His Contract Bride (Banks Brothers Brides 1)

by Rose Gordon

  “You didn't say that to her, did you?”

  “Of course not,” Edward said with a chuckle. “I might have never courted a young lady before, but even I know not to say that to her.” Truthfully, when he'd first learned of his prearranged betrothal agreement to Regina, he'd been relieved that he'd never have to court and woo a young lady into giving him her affections—or at least her hand in marriage. This way, all he had to do was arrive at the church and repeat his vows. It was all very simple. As for his brother John... He shuddered at the thought of what he'd have to do to secure a wife.

  “Edward, did you say anything to her?”

  The seriousness in his brother's voice gave Edward pause. “Yes.”

  John gave a stiff nod. “Was it about one of your plethora of experiments?” he asked, waving a hand at the large stack of notes Edward held.

  Edward frowned at him. “For pity's sake, John. I know you may not think it, but I am capable of discussing other things.”

  John looked doubtful.

  “We spoke of—” he mindlessly waved his hand through the air— what else had they talked about? “It doesn't matter. We're to be married within the fortnight and her father assured me she'd be there ready and willing. I need no further convincing than that and the betrothal agreement in the top drawer of this very desk to convince me all will be well.”

  Chuckling, John's only response was, “If you say so.”

  ~Chapter Three~

  “You're not about to disgorge again, are you?”

  Regina exhaled and pressed a damp rag against her forehead. “No.” At least she hoped not. She hadn't been able to eat for the past three days and would eat the stockings she'd worn yesterday if there was a single crumb left in her stomach.

  “Good,” Aunt Florence chirped. She hummed as she came into Regina's room. Wordlessly, she took the rag from Regina and ran it over Regina's forehead and then her neck. “You're just nervous. It'll pass. Every woman feels this way on the eve of her wedding.”

  “But it's not the eve of my wedding,” Regina pointed out. “It's my wedding day.”

  Aunt Florence smiled. “Especially then.” She reached up and adjusted a hairpin in the side of her coiffed hair. “Once you see your groom, your nervousness will go away. I swear it.”

  It would be rude to ask what made a widow who'd married a man forty years her senior so certain of this, so she kept her questions to herself and moved to a sitting position. Across the room from her, draped over the edge of one of the open wardrobe doors was the fanciest dress she'd ever seen. Made of purple silk with sleeves that reached her elbows then flared out in back to create tails, a square cut bodice, narrow waist and a full skirt intended to cover stays so wide she could hardly fit through a door. A diamond encrusted netting overlay was sewn over the skirt. Only the fanciest cuts and materials for her wedding, Father had said as he instructed her to choose five gowns to consign to help cover her “share” of the cost—it was she who'd be wearing them, after all.

  The old clock in the corner of her room chimed the hour. It was time to get dressed.

  “Up you go, dear,” Aunt Florence encouraged. She resumed her humming and walked over to where that fancy gown hung, taunting Regina. “You don't wish to keep your groom waiting, do you?”

  Of course she didn't. She bit her lip. “Aunt Florence?”

  “Yes, dear?” She retrieved the gown. “It's heavy,” she murmured.

  It had hundreds of diamonds sewn into the fabric; surely Aunt Florence hadn't expected it to be light. Regina shook her head to dispel the thought before she made trouble by putting voice to it. “I have a question—”

  “Just lie still and it'll be over soon,” Aunt Florence interrupted.

  “Pardon?” Regina did her best to close her mouth. But for some inexplicable reason, it wouldn't stay shut.

  Aunt Florence's face reddened, and she started blinking her eyes as if she'd turned around only to be greeted by the unexpected appearance of the sun. “It may have been more than twenty years—” she raised her chin a notch— “but I do remember my husband's visits.” She sighed. “There is nothing to the marital act, dear. Just lie there with your hands at your sides and let him be about his business. If he's foxed, he might try to kiss you. Let him. Just be sure to keep quiet and don't fuss—count the ceiling tiles if you must—and his pinching and groping will be over faster.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And do not forget, you are marrying a lord, a real gentleman, so remember that under no circumstances should you allow yourself to be seen naked in his presence. Only loose women such as prostitutes and mistresses remove their clothing in front of their bed partners. A wife stays completely covered so not to be confused with a whore.”

