Marrying the Rebellious Miss

by Bronwyn Scott

  As country villages went, Little Westbury was all very standard. Not much had changed in the year since he’d been here. He didn’t expect it had. Small places never did. Small people never did either. For reasons that eluded him, country folk preferred to stay in the country. He was counting on that with Beatrice. It had taken him longer than expected to wrap up his loose ends in London and make this sacrificial pilgrimage to claim his future wife. He was flat broke and there’d been the enormous effort of scraping money together for the special licence, then the detour to pick up his grandmother’s ring. Too bad he couldn’t sell that.

  Not that he was worried about what awaited him. Beatrice had been so eager, so passionate after that first kiss. He would court her, pick up where they’d left off, bring a few little gifts—ribbons and chocolates always softened up the ladies—and be married by June. She would be all too glad to see him. Not every man wanted to listen to herbology.

  He felt for the ring in his pocket. Not that he’d use it today, he just didn’t like the idea of something so valuable lying in his luggage. He had it all planned out: he’d explain a family emergency had prevented him from returning last winter, that the family had thrown another girl at him when he was home in the hopes he’d marry. He could even pretend he’d written countless times, but that his father had intercepted those letters in the attempt to push this other girl at him. He would smile and be charming. They’d take long walks, he’d ask her about her stupid science and herbs. He’d listen to her prattle on about them until he couldn’t stand it and then he’d take her. At least courting a girl in the country was cheaper than in the city. Long walks didn’t cost nearly as much as seats at the theatre or sending bouquets of flowers.

  Alton leaned his head out the window and gave directions to the inn. He’d clean up and change clothes before he headed out to Maidenstone and put his plan in motion. This was Beatrice Penrose’s lucky day whether she knew or not. Her lover had returned and was prepared to married her. He did not expect refusal. Country girls were much simpler to please than haughty London girls. But even if she did think to refuse, he was prepared to throw himself on the mercy of her parents.

  He chuckled at his delicate phrasing. It was blackmail. That was what it was. They’d sneaked around last year, both of them careful not to get caught. Her parents didn’t know what their darling girl had been up to. If she refused him, he’d tell her parents. They would force the wedding for propriety’s sake and he, being the gentleman he was, would encourage it.

  * * *

  ‘Miss, there’s a gentleman to see you.’

  Beatrice looked up from her reading with a smile she could barely contain. Relief swamped her. Preston must be home from Seacrest! It had been five days since their quarrel, a very long five days. ‘Send him in, Thomas.’ Bea set aside her book and her notes and rose, checking her appearance in the small oval mirror on the wall. At last, she and Preston could set their quarrel behind them. She wanted to be the first to apologise. She’d still been stinging from her parents’ ploy to pass her off as a widow and she’d taken out her frustration on him. She’d behaved poorly with a friend who’d done everything for her.

  ‘Beatrice, my love, you don’t need a mirror. You know you’ve always looked beautiful to me.’

  The words turned her blood to ice water. The voice froze her. She shifted her eyes very slowly to the left corner of the mirror to take in the room behind her, the man behind her. This was the nightmare come to life, the fear that if she was in England Malvern Alton would find her. There was no mistaking it was him, with his strategically tousled raven-black hair and pale aquamarine eyes that hinted towards the mysterious, looks she’d once found attractive.

  ‘Mr Alton,’ she said stiffly, keeping her back to him, wanting every second available to master her fear before she faced him. Why was he here? What did he know?

  ‘Mr Alton? What is this?’ He gave a low chuckle, a sound she would have once found sensual and inviting. ‘I thought we’d come further than that, Bea.’ His hands were on her shoulders, his lips at her neck. ‘A lot further.’ His voice was a husky invitation at her ear.

  Beatrice did turn then, out of his presuming grasp, away from him. ‘You assume too much, Mr Alton.’ She wanted him out of her house, away from her before he could see how much she had to hide. His very presence could unravel everything.

