A Marriage of Inconvenience

by Susanna Fraser

  “You’re far luckier than you deserve,” Portia added, “that your own efforts at seduction were so very successful, and that you had witnesses. Surely you don’t think Lord Selsley would’ve agreed to marry you if no one had seen.”

  “I did not seduce him!” she cried.

  “Oh, come now,” Portia said. “Someone like Lord Selsley would never have given you a second look if you hadn’t given him a great deal of encouragement to do so.”

  Lucy didn’t respond at once, not because she was afraid, but because she knew it would serve no purpose to argue with Portia. At last she took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as she could. “Nevertheless, I am marrying him.”

  Portia sniffed. “If he doesn’t change his mind.”

  “He won’t. He’s an honorable man.” Lucy spoke automatically, but then she remembered that Sebastian had changed his mind, and she had always thought him the very embodiment of honor. But this was different. It would be much more difficult for Lord Selsley to cry off from a public betrothal. “Good night.”

  She hurried up the stairs before either of them could speak again and almost ran headlong into Sebastian as he stepped out of a shadowed corner of the corridor.

  “Sebastian! You startled me.”

  “I beg your pardon, Lucy, but I wished to speak with you in private for a moment. I’d—I’d rather you didn’t marry Selsley.”

  She blinked at him in disbelief. “Whom I marry is no longer your concern.”

  “I know, I know, it isn’t. But—must you marry him, of all people?”

  “Under the circumstances, I do believe I must. Even if we hadn’t—” she shied away from mentioning what they’d been caught doing, “—I couldn’t refuse such an eligible offer, for my brothers’ sake if for no other reason.” After what he had done, how could Sebastian fault her for taking steps to secure her family’s future?

  “Very well, I can see that. But—you will promise never to tell him that you and I were, er, betrothed?”

  “Sebastian, I already promised I’d never tell anyone.”

  “But your husband—”

  “Of course I won’t tell him. What could I possibly gain?”

  He continued as if he had not heard her words. “It could create great difficulties for Miss Wright-Gordon and me—”

  “It would create great difficulties for all of us,” she said, allowing her exasperation to creep through, “so I won’t tell him. I promise.”

  “Thank you, Lucy. Thank you. I hope—I hope you will be very happy together.”

  “I hope the same for you,” she said, realizing to her surprise that she meant it. She had admired Sebastian too long to wish him miserable, and she was sure he hadn’t meant to treat her dishonorably. Hal’s folly had thrown their lives into chaos, and of course she could not wish Sebastian to marry her if his heart belonged to another.

  “That’s exceedingly kind of you, Lucy.”

  She smiled, but she didn’t wish to prolong the conversation. “I’m very tired, Sebastian. It’s been a long day. Good night.”

  “Good night, Lucy.”

  She reached her room without further interruptions to find Molly still awake and waiting for her.

  The maid helped her undress in silence, but as she braided Lucy’s hair she cleared her throat and spoke. “I beg your pardon, miss, and I hope I’m not presuming too much, but may I congratulate you?”

  Lucy smiled despite herself. Servants’ gossip traveled like lightning. “You may.” For the first time she noticed something tense and hopeful about the maid’s posture, and came to a quick decision. Molly had been kind and helpful from the first, and now she could return the favor. “I’ll speak to Lord Selsley about bringing you to Orchard Park as my abigail after I’m married. I cannot make a definite offer without his leave, but I can’t imagine him saying no.”

  “Oh, thank you, miss! Thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure. I’ll be glad to see a familiar face at Orchard Park.”

  She dismissed Molly and sighed with relief to be alone at last. She climbed into bed and curled up on her side, but despite the lateness of the hour and how little she had slept the night before, she was wide awake.

  She knew that gossip would deem her the luckiest girl in the world—a penniless girl, nobody in particular, marrying a wealthy viscount. She knew too, and writhed with humiliation at the thought, that all the world would assume that Portia was right, that Lucy had deliberately entrapped Lord Selsley in a compromising situation in order to force him to marry her.

  But she didn’t feel lucky, and Lord Selsley was the very last gentleman she would have tried to force into marriage, had she been capable of such a course at all. Married to him, she would never be able to avoid Sebastian and Miss Wright-Gordon and all her thoughts of what might have been.

