Marrying the Rebellious Miss

by Bronwyn Scott

  There was an excited rush of exclamation that circulated through the ballroom, perhaps some gasps of disappointment, too. Preston was a prize and now he’d been claimed by a widow none the less, not a fresh-faced debutante. If anyone thought the match was anything other than a love match, Preston quickly dispelled that, sweeping her into his arms for a kiss that would be talked about in the papers tomorrow. ‘There’s more where that came from,’ he whispered as they accepted congratulations.

  They had to wait quite a while for that bit of ‘more’ Preston promised. The last guest departed at three and it was four before he could sneak into her room, taking great efforts to evade the staff who’d already begun the task of cleaning up. Still, Beatrice thought it a fine way to spend the early hours of the morning.

  * * *

  She lingered as long as she could in that afterglow, putting off the journey to the morning room as long as possible. She didn’t want to see the papers, didn’t want to see the look on others’ faces when they saw the words of her shame in print. Fortunately, only Preston was present when she made her way down.

  His hazel eyes met hers solemnly and she knew before the hot chocolate was served that Alton had done as promised. When they were alone, Preston handed her the papers. ‘It’s not as bad as you might think. It’s been published, but it’s hardly been a focal point. Everyone was far more interested in the Casek ball and our engagement.’

  ‘A small victory, I suppose.’ Bea tried to smile.

  ‘There’s more.’ Preston set down his cup. ‘My men report that Alton has checked out of the inn where he was staying. We don’t know where he went. He obviously doesn’t want to be found.’

  ‘It means he’s gearing up for phase two,’ Bea said quietly. ‘Will he go for me or for you?’ Her promises of personal happiness seemed petty in light of more serious considerations. How could she ever have thought to keep them?

  ‘For you, definitely,’ Preston said without hesitation. ‘I am only an indirect route to the altar. You are the direct route. He needs to marry you more than he needs to kill me. Besides, killing me is too risky. People would notice. He could hang for it. He knows his desperation isn’t worth his life. It would be better for him to flee England than to take a shot at me.’

  ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ Beatrice managed a sip of chocolate. ‘Because, oddly enough it does. I want you safe.’

  ‘I want the same for you, too, Beatrice,’ Preston said with a sombreness that superseded the solemnity already in the room. He rose and came to her chair, kneeling down beside it and taking her hand. Her skin prickled, with awareness, alertness over where this was leading. ‘Which is why, in light of many circumstances, I want the honour of making you my wife as soon as I possibly can.’

  Bea felt her eyes go wide. ‘You want to marry me to protect me.’ All the flowery words in the world couldn’t hide what motivated this proposal at its base. He was still making sacrifices for her and that could not be tolerated. ‘When I said I wanted you for as long as I could have you, having you assumed I could do so without damaging you, Preston.’ She tugged at her hand, but he held fast, perhaps guessing how much his touch affected her, persuaded her and how much he needed every weapon in his arsenal.

  ‘Your parents—’ she began, looking for new angles to the fight.

  ‘My parents,’ Preston interrupted, ‘taught me to think for myself and to follow my own path. They will understand.’

  ‘Preston, protection is a noble reason for your offer, but have you thought of what happens after Alton is dissuaded? He moves on to another unsuspecting girl and you and I are now committed to one another for ever. For ever, Preston.’

  ‘We’re friends,’ Preston countered. ‘Aren’t we already committed for ever?’

  ‘Not like that. If we were friends, you could still go to Greece,’ Beatrice persisted. It should have been a winning argument, but Preston was full of surprises.

  ‘I am not going to Greece. I decided this morning. My refusal has been sent,’ Preston said evenly. ‘What I want is here, if you’ll have me. And if you don’t, I’ll just keep trying until you say yes.’

  ‘Marriage ought to be about love.’

  Preston nodded soberly. ‘I agree. What makes you think this one isn’t?’