  ‘Beatrice, I understand you’re angry. You have every right to be. I disappeared without a word. You must think I’m a cad. You are right to think I’m a cad.’ He dropped his voice, but not nearly low enough for her tastes. ‘I ask you, what sort of man leaves the woman whose maidenhead he’s taken?’ She wished he wouldn’t say such things out loud where people could hear. She wished he wouldn’t say them at all. She could hear the insincerity, the forced pathos as he attempted to pour out a heart he didn’t have.

  ‘I’ve come to make amends, Beatrice, to explain what happened and to prove to you that while my body was absent, my heart was not. Will you listen to me?’ His plea reeked of falsity. He might be impressed with his monologue, but she wasn’t.

  He sat on the drawing-room sofa beside her without being invited and launched into his explanation, sounding like an actor rehearsing a soliloquy. ‘My great-aunt’s health was failing. The family needed me...’ His face worked hard in creating a facsimile of sincerity as he spun a tale of duty and family. She’d once loved how mobile that face was. She didn’t dare believe that sincerity now. How naïve she’d been to believe in him. There was a time, too, she would have given anything to hear those words, a time when she hadn’t accepted the reality of what he was: a true rake who had used her affections for his own pleasure and then left her. Even in the early months of her pregnancy she’d refused to hate him entirely and she’d held out hope he would return. But that had been a while ago.

  Now, she didn’t want him back, not even if he could be trusted with what had become the family secret. A true gentleman did not take the honour of a girl. Period. The running off was entirely secondary. What he had done should not have been done to start with. He knew the limits of propriety and he’d encouraged her to exceed them. Then he had disappeared. Perhaps for family reasons. Perhaps to save himself from the consequences of his actions.

  ‘Beatrice, I swear to you, I thought of you every day, longed for you every day since. I want to start over. I want a second chance,’ he begged prettily. It was interesting how handsome simply wasn’t enough any more.

  ‘Miss, I brought the little master down, I know how much Mister Worth enjoys...’ Annie sailed into the room, Matthew in her arms, and stopped short, her gaze fixing on Malvern Alton as her brain registered this man wasn’t Preston Worth.

  Alton’s mind was fast. ‘The little master?’ A charming smile broke out on his face, directed at Annie, but Beatrice was equally as quick. He was not getting his hands on her child.

  ‘Bring him to me, Annie, and then you may leave us.’ She wanted Matthew in her arms where she could protect him. She had to be strong, but it was hard to hide her fear when Alton’s eyes were on her, watching, calculating, doing the kind of maths only a rake has need of doing when he wondered if a child was his.

  ‘I knew there was something different about you, Bea.’ His voice carried the inflections of a man thinking out loud, sorting through his thoughts. Very soon he would piece it all together. ‘Is this your son? Or should I say “our son”?’ He crossed the short distance between them and knelt before her on the floor beside her chair, so that she couldn’t deny him the sight of Matthew. He peered into the blanket. The sight should have melted her, the handsome man on his knee, seeing his son for the first time. How many times had she melted when Preston had held Matthew? But this sight only drew fear.

  She drew the baby away from him, filled with trepidation that if she let him hold the child, he would run out of the room with him. ‘You’ll have to excuse us. He�
�ll be hungry soon and I must feed him.’

  Alton looked at her with wide eyes, voice full of awe. ‘I have a son?’ He would have been magnificent on the stage. She didn’t believe that sincerity for a minute.

  ‘I have a son. You left me alone to bear him and whatever disgrace I might encounter. I have done so. There is nothing I need from you. You needn’t concern yourself with us.’ Beatrice rose, putting distance between them. She moved towards the bell pull. If he didn’t leave of his own accord in the next minute, she would call Thomas.

  ‘Nothing except a name, Beatrice,’ he pressed, rising to his feet, still playing the surprised father, the adoring suitor. ‘I will give you that. We can marry. Don’t you see how serendipitous this is?’

  ‘No. I’ve asked you to leave.’

  His joyous façade cracked in the face of her steel. ‘I have a son, an heir. We can’t ignore our association.’

