Miss Winters Proposes

by Frances Fowlkes

  He could sympathize with her. He, too, preferred his docile canine companions to the savagery of London Society. But her quandary was not his concern. He was fighting his own demons, one of them being the slender thief in his parlor who now stood, awaiting his reply.

  “While I sympathize with your predicament, I fail to see how marrying me will resolve your problem. You will still be married to someone you do not suit.”

  “On the contrary, my lord. As neither of us want to marry, and as both of us have interests in breeding hounds—”

  “You wish to raise hounds?” This slender creature desired to pursue a masculine pastime?

  She gave an enthusiastic nod. “Yes indeed. I am on the cusp of creating a new line, one that will rival my father’s.” She blushed and glanced toward the floor. “Which is why I cannot marry my cousin. A politician’s wife can hardly engage in such unfeminine pursuits, even if I require a husband’s name and financial backing to continue to do so.”

  “A situation I’m certain you will resolve once you are married. I’m sure your cousin will be quite understanding.” Benjamin clasped his hands together. “Now, if you could lead me to Artemis, I would be most appreciative. I am eager to see how she is faring.”

  “Three weeks, my lord.”

  The baron’s daughter strode toward him. She smelled of nutmeg and ginger, and Benjamin was quite certain, were he to lean forward, her hair would smell like the spice its color so closely resembled. He stepped to the side and headed toward the window.

  “Miss Winters, I cannot possibly begin to presume what—”

  “Artemis is due to whelp in three weeks. If you marry me before then, I shall divulge her location and retreat to Evenrood, after my father’s health improves, of course. Then, we may both be alone and able to pursue what we wish.”

  Benjamin turned around to face the challenging imp. “And what if I wish female companionship? You would be my wife. You have obligations.”

  Her eyes widened, the blue orbs filling with surprise and disbelief. “You said yourself you did not desire an heir.”

  “I changed my mind. You stole my bitch, and I want reparation.”

  The girl’s back stiffened, her gown pulling taut across her full chest. “You may join me at Evenrood for two months during grouse season, until I have given you said heir.”

  “And the rest of the year?”

  She glanced toward the wall. “I leave you to your own pursuits, my lord.”

  An interesting arrangement and one he could certainly live by, if he were not entirely averse to the institution of marriage itself.

  “What of your cousin? Will he not be disappointed to see you betrothed to another?”

  Her eyes returned to his. “My cousin stands to inherit my home. He has no claims on me.”

  Persuasion was often his ally, but not so with the unswerving Miss Winters. Benjamin leaned against the settee. “Come now, life as a politician’s wife is likely not as dour as you imagine. I am certain he will make you a fine husband.”

  “Perhaps, but I do not wish to discover it for truth. I cannot marry Frederick, my lord. He and I—”

  “Mr. Frederick Winters is your Father’s heir?” Benjamin’s throat went dry, his heart near stopping in his chest.

  She nodded and pulled down the bottom of her brown spencer jacket. “Yes. He is due to arrive at Hollington tomorrow. Are you acquainted with my cousin?”

  Benjamin swallowed then offered his hand. “Miss Winters, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Chapter Two

  The departure of Miss Winters and two hours of restless rumination in his dark, cluttered library did little to settle his nerves. In fact, it had done the opposite, affording him the time to dwell on his impulsiveness. Benjamin was not a man prone to spontaneity. Indeed, he preferred to contemplate his decisions, taking time to carefully weigh every possible outcome in order to select the most logical conclusion.

  But after hearing Mr. Frederick Winters stood to inherit Hollington, it had taken him less than thirty seconds to decide Miss Winters and her cousin did not suit. And he, regardless of his strong opinions to the contrary, would make the better match.

  It was no matter Benjamin’s soon-to-be-bride had threatened, blackmailed, and coerced him into marriage. Even a kidnapper such as she did not deserve to suffer at the hands of a scoundrel like Mr. Frederick Winters.

