The Marriage Bargain

by Heidi Kimball

  But when she walked into their shared sitting room, her parents sat on the sofa, waiting for her. She halted her steps, shock jerking her from her previous thoughts.

  “There you are. We’ve been waiting for you for over an hour.” Mama tapped a fan against her knee.

  Apprehension clutched at Emmeline. Something was wrong. Normally in a place like Brighton, Mama would be out and about, seeing and being seen.

  “We are in dire need, Emmeline. Of money. Of your husband’s protection.”

  Emmeline pinched her lips together. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “The speculation. We lost everything. And many men, many powerful men, are pointing fingers, blaming your father.”

  Though Emmeline wasn’t well acquainted with her father’s finances, she’d always known his propensity for taking risks. Her insides trembled. “Was it his fault?”

  Her mother scoffed. “Of course not, how can you ask such a thing? Speculation is risky by nature.”

  But why would her father undertake such risks when they’d had so much? It didn’t make sense! “Who knows?” she demanded.

  “Everyone in London. We came here, hoping to escape the rumors.”

  “Mama, Brighton is less than a day’s travel from London! All of the ton is summering here.”

  “We went to Chelten House first, only to be informed you were here,” Papa said, his voice even. Ever the level-headed businessman. His head hung low, and Emmeline had never seen him so discouraged. His sharp eyes, usually keen on a business deal looked dull. His skin sagged, as if he’d aged ten years since she’d last seen him.

  Emmeline’s head was spinning, trying to take it all in. “What is it you think I can—”

  Mama got to her feet. “Do not act as if you are above us! We gave you everything—why without your dowry you would be nothing!”

  The strange thing was, now that she’d known Anslowe’s tender love and care, it was easy to see how very little her parents loved her. The knowledge strengthened her, and she determined not to be guilted into succumbing to Mama’s demands.

  First, it was imperative she gather information. “Tell me, Mama. Who else lost money in the scheme?”

  “You know Mr. Tillington and Sir Reginald. Many men risked smaller amounts. But it is Lord Sotheby who your father fears will see him ruined.”

  Lord Sotheby. No—No! Worry clenched Emmeline’s gut and a pulsing rush of blood against her temples signaled the beginnings of a headache. Anslowe. What would this do to him? Why, of anyone, did it have to be the man Anslowe was counting on for support of his bill? Her hands began to tremble. “How bad is it?”

  “We lost everything,” her father replied.

  “The house?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Gone.”

  “You must help us, Emmeline,” her mother screeched. “We need money, the chance to make a fresh start.”

  Emmeline shut her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. There was little to stir empathy toward her mother, but her father looked so forlorn, so disheartened. He’d never been intentionally cruel with her, perhaps only too preoccupied to see how desperately his daughter needed a loving parent.

  “It is only recently that Lord Anslowe’s estates have begun to turn a profit. We do not have a great deal of extra income.” But the money was the least of her concerns. Something of this magnitude could have the power to destroy Anslowe’s political career. She could imagine her husband’s disappointment, his frustration when he learned the truth.

  He would regret marrying her. He’d wish he’d proposed to Miss Hastings, whose family would never subject him to such public disgrace. He’d despise Emmeline once her connections ruined his political aspirations.

  “I will do what I can to help you, but I need time,” she finally choked out. And she had to determine how best to shield Anslowe from this catastrophe. “Tell me where you are staying and I will contact you once I have sorted things out.”

  Emmeline was so full of anguish she scarcely took note of her parents’ goodbyes. Her mind swirled and tangled, desperate to lay hold on something—anything—that might help thwart disaster. Surely there had to be something she could do to protect her husband.

  When Anslowe came to escort her down to dinner, she claimed a headache. She knew she was pale, almost feverish with worry, so she wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t feel well enough to be among company.

  “I don’t like to leave you looking so unwell,” he worried.

  His words only deepened her anguish and filled her with guilt. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

  The truth itched to be told, but Emmeline couldn’t bear to think on how the tenderness in his expression would be replaced with loathing. He would see her as a liability, someone who had taken away everything he’d worked for.