  Now it was Regina who flushed with embarrassment. “Oh.” She twisted her lips. She wouldn't deny she was curious about such matters, but didn't dare ask her aunt anything further. “That wasn't what I intended to ask about.”

  Aunt Florence breathed a sigh of relief and her face visibly relaxed. “In that case, what is it you'd like to know?”

  “It's just—” She idly drummed her fingers along her knees. Now would be her last chance before the wedding. “What if he isn't happy with me?” There, she'd said it.

  Her aunt's hazel eyes softened. “How could he not be?”

  Regina could think of a thousand reasons he might not be happy to have her as his wife, the most prominent being that he'd only ever met her once before, and he didn't really know a thing about her except that she'd once seen a turtle.

  “Regina,” her aunt's soft words put an abrupt end to her wandering thoughts. “As your father said, he must have liked something about you to request your hand so soon after his period of mourning ended.”

  “He could have asked to court me,” Regina pointed out.

  “Bah.” Aunt Florence twisted her lips into a frown and flicked her wrist. “The heart knows far more than the brain when it comes to matters like this. Besides, I think it's more romantic this way.”

  She would. While it might be every young girl's dream to fall in love the moment she met the man she'd one day wed, it wasn't likely; and even less likely for it to be the gentleman who lost his heart upon their first meeting. Then for him to—

  “All right. Stop this sulking. You'll be fine as soon as you get to the church. Just you wait and see.” With that, her aunt helped pull her to a standing position then with the help of the housemaid they'd shared when getting ready for important events, got her into the monstrosity she had to claim as her wedding gown.

  “Let's go, Regina,” her father roared from down the hall.

  Regina jumped at the sharpness in her father's tone. “I'm coming, Father.” Picking up her fan, reticule, scarf, and anything else she might need, she darted out the door and scampered down the hall. More than anything, Father hated to be late. He thought it made them appear ill-bred, which of course, by the ton's standards, they were. But also by the ton's standards, it was fashionable to be late... Perhaps that was the only commoner's habit Father wished to maintain.

  Dismissing the inane thought, she descended the stairs where her father then helped her ascend into the freshly waxed carriage.

  Thirty excruciatingly long minutes later, the Harris family carriage pulled to a halt in front of the church. As always, her father descended first, then made a show of helping the ladies in his company. Regina fought to keep the scowl off her face as she took his hand. While she didn't doubt her father held his family in some regard—love might be too strong of a word, but high regard seemed to fit better—he was never one to physically show signs of affection in private, only in public. She hated it when he pretended to be the doting father for the sake of appearances; it always made her ill at ease. But she wouldn't dare embarrass him by not allowing him to publicly display his affection.

  “Smile,” he whispered in her ear,
squeezing her trembling hand a little tighter than was comfortable.

  Regina forced a smile and descended, willing herself not to squirm in response to her father's unusual demeanor.

  Father led her and Aunt Florence inside the church and back to the bridal chamber to wait for his return.

  His return came quickly. Too quickly for a nervous bride. And now it was time to walk down the aisle to the mysterious man who'd soon become her husband.

  Regina's slow steps led her to nearly stumble and fall on her face when she caught a glimpse of her groom. Her heart leapt into her throat. Tall, high cheekbones, a lopsided grin, clear blue eyes... She blinked. Then again. Even wearing a curly wig filled with powder, she recognized him immediately. What's more, though a year had passed, the same warmth and excitement she'd felt the first time she'd seen him coursed through her.

  Unable to control herself, she grinned. After all those months apart with nothing more than a fading memory of their talk, he still stirred an excitement in her no other gentleman had been able to duplicate.