  A politician, indeed. More like a man known to seduce secrets from the wives and even daughters of influential peers to blackmail his way through the ranks of Parliament. And worse, to leave them, abused and disheartened, to the vilification of Society after his needs were met and his purposes achieved. He was a vile sort of man.

  A sort of man Benjamin could not, with any moral conscience, allow Miss Winters to marry. It did not matter he did not wish to form any attachments, or he refused to allow himself to feel anything more than admiration and respect toward another living thing.

  Moral principles were at stake. The law and Miss Winters may call their arrangement whatever they liked, but their marriage would be in name only. His participation was solely for the purpose of her safety. And, if his sister did not stop her incessant nagging, the procurement of an heir.

  God’s blood.

  What the bloody hell had he gotten himself into? Marriage? When he had sworn off the institution upon Amelia’s death?

  “Benjamin? Weston said you wished to see me?”

  His elder sister by two minutes stood at the library door. Benjamin turned toward the window lest his far too perceptive twin read the emotions that were likely spilled across his face. “Yes, I am away to town tomorrow. I shall be leaving at first light.”

  “But we only just arrived at Darlington. The children have been waiting to see you. They do so enjoy your company.”

  And he enjoyed theirs—to a certain extent, of course. Being around Eleanor and her children, indeed her entire family, only made him remember the loss of his. Especially now, on the anniversary of their brothers’ deaths.

  Benjamin swallowed and stared at the near-empty trees. “I have some business that has only just arisen and requires haste in its dealings. I shall not be gone more than a week.”

  At his sister’s answering silence, he chanced a look with a slight turn of his head—to see her staring at him with open disappointment.

  Benjamin sighed. “I can only offer my apologies, Eleanor. The business requires my immediate attention.”

  “And what sort of business pulls you away from your kin?”

  “The personal sort.”

  Eleanor’s face brightened. “Are you reentering Society? As the viscount? To seek a wife? If so, I have a great many connections, wonderful ladies who would do our family proud.”

  “No.” God’s blood. He could only imagine the questions his sister would unleash should she learn her connections were not required, and he had, without her assistance, attained a wife. He needed time to digest the fact that he was engaged—without Eleanor’s prodding.

  He paced the length of the library, a room that had once been a source of comfort, but was now tainted with sorrow and responsibility, reminders of the role fate had unjustly cast upon him.

  Adjusting his jacket sleeves, he lifted his eyes to his sister. Eyes that bored into his and would continue to do so until he relented and offered her a firmer answer.

  “I have found a placement for two of Artemis’s litter,” Benjamin said, diverting the topic away from his impending marriage toward a more subtle truth.

  “As you mentioned earlier.”

  Damn. Had he already made mention of the news? He could no longer discern between upside and right side, so lost was he with the very idea he was now betrothed.

  To a living, breathing female.

  Benjamin grappled for a suitable reply to his sister’s astute statement. “Yes, well, Mr. Lightwood has a few more stipulations before agreeing on the payment for the pups.”

  Which was an absolut
e lie. Mr. Lightwood had already settled on a generous sum—given he received two pups, one for himself and one for his spoiled nephew.

  But it did not matter to whom they would be given if Benjamin did not have pups to give. Pups he would only have upon his marriage to the beguiling, if infuriating, Miss Winters.

  Benjamin did not wish to think what would happen if he failed to deliver on his end of the bargain. Last year’s long and brutally harsh winter had taken a toll on the Meadowcroft sheep population. Which, while tragic, would not have been damning, had the livestock not been his brother-in-law’s and his sister’s sole source of income.

  The family had struggled to recover. And the impending arrival of their third child and the continual lack of purchasers, too fearful to buy possibly tainted livestock, further strained their coffers. The thin lines etched around Eleanor’s mouth and eyes attested to it.

  Even so, his sister and her husband continued to outright refuse Benjamin’s financial assistance. They would not, however, refuse a stranger’s genuine interest in their livestock.

