The Marriage Bargain

by Heidi Kimball

  “And what about an heir?”

  She hadn’t expected that, though of course she should have. To speak of such matters to a relative stranger! A fierce blush burned every inch of her skin. “The pressing reason for you to marry is the dowry, not an heir. That could come…later.”

  “In an arrangement like this, I think it is best to be specific.” An indolent smirk. “How much later? One year? Two?”

  “Five,” she managed, proud that her voice didn’t break. “I mean, since you’ll be in London and I’ll be…”

  “You are practical, as you said.” He was fully grinning now. “Anything else?”

  “I think that is all.” Her mouth grew dry under his scrutiny.

  “So we have a bargain?”

  She could only nod.

  He stepped toward her, and Emmeline suddenly questioned the wisdom of proposing such an arrangement with someone so handsome. She needed to keep a clear head. The man was only marrying her for her money. And she was only marrying him to escape Mama’s clutches. Thank goodness the parameters they’d set would help her remember that.

  “Well then, if I may?” His warm brown eyes took on a little glint.

  She nodded her assent.

  He stepped forward and took her hand in his. She could scarcely breathe. Never in her life did Emmeline expect for a man to look at her the way Lord Anslowe was looking at her now. His gaze was heavy, riveting.

  “Will you marry me?” He spoke low, and the rich timbre of his voice sent a shiver down Emmeline’s spine.

  “Yes. I will.” Breathe, she reminded herself.

  He leaned closer. “One more question, if I may be so bold?”

  Emmeline nodded again, trying to project a calm she didn’t feel.

  “Would you be so good as to tell me your name?”

  Chapter 2

  London: One year later

  Anslowe whistled as he picked up his riding gloves from the bedside table. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a free afternoon. Today the skies were clear save for a few wispy white clouds that didn’t hold enough rain to soak a handkerchief. He brushed at his riding pants, anxious to be astride his horse.

  With Parliament adjourned for the summer, he could finally take the time for some more leisurely pursuits. Not that he wasn’t already planning for the next session. There were alliances to be made, votes to pursue. He really should arrange for a meeting with Lord Sotheby, but since the man was summering in Brighton, that could come later.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Anslowe found Barnett waiting for him with a tray of letters. “Anything interesting?” He knew the man couldn’t help but nose through his correspondence.

  His stately butler gave an affronted sigh. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, my lord.”

  Anslowe shot him a knowing look.

  Barnett cleared his throat. “A letter from Lady Anslowe. And, well, there is something from Mrs. Garvey,” he amended.

  His aunt? He hadn’t heard from her for several months. He sorted through the letters on the tray until he found the one that bore her handwriting. His ride could wait a moment. His aunt and her grievances never failed to entertain.

  He opened the letter and began to read. But today the contents of her letter did not amuse him. His gut tightened the further he read. When he finished he thrust his gloves into Barnett’s waiting hands and turned on his heel, straight toward his study. He penned hasty messages to his friends, asking them to meet him at White’s.

  He arrived at the club well before his friends. He sat back in the deep-set leather chair and pulled out Emmeline’s letter.

  The overabundance of rain has led to some flooding, and many of the surrounding estates have sustained losses, but Mr. Smith’s foresight, once again, proved almost prophetic. He has handled everything perfectly. I am sure, come your visit at the end of this month, you will find everything to your satisfaction…

  Anslowe rubbed his neck as he examined the flawless script. He had read the letter three times, searching for something that might indicate his wife was addressing her husband, rather than a passing acquaintance. The bottom was simply signed, Yours, Etc., Lady Anslowe. Well, she bore his name at least.

  He set the letter down on the table, thinking over the past year. Per their arrangement, he saw Emmeline every two months. Yet he hardly knew her. For each of their visits she was polite but stiff. She had an air of guardedness that made anything but talk of the estate or their finances difficult. He’d always attributed it to natural reserve, but perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps it was all an act.

