The Heiress He's Been Waiting For

by Kaitlin O'Riley

  “Were you just dancing with Lord Bridgeton?”

  Mara turned at the sound of Sara’s voice. Her cousin had walked up behind her, looking stunning in a gown of royal blue silk, with long white gloves, and an ostrich feather in her hair.

  “Sara, you startled me!”

  “Forgive me. I didn’t intend to.” She patted Mara’s arm in apology. “I thought I just saw Lord Bridgeton walking away from you.”

  Mara nodded. “Yes, I just danced with him.”

  “You danced with him?” she asked in surprise. “He hasn’t asked me to dance.”

  They both watched as the tall figure of Lord Bridgeton moved across the ballroom and asked a rather short, brown-haired girl with wide eyes to dance.

  “Do you know who she is?” Sara questioned. “The girl in the ridiculous bright green dress?”

  Mara was not familiar with a great many people, but this girl she recognized immediately. It was difficult to forget someone who dressed the way she did. “I believe that her name is Bonnie Beckwith. I met her last year at a dreadfully dull musicale. She sang that night. And not very well, as I recall.”

  “Why on earth would Lord Bridgeton be interested in someone like her?” Sara murmured more to herself than to Mara.

  Mara watched her cousin closely now. Here was Sara Fleming, beautiful, fashionable, and sought-after and supposedly in love with her handsome American, yet looking rather put out that Christopher Townsend, the Earl of Bridgeton, had not asked her to dance.

  “Maybe he’s just being polite,” Mara conjectured.

  “Most likely,” Sara agreed, seemingly satisfied with that answer, waving her fan in a careless manner.

  “Have you spoken with Lord Bridgeton yet this evening?”

  “No.” A puzzled smile crossed Sara’s face. “It’s odd. I haven’t spoken to him at all tonight. He seems quite preoccupied with dancing with everyone else though. Mara, I have the distinct impression that I am being ignored this evening.”

  “Why on earth would he ignore you?” Mara asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Sara answered. “But my dance card is quite full.” With a flounce of her skirts, Sara moved toward a young man who came to claim his dance with her.

  Amused, Mara smiled. There was definitely a bit of jealousy there. Both Sara and Lord Bridgeton were not yet aware of their feelings for each other.

  14

  Dead Ahead

  “Lord Bridgeton? Did you hear me? I was asking you a question. Yoo-hoo! Lord Bridgeton?”

  At the sound of his name, Christopher stared blankly at the lady across from him. “Forgive me, Miss Beckwith. I was distracted by the horses.” He honestly had not a clue what she’d been saying. It had been a dismal outing and he had simply ceased listening to her.

  “I asked if we would be out here much longer, Lord Bridgeton. Something in the air is making me sneeze. I detest sneezing. Don’t you?” Bonnie Beckwith scrunched up her little nose in distaste. “Are we heading back home yet? It’s dreadfully hot out this afternoon. I’m simply parched and would love something to drink. I believe it is time to return home now, don’t you?” She sneezed three times.

  They had been riding through Hyde Park in his barouche. The sun was warm and the early June skies were surprisingly clear. There definitely was a hint of summer in the air. The path was busy as many people were out enjoying the fine weather. In a concerted effort to court her, Christopher had invited Bonnie Beckwith to go riding with him and his sisters. He sorely regretted his decision not two minutes into the ride.

  Miss Beckwith and his sister Evie did not get along right from the start, as they bickered over where to sit, and Miss Beckwith had done nothing but complain the entire time. The sun was in her eyes. She was too warm. A bumblebee buzzed near her face. She was afraid of bees. The barouche was uncomfortable. They were traveling too fast. The path was too bumpy.

  “Is it not yet time to return, Christopher?” Evie asked, and he knew by the tone of her voice she wished the ride to end as much as he did.

  “I believe so, ladies,” he agreed. Then he gave instructions to the driver to return to the Beckwiths’ town house.