  “There’s something you aren’t telling me. Earlier, in the carriage, something upset you.” He reached out and clasped her hand in his. “What is it, Emmeline?”

  “I—” Tears balanced upon her lashes. For some reason she couldn’t explain, she went on. “It was silly, really. Something you once said to Miss Hastings. You said the exact same thing to me this afternoon.”

  “What was it?” His mouth ticked down.

  The words struggled for release. “You have many enticing qualities, Miss Hastings.”

  “Oh, Emmeline.” He considered her words for a moment, not rushing to a hasty response. The solemn look in his eyes promised her concern mattered to him. “Words are often spoken too casually, and I myself am guilty of such offense. But I would use an example, if I may.” He looked to her for approval.

  She gave a quick nod.

  “Do you know how in a ballroom, you greet dozens of people, saying hello over and over again. But then, when you see a dear friend, and use the same word as a greeting for them, it means much more, because of how you feel toward them?”

  Her mouth grew dry and she bobbed her head.

  “You can rest assured that there was no meaning behind what I once said to Miss Hastings. As you well know, I’d forgotten I almost offered for her.” He squeezed her hand. “But I meant what I said this afternoon. You do have many enticing qualities. Indeed Emmeline, you have quite enchanted me.” Sincerity edged the tone of his voice, and it was impossible to disbelieve him.

  But oh, believing him only made it that much worse. He was coming to care for her, perhaps even love her, and how could she bear it when all that was stripped away from her when he found out the truth?

  “Yes, yes I understand. Forgive me for doubting you.” Shame weighed heavily upon her, thickened her throat. “Please make my apologies to everyone downstairs. I just need to rest.”

  With a gentle kiss pressed to her hairline, he left her.

  Bridget brought up a resplendent tray—soups and jellies, roasted vegetables, fish, and three kinds of meat. But Emmeline couldn’t eat a single bite.

  Not long after the dinner hour, a knock at the door surprised Emmeline. Surely Anslowe was still in company with the gentlemen. But it was Mrs. Garvey who appeared in the doorway.

  She looked at the untouched tray. “An unforgivable waste.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t feel well enough to eat.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s my appalling husband. He has not an ounce of sense in his entire being.”

  Emmeline couldn’t think of a polite response to that, so she stayed quiet.

  Mrs. Garvey approached the bed. “You are ill?” Without asking permission she put her hand on Emmeline’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever. What ails you?”

  This woman might be the very last woman on earth Emmeline had ever imagined confiding in. But her severe look coupled with Emmeline’s frayed nerves, splintered all sense of propriety. Emmeline squeezed her eyes closed and tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Mrs. Garvey pulled a chair from the corner of the room and gave a harrumphing sigh as she took a seat near the bed. “You aren’t the kind to cry over a ripped dress or a ruin
ed bonnet. So you must be crying over my nephew.” Her brows pinched together. “Am I right?”

  She could only nod.

  The woman closed her eyes, as if it took every ounce of forbearance for her not to scoff. When she opened them, she leaned forward and took Emmeline’s hand, patting it with her own. Emmeline was so startled by the tender gesture, her tears halted.

  “You’re young and you haven’t been married long. While I won’t claim to know everything, there are few people who wouldn’t stand to benefit from my advice.” She leaned forward. “Any tears shed for a man are wasted, that’s what I say. All men suffer from a degree of stupidity. They can’t help it. Once you learn that hard truth, you’ll be far less prone to weeping.”

  If only the matter were that simple. Whatever Mrs. Garvey’s opinion about men, Emmeline loved Anslowe, and her tears were evidence of that. Why else would she be crying if it wasn’t because she feared losing him?

  She blinked, forcing away the last of her tears. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

  “See that you do. Now, I’ll have one of the maids send up a cool cloth for your forehead. And no more crying.” She rose to her feet and moved toward the door.

