A Marriage of Inconvenience

by Susanna Fraser

  She was on his lap now, up on her knees practically astride him, and he broke the kiss and stared up at her. This was wrong, and she should flee—Lucy knew that—but her body was on fire and she couldn’t look away from those dark blue eyes of his, practically black now in the dim candlelight.

  “So beautiful,” he said. He ran his fingers over the crimson ribbon at her neck, and she gasped. He dipped his head to kiss there, starting at the hollow of her collarbone where the cross rested and working his way toward her shoulder and—dear God—yes, those were his teeth but such a gentle nip, and she wouldn’t have thought it was possible to feel even more aflame, but she heard herself whimper and she clutched convulsively at his shoulders and tried to press herself yet more closely against him and—

  She heard the creak and scrape of an opening door and froze.

  “He must be in one of the card rooms. I’m certain I saw—Lucy! Good God.”

  Fire turned into horror. Lucy slowly turned her head and saw, framed in the doorway, Portia, Aunt Arrington, Lady Dunmalcolm and another lady whose name she could not immediately recall, all frozen in amazement.

  She buried her face against Lord Selsley’s shoulder, lost in shame and humiliation.

  Chapter Eleven

  James didn’t hesitate. There was, after all, only one thing he could say.

  He shifted to better balance Miss Jones, who was shaking in his arms as if fighting tears, and inclined his head toward the shocked quartet in the doorway. “Ladies, I beg your pardon. Miss Jones has just done me the very great honor of agreeing to become my wife.”

  Aunt Lilias was the first to recover, after a fashion. “I…I see. I congratulate you.”

  “Thank you, aunt,” he said smoothly. “Lady Arrington, may I call tomorrow to discuss arrangements?”

  She blinked. “Of—of course.”

  “Thank you. And now, I beg you will excuse us. I promise we will be along to supper shortly, but I’d like a moment more with my future bride.”

  The four ladies departed, Aunt Lilias making a point of being the last to go and leaving the door standing wide open. James smiled ruefully. Well. He’d acted the fool, like a callow lovesick youth with no self-control whatsoever, and now he and Miss Jones must both live with the consequences.

  “It’s safe to look up now,” he told her. “They’re gone.”

  Her vise-like grip on his shoulders loosened, and she slid off his lap and got to her feet. Her eyes were bright with barely-restrained tears. “I cannot marry you,” she said.

  “But you must.” He took her hand. This was at least as great a shock to her as it was to him, but he must make sure she understood the realities of her position. He hadn’t planned for this, had never thought of Miss Jones as a wife, but he couldn’t allow her to be ruined forever in the eyes of the world because of his actions.

  “No.” She pulled away from him and paced around the room, her tears now flowing freely. “I cannot marry you, of all the people in the world.”

  He was offering her a fortune, a title and the protection of his name, and she didn’t want them? If he was the last man in the world she’d want to marry, why had she kissed him with such evident enthusiasm? “I had no idea you found me so distasteful,” he drawled, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

  She stopped in her tracks by the card table and stared at him, eyes wide with consternation. “What? Of course I don’t. It’s nothing to do with you, yourself.”

  He frowned and raked a hand through his hair. “If it’s nothing to do with me, why am I the least suitable husband in the world?”

  She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. “I’d be happy to marry you if you lived in…Yorkshire, or perhaps Ireland, and had no connection with anyone in my family, but as it is…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked guilty and helpless.

  “You’d rather make a new beginning, far away from any of them?” he supplied.

  “Yes. I suppose that’s dreadfully unfilial of me.”

  “Not at all, under the circumstances. But I’m afraid you must marry me in any case.” He sighed, for the moment not quite able to meet her eyes. “After what we were seen to be doing, I’m afraid your unconnected Yorkshire gentleman isn’t a possibility. It’s me, or no one.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “I think I’m preferable to no one,” he said with a smile. “You’ll never want for anything, and I’ll see that your brothers are suitably educated and provided for. I can’t do anything about our having one of your cousins for a neighbor and another for a brother-in-law, but it isn’t as though you must see them every day. If you’d like, I can purchase a cottage or a hunting box or somesuch in Yorkshire or Ireland or whatever isolated corner of the kingdom you prefer, and we can go there and live free of connections for a time each year.”

  “But—are you certain?” she asked. “You cannot truly wish to marry me.”

  He sighed, crossed to her and took her hands. “I’ll not lie to you,” he said. “I didn’t come to this ball, or even bring you into this room, with the intention of making you my wife. But after what we did and were seen to do, I couldn’t face my own reflection in the mirror each morning if I didn’t marry you. So I do wish to marry you, now.” He tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Come, it won’t be so very dreadful. I think we’ll deal very well together.”

  At least, he hoped they would. Miss Jones wasn’t the woman of his dreams. She was no Eleanor. He had certainly never imagined himself marrying a woman of so gentle and retiring a disposition. He could not picture her as an expert political hostess, enhancing his power and influence through her dinners and drawing rooms. Whig from a Tory family that he was, he had always planned to marry a lady who would bring him the connections within his party that were not his by blood.