  She couldn’t argue with that. If one looked back, one could see the markings of love behind them like two carriage wheels leaving tracks in the dirt. In the beginning there’d been the courtesy of friendship—she’d come home because he asked and he’d come to Scotland because it was far better than sending a stranger. That courtesy had quickly become respect as their conversations deepened, and respect had become protection and sacrifice when they’d reached home. In equal parts, too—he was not the only one sacrificing and protecting in this relationship and he knew it. She could see it when he looked at her. He understood what she was doing and why. He could respect it even if he didn’t agree with it.

  Beatrice tried one last time. ‘I don’t want you to regret it, to regret me.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’ Preston’s grip on her hands was tight.

  ‘Because I’m not worth it.’ She might have convinced herself she was worth her own happiness, but she was not worth another man’s happiness.

  ‘I must respectfully disagree, Bea. Yes, you are.’ Preston moved into her then, kissing her full on the mouth and she was persuaded at last, or perhaps too exhausted to resist, or too logical because just maybe it all made sense after all. They were alike, she and Preston, always looking after those around them, always caring for others. It was only natural they’d want to care for each other. Perhaps it was time to stop making that caring an obstacle to the happiness they could have together.

  ‘Saturday, then. We should do it as soon as possible,’ Preston whispered between kisses, ‘because I can’t wait any longer to have you in my bed again.’ It was a romantic thing to say and Bea opted to believe it. It was far better than suggesting it was a ploy to finish Alton’s threat.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Saturday couldn’t come soon enough for Preston’s peace of mind. He said as much to Liam as he lingered over port that evening in the parlour. They’d all gone to the Rushford ball and come home around one o’clock, taking Beatrice back to Penrose House for decency’s sake. Everyone had been too tired from the prior evening to make another late night of it. May had gone straight up to bed, perhaps noting that her brother wanted a moment alone with his friend.

  ‘Has there been any news of Alton?’ Preston gave the port in his glass a pensive swirl. He couldn’t simply believe the man had given up. If Alton had meant to flee his debts, he would have done it long before he invested in chasing down Bea. It was all too easy. He didn’t like easy for the simple reason that he didn’t trust it.

  ‘Yes. The innkeeper said he paid his bill and left. He must have some tiara money left over.’ Liam chuckled. ‘There’s not much more he can do now except run. He can’t make his bills and Madam Rose has given him all the patience she has. Without the promise of a bride and a dowry, Madam Rose won’t call off her thugs. Short of throwing himself on his father’s mercy and begging for the cash, running is the only option. From what I hear, his father is none too keen to absolve him, so I think he’s on his own.’

  Preston nodded, giving Liam’s words consideration. ‘Perhaps it is nothing,’ he conceded.

  ‘But?’ Liam prompted. ‘Why do you think it’s something more?’

  ‘He’s a desperate man and he just quits? Just walks away after all the effort to pressure Beatrice? Desperation breeds tenacity.’ Preston took a swallow of the port. ‘I keep thinking about Cabot Roan. He was never more dangerous than when he was cornered.’

  ‘Roan’s a rare breed,’ Liam suggested. ‘I almost hated bringing him in. He was a worthy opponent.’

  Preston
shot him a hard look. ‘Except for his code of ethics, don’t forget. Men who deliberately promote war are not heroes.’

  Liam conceded with a grin. ‘Well, except for his ethics,’ he corrected. ‘Ethics aside, he was a worthy opponent. He shot me and May. He knifed you. Not everyone can pull that off. Certainly not Alton.’

  Preston sighed, no closer to an answer. His instincts told him Alton had a few more tricks to play. ‘That’s the question, isn’t it? What is Alton capable of?’

  * * *

  Malvern Alton was capable of great charm when he chose to exert himself. He was exerting that charm now in no small measure on the scullery maid he’d followed from the Penrose town house. He had her market basket looped over his arm and a handsome smile on his face as he said with just the right amount of interest, ‘A wedding, you say? Are you sure? I haven’t read anything in the papers.’

