The Bargain

by Mary J. Putney

  “I should have ducked sooner this time.” David ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “Lady Jocelyn never bargained for a live husband, and it would be dishonorable to try to hold her against her will. Her lawyer is already looking into the procedure for annulling the marriage.”

  “Surely an annulment will take some time.”

  “Several months at least.”

  “That gives you time to try to change her mind.”

  “Blast it, Richard, look at the disparity in our fortunes! She is rich, I most certainly am not. She’s the daughter and niece of an earl, I have no relatives besides Sally that I’m willing to admit to.”

  “Are you going to give up without a fight because of pride?” Richard asked with maddening calm. “You may not be of equal rank, but you’re a gentleman, and you’ve had a distinguished military career. You’d make a perfectly acceptable husband.”

  Thinking of the one insurmountable barrier, David retorted, “She’s in love with someone else.”

  That gave Richard pause, but only briefly. “He must not be in love with her, or she wouldn’t have proposed to you. Unless he’s married, but surely she has better sense.”

  David shook his head. “From what she told me, the relationship was promising, but still in its early days.” His hand tightened on the crutch. “I gather that the blasted man is handsome, wealthy, titled, of admirable character, and in all ways qualified to make Jocelyn an ideal husband.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s quite possible that she’ll never bring him up to scratch,” Richard countered. “While you are available, interested, presentable, and not without a certain ability to charm the opposite sex. Those are considerable advantages. Why aren’t you using them?”

  “I suppose I’ve been waiting for someone to tell me that it’s all right to take advantage of my position to try to win her heart,” David said slowly. “But it still seems wrong. She could do so much better than me.”

  “In a worldly sense, maybe, but I think you’d make a better husband for her than a man whose greatest challenge has been the cut of his coat.” Richard absently rubbed at his aching leg. “If you’re concerned about being thought a fortune hunter, no one who knows you would believe such a libel, and who else’s opinion counts?”

  “You make the situation sound simple.”

  “It is simple. Lady Jocelyn is unlikely to consider you as a serious candidate for husband if you seem to want to end the marriage as much as she does. Give her the chance to make her own decision. She is quite capable of sending you packing if she feels the need. But the choice should be hers. Don’t assume you know her mind, or that it isn’t possible that she might come to care for you as much as you care for her.”

  Excitement quickened David’s pulse. Richard was absolutely right. “Thank you for saying what I wanted to hear. I think I knew that you would, or I would never have raised the subject.”

  Richard laughed. “Glad to oblige. Lady Jocelyn is worth fighting for.”

  “That she is,” David said softly. He’d have to tread a careful line to court Jocelyn without abusing the situation. God forbid she should consider him just another volatile suitor. He must be patient, let her come to know him. Living under the same roof should give him an abundance of opportunity.

  And while his rival might have greater fortune and rank, David had the advantage of being a skilled campaigner who was determined to win.

  Chapter 16

  Jocelyn awoke at dawn after a night of restless dreams. The only one she could remember was her last waltz with the Duke of Candover. The exciting possibilities of that encounter hummed through her, until she remembered the awkwardness of her current situation.

  When Candover returned to town in September, she would still be legally married to David Lancaster instead of an eligible widow, which meant that she couldn’t begin an affair with the duke. Even though her marriage would be in the process of annulment, an affair would still be adultery. Unthinkable.

  With a sigh, she rose from her bed, careful not to disturb Isis, and drifted to her window, which overlooked the garden behind the house. All her dreams must be delayed. What if Candover found another woman while Jocelyn was waiting for her freedom? He might be lost to her forever. Unlike her parents, she was not fickle, and she might never find another man who would suit her as well.

  A curious calm fell over her. If she lost him, so be it. She could square an affair with her principles, but not adultery, not even with the man she had sought for years.

  A glimpse of movement in the garden caught her attention. Was that the major? Lord, it was. Dressed in civilian garments, he was wavering his way along the path that circled the perimeter of the garden, leaning heavily on a cane.

  The possibilities for hurting himself were minor compared to his midnight stroll along the gallery, but she still felt anxious. Walking alone might lead to a fall on the damp ground. If he couldn’t get up, he might lie there for hours before someone found him. Perhaps take a chill and die of lung fever.

  Wryly she recognized that she was allowing her mother cat instincts to run away with her. The major had survived years of warfare in a foreign country, and would probably come to no great harm in an English summer garden.

  Still, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check up on him. She dressed swiftly, choosing a simple morning gown that could be donned without assistance from Marie. After tying her hair back with a ribbon, she descended the narrow backstairs.

  Tantalizing scents of baking wafted from the kitchen, so she made a quick stop. Under the startled gaze of the cook and scullery maid, she collected two currant buns hot from the oven, wrapped them in a napkin, then left with a jaunty wave.

  By the time she caught up with the major, he had circumnavigated the garden and started on another circuit. He smiled at her with friendly welcome. “You’re up early, Lady Jocelyn.”

  She smiled back, the tension of her uneasy night fading. “And you aren’t?”