  On the other hand, Miss Jones was clever and courageous. That was a beginning. A lady of her youth and intelligence should be adaptable; she could learn to be a political hostess and the mistress of a great estate. She was undeniably beautiful, with those exquisite dark eyes and the slender elegance of her figure. And there was her hair. James would get to see her with her hair down, and soon. No, Miss Jones wasn’t the bride of his dreams, but he could go farther and fare worse.

  He smiled into her anxious eyes. “Come, Miss Jones, you haven’t taken me in dislike, have you?”

  That earned a reluctant laugh. “No, I have not.”

  “There you are, then. Already we have a better foundation for a happy marriage than a good many couples—certainly more than Lord Almont and your cousin.”

  “I cannot imagine what Portia is thinking. I could not marry him. Even for Rhys and Owen, I could not.”

  “She is thinking that she’ll be a marchioness, and, she hopes, a widowed one by the time she’s thirty or so. I wonder if she’s aware how long-lived the Almont family can be. The present marquess’s grandfather lived to be ninety, if I recall. If Lord Almont equals that record, your cousin will have a long wait for her widowed bliss.”

  Miss Jones laughed. “I suppose we shouldn’t speak of her so, but—”

  “Miss Jones. When you’re with me, you can speak of anyone in any fashion you please. You needn’t pretend or dissemble with me. In fact, I’d much prefer that you did not. Let us have honesty between each other, by all means, wouldn’t you agree?”

  She considered him for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”

  “There. We’re settled, then. We’ll be a happy couple—at least, happier than many—and we’ll be honest with each other. Shall we go in to supper?”

  “But—are you truly certain you won’t regret this?”

  He considered and rejected a witticism or two, deciding Miss Jones needed plain speaking. “Life is far too uncertain for me to say what I will and won’t regret. But I do know that it’s the right thing to do, the honorable thing, for both of us. Therefore it is the course least likely to lead to regrets.”

  “I suppose. Only—you must have expecte
d to marry someone more…more significant than I am. I’m no one, and you’re—” she freed her hands and waved them helplessly, “—you’re a great man. An important man.”

  He smiled. “It’s comforting to know that you think me great. I’m not sure I’d go so far, but—”

  “You know what I mean,” she protested, and James rejoiced that she had enough spirit to interrupt him. “I’m sure you never planned to marry the penniless poor relation of an impecunious baronet.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself on that score, not in the slightest. As long as we’re speaking frankly, I may say that my father left me quite indecently wealthy. I’ve no need to marry a fortune.”

  “I know. But I’d like to feel as if I brought you something.”

  “Money isn’t that important.”

  She sniffed. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ve always had it.”

  “True enough,” he admitted. “But a person’s worth and his fortune are entirely different things. From all I’ve seen of you, anything you might lack in fortune, you more than make up for in worth.”

  She colored and blinked hard. “Thank you, Lord Selsley.”

  He stepped in front of her and reclaimed her hands. “Please call me James, at least when we’re in private. I’d rather my wife didn’t call me Lord Selsley over our breakfast coffee or in our bed at night.”

  Her hands twitched softly in his grip. “Very well. James.”

  “And may I call you Lucy?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “I would. Lucy—is it a nickname, or were you christened so?”

  “It’s for Lucinda—my mother’s name.”

  “Mm…Lucinda is a lovely name, but I believe Lucy suits you best.”

  They had leaned closer together as they spoke, and James barely had to bend his head to kiss her. She sighed softly, and James heard himself echo the sound. There was this, too. They didn’t seem to lack physical compatibility. He had never been with a virgin before, but Lucy was passionate, so James was certain she’d be a quick study. But this was not the time to think of his wedding night and the nights to follow. Reluctantly he ended the kiss. “I suppose we should go in to supper,” he said.

  She sighed. “Must we? I dread facing them all.”

  “I know. But it’s better to get on with it. Just hold your head high and remember that they owe you every courtesy. You’ll be Lady Selsley soon, and I flatter myself that everyone will wish to be in your good graces.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “I think you often flatter yourself.”

  “Undoubtedly,” he said cheerfully. He was about to offer her his arm, but then he considered her and frowned. “Hold still.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just this,” he said, reaching out to tuck a ribbon that was dangling loose against her neck back into her curls. “And this.” He straightened the thinner crimson ribbon at her throat until the little amber cross nestled in the hollow of her collarbone again.

  “Oh,” she said, with the reddest blush he had yet seen from her.

  “Am I all right?” he asked matter-of-factly.

  She took a deep breath, considering him, then delicately smoothed his hair. “I think so.”

  “Good.”

  He offered her his arm and led her out of the card room. The other guests had already abandoned the ballroom, and he and Lucy hurried past the footmen who were refreshing the punch for the second half of the ball and the musicians who were enjoying their own supper. When they reached the newer part of the castle, he slowed his pace.

  “The main thing,” he told her, “is to not look rushed or guilty when we make our entrance.”

  “I can manage the first,” she said.