  Father leaned in to press a cold kiss devoid of any love or emotion to her cheek, momentarily ending her glee before regaining it at the realization that the man who stood across from her did love her. They may have only met once, but perhaps even for him that was all it took.

  ***

  Edward couldn't contain the smile that bent his lips as he admired his grinning bride. He'd thought her attractive a year ago, but now she was beautiful. So radiant with the way her brown eyes crinkled around the corners and a glow lit her face as she smiled.

  He reached for her hand, then brushed his thumb across her row of trembling knuckles as she put her hand into his.

  To his right, the vicar began talking. He spoke of being faithful—something Edward had no qualms about promising the breathtaking creature in front of him. He spoke about life, death, love, and plenty of other nonsense he barely heard over the pounding of his blood in his ears at the sight of his bride. If he didn't know any better, he'd wager that she wanted to be here, and for a reason he couldn't comprehend, he was quite pleased that she wanted to be here and marrying him.

  In what felt like only a brief moment, he was now staring into the eyes of the new Lady Watson. His Lady Watson. His baroness. His wife.

  “Ahem,” the vicar cleared his throat.

  Edward snapped his head to the right. “Yes?”

  The vicar nodded from Edward to Regina, whispering. “Kiss her.”

  Too excited by being granted such permission, Edward felt not a hint of embarrassment or unease as he leaned forward and pressed his eager lips to hers. Though their lips met only for a matter of seconds, that was all it took to make him crave more. He pulled back in time to see the pink flush that was coloring her cheeks in response to his kiss. He straightened and reached for her hand again. Tonight could not come soon enough.

  The ride to the Harris' townhouse where the wedding breakfast was to be held was nothing short of torture for Edward. If not for the fact that his new bride still needed to look presentable when they arrived, he might have attempted to kiss her again in the carriage. She had perfect, full lips that were made for kissing.

  The wedding breakfast held in their honor was to be a simple affair, but of course nothing in his life could ever be termed simple, and in an attempt to meet Mr. Harris' demands, the guest list had quickly spiraled out of Edward's control.

  He glanced to his new wife. She didn't seem to be enjoying this any more than he was. He nudged her with his elbow and grinned at her. He was rewarded by her returning his grin with one of her own.

  “I'm sorry,” she whispered, setting her fork down. “Father likes...”

  Edward nodded once. She didn't even have to finish that sentence. He could finish it for her. In less than the hour he'd spent in Mr. Harris' company, he'd surmised that his father's assessment of the man was true: Mr. Harris loved attention and would do whatever it took to gain invitations, including giving his only daughter's hand in marriage to a titled man's son in hopes of gaining better placement in Society.

  Thinking of it that way, he actually felt a little sympathy for her plight. While he might not have married without his father's interference. Regina, with her auburn hair and gentle looks, could have had a chance at a successful match were she to have had a real Season, and not one funded under the guise of giving her something to do. A knot fisted in his gut. He knew the real reason Mr. Harris had suggested Edward fund a Season for her; he wanted to take advantage of as many invitations as he could.

  Edward turned his eyes back to his wife. He may not know much about her, but one thing was certain: she did not share in her father's quest for recognition and social acceptance. He grinned. She was more like him than he'd have ever guessed she would be.

  “And what of you, Regina? What do you like?”

  “All the usual things,” she said dismissively.

  “The usual things?” What the blazes were those?

  She swiped her napkin across her lips. “Pianoforte. Watercolors. Sewing. Embro—”

  “Stop, I pray you,” he said with a scowl. “While I have no doubt you are skilled at all of those pursuits, I'd rather know what you enjoy doing, and I know better than to believe it is any of those things you listed.”

  The pale pink that stained her cheeks was his only confirmation.

  “So...” he prompted.

  “I—I don't know,” she said.