  Christopher turned back to face Miss Bonnie Beckwith, who sat across from him beside Gwyneth. Poor Gwyneth had not opened her mouth to say two words, not that she could get a word in edgewise with Bonnie jabbering on and on. His sweet little sister in her plain, pale blue bonnet looked like a little wren compared to Bonnie, in a riot of bright pink and lemon organza with enough feathers on her hat to stuff a pillow, looking like a demented parrot. The garish colors somehow seemed even worse next to the sedate hues on his sisters.

  He had now paid two calls on Miss Beckwith, sent her a small bouquet of flowers, and danced with her at the Cabots’ ball. By inviting her to ride in Hyde Park with him today, he was taking another step closer to asking for her hand. Her parents were bursting with pride when he’d called for her this afternoon. They could smell marriage in the air and for the time being it seemed that Christopher was in the lead. He knew of two other gentlemen who were courting her, but their ranks weren’t as high as his. Christopher had an earldom to offer, and Mrs. Beckwith seemed quite keen on her daughter becoming a countess, as did Mr. Beckwith.

  He had yet to divulge to them that his coffers were empty. Somehow he did not think they would mind, eager as they were to marry off their only daughter. And to Christopher’s way of thinking, they were going to have to hand over a great deal of money to any man to take Bonnie off their hands. So they might as well give it to him.

  As the barouche made its way out of the park, Christopher sighed in relief that the painful outing was drawing to a close. It might be best if he simply spoke to her father right away and made an offer for Bonnie’s hand. He had to get it over with. Once they were married, he could set her up in a separate residence and not have to see her too often. The thought of actually sharing a bed with this whining, feathered chatterbox was too much for him to bear at the moment.

  “This road is so terribly bumpy,” Bonnie grumbled, her face pinched in a frown. “Why did we go this way? I suppose it is faster, but good heavens, I am being jounced and jostled to bits!”

  No one answered her, for she did quite well answering her own questions. Catching Gwyneth roll her eyes at Bonnie’s most recent complaints, Christopher smiled to himself. His little sister hadn’t lost all her spirit.

  He’d allowed Evelyn and Gwyneth to stay in London with him longer than he’d first anticipated. The girls seemed so happy to be away from Bridgeton Hall that he did not have the heart to send them back to their mother. His sisters deserved to live life and spread their wings a little. It was the least he could do for them for right now. Once he had money again, he could give them anything they wanted. He intended to spoil them rotten.

  When the barouche stopped in front of the Beckwith town house in Mayfair, Christopher stepped out to help Bonnie down and escort her inside. Her mother hovered eagerly around them. She had a similar look as her daughter, minus the garish clothing.

  Bonnie gazed up at him with wide, blinking eyes, the pink feathers in her bonnet bobbing as she spoke. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Lord Bridgeton. I can’t recall when I’ve had such a nice time.”

  Stunned that she would describe their ride as lovely when she was completely miserable the entire time, Christopher could only agree with her. “It was my pleasure,” he lied.

  “Oh, Lord Bridgeton,” Mrs. Beckwith began, preening a bit. “My husband, Alfred, and I would like to invite you to dine with us next week and I know it would please Bonnie greatly to have you here. Would you be able to join us for supper on Tuesday evening, by any chance?”

  So they were forcing his hand then. Speeding things up. This dinner was obviously meant to have Christopher meet with Alfred Beckwith and discuss a dowry. A very, very large one, that was for certain.

  “I would be honored to join you, Mrs. Beckwith,” he replied evenly, afraid to even think about it. Ther
e would be no going back after this. “Thank you very much.”

  Bonnie batted her eyelashes at him. “Oh, Lord Bridgeton, we’re so pleased you will be able to join us!”

  With that, he bid the Beckwith women good-bye.

  Climbing back into the carriage, Christopher gave the driver special instructions instead of going directly home. Settling into the seat, flooded with relief now that Bonnie Beckwith was no longer in his presence, he grinned broadly at his sisters, ignoring the knot forming in his stomach.

  “Who wants some ice cream?” he asked, hoping to liven them up. They all deserved a little reward for suffering through the last hour. “I know a wonderful place nearby that makes the most delicious chocolate ice cream.”

