The Six-Month Marriage
Amanda Grange
© Amanda Grange 2002
http://www.amandagrange.com
The moral right of the author has been asserted
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters and incidents are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any real person or incident is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
First published in hardback by Robert Hale Ltd. 2002
For more Kindle books by Amanda Grange, please
visit her Kindle page on Amazon UK
or on Amazon US
Amazon DE
Amazon FR
Amazon IT
Amazon ES
Choose between Regency romances and Jane Austen fiction, including the bestselling Mr Darcy’s Diary (Kindle version called Darcy’s Diary)
Praise for Amanda Grange
“Absolutely fascinating” – Historical Novel Society
“Hits the Regency language and tone on the head” – Library Journal
“Lots of fun” – Woman
“Rich atmospheric details” – Publishers’ Weekly
“Affectionate” – Washington Post
“Sure to delight Austen fans” – Cheshire Life
For more information, visit her website at http://www.amandagrange.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
‘There, there.’ Madeline Delaware soothed her tearful maid. ‘It’s all right, Jenny, really it is.’ Her haunted eyes belied her words, but she did what she could to comfort the young girl. ‘Come. Best get it over with.’
‘What can he be thinking of?’ sobbed Jenny as she applied a touch of carmine to Madeline’s lips.
‘I don’t know,’ said Madeline. She was seated at her dressing-table in a large and gloomy bedroom at the back of a run-down house in Grosvenor Square. Outside, the last light of a summer day in the year of 1813 lingered, but inside it was dim. Dark gold paint covered the walls and heavy brocade curtains covered the windows. Everything about the room was oppressive, and as Madeline regarded herself in the looking glass she was close to tears. Her face was painted with powder and rouge, and for two pins she would have washed it off, but if she did so her guardian would make her suffer for it; as well as, most likely, dismissing Jenny.
Her eyes dropped to her crimson gown. Its bodice was far too low. She did what she could to tug it higher and tried to pull the transparent sleeves back on to her shoulder, but they had been designed to fall away. She had pleaded with her guardian, her uncle Gareth, to be allowed to wear one of her more suitable gowns, but he had refused to listen.
‘Oh, miss, you have to get away from him,’ sniffed Jenny. ‘Before something truly dreadful happens.’
‘I know,’ said Madeline. ‘But everywhere I go I am watched. No matter where I am - in the drawing-room, the music room, the library - Miss Handley is always there.’
‘She calls herself your chaperon,’ said Jenny, biting her lip. ‘She’s more like your gaoler.’
Madeline nodded. ‘And if ever she cannot be with me there is always someone else: a maid pretending to dust the piano, a footman with a message, or the housekeeper making a show of asking my advice about what to serve for dinner.’
‘When you go riding . . . ’ Jenny began.
Madeline shook her head. ‘When I go out riding it is worse. As well as Miss Handley I am accompanied by a footman and a groom. Gareth is determined that I shall not escape.’
No matter how hard she fought against it, a feeling of hopelessness was gradually overtaking her. Seven months of Gareth Delaware’s guardianship had worn her down, making her anxious and afraid. She was confined at every turn, made a prisoner of, and denied any contact with anyone who might help her. Gareth’s conduct thus far had been limited to criticising and undermining her, and restricting her movements so that she had had no chance to ask for help from anyone outside Delaware House. But looking at the dress she had been forced to wear she feared that things were about to get worse. Now that her twenty-first birthday was fast approaching, Gareth had decided to arrange a marriage for her. And the marriage he had lined up for her was one which filled her with dread.
‘I don’t understand you, Gareth,’ she said some half an hour later, as the Delaware carriage rattled its way through the streets towards Drury Lane. It was a rare outing for Madeline, and she wondered why her uncle had decided to take her to the theatre. ‘We will be cut by all our acquaintance if they see me like this. Let me go home and put on something more suitable. The white satin is just the thing for this evening. You told me not three months ago that it was the sort of gown a young lady should be wearing.’
Gareth Delaware leered at her as he lolled against the shabby squabs. Madeline gave a shudder. She did not know how it was, but Gareth always managed to look dissolute, even though his linen was clean and his breeches and tailcoat were in the height of fashion.
‘You’re a woman. You’re not here to understand me, you’re here to shut up and do as you’re told. The white satin’s no good tonight. I need you to attract one of my debtors so much that he will take you in lieu of my debt.’
Madeline shuddered again.
‘We’ll have none of those missish ways tonight,’ he said, his voice sharpening. ‘You’re going to get me out of a tight corner, or it’ll be the worse for you.’
‘You surely can’t expect any man of quality to offer for me looking like this,’ she flared. Her anger gave her the courage to stand up to him. ‘You have turned me into a . . . ’ She couldn’t bear to say the word. ‘No decent man will come near me.’
Gareth only leered more. ‘Spirit. I like that in a woman. And so does the Honourable Lucius Spalding. It’ll make you all the more fun to break in.’