  ‘The lady has asked you to leave.’ There was movement by the door. Beatrice’s gaze drifted beyond Alton’s shoulder, relief warring with horror as Preston Worth strode into the room, his face rigid with determination. She’d seen that look before. So had a few men who ended up on a taproom floor.

  Alton turned, a smirk on his lips. ‘I’m Malvern Alton—who might you be?’

  Preston crossed his arms and answered the smirk with a nasty smile of his own. ‘The man who will see that you comply with the lady’s wishes.’

  ‘The lady?’ Alton gave a derisive chuckle and Bea felt herself go paler. ‘Is that what you call her?’ He shrugged. ‘Well, I guess everyone has their own fantasies in the dark.’

  Preston turned slightly to include the butler, who’d come up behind him. ‘I believe our guest was leaving, Thomas.’

  Faced with the prospect of leaving or engaging in a drawing-room brawl that was likely not going to help plead his case, Alton relented, but his gaze slid towards her once more as he left, his words menacing. ‘I have come here with a decent offer, Bea. I deserve better than this cold reception of yours. We are not done discussing this. How dare you hide my child from me?’ He shot a sly look at Preston. ‘Sorry, old chap, I hope you knew.’ He mastered a look of incredulity. ‘Or did she tell you the boy was yours? It’s so hard to know with these kind of women. They’ll say anything.’

  ‘If you didn’t want a fight so badly, I’d give you one,’ Preston growled, standing toe to toe with Alton in the doorway. Beatrice thought for a moment there’d be a fight anyway. But Preston understood implicitly he could not be the one to throw the first punch and Alton had no reason to start anything.

  * * *

  ‘The father of Beatrice’s child is back,’ Preston began, pacing in front of the drawing room window, an ignored snifter of brandy in one hand. He was too agitated to drink. The necessary players had been assembled in short order. He’d sent Liam and Dimitri notes to meet him here. He flexed his fist in his free hand, regretting the peaceful exodus he’d allowed Alton. ‘I should have hit him.’

  The other two exchanged grim looks. Everyone understood the impact of Preston’s announcement. If the father was here, then he couldn’t be dead. Dimitri drummed long fingers on the desktop. ‘You say he wants to marry her, that he was overjoyed? Is marriage a possibility? We could always explain that he hadn’t been lost at sea after all, that his return is a miracle. There could be a “second” wedding ceremony to celebrate his return or to overturn the death certificate and officially reunite them.’ He gave a shrug of one shoulder. ‘It shouldn’t be that hard to do.’

  ‘We’d have to tell him about the ruse, then, and he’d have to uphold it,’ Liam reminded them. ‘Do you think he’s reliable? Can he be entrusted with our secret?’

  ‘No, I do not think he’s reliable!’ Preston all but yelled. ‘He slept with her and abandoned her over a year ago. He left her pregnant. And now he’s back, wanting to pretend he’s innocent, that he had no choice but to leave her. Does that sound like a reliable man to you? Remember, it’s not just Beatrice’s secret at risk now, but all of ours because we bought into perpetuating it. I don’t trust him to be on our side.’

  ‘All right,’ Liam placated him. ‘Easy, Preston. I think Dimitri was just pointing out we might have a quick solution on our hands without panicking.’

  ‘We don’t. Even if we could trust him, Beatrice doesn’t want to marry him. I don’t blame her. He’s up to no good.’ Preston took a hasty swallow of the brandy. How could his friends understand? They hadn’t seen her afterwards, pale and shaking on the sofa, the baby clutched close.

  ‘How do you know that?’ Liam shot him a close look. ‘How do we know he’s not sincere? Perhaps he regrets what he did because he genuinely cares about her? Babies can change people.’

  ‘Not him.’ Preston’s response was fierce. The sight of the man kneeling next to Bea and Matthew had hit him hard. For a moment he’d feared the scene he’d walked in on was one of reconciliation. Then the man had opened his crass mouth and Preston knew the truth. This man was here for his own selfish reasons.

  He took another swallow. This one larger. ‘He left her. He hadn’t made any contact for over a year. If he had sincere regrets, he would have found a way to be with her, to reach her. I would not allow anything to separate me from the woman I loved, especially if there was a chance of a child.’

