poorly of Emmaline. Her face was as graceful in repose as it had been mischievous in play years ago. Her eyes were clear, the nose delicate without being pert, and her mouth warm without being vulgar. Nor did his shrewd gaze miss the fact that her figure would, as the saying went, pay for the dressing. Indeed he was sure that given the opportunity, Emmaline would outshine her sisters with ease. Particularly when she smiled, as she did now at something her sister Caroline had said.

Barnett knew none of this, however. With a snort of anger at his son’s apparent rudeness, he strode forward, calling out briskly, “Emmaline, my dear, how are you today? And your father? Ladies, how delightful to see you again.”

Immediately, Emmaline was on her feet. “Lord Barnett, it is we who are delighted to see you. My father is eagerly awaiting your usual chess game.”

“Is he indeed?” Barnett retorted. “Well, I vow I shall give the old rascal a run for his money! By the by, Emmaline, this is my rapscallion son, Jeremy. You must have met over the years and I trust you remember him?”

“Of course,” Emmaline said with a friendly smile as she turned to the younger Barnett. With a pang of remembrance she noted his figure was as trim as ever and his clothes straight from the finest tailors in London. He was tall and handsome with dark brown hair she longed to touch—for her childish crush on Jeremy Barnett had given way to something more womanly. None of this betrayed itself as she said, “I’ve no doubt, however, that he has forgotten me. He is more likely to remember my sisters Caroline and Adeline.”

Jeremy bowed to all three ladies, murmuring polite greetings as he did so. Up close he saw nothing to alter his earlier opinion. The two elder sisters had been well enough in their salad days, but motherhood had thickened their waists and sharpened their expressions. With a smile he bowed to Emmaline and said, “My father has told me something of your circumstances, Miss Delwyn, and I can only regret the cruel fate that has deprived us hereabouts of your lovely company at social affairs.”

Emmaline regarded him shrewdly, her eyes twinkling slightly as she replied, “Come now, Mr. Barnett. I am not entirely a recluse, you must know. If we have not encountered one another socially, I suspect it is less from my seclusion than from your absence. We can scarcely compete, hereabouts, with the attractions of London.”

Caroline and Adeline’s eyebrows rose in surprised disapproval at the pertness of their sister’s reply but Jeremy was not offended. He turned to his father and said, “I know you must be wanting to go upstairs and see Sir Osbert and so am I, though I shall be quite desolate to leave such lovely company as these three ladies afford. Adeline, Caroline, you seem not to have changed in the least over these past few years. I can scarcely believe you are matrons!”

Reassured at this evidence of his son’s desire to be amiable, Lord Barnett flashed a final smile at Emmaline over his son’s shoulder and said, “Well, then, I do confess an impatience to see Sir Osbert. No need to take me up, Emmaline, I know my way well enough by now.”

“Nonsense! Of course I shall,” Emmaline replied with a laugh. “Caroline and Adeline will excuse me.”

Both gentlemen bowed and she led the way. Jeremy’s first thought upon seeing Sir Osbert’s bedroom was that it suited the gentleman perfectly. The furniture was of solid oak and built on sturdy lines, giving an impression of heaviness as did the draperies and carpets. Then he saw Sir Osbert propped up in his bed and he wondered if this frail fellow was really his old mentor. A moment later Emmaline stood by his side and Jeremy saw once again the familiar flash of humor in Sir Osbert’s eyes.

“Hello, Gilbert. Who is this young puppy you’ve brought with you, today?” Delwyn demanded of Lord Barnett, determined to make things difficult for the boy.

“Come, come,” Gilbert chided his old friend. “Either your memory or your eyesight is failing. You ought to recollect Jeremy.”

“So I would have,” Osbert retorted, “if it hadn’t been so long since I’ve seen him and if he didn’t look like such an absurd dandy!”

In spite of himself Jeremy laughed. “No, no, sir, you are quite out there! A true dandy would be horrified to be compared to a philistine such as myself.”

Grudgingly Sir Osbert nodded. His voice was a trifle kinder as he said, “Come here, lad, and let me look at you. It’s been too many years since you used to run wild here. Now I understand it’s London where you do so.”

Something caught at Jeremy’s throat as he remembered the days when this gruff neighbor of his father had been the only adult he had felt he could go to with his problems. The memory, long thrust aside, came back with a rush of the same affection that had been so strong between them then. “It’s been a long time, sir,” he said as he moved to stand beside the bed.

“Aye, too long,” Osbert agreed. “You needn’t have feared contagion from my illness.”

“I did not,” Jeremy said grimly.