  He tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He’d followed her from the Penrose town house to the market before he approached her for news, not wanting to risk being spotted. He just wished the news had been better. He’d been hoping to hear the engagement was a ruse and she was still free. Instead, he’d learned the wedding had been set for Saturday.

  ‘Oh, no.’ The maid was young and pretty enough to think a man of his calibre would be interested in her. ‘It’s to be quiet.’

  ‘They’ll have it at home, then?’ he asked, plucking a stray flower from a booth when the vendor wasn’t looking. He tucked it into her hair, watching her blush.

  ‘It will be at the Grosvenor Chapel,’ she chattered, reaching up a hand to touch the flower before leaning in conspiratorially. ‘Mr Worth has connections to have got everything arranged so quickly. I heard Mrs Penrose tell Mrs Worth that she would not have her daughter married anywhere but a church. His wife was quite in agreement, since this is her only son.’

  Alton cut her off. He wasn’t interested in feminine gossip or fine sentiments. He needed details. A plan was starting to form. ‘I suppose it will be in the morning?’

  ‘One o’clock actually,’ she supplied happily. ‘The wedding breakfast will be afterwards at Worth House. That’s funny, isn’t it, to call it a breakfast when it will really be lunch.’ She rambled a bit, smiling up at him off and on and he smiled back, but his mind was already engaged in plotting.

  He parted with the maid shortly after that, the plan coming to fruition in his mind. He couldn’t go to Beatrice any longer, but she could come to him. He knew just how to do it. There was one person she’d go to the ends of the earth for and even beyond, perhaps even to matrimony. He was counting on it and she would be dressed for it. It would be a pity to have a fine wedding gown go unused.

  * * *

  Putting on the wedding gown would be the last thing she’d do before the ceremony. But between then and now, there was so much that needed accomplishing. Beatrice had a backwards list in her mind the morning of the wedding—the sort of list that counts down from where you have to be by a certain time to where you are right now. She wasn’t sure she’d get it all done.

  Packing trunks for the wedding trip would be the first task. Her room at the Penrose town house was already showing signs of the effort. Clothes were everywhere: her clothes, Matthew’s things, a baby on her hip wanting attention as she tried to direct the maid.

  When she’d left Little Westbury, the idea that she would be taking a wedding trip before she returned hadn’t crossed her mind. Now, there were lists to make of things she’d need from Maidenstone to be sent on to Shoreham-by-the-Sea for the wedding trip at Seacrest as well as the London trunks to pack. A wedding trip! The thought was as surreal as the idea that she was getting married in four hours. She still couldn’t quite grasp the reality. Part of her didn’t want to grasp it, didn’t want to think about it, only accept it. To examine it too closely meant to examine her happiness, to acknowledge it. She feared if she did that, she’d jinx it. It was too new, too precious. Some day, maybe, she’d be comfortable enough with her happiness to explore it. For now, she just wanted to stay busy and not worry over it.

  ‘Pack the muslins,’ Bea instructed the maid. It would be nice by the shore this time of year. Seacrest was an ideal place for the wedding trip, so ideal that Beatrice thought the trip might last quite a while. She could think of a lot of reasons to go; it was quiet and in need of its owner. Matthew would be with them. Preston would be able to take care of the estate as would she. There was plenty for the mistress of the house to take care of.

  Bea tickled Matthew’s nose. ‘It won’t be all work, though,’ she said to the baby. There would be beaches to explore and a whole summer of adventures out of doors, picnics and strawberries to hunt. And they would do it all together, the three of them. The thought made her smile. She and Preston and Matthew would be a family.

  ‘Is everything all right, ma’am?’ the maid enquired.

  She must be smiling like a loon.

  ‘Quite all right.’ Beatrice waved to the mess of the room. ‘Just pack it all, I can sort it out later.’ Like her happiness. Happiness did horrible things to one’s concentration. There was a knock at the door. She was wanted downstairs. Mr Preston Worth was here. Even at the last, with the wedding four hours away, her parents were sticklers for propriety. ‘Mr Worth’ could meet her in the drawing room like a proper caller, but not in her room. She wondered what he wanted. She’d not anticipated seeing him before this afternoon.