  Gwyneth clapped her hands in delight and squealed, “Oh, Kit, yes, please!”

  “That does sound divine.” Evelyn finally lost her frown.

  “Well, we’re on our way,” he said, as the barouche lurched forward.

  “You can’t do this, Kit.”

  Christopher stared at Evelyn, who had moved across to sit beside Gwyneth, and now they both faced forward in the carriage. They stared at him determinedly.

  “Not her,” Gwyneth added with a shake of her head.

  He sighed. As if he had any other option but to marry Bonnie Beckwith! “There’s not much hope for it, girls.”

  “But she’s dreadful, Kit. You simply can’t marry her!” Evie cried. “I won’t let you be shackled to the likes of that babbling idiot for the rest of your life. You deserve better than that.”

  “Well, I doubt you’d like my only other option any better. Bonnie is actually the wiser choice,” he explained, hoping he sounded positive.

  “Surely there’s another way, Kit?” Gwyneth asked, the sadness in her voice making him uncomfortable.

  “Well, if either of you wish to find a man rich enough to marry and willing to save the rest of us within the next few months, please go right ahead. Be my guest, because it’s certainly not my wish to wed someone like Bonnie Beckwith, but this is what needs to be done to protect our family and our home.”

  Christopher’s words came out much harsher than he intended and he knew immediately from the look of their faces that he’d hurt them. He would no sooner sell his sisters in marriage than he would cut off his own arm.

  Women in general had been given a tough enough lot in life. After all his two sisters had been through, he couldn’t fathom trapping either of them into loveless marriages. It appalled him how few options his sisters had other than to marry or to remain living at home. He wished he could do more for Evelyn and Gwyneth. Someday he would, when he had the means. He just wasn’t sure what, aside from giving them as much freedom as he could.

  “I’m sorry for what I just said,” he muttered low.

  “No, we’re the ones who are sorry,” Evie began, looking contrite. “We should be making this situation easier for you, not more difficult than it already is.”

  Gwyneth added in her sweet way, “It’s because we know you don’t even like her, Kit. It’s not fair that you should have to marry someone like that.”

  “Life is not fair.” Then he added, “We know that already, don’t we? There are worse things in life than marrying little Bonnie Beckwith. Like not having a place to live or food to eat. Marriages like this happen all the time. Bonnie is not so bad, actually. I think she’s rather harmless.” Christopher didn’t know whom he was trying to convince more, his sisters or himself.

  They grew quiet for a moment as his words sunk in.

  “There’s really no chance for you and Miss Fleming?” Evie questioned him with a note of hope in her voice. “You seemed to truly like her . . .”

  Oh, yes. But he more than liked Miss Fleming. In fact Christopher was beginning to think himself half in love with her. Since the night of the storm he’d thought of nothing else but her. Her beautiful face. Her quick wit and self-confidence. Her sense of humor. The way she kissed. The way she made him feel when he was with her.

  If only he could marry her.

  Yes, marrying Sara Fleming would be his first choice. A life with her would be almost perfect. Having her at his side as his wife and in his bed . . . He simply couldn’t let himself think about it. It was too painful to contemplate, because a future with her was not meant to be.

  His conversation with Lady Mara Reeves at the Cabots’ ball the other evening confirmed that. Sara had received a letter from her American and he was more than likely coming for her. Christopher wondered what would happen when the man arrived and if her parents would be able to stop her.

  He hadn’t spoken to her since the stormy night they kissed in the library. Of course, he’d seen her at the Cabots’ ball, but he’d done his best to stay away from her. She’d looked exceedingly tempting in her royal blue gown that clung to her curves and displayed her delectable figure all too well. He had deliberately avoided her and felt terrible about it.

  “I have explained to you that Miss Fleming is almost certainly going to marry the man she is in love with. Who is not me,” he said bluntly, making sure they understood. “Besides, she does not have the money we need to save us. While Miss Beckwith, as chatty and colorful as she is, has more than enough money to suit our needs. The choice is clear, isn’t it, girls?”