  She fell into step beside him. The garden was large enough to provide a good walk, and she often strolled along this path herself. The early morning was lovely, with dew sparkling like crystals on blossoms and leaves.

  “I like this time of day. It’s peaceful.” He grinned. “I’m also a firm believer in trying to be as active as possible when convalescing, and it’s easier to exercise when there is no one around to stop me.”

  “When I glanced out and saw you, I had instant visions of you collapsing among the rose bushes,” she admitted. “It would have upset the gardener to find you like that, especially if you damaged any of his flowers.”

  “So naturally you came to see if the bushes and I were all right.” His voice was warm with approval. “You’re very thoughtful.”

  Embarrassed, she turned her gaze to the path ahead. “There’s nothing unusual about looking out for one’s guests.”

  “I was thinking more of the gardener, actually. Good ones are hard to find, I’m sure.” His tone was solemn, but his eyes teasing.

  She laughed. “Lewis has worked here for at least thirty years. It would be a shame to drive him away in his old age.”

  “He does a beautiful job.” David’s gesture encompassed their surroundings. “It’s hard to believe that we’re in the heart of London. The garden is so well planted that it seems much larger than it is.”

  “The gazebo at the far end is one of my favorite places. Perfect for a meal or a quiet read on a summer day.” She handed him a hot currant bun. “Since you show no signs of slowing down for breakfast yet, have one of these.”

  He bit into the bun and a blissful expression appeared on his face. “In case I’ve forgotten to mention the fact before, your cook is a treasure.”

  “I’m fortunate in my household,” she agreed. “Since I can’t have Charlton, I’ve concentrated on making Cromarty House as pleasant as possible.”

  He slanted her a glance. “Based on what Crandall said, I’ll be enjoying your cook’s skills for some time. I’d p
lanned on looking for rooms soon, but that won’t do since you and I must continue to share the same roof. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “No need to apologize.” She swallowed a mouthful of bun, fragrant with plump currants. “I have plenty of space. Actually, I rather enjoy having the company.” Particularly since David was the most comfortable of companions. She glanced at his strongly cut profile. He was better than a brother, since she might have had one she didn’t like half as well.

  “Have you never had a companion living with you?” he asked. “Surely it’s unusual for an attractive young woman living alone in London.”

  “Aunt Laura Kirkpatrick was staying with me until her husband returned from the Continent, but she became exasperated with my outrageous conduct and decided to visit their estate in Kent,” Jocelyn said wryly. “She’ll return to town eventually, but I don’t know when.”

  “Soon, I hope. I should like to see her again.”

  “You will. Cromarty House has always been home to my aunt and her family when they are in London. Since my father died, she’s stayed with me when she is not following the drum. I’ve had other companions when Aunt Laura was with Uncle Andrew, but she’s far and away my favorite.”

  “You are very like her.”

  “I hope so. Since her own children are sons, she has treated me like a daughter.”

  “Your mother died when you were young?”

  Jocelyn tensed, as she did whenever her mother was mentioned. Avoiding a direct answer, she replied, “I scarcely remember her.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It was fortunate that I had my father for enough years to know him well. He was something of a scholar and enjoyed teaching Sally and me. Some of the best memories of my childhood are of sitting with him in the library while he taught us geography from his great globe or going for walks with him through the countryside around our home.”

  A sudden memory struck Jocelyn—her mother weaving a wreath of spring flowers, then placing it on Jocelyn’s head with a laugh and a kiss. She swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that sprang from nowhere. “Your father sounds like a gentle soul. Quite unlike your brothers.”

  “The difference was enough to make one think of changelings,” he agreed. “My father’s first marriage was arranged by the two families. My mother was his own choice. The wife of his heart.”

  They continued in amiable silence as they finished their buns. She kept an eye on the major’s progress. While this lengthy walk clearly took effort, he was holding up well. Perhaps he was right to push himself with as much activity as he could manage. The civilian clothing that had accompanied him home from Belgium hung loosely from his gaunt frame, and he leaned heavily on the cane, but he no longer looked frail. In fact, with his height and broad shoulders, he was an impressive figure of a man.

  “I’ve been thinking about what Crandall asked yesterday,” David remarked.

  “So have I. I noticed he didn’t ask if the grounds for the annulment were valid. He restricted himself to discussing the best strategy for obtaining a favorable ruling.”

  Her companion shrugged. “His job is to represent your interests. It’s probably easier not to know the whole truth in this case.”

  She felt a pang of guilt that David was having to walk a thin line between truth and lie because of her. She wasn’t happy about the fact that they were shading the truth, either, but it was by far the simplest solution to their mutual quandary.

  “There’s something else Crandall said that I’ve been thinking about, Jocelyn,” David said, his voice grave.

  When he didn’t say more, she murmured, “Yes?”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m no great matrimonial prize, but—we are legally husband and wife. Have you considered the possibility of staying married, as he suggested?” He halted and turned to her. “I don’t know what you hope for in a husband, but if it is to be loved . . . well, I think it would be very easy to fall in love with you.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “No,” she whispered. They had become such good friends. She trusted him and was so comfortable in his presence. How could he suggest something that would change everything, and not for the better?

