Unexpectedly Wed to the Officer--A Historical Romance Award Winning Author

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘So you’re an heiress?’ Nancy’s eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘How much of an heiress?’

  ‘Sixty thousand pounds.’

  Nancy’s jaw almost hit the table. ‘Sixty thousand? And you’re here making biscuits for a living?’

  ‘I like making biscuits. Anyway, my father left me in the care of his brother, my Uncle Benedict, and his wife, Augusta, but neither of them were very pleased about it. All they cared about was the annual payment they received for allowing me a home under their roof. Maybe they’d expected more from my father’s will and they considered the money as their due, because they certainly never went out of their way to earn it. They never liked me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Beatrix lifted her shoulders. It was a good question, one that she’d asked herself countless times over the years. As a ten-year-old orphan, she’d wondered if it was because she was simply unlovable. Either that or inherently wicked somehow. Only the arrival of the kind-hearted Miss Foster had saved her from a lifetime of despair and self-loathing. Eventually, however, she’d realised that her family’s behaviour had much less to do with her than themselves. Despite following his brother into trade, her uncle had never enjoyed anything close to her father’s success and his wife and children never ceased to remind him about it. The whole house had reeked of bitterness, jealousy and ill will, most of it vented on her.

  ‘Bel—Beatrix?’ Nancy looked concerned. ‘Was it so bad?’

  ‘It was...unpleasant.’ She shook her head, reluctant to dwell on the worst of her experiences growing up. ‘My cousins were older than me and I was never accepted into the family.’

  ‘But why didn’t you just leave and set up your own house? Especially if you had so much money.’

  ‘Because I didn’t have the money. My father put my whole fortune into trust until I turned twenty-five. Unless I married, of course, but I could only do that with my uncle’s consent. I couldn’t do anything without his consent, not even leave the house.’ She clenched her jaw at the irony. ‘My uncle and aunt didn’t want me, but they were terrified of me running away. After a few years, they even became afraid of my friendship with Miss Foster so they dismissed her and appointed a maid to guard me instead. Then once I turned twenty-two, they decided to find me a husband, one important and aristocratic enough to help my uncle’s business interests, but impoverished enough to need my money.’

  ‘Eurgh.’ Nancy leaned across the table. ‘Old and smelly?’

  ‘No, actually, although I’m sure my aunt would have preferred that.’ Beatrix drew her brows together as an image of her stern, raven-haired husband flickered into her mind. ‘Quite handsome really, and only six years older than me.’

  ‘Cold and cruel?’

  ‘Cold, perhaps, but not cruel, I think. It was honestly hard to tell. I only met him twice, once when he proposed and then again at our wedding. I’ve barely spoken to him except to say yes and I do.’ She shook her head. ‘I know it sounds ridiculous that I would marry a man I didn’t know, but if I’d refused my uncle, it would have meant another three years living like a prisoner under his roof. Marriage seemed like the only escape. I thought it couldn’t possibly be any worse, especially after...well, something else.’ She dropped her gaze, unwilling to specify what the other thing had been. It was mortifying enough to think about, let alone to tell anyone else. ‘I was upset and confused and it was only after I’d said my marriage vows that I realised I’d made a terrible mistake. We went back to my husband’s house for the wedding breakfast and I went up to my new room to freshen up and then...well, for once there was nobody about, nobody watching me. Before I knew it, I was running down the back stairs and out of the servants’ entrance.’

  ‘So that’s when you came to Bath?’

  ‘Not straight away. There was someone else...someone I thought I could go to, only it turned out I was wrong about them. Then I remembered the last address I had for Miss Foster and I came here. You know the rest.’

  ‘Mmm, I can see why you were afraid to tell the truth.’ Nancy leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest.

  ‘But I never lied. I told you I wasn’t a criminal and as for hurting anyone, my uncle and aunt only cared about the money and my husband...well, it’s not as if he ever had a chance to care about me, though goodness knows what he must think of me now. He probably hates me for humiliating him so badly.’