  He’d been waiting at his table for almost an hour when footsteps sounded behind him. Buxton hefted himself into the chair to Anslowe’s right, puffing out a breath of air that pushed his hair up in a flutter. Dunkirk followed, easing into the chair across from him with a bit more decorum. He inclined his head toward the letter resting in Anslowe’s hand. “Bad news?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  Dunkirk inclined his head, taking the liberty of reading some of the letter. “Are you worried about the flooding? It sounds like your steward has everything well in hand.”

  Anslowe shook his head. “No, not that.” He lowered his voice. “It’s my marriage.”

  It was almost comical how both men leaned forward in unison.

  Buxton spoke first. “Oh ho! Trouble in paradise? How is such a thing possible? You have the perfect arrangement. A wife you rarely have to see and never have to attend to.”

  “It’s not that.” Anslowe patted his coat, where he’d stowed the other letter. “I’ve received a letter from my aunt. She informed me there are rumors circulating. Rumors that Emmeline has…well, that she’s been unfaithful.” His stomach felt as though it were full of lead. “Have you heard anything to that effect?”

  Dunkirk shrugged. “I’ve been asked, but there are always rumors flying about. No one gives them much credence.”

  “They will when the rumor involves my wife and my greatest political foe.”

  Buxton gaped. “Lord Wembley.”

  “The very man.”

  “Surely this ill-conceived rumor will fade into obscurity,” interjected Dunkirk. “It cannot be true.”

  Anslowe’s cheek muscle twitched. “My aunt lives in Brighton. If the rumors have reached her ears, they will not die easily.”

  “Would Lady Anslowe have taken on a lover?” Buxton was direct as always.

  “Of course not.” Though he didn’t feel nearly as confident as he sounded. It struck him then, how very little he knew of his own wife. “The timing is terrible. I’d hoped to spend the summer traveling and garnering support for my bill. But I can’t possibly do that while my wife is living under a cloud of speculation.” As common as philandering was among married couples in society, the thought made him rather ill.

  Dunkirk adjusted his cravat. “What can you do?”

  Anslowe rubbed at his jawline, late afternoon stubble scraping against the back of knuckles. “My aunt has suggested I bring Emmeline to her house party. There will be an assortment of wealthy and titled guests. It would be a good place to see and be seen. We could lay the rumors to rest. And my uncle is good friends with Prinny. Such a connection could be pivotal. Lord Sotheby will also be there.” He grinned.

  “It seems like you’ve got it all figured out.”

  “Not quite. I have to get Emmeline to agree. I can’t just snap my fingers and expect her to do my bidding.”

  “Why ever not?” Buxton signaled to one of the waiters to bring him a drink.

  “Because we have our bargain. And if I don’t uphold my end of the bargain, she might not be inclined to hold up hers.” Understanding dawned on both of their faces. They knew the arrangement that had been agreed to by Emmeline and himself, or at least the basic gist of it.

  What he had never explained was that the whole idea of marriage had been Emmeline’s idea. He knew exposing that truth would mortify her, and for a reason he couldn’t explain, Anslowe wanted
to protect her from it. To shield her from the embarrassment it would surely cause her.

  Though perhaps he wouldn’t feel quite so chivalrous if the rumors turned out to be true.

  All of them mulled over the problem silently.

  Dunkirk nodded. “He’s got a point. You should never give a woman the upper hand. They always use it against you. There must be a way to go about this without upending the bargain you were fortunate enough to negotiate.”

  “Why can’t you just use your charm? Women are always more than willing to give you whatever you want.” A hint of envy lined Buxton’s tone.

  Anslowe shook his head and set down the letter. “Emmeline isn’t the kind that can be charmed. I need…” He blew out a breath. “I need something. Something to negotiate with.”

  “Now there’s an idea. You need something she wants. In order to get it, she has to join you at the house party.”

  Anslowe stared at his hands. “The question is, what does she want?”