  The silence between them throbbed with tension. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. He loomed over her, his hands folded over the head of the cane, his gaze searching. He was a strong man, with humor, intelligence, and honor. What would it be like to be loved by him?

  Suffocating distress rose in her at the thought. She didn’t want his love. Friendship was safer, and far more enduring. “No,” she repeated. “I . . . I’m very fond of you, but not as a husband.”

  He became very still, and she feared that he was angry. Instead, after an endless hesitation, he smiled with no apparent distress. “I rather suspected that would be your reaction, but it would have been foolish not to at least consider the possibility.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we see if we can charm more currant buns from your cook?”

  Light-headed with relief, she took his arm and they turned toward the kitchen. She had not realized how much she valued his friendship until the frightening moment when she thought she had forfeited it.

  Jocelyn had been correct in saying that the gazebo was a delightful place to read in the heat of a summer afternoon, but David wasn’t looking at his Morning Chronicle. Instead he gazed at the roses and remembered how Jocelyn had looked that morning when they had walked together. Simply dressed and with bright tendrils of hair catching the sun, she’d been deliciously happy and relaxed.

  Knowing it was time to test her feelings, he’d raised the issue of having a real marriage—and her expression had changed instantly to that of a vulnerable, haunted young girl. He’d been trying ever since to understand her reaction. She hadn’t been offended. Surprised, yes, even shocked, but there had been something else.

  Fear? Surely he was wrong about that. But whatever had shadowed her eyes, it was not the expression of a woman who was in love with one man and must regretfully tell another suitor that he was unsuccessful. Her objections came from some deeper, more mysterious source.

  He’d had to fight the impulse to draw her into his arms and tell her that she would always be safe with him. Such a gesture would have been utterly wrong, so he had lightened the mood and been rewarded with her smile.

  Winning her would be like coaxing a butterfly to land on his hand. Patience, gentleness, and perhaps a prayer or two would be required.

  Would that be enough? He could only hope, and pray.

  Lady Laura Kirkpatrick stretched luxuriously, then seated herself at the table by her bedroom window, her silk wrapper falling around her. The tray she had ordered sat on the table, the morning mail stacked neatly beside the gently steaming coffeepot. The top letter was addressed in Jocelyn’s elegant, impatient hand.

  She slit the seal, smiling as she heard the sounds of splashing water in the adjoining room. Kennington lay just off the main Dover to London road, and Colonel Andrew Kirkpatrick had arrived very late the night before, just off a cross-channel packet. Neither had expected to find the other at the estate, which made their meeting a special delight. Travel-stained and unshaven though he was, Andrew had wasted no time in joining his wife in her bed for a reunion that made her blush to her toes when she thought of it.

  Beaming like a romantic schoolgirl, though with much less innocence, Laura scanned the first sheet of her niece’s jasmine-scented paper. As she exclaimed with pleasure, her husband entered the room, toweling the last moisture from his freshly shaved face. He was a broad, powerful figure in his velvet dressing gown and moved with the vigor of a man much younger than his fifty years. “Good news, love?”

  “The best, Drew. Did you receive the letter I wrote you when Jocelyn married David Lancaster?”

  Her husband dropped his towel. “Good God, no! When did that happen? The last I heard, Lancaster was mortally wounded and had been sent back to die in London.”

  Over coffee and fresh bread serve
d with sweet butter and honey, she explained her niece’s creative solution to the need for marriage. “David had an operation, and Jocelyn writes that he is recovering well. I am so glad. He was a favorite of mine.”

  “Mine, too.” The colonel sighed. “So many fell at Waterloo. But British officers are a tough lot. You might have heard that Michael Kenyon was dying? Like Lancaster, he has also pulled through against the odds, thanks to Catherine Melbourne, who nursed him in Brussels after the battle.”

  “Wonderful!” Mention of her friend Catherine reminded Laura of the long hours they had worked side by side in makeshift hospitals on the Peninsula. God willing, neither of them would ever again have to bandage bullet holes in dying boys.

  As she and Drew broke their fast, they traded stories of mutual friends, mourning or rejoicing as appropriate. In the aftermath of the great battle, information had been hard to come by, but gradually the final toll was becoming known.

  After they had caught up on the news, Drew asked, “Since your minx of a niece is not going to be a widow, what are her intentions toward Lancaster?”

  Laura glanced at the letter again. “She hopes there will be some way to end the marriage. What a pity. I think David would make a wonderful husband for her, but I’ve sometimes wondered if she fears marriage too much to ever make a commitment.”

  “I’ve suspected that is exactly the reason your brother wrote his will the way he did,” Andrew said shrewdly. “To force her into marriage because he feared that the great family scandal would turn her into a lifelong spinster.”

  Laura blinked. “Drew, that’s brilliant. I’m sure you’re right. That explains everything. How very devious of Edward!”

  “When you’re dead, it’s devious or nothing,” her husband said with dark humor.

  She said with regret, “I suppose I should go back to London to chaperon.” She’d much rather stay at Kennington. Her husband had several weeks free before he needed to return to duty, and a second honeymoon in the country would be delightful.