  ‘Sixty thousand pounds probably softens the blow.’ Nancy lifted an eyebrow. ‘Still, if he finds out where you are...’

  ‘He hasn’t found me yet.’ Beatrix glanced towards the back door as if she half expected a man to appear there at that moment. ‘There was a time, when I first arrived in Bath, that I thought maybe he had tracked me down. I had a funny feeling that someone was following me, but I must have been imagining things and now...’ She paused and bit her lip.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now I think that I’m safe, but I wonder if I ought to write to him.’

  ‘What?’ Nancy’s voice was more of a shriek. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want to ask for a divorce.’ Beatrix kept her voice calm. ‘And I think it’s a reasonable request. He won’t want me back as a wife. Running away was scandalous enough, but these past months should have ruined my reputation beyond any repair. I’ve given him more than enough to divorce me with.’

  ‘Wouldn’t a divorce have to go through Parliament?’

  ‘Yes, but he has the money to do it.’

  ‘Only thanks to you.’

  ‘True, but at least he’d be putting it to good use.’

  ‘I don’t know. A divorce would cause even more scandal. What if he decides it’s easier to lock you up in a dungeon for the rest of your life?’

  ‘I’m not sure he owns a castle, let alone a dungeon.’

  ‘You said he’s an aristocrat, didn’t you? They all have crumbling old castles hidden away on their estates. If you let him know where you are, then you could just be trading your uncle’s imprisonment for his. At least here you’re free.’

  ‘I know, but I think it’s a risk I have to take. I can’t spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Besides, he’ll want an heir and he won’t want one with a woman who’s behaved the way I have. And he seemed reasonable.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Nancy still sounded uncertain. ‘Well, I suppose I’ll just have to rescue you if he does lock you up. Anna and Henrietta can probably persuade Samuel and Sebastian to help, too.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s reassuring to know I have friends.’

  ‘What will you say in your letter?’

  ‘That I accept all the blame and that I don’t expect any money.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ Nancy smacked her hand on the table. ‘First you spend years being bullied by your uncle and aunt and now you have to just give away your parents’ fortune to some husband you don’t even know!’

  ‘But at least I’ll still have you.’

  Nancy snorted. ‘I may be a good friend, but even I’m not worth sixty thousand pounds.’

  ‘I disagree. A true friend is worth several fortunes. I’ve had a lot of time to think since I came here and I’ve made up my mind. This is just the price I have to pay to be free.’ She nodded her head emphatically. ‘I’ll write to him tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine.’ Nancy let out a heavy sigh. ‘Who is he, by the way? You haven’t told me his name.’

  ‘Oh...no, I didn’t.’ Beatrix paused. ‘This is the part you might need to sit down for.’

  ‘I’m already sitting.’

  ‘Yes...’ She gave a tight smile. ‘Well... You see, the thing is his name is Roxbury. Quinton Roxbury.’

  ‘Just Quinton Roxbury? No sir or my lord?’

  ‘Your Grace, actually.’ She took a deep breath, admitting the truth in a rush. ‘Quinton Roxbury, Twelfth Duke of Howden.’

  It was funny,
Beatrix thought, rummaging in a drawer for some smelling salts a few minutes later, but Nancy was the last person she would ever have expected to faint...

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, be sure to

  read the first book in Jenni Fletcher’s

  Regency Belles of Bath miniseries

  An Unconventional Countess

  And whilst you’re waiting for the next book,

  why not check out her other great reads

  The Warrior’s Bride Prize

  The Viscount’s Veiled Lady

  Reclaimed by Her Rebel Knight

  Miss Amelia’s Mistletoe Marquess

  Redeeming Her Viking Warrior

  Keep reading for an excerpt from His Unlikely Duchess by Amanda McCabe.

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  Prologue

  Newport—1872

  ‘I don’t know why you still read that rubbish. Happy-ever-afters aren’t real,’ Violet Wilkins announced.