  Which was why Benjamin had offered two pups to Mr. Lightwood in exchange for the man’s purchase of a dozen Meadowcroft ewes. The whole thing was neat and tidily done. If he had two pups to offer Mr. Lightwood.

  “Can you not settle things through your man in town?” His sister stared up at him, her dark brows raised.

  He hated lying. Especially to Eleanor. But he could hardly tell her he had arranged a settlement that would ease her family out of financial duress. Her pride was too great. So, too, was Meadowcroft’s. Neither could he admit to the truth of his trip, that he, against all logic and reason, was off to acquire a slip of paper enabling him to seal his name to another.

  For one, Eleanor would not believe him. For another, she would not allow him to leave without the story behind the engagement.

  And that was a story he was not ready to tell. In fact, that story was best kept a secret.

  Forever.

  “It is best I attend to the purchaser’s questions in person.”

  Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “I see this for what it is, Benjamin. A distraction. A convenient excuse allowing you to run away from me and our shared past.”

  Benjamin’s nostrils flared. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I am not. You must accept our brothers are gone. Ours, Benjamin. I feel their loss, too. I share your pain.”

  “I do not doubt you share my heartache. You, however, still have your spouse and children, Eleanor. I do not. You cannot know the depth of my sorrow or the expanse of my grief. Now, if you will excuse me, my presence is required in town. I will return when my business is finished.”

  And when a special license was in his grasp. The sooner Miss Winters was out of Frederick Winters’s influence, the better.

  Benjamin grabbed the letter with his solicitor’s address and made his way past his sister’s contemptuous stare. He had a baron to visit. And a wife to secure.

  …

  “What do you mean, you are engaged?” Juliet’s cousin asked, his deep voice a little too loud in her father’s small, yet cozy library. “Your father asked me to come here to make arrangements. You were to be my betrothed. And now he is telling me otherwise, mumbling nonsense about you being engaged to some country gentleman?”

  Juliet took a step back, putting the bulk of her father’s favorite reading chair between them. “Yes, well, things have changed, Frederick. I received an offer and I accepted it.”

  “Impossible.” He waved his hands, near toppling the stacks of papers her father kept atop his cluttered desk. “Your father sent for me only five days ago. And not once did he mention any engagement. In fact, he wrote quite the opposite, stating he was concerned you would not be provided for should his health continue to fail.”

  Juliet lifted her shoulders in a lackadaisical shrug. “Father’s mind is addled by fever. He does not remember everything.”

  Indeed, when Lord Colwyn had sought her father’s permission the night before, Papa had smiled and said it was all settled, as though he had long been awaiting the viscount’s offer. Which was, of course, preposterous. Had she not threatened Lord Colwyn with the loss of his hound, he would not have looked in her direction, let alone deigned to offer his hand.

  “One would think he would remember something as important as his only daughter’s engagement.”

  “He remembers. On his better days, at least.” Juliet’s fingers traced the woodland scene carved into the small letter opener her father kept beside his chair. “He recalled the event a moment ago, did he not?”

  Her cousin’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed, he did. As though it had only happened yesterday.”

  Juliet gave an airy laugh and waved her hand. “You know news travels slower in the country. Besides, I thought you would be happy with this arrangement. You need no longer feel obliged to offer for me. You may marry whomever you wish.”

  He pounded his fist against the chair’s padded backing. “Did you ever think I might wish to marry you, Juliet?”

  Juliet stared at her relation, a man twice her age, with subtle streaks of gray creeping through his ear-length, sand-colored hair. He cut an imposing figure, with his strong jaw and broad nose, but there was something about him that reaffirmed her belief they would not suit.

  She cast her gaze to the Aubusson carpet. “No. I did not. I am four and twenty, Frederick. Had you courted me before my father wrote you of his illness, perhaps I would have thought otherwise.”