  Both of his sisters remained completely silent, and Christopher couldn’t deny the heavy weight that settled over him.

  15

  Close Quarters

  He was finally here.

  Alexander Drake was in London!

  Sara stared in disbelief at the note that was passed to her while she was helping out at the Hamilton Sisters’ Book Shoppe the next afternoon. A pretty blond woman, an American judging from her familiar New York accent, walked up to her where she was working near the back of the store and quietly asked if she was Sara Fleming. Intrigued, Sara said yes.

  With a furtive glance around, the woman whispered, “I’m Alexander’s sister. Lucille Drake. He asked me to give you this.” With a benevolent smile, she passed a folded note to Sara. “He is so looking forward to seeing you.”

  Sara was unable to utter a word in response.

  “I’ll come by the shop again this time tomorrow afternoon if you’d like to give him a return message, which I can only imagine that you do.” The woman, who seemed quite sympathetic to their plight, patted Sara gently on the arm, reassuring her. “I’m afraid I must go now. But I hope to see more of you.”

  Struggling to recall if Alexander had ever told her that he had a sister, Sara murmured a befuddled, “Thank you.”

  And just as suddenly as she appeared, the woman walked calmly out of the shop.

  With a trembling hand, Sara looked at the folded note. Her name, clearly written in Alexander’s penmanship, was all that was on it. Her heart raced. He was here! He had come for her!

  “Who was that?”

  Hastily shoving the note into the pocket of the dark green apron she wore, Sara looked up at Aunt Colette. “Just a woman. She said she had forgotten the title of the book she was supposed to get for her husband and would return tomorrow.”

  “Well, when you’ve finished putting those books on the shelf, how would you like to help me arrange the new front window display? I’ve an idea for giving the window a summery theme, with some floral prints, parasols, and ribbons.” On her arm Aunt Colette held a basket full of materials and she seemed very excited to have Sara assist her. She added brightly, “It will be fun.”

  “Yes, of course.” Sara smiled at her aunt, trying to appear calm. She felt terrible about lying to Aunt Colette about the woman who gave her the note and surprised herself how quickly the lie sprang from her lips. Normally, she would be happy to help and decorating was something she enjoyed. But right now she would have agreed to jump in a vat of hot oil, if it meant she could have a private moment to read Alexander’s note first.

  “Yes, of course. I’d love to! I’ll join you just as soon as I finish with these. It shouldn’t take m
e long at all.” Sara placed her hand on the stack of brand-new books on the table beside her that she was supposed to place on the shelves.

  Assisting at the bookshop with her aunts a few afternoons a week was something she had grown to enjoy. Although she wouldn’t say she loved working in the bookshop, Sara had discovered an appreciation for what her aunts had accomplished and admired them all the more for the impressive business they had grown. Besides, she liked organizing the books and found she was rather good at it. She also enjoyed the leathery smell of the place and the ringing of the bells over the door when a costumer entered.

  Sara relished the sense of purpose at having a place to go each day where she was expected to contribute and be a part of something outside of herself. It reminded Sara of how she had always loved helping sail her father’s ship when they were traveling the world. She had been a part of the crew then.

  The last few years in New York she’d done nothing truly productive with her time. Instead she’d been overly preoccupied with pursuing her social activities, acquiring a fashionable wardrobe, and focusing on her romantic dreams to the exclusion of all else. As much as Sara was loath to admit it, her mother’s suggestion that she work in the bookshop had been a good idea. However, at that moment all she wanted to do was get out of the shop as quickly as possible.

  “Well, come join me up front when you can.” Aunt Colette walked away, toward the front of the store, with her basket of decorations in her arms.

  Sara let out a shaky breath. Glancing around to ensure that no one was watching her, she removed the note from her pocket and unfolded it, her heart in her mouth, as she read Alexander’s words.

  With her heart pounding, Sara read the note a second time. And then a third before carefully placing it back into the pocket of her apron.