  “Thank you, Aunt Garvey,” Emmeline said softly.

  The woman bowed her head. “Don’t burn a candle tonight. You need to rest.” And with that, she was gone, leaving Emmeline to suffer alone.

  Chapter 14

  Anslowe got away as quickly as he could, hoping for a word with Emmeline before she fell asleep. Their rooms were quiet, and Anslowe forewent knocking for fear of disturbing her. The gray wash of dusk allowed him light enough to see. Emmeline’s eyes were closed, her dark brown hair splayed against the pillow, as if she hadn’t taken the time to braid it, as was her habit. Her breaths were shallow, her cheeks still pale. But even in her unwell state, he thought her lovely. So innocent. So completely without guile.

  He neared the bed, tempted by thoughts of laying beside her and taking her in his arms as he had the night before. Her eyelids were a pale purple color, almost bruised looking in the dim light. She shuddered a little, her hands clenching the coverlet before she relaxed.

  Taking care to not make any noise, Anslowe knelt beside her. Her soft scent lingered near her pillow, lavender and honey. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her breath, wishing he could know what occupied her dreams. Was she beginning to care for him? Could she?

  He brushed back a silken strand of hair from her head. She let out a deep breath at his touch and turned, her face toward his. Her lashes fluttered for a moment, but she didn’t wake. With a quiet reverence he brushed a kiss to her temple. Before he was tempted to do more, he got to his feet.

  He watched her a moment longer, and each moment he stayed, his chest swelled with feeling. Longing. He loved Emmeline. His love for her would deepen over time, yet he knew, all the same, that it was already there. Rooted within him, anxious to spread and grow. He took a moment, hallowed by it. It made him want to be better. More. A man who deserved such love in return.

  Sunday went by in a blur. Guilt churned in Emmeline’s stomach, as thick as the muddy water of the Thames. Though she didn’t keep to her rooms, she barely managed to go through the motions. After Sunday services she sought out Miss Brook, who looked almost as forlorn as Emmeline felt. They walked the gardens in quiet companionship, content to be in one another’s company without the need for burdensome conversation.

  She avoided Anslowe, afraid he might learn the truth if he paid her too much attention. He came up behind her as she sat at her vanity, preparing to go down to dinner.

  “Have I done something to offend you?”

  Not wanting to arouse his suspicions, she met his gaze, but focused on the length of his eyelashes, so as not to be distracted by the earnestness that threatened to undo her. “Of course not.”

  “Something I said, then? I am a politician—I have a great deal of practice in offending people.” He laughed a little, as if hoping to soften her towards him.

  “No, my lord.”

  He frowned. Then he held up a finger. “I forgot to give you your last birthday present.”

  “Anslowe, there’s no need—”

  He pulled out a sleek black box from his jacket and opened it. Inside lay an elegant pearl necklace. The pearls shone in the candlelight, as perfect as fresh fallen snow. They were too much. She turned away and bowed her head, unable to bear it another moment.

  “Emmeline, what is it?”

  She looked up and met his eyes in the mirror. “I-I kept something from you.” She could barely get the words out, even now that she’d decided to tell him. “It was selfish of me, I know. To want a little more time with you. Before you no longer look at me the way you are now.” The tears welling in her eyes forced her to take a breath.

  He set the box down, snapping the lid closed, then came and knelt at her side. “What do you mean, Emmeline? I cannot imagine—”

  “Please, this is difficult enough. Let me say my piece before you make any promises or say things you’ll come to regret.”

  His eyes grew troubled.

  “You know how Mama came on Friday night?”

  He nodded once, tersely. The whole of his attention was fixed on her.

  “They—Mama and Papa—both came to see me yesterday. I am not sure if you are aware, but my father has been involved in a great deal of speculation. His ventures have always been risky. His risks have always paid off. But in this particular venture he involved some powerful men.” She swallowed. “He lost everything. And so did they.”

  It was quiet for a heartbeat before Anslowe spoke. “Who?”

  “Lord Sotheby.”