  ‘I thought it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,’ she teased, coming into the drawing room with Matthew. Preston looked immaculate, as if he hadn’t spent the morning trying to wrangle his belongings into travelling trunks.

  ‘We’ve had our bad luck, nothing but good lies ahead.’ He smiled, the gesture crinkling the corners of his eyes as he took the baby from her. ‘Good morning, Master Matthew.’ He jiggled the baby until Matthew laughed, then pressed a kiss to Bea’s cheek. ‘Good morning, my bride.’

  Every morning would start this way with Matthew in Preston’s arms...that smile on Preston’s mouth. Every day would end the same way. Preston meant to be a devoted father, a devoted husband. The thought filled her with more contentment than she could imagine, her happiness was working the lid off its box.

  ‘Come sit with me, Bea. I have a gift for you. An early wedding present.’ Preston juggled the baby on his lap and pulled a long, flat envelope out of an inside coat pocket. He passed it to her. ‘Open it.’

  She took the envelope hesitantly, trying to guess what might be in it. He’d already given her so much, she couldn’t imagine what might be left to give. She unfolded the papers, scanning the documents. She had to read them twice. ‘You want to adopt Matthew?’ The idea overwhelmed her, brought tears to her eyes yet again. It seemed Preston specialised in ways to make her cry.

  ‘I want him to be my son in all ways, Bea. He is already the son of my heart, I think he has been from the first day I held him.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘Or should I say the day you thrust him at me in the carriage and me not knowing a thing about how to hold a baby?’ He looked down at Matthew bouncing on his leg. ‘I know a thing or two more now to know that it’s not enough in the eyes of the law to just love him as my own. He needs legal recognition.’ Preston gently directed her attention to the other page.

  Beatrice took in the second document, a will. His will. She’d rather not think about endings on a day of beginnings. Preston pointed to a paragraph. ‘You don’t need to read the whole thing, today. Just this part here, the provisions for Matthew. He’s to be an equal partner with any other heirs. The estate will go to any male heirs you and I may have, I can’t do anything about that. It was part of the inheritance stipulation,’ Preston explained, ‘but the trust is mine to dispose of as I see fit. It’s substantial and, with careful investment, it will continue to grow until Matthew reaches his majority.’

  Beatrice looked at the sum an
d bit her lip. The sum was staggering. Matthew would be a rich young man, which meant everything to society. The adoption was not just a legal gesture, then. There was real teeth to it. Preston had done everything possible to ensure Matthew’s legitimacy. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ Truly she didn’t. She leaned towards him, capturing his mouth in a slow kiss. Even in the light of day, in a drawing room with a baby wiggling on his lap, she could feel the want rise between them, mutual and strong. It was an amazing sensation. She’d learned so much about the facets of love from this man.

  A throat cleared behind her, startling her into jumping back from the kiss. ‘Bea, it’s time to get dressed,’ May scolded. ‘I already sent Evie upstairs. As for you, Brother, don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?’ She wagged a finger at him.

  ‘We were just practising,’ Preston shot back.

  ‘Trying to decide which kiss to use at church today?’ May teased.

  ‘Precisely,’ Preston said smugly, but he rose from the sofa and gave up Matthew. His eyes lingered on her. ‘I will see you in church, Bea, very shortly. I’m going to drop the papers off and then get changed myself.’

  * * *

  By the time Matthew was fed and the wedding gown floated over her head, Beatrice felt as if she was walking on clouds. Evie and May had giggled with her, opening a bottle of smuggled champagne in her bedroom. She’d sipped at the cold bubbly liquid only, wanting all her remaining wits about her for the ceremony. Evie and May had joked they remembered very little of their own weddings, but Bea was determined to do it differently. She wanted to remember everything.