  Emmeline drew in a deep breath, admiring the ripples in the pond. The sun beat down without reservation, not a cloud in the sky. She’d walked farther than usual this morning and sweat trickled down her back. June had been full of rain, but the first part of July had been unseasonably hot.

  It was only ten minutes back to the house, but the distance felt daunting. Normally Emmeline’s morning walk energized her, but she hadn’t slept well last night, and in the sweltering summer air she felt well and truly exhausted.

  The large pond looked more inviting than ever, the sun glinting off its calm surface. A quick survey of the area assured Emmeline she was alone. Another rivulet of sweat worked its way down her chemise, past the line of her stays. That decided it. She removed her bonnet, half boots and stockings. For a moment she considered removing her dress, but there was always the chance that the groundskeeper or one of his crew might pass through.

  Though she’d been her own mistress for nearly a year, she still felt guilt clench her insides whenever she did something which she knew her mother would disapprove of. But Mama wasn’t here to voice her censure. Besides, there were things Mama did of which Emmeline disapproved—like encourage her father to become involved in the risky business of speculation.

  With that in mind, she pushed back her shoulders, filled her lungs with air, and clasped her hands straight up over her head as she dove into the pond. The cool water enveloped her, slicing through her dress in half a second, soothing the sting of the sun. She surfaced, her chilled skin welcoming the warmth of the sun’s rays.

  She tilted back her head, floating on her back for a moment. Small ripples lapped at her cheeks, but the water muffled all other sound. Some of her hair had come loose from its pins and flowed around her head. She enjoyed the weightless feeling for a few minutes, the freedom of giving into a pleasure Mama never would have allowed her.

  Had it only been a year since she’d approached Lord Anslowe and offered herself as a candidate to be his wife? For her, the time had flown by. Though with every visit her husband made she became more and more determined to keep her distance. It would be far too easy to fall prey to his charms.

  He had more than any man ought.

  The frigid water began to numb her limbs, and Emmeline tilted her head up and began to work toward a shallower bank. It took longer than it should have with her dratted dress weighing her down. Every time she kicked, her feet caught in the folds of her dress. It was not enough to make swimming impossible, just awkward.

  She reached the bank and climbed out of the water. After spending a few minutes wringing out her dress and smoothing back her hair, she gathered her things and headed back toward Chelten House. Sometimes as she approached its lovely white façade with its ongoing rows of windows after her morning walks, she still couldn’t believe she was mistress of such a place.

  Emmeline slipped through the back door. She was still quite wet and wished it wasn’t necessary to go through the front entry, dripping water all over the marble floors, in order to reach the staircase.

  She reached the main entry and set foot on the stairs.

  “Emmeline?”

  She froze. Her pulse drummed through her veins. The baritone voice she recognized, yet her mind couldn’t quite make sense of it. The owner of that voice was supposed to be in London for another two weeks. It was what they’d agreed upon. Lord Anslowe had never, in a full year of marriage, shown up unexpectedly.

  She turned, cursing herself for giving into the impulse for a morning swim.

  Lord Anslowe stood in the middle of the entry, as if he’d only just arrived. His hair was a little unkempt, a cavalier smile on his face.

  Emmeline suppressed a groan. She must look a sight. The way Lord Anslowe’s eyes roamed over her, mouth slightly ajar, confirmed it. She cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Lord Anslowe.” She curtsied, her dress still clinging to her legs, water pooling on the stairs. “How very good of you to…” There wasn’t quite a word for it. She couldn’t label him a visitor in his own home. “Drop in,” she finished.

  This wasn’t part of the bargain.

  Chapter 3

  Emmeline gave a brief curtsy. “If you will excuse me, I need to go and change out of these wet things.”

  Anslowe stared at his wife’s retreating figure as she made her way up the stairs. His chest felt as though it had been struck by an anvil. There wasn’t any other way to describe the shock of seeing his wife’s figure perfectly outlined by her soaking dress. Her hair disheveled and flowing about her shoulders. She looked so very different from the prim and proper woman he’d grown accustomed to meeting. So very…womanly.