  ‘She’s not yours, Preston.’ Dimitri’s voice cut through his chagrin with quiet reason. ‘Sometimes, I think you forget that. You went and fetched her. Your responsibility is done.’

  ‘She’s alone and she needs protection.’ Preston fixed Dimitri with a gaze of green steel. ‘Have you asked yourself why he’s come back now, after all this time? He wants something and he’s willing to use her to get it.’ Preston pushed a hand through his hair. He was doing that a lot lately. ‘If we were in London, I could get information. But out here, no one knows him. There’s no one to ask.’

  ‘May and I leave tomorrow for town. We’re going early to get settled in before the ceremony,’ Liam offered. ‘I can look into it.’

  Preston nodded his thanks. There was no better man when it came to tracking down information. ‘That leaves Dimitri and I to manage the situation here.’

  ‘What are you expecting?’ Dimitri poured another brandy.

  ‘Blackmail first and, if that fails, all-out scandal,’ Preston said. ‘Alton has more to gain at the moment by keeping his knowledge quiet and using it to pressure Beatrice into marriage. Shaming her with scandal might force the issue in his favour, but it wouldn’t do his reputation any good either. If there’s a silver lining to this, it’s that the scandal won’t break immediately or perhaps at all. He will be weighing whether or not he can afford to go public. We have time to think through our position.’

  ‘If blackmail fails? Do you think there’s a chance it won’t? That the Penroses will simply give him what he wants?’ Liam interjected.

  ‘I think it depends on what Alton is after. But, yes, I think blackmail might be appealing to the Penroses,’ Preston explained. ‘If he’s just after money, the Penroses might see blackmail as a type of middle ground that keeps Beatrice from having to marry against her will and scandal from breaking.’ Blackmail would let Bea keep her secret, but it would also be a slow, continuous hell that would bleed the Penrose coffers. Nothing would prevent Alton from raising the price to keep the secret. If Alton was smart, though, he’d want more than cash. He’d want Bea, her dowry and the kind of permanent access to the Penrose wealth that only came with marriage. That was the question: how smart was Alton? How desperate was he? What was he really after?

  Preston sat at last, his head in his hands. It was starting to hurt from all the thinking. ‘Regardless of what the Penroses believe they can do in the short term, we need something more permanent that will put Beatrice beyond Alton’s reach.’

  ‘Marriage is the only thing that will put a sto
p to this,’ Dimitri said solemnly. ‘Perhaps Beatrice should reconcile herself to that.’

  Not to Alton, though, but to a man who would not fail her if given a second chance. Still, all such plans were premature until Alton made his next move.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alton made them wait forty-eight hours before he made his next move. It came in the form of a carefully penned note in the post. Perhaps because he was too much of a coward to risk another face-to-face encounter with him? Preston mused and rightly so. He doubted the odds were much in Alton’s favour of getting off without a fist to the jaw a second time. Or perhaps because blackmail was always a coward’s resort. It was much harder to blackmail someone in person, especially when the person in question was a woman.

  Whatever the bastard’s reasons, Preston had been expecting such a move. As a result, everyone else of consequence was, too. The note was no surprise, although that made its content no less devastating: the key players assembled once more in the Penrose drawing room, sans May and Liam, who’d already left for London as planned and notably without the Worths. His father had expressed dismay over the turn of events, but had not volunteered his services. If Preston wished to pursue this, he was on his own.

  They passed the note amongst themselves in silent contemplation: Beatrice was to consent to an immediate marriage, for which Alton had a special licence, or he would spread word the child was his, letting it be known that he’d offered for her and she had refused.

  ‘I’ll say one thing for this fellow,’ Dimitri began, ‘he’s smart. He’s covered himself admirably here, making himself out to be a hero, or at the very least a gentleman cognisant of his duty. He’s able to uncloak the scandal without doing himself too much harm other than exposing the truth that he dallied where he shouldn’t.’ That had dismayed Preston, too. In his calculations, he’d counted on Alton not being able to expose Beatrice without also exposing himself.