At this point Gilbert coughed. “Yes, well it was I who kept the boy away,” he explained awkwardly. A muscle twitched in Jeremy’s cheek and he looked away as his father continued, “I thought, you see, when you were so ill at first, that the last thing you needed was Jeremy badgering you with his nonsense and troubles. I told him he wasn’t to call upon you until he could do so with something good to report of himself.”

“And that, of course, has not been possible,” Jeremy added, once more falling into the mincing tones his father hated.

Sir Osbert closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them again, he said, “I wish you had come, Jeremy. I wouldn’t have minded.”

There was a flash of something between the two men, one young, one old, then silence fell as all three turned to look at Emmaline. “My dear, please wait downstairs with your sisters,” Sir Osbert said quietly. “I shall be quite all right with these two fellows.”

With a smile and an uneasy feeling, Emmaline agreed. When she was gone, the two older men turned and looked at Jeremy and waited.

“Well?” Sir Osbert said at last. “Haven’t you something to ask me?”

Jeremy looked quizzically at his father, but his voice was mild as he spoke to the man in the bed. “I suppose I have. We may as well speak bluntly, Sir Osbert, for it is clear to me that my father’s scheme is well known to you. He wishes me to marry your daughter Emmaline. Is that your wish as well?”

“Dash it all, boy, what is that to the point?” Osbert demanded with a flash of his old strength. “Do you wish to marry her? And will she have you if you do?

Once more Jeremy looked away. “As to whether she will have me, I don’t know.”

“Haven’t made good use of your time downstairs, have you?” his father observed sneeringly.

Jeremy ignored his father. Instead he went on speaking to Sir Osbert. “Do I wish to marry your daughter? How can I say? I had not meant to even think of marriage, just yet.”

“And Emmaline is not up to the mark of the beauties you’ve become accustomed to, is that it?” Sir Osbert observed shrewdly.

Jeremy turned and moved next to the bed again. He took the hand Sir Osbert held out to him, gripping it firmly. “Never mind,” Delwyn went on gently. “I know my daughter ain’t a beauty. But neither is she precisely an antidote. She’s had her share of offers, I’ll tell you.”

At Lord Barnett’s start of surprise he said, a trifle waspishly, “You needn’t look so confounded,. Gilbert! Just because neither she nor I are ones to boast of her conquests don’t mean she hasn’t had any. Emmaline turned ’em all down and I can’t say as I blame her, though I wish she were settled. Still, she’s a good girl and she would make you a good wife, Jeremy. But I’m not a man to force such a match on anyone. And were circumstances otherwise, I would say you ought to wait until you did feel ready to marry. But your father, God help him, is determined that you shall marry, and right soon. Nothing I’ve said will sway him and, frankly, I’m not altogether certain he’s wrong.”

“And you would trust your daughter to me?” Jeremy asked in a voice that betrayed none of the turmoil he felt.

“Aye,” Delwyn agreed. “If you’ll give me your I word you’ll not hurt her.”

Jeremy met Sir Osbert’s gaze steadily. “I suppose you’ve heard all the worst gossip about what I’ve done these past few years in London. I won’t try to tell you it’s not true for most of it probably is. But if I marry your daughter, I swear I shall do my best to please her.”

“That’s all I ask of you, Jeremy,” Sir Osbert said.

“Good. That’s settled then,” Gilbert said briskly. “All you’ve got to do is go downstairs and ask the girl to marry you.”

“All?” Jeremy chided his father.

Lord Barnett regarded his son levelly. “That shouldn’t be too difficult for you. You’ve quite the touch with the ladies, at least those of the demimonde. Charm her. Flatter her. Whatever need be. Just get her agreement and let’s get on with the wedding.”

Jeremy bowed and left. If his temper was not entirely subdued, nevertheless he managed it well as he slowly, thoughtfully descended the steps to the first floor.

Upstairs, the chessboard was set up and waiting as Emmaline had predicted. It was not until the men had made their first few moves that Sir Osbert spoke to the matter at hand. “Well, come, come, how did he take the news when you told him what you wanted?” he demanded, unable to control his impatience any longer. “Furious, I’ll wager, though he was pleasant enough here.”

Gilbert’s eyes took in the pallor of his neighbor’s face and concern etched itself upon his own. Nevertheless he rallied to say as he moved a pawn, “At first he was enraged and unwilling to believe that I meant what I said. I don’t doubt he could have cheerfully strangled me. But for all his faults Jeremy is a realist and so he came around to the notion soon enough. Indeed, I’ll wager Jeremy is downstairs right now doing the pretty with your three daughters. He can be quite charming with the ladies when he so chooses. Of that his escapades have left me no doubt.”

“Hrrumph,” Osbert snorted, retaliating with a knight. “Adeline and Caroline are already provided for. It’s Emmaline I’m worried about.”