Madeline’s stomach contracted. ‘You can’t be serious, Gareth? You don’t really mean to marry me to Lucius Spalding?’ She thought of Lucius’s slack features and his licentious behaviour, and she blanched. ‘You don’t need to do this,’ she said. ‘If you are in debt to Lucius Spalding you can have my dowry. Only let me go and live quietly in the country and I will make no claim on it.’
Gareth laughed without humour. ‘If only I could. My brother – your father, my dear - tied the money up so tight there’s no other way I can get to it. So if Spalding wants the ten thousand I owe him he’ll have to marry you and then he will get your dowry. He’s not the marrying kind, but seeing you like that, he just might be tempted after all.’
‘No, Gareth, there has to be a better way.’ She made one last desperate appeal to his better nature - if, indeed, he had one.
‘Enough! You’ll attract Lucius Spalding tonight, and you’ll make him think you’re worth taking along with your dowry, or . . . ’
‘Or what?’ demanded Madeline.
A cruel smile crossed Gareth’s face. ‘Or we’ll see how long it takes you to change your mind when I lock you in your room.’<
br />
She would have thought his words were melodramatic if she had not known from experience that he would carry out his threat. As her legal guardian he was entitled to treat her in almost any way he chose, and, being necessarily weaker than he, she could not do a thing to stop him.
She shivered, remembering the times when he had locked her in her room before. The first time had been shortly after her arrival at Grosvenor Square, when he had invited a few friends round to dinner. He had told her she must join them, adding, “And make sure you’re nice to them”. She had thought he meant she should be polite, but had soon discovered that he meant her to flirt with them, laughing at their insults and encouraging their advances. She had left the room angrily and gone to her bedroom; only to find herself locked in for almost a week. That incident had not had the desired effect of breaking her spirit, but it had taught her one important lesson: it was better not to cross Gareth. At least not outwardly.
Inwardly, it was a different matter. Because she was not going to be forced into a marriage with Lucius Spalding. Not at any cost.
The carriage began to slow. Up ahead, hansoms and private carriages were queuing up, waiting to drop off their occupants at the theatre. Madeline hoped for a brief moment that, once she was out of the carriage, she might be able to lose herself in the crowd which spilled across the pavement and make good her escape. It was a desperate hope, but it was all she had. As the carriage rolled to a halt, however, she saw that Miss Handley was already there, waiting outside the theatre. Madeline had no choice but to step out of the carriage, and Miss Handley immediately came forward to stand guard over her. She was hemmed in, with Miss Handley in front of her and her uncle behind. She looked to left and right. There were people converging on the theatre from every direction, but it would be impossible for her to get away without her uncle and Miss Handley hauling her back, and she was forced to go in.
Inside, it was already crowded. The foyer was full of people, all laughing and chattering. The ladies, their eyes bright with enjoyment, reminded Madeline of a flock of exotic birds: their gowns of silk and satin glowed in the candlelight, and their feathered head-dresses bobbed and swayed as they spoke. The gentlemen, too, were splendid. They were dressed in dark tailcoats and coloured waistcoats, or in dashing scarlet uniforms which were heavily decorated with gold braid. But Madeline could not enjoy the sight. Her mind was taken up by her fears for the future and desperate half-formed plans to escape.
Miss Handley and her uncle ushered her over to the stairs. From their conversation it soon became obvious that the three of them were due to share a box with Lucius Spalding. Perhaps he would not agree to her uncle’s plan, she thought with a brief return of hope. But even if he didn’t, she knew it would not be long before her uncle landed himself in debt again and tried to use her and her dowry to buy his way out of it.
Could she escape from the house once they returned home? she wondered, turning the faint hope over in her mind. The doors and windows were always kept heavily locked, but with Jenny’s help she may be able to get the keys. It would be difficult, but she must try something –
‘Look out! She’s fainted.’
The exclamation cut into Madeline’s thoughts. She looked up and saw that, at the top of the stairs, a young lady had collapsed.
‘Give her air! She needs room to breathe!’ came another cry.
The crowd responded to the plea, and a wave of bodies pressed back down the stairs, leaving a circle of space round the prone young lady. Madeline, pushed backwards by the crowd, found herself separated from the rest of her party and carried towards the door.
Her hopes began to rise. Could she . . . ? Almost without thinking she picked up her skirts and slipped through the crush of people, making for the outside. At every moment she expected to feel her uncle’s hand on her arm, or Miss Handley’s grip on her shoulder, but nothing came, and when she passed through the door and felt the night air on her face she knew that if she could only elude them for a few minutes, then she had a real chance of escape.
She looked both ways. Which way to go? There was no time to stop and think. She must put as much distance between her and the theatre as she could, and do it as quickly as possible. She turned and ran to the left, threading her way through the elegantly-dressed people who were making their way to the theatre. Their faces were alight with pleasure as they anticipated the joys of the play to come. They gave her strange looks as she ran past and between them, but then shrugged and turned their attention back to their own business.