  Lily Wilkins looked up from the book in her lap to smile at her younger sister. She had to laugh at Vi, who looked so disgruntled standing there at the gate to their mother’s prized rose garden. Her arms were crossed over her rumpled shirtwaist and her scowl made her look much older than her sixteen years, despite the schoolgirlish braids and hair bows their mother still insisted on. Stella Wilkins would never admit to being old enough to mother quite so many growing girls.

  Though, at almost twenty, Lily wouldn’t be a girl much longer. She was already ‘out’ in Newport, and soon she would be in Manhattan, too, after a grand ball Stella was planning for the autumn. Lily shuddered to think what would happen after that.

  ‘Of course I still read these,’ she said, putting the book down on the marble bench beside her. ‘And they’re French novels, not fairy tales. No happy endings guaranteed.’

  Just like in the real world. Lily had spent her whole life watching her parents sitting at opposite ends of vast dining tables, barely tolerating each other’s presence, smiling in public so no one would know ‘Old King Coal’ Wilkins, one of the richest men in New York, and his genteel Old South wife couldn’t stand each other any longer.

  That was the last thing Lily ever wanted, either for herself or her sisters. And that was why she took refuge in books. The fictional perils, dangers, adventures and, yes, romances of those heroines were preferable to daily life. Walks in the park, tea parties, letter writing, dancing with men who could only talk about Wall Street and horses...

  Yes. Books were better.

  ‘The French,’ Violet said with a sniff. ‘What do they know about fairy tales anyway?’

  Lily laughed, her heart almost bursting with love for her redheaded sister. She had always tried to take care of Violet and her gentle twin sister, Rose. They had been her pride and joy ever since she saw them come into the nursery, tiny, pink-cheeked and howling. Almost as if they were her daughters rather than her sisters. The three of them had to stick together against the rest of the world, or they would surely be lost.

  ‘What do you know of the French, then, Vi?’

  ‘I know Monsieur Anatole’s cooking, which is too salty, even though Mother is so proud she stole him from Mrs Vanderbilt. And I know Monsieur Worth’s gowns, which are too heavy and itchy. I bet Frenchwomen never go walking or swimming, or play tennis, at all. I bet they don’t even laugh.’

  Lily noticed that Violet’s hair was still damp in its untidy braids, dark red glinting with gold in the sun. She was fiddling with her beloved ‘Talbot’s Mousetrap’ camera, as usual. Photography had become Violet’s passion and she was constantly begging to take portraits of family and friends, or wandering the seashore taking pictures of the waves. ‘Were you swimming in the cove again? If Mother catches you...’

  Violet laughed and kicked out at a clump of dirt. ‘Mother is much too busy planning next week’s dance to fuss about my swimming or my camera. It’s you who should be careful now, Lily.’

  Lily frowned. She couldn’t quite trust Violet when her sister got that ‘I have a secret’ light in her changeable hazel eyes. Where Violet’s twin Rose was calm and serene, always so careful about her lessons and concerned with proper behaviour, Violet had other concerns. Concerns such as always knowing exactly what was happening in every corner of the vast Wilkins household and taking a photo of it if she could.

  Lily had no idea how Violet did it and Violet never told her secrets. Forewarned is forearmed, Violet would always say as she skipped away.

  Their mother, who was always very excitable anyway, and much prone to fainting fits and crying jags, had been preoccupied for weeks, putting together a grand dinner and ball that she intended to be the sparkling highlight of the Newport summer season. It was easy to hide from Stella Wilkins when her every energy was focused on besting Mrs Astor, but sometimes she would suddenly remember Lily should ‘help’ with the arrangements. That Lily was a vital part of her great social plan.

  Heaven help Lily then.

  ‘Has Mother been asking for me, Vi?’ Lily said, reaching for her book again. As if French princesses and castles on the Loire could save her. She’d learned long ago that nothing could save her, or her sisters, but herself. She was the key to their freedom.