  “Very well. Perhaps you'll discover an interest for something this Season,” he offered, praying there would be; for he had little doubt by her tone and facial expression that she’d likely been telling the truth and she didn’t know.

  “Perhaps so,” she agreed; a new little sparkle lighting her eyes.

  “Say, Watson,” Mr. Harris called. “Now that you're married, you'll want to host an annual ball, will you not?”

  “I think that'll be at the discretion of Lady Watson,” he returned, praying she'd decide against doing so.

  Her father looked at her with dark, intent eyes, and she nodded slowly. “Of course. We'll have one sometime after we return to London from our month trip to Watson Estate for the remainder of the Season.”

  “In addition to the breakfast you've already promised me, correct?”

  Regina looked as excited at the prospect as Edward felt. “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Good. Good.” Her father nodded his approval then turned back to speak to the lady at his right.

  Had there not been so many guests, Edward would have leaned over to assure Regina that she didn't have to host anything in their home if she didn't wish to. No matter. He could tell her that later.

  Their meal soon ended, and it was time to say their goodbyes to their guests and leave for Watson Estate, the seat of his barony.

  Like all other ladies he'd ever witnessed, Regina stood by the door and said her goodbyes to all of their guests. Unlike all of the other ladies he'd ever witnessed, Regina gave a slight but noticeable wince every time one of their guests leaned in to hug her. Odd.

  Edward shook it off. He was probably imagining things. All women loved hugs and affection. She was probably just nervous about what would be happening tonight... A slow smile spread his lips.

  “Have you no shame, Edward, your guests haven't even left yet,” John said quietly, a smug smile on his lips.

  Edward pursed his lips. It was times like this that he just wanted to smack the clodpole on his head. “Don't you need to be leaving for Eton soon?”

  “Actually, no.” The left corner of his mouth tipped up. “I wrote to Mr. Sweeny of your nuptials, and he said I may stay with you for another week.”

  “Like hell you will,” Edward whispered. “You'll get your arse to Eton this afternoon if I have to take you there myself.”

  “And what would your new bride say to that?”

&nbs
p; “'Thank you for ridding the house of the pestilence',” Edward returned, taking a measure of satisfaction at the way his brother's boyish grin slipped.

  “Fine, I'll go. But don't ever accuse me of not being supportive of your new union.”

  Edward would have laughed at the absurdity of his brother's statement if not for Mr. Harris' annoying voice floating to his ears.

  “I trust you shall not keep us waiting for the grand event,” Regina's father said to her.

  Regina nodded. “Of course not, Father.”

  Edward scowled. Mr. Harris was not alluding to the birth of Regina's first child, of that he was certain. No, he was making direct reference to Regina's agreement to host a breakfast and now a ball during the Season that had just started. As if marrying her off to a baron hadn't been enough, now he wanted to push her to facilitate his acceptance into ballrooms across London? It was damned infuriating, it was, and Edward was not going to have any of it. “Mr. Harris—”

  “Mrs. Lowry,” Joseph, Lord Sinclair, one of Edward's closest friends, cut in smoothly, paying no mind to Edward or his curt tone. “That fan you're holding is quite lovely.”

  Regina's aunt lifted the ugly fan in her hand and giggled. “Oh, thank you, Lord Sinclair,” she gushed. “My nephew brought it back for me from his trip to the Orient.”

  “It looks lovely,” Joseph murmured. Marrying a creature who had abominable fashion taste and sought compliments at every turn must have given Joseph an invaluable education in paying false compliments. Something he was doing perfectly at present. “Did he bring anything else?”

  “Of course he did,” Mr. Harris said, puffing out his chest. “He brought me back this penknife.” He whipped out a penknife with a glossed bone handle, then turned it over in his hand and exposed the blade.

  Presumably in an attempt to humor him, too, Joseph complimented the knife and allowed the braggart to lead him and his wife off to his study to admire more baubles. Edward would have to pay the man his many thanks next time he saw him.