Madeline turned a corner and breathed more easily. Now that she was out of sight of the door her uncle, when he followed her, would either have to waste time questioning the theatre-goers, asking if they had seen her, or else he would have to send Miss Handley one way whilst he himself took another. But the further away Madeline managed to go the less her chance of recapture would be, and after taking a minute to catch her breath she went on.
The streets around the theatre were becoming darker and less frequented. The brightly-lit thoroughfares gave way to less reputable streets, where shops and ale-houses seemed to crowd in on her. She began to feel vulnerable, but there was no going back. She hurried now down one street and now down another, turning at random, going wherever it seemed safest. She passed a number of gaudily-dressed women – prostitutes, she guessed, having seen their like at her uncle’s house – who gave her curious glances and passed a few ribald remarks, but to her relief she was not molested. She turned another corner and stopped, panting, to give herself a rest.
She used the time to think about what she was going to do next. If she could just get through the night, then in the morning she could try and find somewhere to sell, or at least pawn, her bracelet. It had been her mother’s and she did not want to part with it, but with the money raised she could rent a room and live safely for a while until she could decide what to do next. She had no relatives to turn to, and Gareth had made sure she had not had the opportunity to make any friends, but that did not mean that she was helpless. She was young and in good health. She could earn her living if she set her mind to it, she was sure.
That settled, she turned her attention to her present predicament. She looked around her, trying to get her bearings. She had been out in the carriage with Miss Handley once or twice since arriving in London – her uncle had thought it wise to show her off now and again, when ugly rumours about his treatment of her had started to circulate - but she found that she did not recognise any of the streets or houses around her. As she stood quietly, breathing in deep draughts of the night air, a hansom drew to a halt in front of her. Madeline eyed it warily, and took a step back as a group of young bloods poured out.
‘Well, well, well. Look at what we have here,’ said one, as his eye fell on Madeline. From the way he slurred his speech it was obvious he was in his cups. ‘As pretty a bit of muslin as I’ve ever seen. And ripe for the plucking, eh, boys?’ he asked.
The men laughed and Madeline backed away.
‘Seems to me you’re in need of a protector, my pretty one,’ said another, swaggering towards her with an unsteady gait. ‘Someone who can take care of you and look after you, if you take my meaning,’ he leered.
Madeline was still out of breath from her exertions, but she had no choice: she turned and ran down the street. Only to find that her way was blocked by another gentleman. He was tall, with a lean, rangy body. His caped greatcoat reached down to his ankles. Beneath it she caught a glimpse of his firm body encased in a blue tailcoat and a pair of cream breeches. His hair was dark, his eyes amber, and across one cheek ran a scar.
A soldier, she thought briefly.
But still a man.
Knowing from experience that men were not to be trusted she hesitated for only a moment before stepping aside, hoping to pass him. But he reached out his hand and caught her wrist.
‘Find some other sport, boys,’ he said, his eyes running assessingly over the three drunks who had followed her down the street.
‘This ladybird’s mine.’
And then, as if to underline his words, he pulled her towards him. His eyes looked down into her own; he crushed her tightly against him; and then he lifted her face up to his.
Dear Lord! thought Madeline. Have I left one danger behind only to find another? She felt a rising tide of panic and tried to pull away, but he had a grip of iron and she was helpless to resist. His mouth covered hers . . . and suddenly everything changed. She felt as though her bones were turning to water and a cascade of tingles, like a waterfall, ran down her spine. Her fists, which had been raised to his shoulders to push him away, uncurled, and her fingers pressed themselves against the capes of his coat. It was the most strangely delicious feeling. Her whole body became light. She felt as though she might float away; except that his strong arms were holding her to him, locking her in his embrace.
And then his arms lessened their grip and his mouth unwillingly left hers.
She felt a moment of inexplicable loss. Then became aware of what had happened. She took a step back, fighting the shakiness of her legs, and feeling the colour rising to her cheeks.
In response he put his arm firmly round her waist and drew her back to him, saying, ‘Come, minx.’
The drunken young bloods gave a cheer and then tumbled down a steep flight of steps, disappearing into a disreputable–looking door.
As soon as they had gone she rounded on him. ‘I am no one’s minx,’ she declared angrily.
‘No?’ He raised his eyebrows and ran his eyes over her: the rouge and powder, the artfully-arranged flaxen hair, the crimson dress.
She flushed as his eyes caressed her soft white neck and drifted down across her low-cut gown. She crossed her arms in front of her, trying to protect herself from his gaze only to see him frown, as though he found it difficult to reconcile the modest gesture with her painted face and provocative gown. And then she saw something else in his face. It was a glimmer of something tugging at his memory; as though he had seen her somewhere before and was trying to remember where; as well as trying to remember who she was.
The Six Month Marriage Page 1