  Anslowe’s jaw tightened. He got to his feet in one swift move, hands tense at his sides. “You learned of this yesterday?” His cheeks flushed with anger. “Why did you not tell me? In a situation such as this, every minute—every hour is vital.”

  “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  “I won’t be at dinner,” he said. “I must see if anything can be salvaged.” He strode from the room and shut the door with a bang.

  And tears, whether wasted or not, poured down Emmeline’s cheeks.

  Anslowe was in a dark mood. He sat in one of Brighton’s local taverns, cursing the world as he drank. He’d called on Lord Sotheby this afternoon only to find the man even more bitter and unreasonable than he’d expected. Sotheby had refused to listen to a word he said and assured him he would never support any bill Anslowe presented in the House of Lords.

  He traced the small rim of the glass with his finger. The whiskey fueled his sense of betrayal. All that he’d worked for, all of the connections he’d built. Votes called in, trades made. All for naught.

  And what was worse, Emmeline had blindsided him, had kept the truth from him. Even now, anger flared within him as he remembered her confession. After they’d promised there would be no more secrets between them.

  If he was honest with himself, he could acknowledge the fault wasn’t hers. Yet his mind played over that night when she’d approached him a year ago. Miss Hastings had been on his arm. She was from an established family. Yet he’d laughed off Emmeline’s concern of her father being in trade. Perhaps he shouldn’t have.

  The very thought filled him with guilt, and yet there it was. If he could have foreseen this, would he have made a different choice? He twisted his glass, watching the liquid swirl. He didn’t know. Not that it mattered. What was done, was done.

  He lifted the glass, poured the fiery liquid down his throat, and called for another.

  Chapter 15

  When Emmeline sat down with her parents, she felt none of the anxiety she was accustomed to in their presence. Instead, she felt powerful. She’d never had an easy time standing up for herself, but she was more than willing to stand up for Anslowe.

  “Mama. Papa.” She gave them each a curt nod. “I cannot offer you much, but I did the best I could.” She held up an envelope containing the money she had
earned by selling some of her jewelry at a small pawn shop in Brighton. “You said you wanted the chance for a fresh start, and that is what I am offering.”

  Her mother’s eyes narrowed. Her father held his hands in his lap. Both remained silent.

  “I have here close to five hundred pounds. It is not enough for you to live the lifestyle you are used to, but it is enough for you to begin again. Here is the condition on which it is offered. Your actions, whether intentional or not, have damaged my husband’s political standing.” She let out a breath, holding her head steady. “For you to stay here in England would only prolong the scandal and its effects. This money is given with the understanding that you start again elsewhere. America. Australia. India. Take your pick.”

  Mama let out a gasp. “Are you truly relegating us—your parents—to one of those heathenistic countries?”

  “No. I am not. I am giving you a chance for a new beginning, with plenty of money to help you undertake new business ventures. It is up to you whether or not you deem the opportunity a worthy one.”

  Her mother sputtered, her face growing red. “Why you ungrateful—”

  Her father nodded. “I have always wanted to see America. It is said to be a place where a man can make something of himself. And trade is not looked down upon.”

  “America? Why there isn’t an ounce of sophistication in that cast-off country! Nothing but unrefined ruffians!”

  “We are going, Sophia.” Her father’s tone was firm. “Thank you, Emmeline. You have been more than generous.” He stood and reached out to her, patting her on the shoulder awkwardly.

  “Generous?” her mother protested.

  Emmeline handed him the envelope. “Please write. I wish the very best for you.” She turned to her mother. “Goodbye, Mama.” And with a sigh that yielded pent-up relief, she turned and left them to their argument.

  A few hours later Emmeline eyed herself critically in the mirror. By all accounts she was ready for tonight’s ball. Her deep red gown perfectly fitted. Her hair arranged to perfection by Bridget. Only the hollowness in her eyes hinted at the devastation within. Emmeline hadn’t seen Anslowe since Sunday night before dinner. Two full days with no sign of him.