  “The second is more important,” he said seriously. “Remember, from now on, you’re a person of consequence.”

  She stared at him, stricken rather than struck by his words, and James wondered why he had said the wrong thing, but they had reached the great dining hall and it was too late to ask.

  A gradual silence swept over the crowded room as the guests, beginning with those nearest the door, caught sight of them and turned to gape. James looked to Lucy in concern and saw that she was paler than he had ever seen her, but she held her head high.

  A black-haired figure in white silk detached herself from the motionless crowd—Anna. She hurried to them as quickly as she could maneuver through the room and caught Lucy to her in a whirlwind embrace. “I’m so glad,” she said. “Now we truly will be sisters.”

  “Yes,” Lucy said uncertainly. “Thank you.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Uncle Robert and Aunt Lilias had followed Anna’s lead, and they too came to meet Lucy and James in the doorway and speak words of welcome. At that, the guests turned back to their dinners with a faint air of disappointment.

  “I saved places for you at our table,” Anna murmured to James as Lucy smiled at some flattery from Uncle Robert.

  “Thank you,” he said fervently as they began to weave their way through the room.

  “For saving seats?” she asked, her eyes round and innocent.

  “For what you did for Lucy, just then,” he said, dropping his voice low enough that only Anna would hear. “Under the circumstances, I couldn’t have blamed you for being much less kind.” He suspected Anna thought Lucy as bad a match for him as he believed Lieutenant Arrington was for her, but she had been the first to welcome her and had been so demonstrative that anyone might think his courtship had been proper and regular, and that Lucy was exactly the woman she’d wanted him to marry.

  She smiled, though her eyes held a steely glint. “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you, because I haven’t. But you’re still my brother, and I’m not angry at Miss Jones. I could readily imagine how I would feel in her place, so I wanted to be sure everyone in this room knew she’d be welcome in our family.”

  “You’re a better sister than I deserve,” he said as they reached the table.

  “Yes, I am,” she agreed as he held her chair for her. “Now, go and get some food for Miss Jones before the lobster patties are all eaten. They’re quite divine.”

  He turned to Lucy, who was already seated and staring up at him out of anxious eyes. “I’m told I should feed you lobster patties. Do you like them, and is there anything else I should bring you?”

  She smiled. “I like lobster, and I will trust your judgment for the rest.”

  He fetched her a plate and was pleased that she ate rather more than he would’ve expected under the circumstances. When he commented favorably upon her healthy appetite, she smiled tightly as she glanced at him before dropping her gaze back to the contents of her plate.

  “I didn’t eat much today,” she said apologetically. “I suppose I was anxious about the ball.”

  It was a natural explanation, though he supposed there was more to it than that. He also suspected that Lucy was devoting herself to her food to avoid conversation as much as possible, and he could not blame her. It was a deucedly awkward meal. Anna and Uncle Robert did their best, but Aunt Lilias couldn’t quite disguise her reproachful looks. She had hoped for grand marriages for her niece and nephew, not the disappointments who sat beside them at table. And to James’s surprise, Sebastian Arrington seemed less than pleased that there would now be a double connection between their families. He smiled and spoke words of congratulations, but James noticed that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  When the dancing resumed, James was forced to hand Lucy over to a succession of partners, gentlemen he supposed were in equal degrees curious about the young lady who had managed to get herself compromised by and betrothed to Lord Selsley, and eager to curry favor with someone who would shortly be a person of some importance and rank. She bore up under the onslaught with dignity, though he didn’t see her smile for the rest of the evening.

  James and his family were among the last to depart. He reminded Lady Arrington of his plans to call the next day and drew Lucy aside for a final word.


  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I promise you this will all work out.”

  She sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am.” He couldn’t kiss her before so many people, but he did take her hand and turn it so he could place a lingering kiss against her palm. He thought of her widened eyes and soft gasp as the carriage wound through the hills toward Orchard Park. It would work out. It must.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lucy tried to escape to her room as soon as the last guests had left, but Portia and Aunt Arrington cornered her at the bottom of the great staircase.

  “I have never been so greatly shocked in all my life,” Aunt Arrington said, her voice unwontedly angry and forceful. “I would not have thought it possible that any relation of mine could make such a public, wanton display.”

  Lucy felt her face heat, but she didn’t speak. She supposed what she and Lord Selsley had been doing must have looked very shocking, but it wasn’t as though they had made a public show of it deliberately.

  “Well, Mama, blood will out,” Portia said. “Her father’s blood.”

  Aunt Arrington narrowed her eyes. “She does resemble him. At least, she must, for she certainly looks nothing like my sister. So I suppose it’s only to be expected that she would have his nature.”

  Habit almost kept her silent, but then Lucy remembered that she would be married soon and no longer in the Arringtons’ power. “My father was a good man,” she said. And he had been—weak, but good. “I won’t stay and listen to his name being slandered.”

  With head held high, she took the first few steps.

  “Your father,” Aunt Arrington said, “was a Welsh peasant who seduced a girl of good birth away from her family and friends, and dragged her into a life of penury and squalor.”