  “Juliet—”

  She held up a hand. “I am sorry to cause you pain, cousin, but I have given my word to Lord Colwyn. We shall be married in less than three weeks.” Provided the roads remained free of snow, and the viscount delivered on his promise to procure a special license.

  “Colwyn?” Frederick asked. “Viscount Colwyn?”

  Juliet eyed her cousin. His suddenly suspicious tone set her on guard. “Yes. Are you acquainted with him?”

  “Of course I am. He is your father’s, and therefore my, future neighbor.”

  Juliet straightened her shoulders. “Then you know he and I make an excellent match.”

  “I know no such thing.” He rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven face. “True, he is a viscount, but I had not thought you one for titles.”

  She wasn’t. That her prospective husband was a viscount was to her future children’s advantage. To her, he was an opportunity, a ray of sunlight and promise in an otherwise bleak and dreary future. Frederick, however, obviously saw differently.

  “You disapprove of Lord Colwyn?”

  His face darkened. “I did not think he wished to marry. Especially not after…” His eyes glazed over, as though he were lost in some long-forgotten memory.

  She almost hated to interfere with whatever had distracted his attentions, but his answer was inconclusive, and she was curious to a fault. Juliet leaned forward. “Not after what?”

  Frederick shook his head and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “It appears Lord Colwyn had a change of heart—or a change of mind.” He peered at her, his gaze roving over her person. “I wonder, Juliet, did he propose to you before or after he learned of your dowry and your father’s current condition?”

  Juliet wrapped her fingers around the letter opener’s handle. “There are some gentlemen who marry for affection, and not for what their future wife will bring to their holdings.”

  It may not be the truth in Lord Colwyn’s case, but at least he was after his dog and not her dowry.

  Frederick flicked a piece of lint off the dark sleeve of his jacket. “Are you inferring you’ve made a love match, cousin?”

  A love match. A pairing of two souls forever bound by the affection they held for each other.

  Or, in other words, the direct opposite of her current arrangement.

  “Yes, quite.”

  “Is that so?” A hint of amusement laced his words. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  Juliet released her grip and lifted a sma
ll embroidered pillow off a nearby settee, wishing she could toss it at his smug face. “What is it you find so difficult to believe? That two people share a mutual affection for one another? Or that I could capture a man’s attention on my own merit?”

  Frederick ran a hand over the velvet covering of her father’s chair. “I mean you no insult, but we both know your beauty is…unique.”

  “Unique.” She set down the pillow and pulled her cuffs further down over the backs of her freckle-spattered hands.

  “Yes, but still pleasing to those who have had time to come to appreciate it.”

  Juliet strode toward the warmth of the fire blazing in the small hearth. “There are qualities beyond the physical that draw a man’s attention, Frederick.” Lots of them. She simply couldn’t think of one at the present moment.

  “Your humor is one of them, dear cousin,” he said with a laugh. “But Lord Colwyn is not a man easily amused. Nor is he one in the market for a wife, despite half of this year’s eligible misses doing their best to convince him otherwise.”

  “Well then, it seems I had something the others did not.” Juliet snatched the poker from its stand and shoved it into the roaring flames.

  “Yes. Such as a coveted line of hunting hounds and a grouse moor in Northumberland.”

  Juliet jabbed a glowing piece of wood with a little more vengeance than usual. “Which are now two things that are no longer available for your acquisition. You may look forward to having Hollington and father’s fortune, but the rest will soon belong to Lord Colwyn.”

  Her cousin gripped her shoulder and spun her away from the flames. “I hold you in the highest regard, Juliet. The two of us complement each other. You would be mistress of Hollington, your father’s home.”

  “And you would acquire Evenrood. A decidedly remote retreat where you may sway votes and promise allegiances once you claim your seat in Parliament.”

  His dark eyes narrowed. “Careful, cousin. Or I might start to believe you concocted this entire arrangement simply to deprive me of your dowry.”