  Violet gave her a sympathetic grimace. ‘She’s talking to Papa in the library. He just got here from the city a few hours ago.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Lily moaned. It was never a good sign when her parents actually spoke to each other. Her father seldom even came to Newport, since the seaside was a ladies’ world and men were only meant to pay the bills and come in for dinners or balls or to sail a yacht when needed. When their father did venture out of his New York office, he mostly stayed hidden in the library.

  If he was talking to their mother...

  Something serious indeed must be going on.

  ‘Were they speaking about Adam Goelet again?’ Lily asked in dread. Her mother had been pestering her to ‘be nice’ to Mr Goelet for months. After all, Stella would say with tears in her eyes, he was the only son of her father’s closest business associate, heir to much of Madison Avenue and estates in Pennsylvania, and ‘not so bad-looking’ at all. If one overlooked his unfortunate squint and perpetual onion breath—and the fact that even Lily could see he clearly preferred the company of his male friends to any lady.

  Violet kicked harder at the dirt. ‘I think she’s quite forgotten about poor Mr Goelet.’

  Lily would have hoped that was a good thing. But she knew their mother all too well. Ideas were much too sticky in Stella’s head, and she wouldn’t give up one scheme unless she had another to replace it. Especially when it came to her daughters and their marriages.

  ‘So what are they talking about now?’ Lily said.

  ‘I’m not quite sure, but I think you should go listen for yourself.’

  Lily sighed. She didn’t want to leave the sanctuary of the quiet rose garden for the chaos of a house embroiled in party preparations, but she knew she had to eventually. If she didn’t at least try to make Stella happy, her mother could curtail her visits to the Women and Children’s Hospital again, or to one of her other charities, and some days that was all that kept Lily sane, being able to be of some use outside the hothouse of the Wilkins house.

  She rose from the marble bench and quickly smoothed the navy dimity skirt of her sailor-style dress. ‘No, don’t worry, Vi. I’ll find out what’s going on, you and Rose don’t need to worry.’

  Violet gave her a relieved smile. ‘I know you will, Lily. We never worry when you’re here.’

  ‘And I never worry when I know you’re ke
eping watch. Shall we work on my photograph after tea? The light will be good then.’ Violet brightened and Lily gave her sister a quick hug, then hurried towards the house. ‘Go and check on Rose. I’ll see you both at tea.’

  It had grown later than she’d realised, she noticed with dismay as she rushed across the manicured green expanse of the lawn. Rose Garden Cottage, as her mother had named the seventy-room house, gleamed a golden rose in the waning sunlight, all red brick and pale stone, rising above the roll of perfect gardens and the distant crash of the sea against the cliffs. The silk curtains weren’t drawn yet over the windows, but Lily knew they soon would be. Maids would be hurrying to finish pressing evening gowns and grooms would be polishing up the carriage horses.

  She had spent too long with her book.

  Lily found Rose hovering just inside the French doors that led on to the terrace. Rose, like Violet, was a small, slender girl, but her red hair was neatly braided and twisted about her head, her white muslin dress spotless, her skin fair and not freckled. But her hazel eyes were just as wide and worried.

  ‘Is Mother in the library still?’ Lily asked her, trying to smile carelessly as she checked her own reflection in the nearest gilt-framed mirror. Unlike her sisters, she had plain brown hair and dark eyes, but her posture had been perfected by years with a German governess and a back brace, horse riding lessons and corsets. She had learned long ago that a straight spine and a serene smile hid much.

  But not from her sisters. ‘Yes, with Papa,’ Rose said, her eyes wide. ‘There were...raised voices.’

  ‘Not to worry, Rose Red,’ Lily said, kissing her cheek. ‘Probably just a problem with the peach ices coming in Papa’s refrigerated train car or something.’

  Rose laughed, but Lily knew she wasn’t fooled. Nor was Lily. But she still marched down the corridor, past the marble tables from Versailles and the van Dyck portraits of someone else’s ancestors, past the towering flower arrangements in alabaster vases and maids bobbing curtsies, to where the tall double doors of the library waited.