  Over the last year, he’d grown to respect Emmeline’s mind, her quick thinking, and the ease with which she handled all of the matters of the estate. His visits every two months were more a formality than a necessity, as she always had everything well in hand. The bargain they’d agreed to had made them partners whose discussions centered around the affairs of the estate. But somewhere during those visits he’d lost sight of what an attractive woman he’d married.

  More than anything, he was taken aback by the wave of jealousy that swept through him when he thought of the rumors his aunt alluded to in her letter. He revolted at the very thought of Emmeline with another man. Be it his political rival, his steward, or one of the footmen. He’d never felt so protective of anyone or anything, and certainly not a woman who was his wife in nothing but name.

  He rubbed at his jaw and tried to gather his bearings. He needed his wits about him if he was going to get Emmeline to agree to attend the house party with him.

  The sound of surprise made by Mrs. Hanover, the housekeeper, startled him from his thoughts. “My lord,” she said, curtsying. “Shall I call for some refreshments to be brought?”

  “Yes,” he said, hardly giving the matter thought.

  “In the blue salon?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Inform Lady Anslowe I shall wait for her there.” He strode away, trying to reform his plan given this surprising turn in events.

  One thing became clear. No longer was he content with the status quo. He was done being nothing more than a business partner who discussed the needs of the tenants and the latest renovations on the estate. Whether Emmeline knew it or not, this charade of a marriage was about to change—he was done with their ridiculous bargain.

  She might believe he’d married her only for her dowry, but the truth was, he’d been captivated by her boldness, by the forthright manner in which she’d approached him. He’d been surprised and delighted by her proposition, even a little thrown off balance.

  Now it was his turn to set her world askew. Charm. He needed to muster every ounce of charm he possessed if he hoped to convince Emmeline to attend the house party with him.

  The woman who occupied his thoughts appeared in the doorway a quarter of an hour later. She had changed from the dark and sodden dress into a flattering dress with white and navy blue pinstripes, but the flowing fabric of the go
wn did little to distract him from the curves they hid. He stood at once and forced his eyes upward.

  She braced herself, posture tensing. Her lips drew together, forming a disapproving line. “What’s happened? What is wrong?”

  The space between his brows pinched. “Wrong? Nothing is wrong.”

  Her voice sounded almost accusatory. “You weren’t due home for another two weeks.”

  “Now, now.” He gave her his trademark grin that made people believe he hadn’t a care in the world. “You mustn’t show too much enthusiasm when greeting your husband.”

  A flush climbed up her neck and straight onto her cheeks. Before she had a chance to regain her composure, he chose a topic he knew would fluster her. “So, tell me. Did you trip and fall into one of the fountains?”

  She blew out a breath and clasped her hands firmly together. “No, I…I was out walking, and the heat was unbearable. I cooled myself off in the pond.”

  He raised a brow. Surprising. That hadn’t been what he’d expected at all.

  “Lord Anslowe, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Anslowe neatly sidestepped her question. “Emmeline, you’re looking well.” His eyes grazed over her appreciatively, though he rather preferred the soaking gown that had highlighted her figure. Brighton’s beaches were quite popular; perhaps he could talk her into taking a dip in the sea.

  “Thank you.” She was about to take a seat, but he reached for her hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. Her hand froze under his touch. She cleared her throat and he released her, pleased to note how the simple gesture affected her. Would a woman carrying on behind his back be brought to blush so easily? It didn’t seem likely. Though perhaps she was a much better actress than he gave her credit for.

  Anslowe stepped back, waiting until she’d taken a seat before he took his own. “I know my arrival is unexpected.” He pulled something from his jacket pocket. “I received an invitation, or perhaps summons would be a more appropriate term, from my aunt.”