  There would always be an awkwardness of secrets between them, too. It would be one thing if she had married a different man, someone with no connection to her family or Lord Selsley’s. She would not feel guilty about hiding her previous engagement from such a gentleman, because it could be of no concern to him as long as she gave him the respect and affection due to him as her husband. But she had a feeling Lord Selsley would be furious with her and Sebastian if he ever found out what they had concealed from him, and so the necessity of secrecy made her feel anxious and guilty.

  Guilt aside, she knew she wasn’t a fit wife for a man in Lord Selsley’s position. He might say that fortune did not concern him, and she supposed that even the largest dowry would be a pittance beside his wealth and property. But he deserved a wife who knew how to be a hostess and the mistress of a grand estate. Nothing in her upbringing or education had prepared her for the role she must now assume.

  She had three very good reasons to dread her marriage—her humiliation at how their engagement had begun, her unworthiness to be a viscountess and the misery of a continued connection to Sebastian and Miss Wright-Gordon. It was too bad, because she did like Lord Selsley very well. And she liked his kisses. Oh, she did like his kisses.

  She blushed again at the memory of what they had been doing when her aunt and the others burst in upon them. Portia had accused her of seduction and Aunt Arrington had called her common and wanton. Lucy knew she was no seductress, but perhaps the other accusations were justified.

  She hardly knew what to think of herself. She had never imagined any of the things she and Lord Selsley had done before she’d found herself doing them. Had she really, truly almost climbed into his lap, pressed herself against him, ran her hands through his hair, thrown back her head so he could kiss and—dear God—bite her neck? All her self-control, her careful discipline of her thoughts and actions, had flown away. Her body had ruled her, driven her along in a sheer mindless urge to get as close to Lord Selsley as ever she could. Even thinking about it hours later set her on fire—and terrified her. She needed to be in control, she had to discipline herself, and all the more so now that she was to be flung into a new position, a position she was ill-suited for, and burdened with secrets.

  She wished she knew more about what passed between husband and wife in marriage—about the begetting of children. From a lifetime of overheard snatches of conversation and her own reasoning, she had managed to deduce that it was some sort of intimate physical contact that took place in bed, one that some women regarded with enthusiasm and others with distaste. Aunt Arrington, she believed, fell into the latter category.

  That was all Lucy knew with any certainty, and her ignorance troubled her. She hated to go into her marriage blind, with no knowledge of what to expect from her husband or what he would expect from her. But she couldn’t think how to remedy her ignorance. Before, she would have asked Aunt Arrington, but she hesitated to ask for help and advice from someone who had evidently turned so firmly against her.

  Yet, who else was there? She would not ask cool, cynical Lady Marpool and open herself for mockery. Nor did she feel at ease at the prospect of approaching Lady Dunmalcolm.
Lord Selsley’s aunt had not been precisely unkind; on the contrary, she had treated Lucy with every civility. But her courtesy had been decidedly cool and distant compared to the warmth Lucy had received from Lord Dunmalcolm and Miss Wright-Gordon, and Lucy had already concluded that Lady Dunmalcolm considered her a less than worthy bride for her nephew, with his royal ancestors four or five centuries past. No, she had no choice but to marry Lord Selsley in her ignorance.

  James called at Almont Castle before noon, earlier than was quite decent on the day after a ball. He’d decided he needed to go to London to consult with his solicitor on certain provisions he meant to include in the marriage settlements—both his own and Anna’s—and he wanted to leave early that afternoon rather than waiting till the following morning, since he’d need to hurry to be back before Lord Almont’s wedding.

  While in Town, he meant to pick up special licenses for both weddings, though he didn’t mean to marry Lucy in the same sort of haste Anna and Lieutenant Arrington intended. He thought Lucy would like more time to grow accustomed to him and the idea of marriage. Also, since their engagement had stemmed from a compromising situation, it seemed best to put some distance between that incident and their wedding. If they happened to conceive a child immediately, for Lucy’s sake James didn’t want the neighbors to have reason to count on their fingers and cluck their tongues.

  But half an hour in the parlor with Lucy, Lady Arrington and Miss Arrington changed his mind. The sooner he got her out of the clutches of the Arrington family the better, and gossip be damned. It was clear that the prospect of Lucy becoming a viscountess had not increased her standing among her nearest relations; in contrary, their coldness and disdain were all but palpable.

  He insisted upon a few minutes alone with her before he returned to Orchard Park. He took her into the rose garden and led her to the same bench where he had touched her hair on the day they met. She sat down gracefully, smoothing the skirts of her simple muslin morning dress, but he noticed an odd expression on her face.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She smiled ruefully. “I simply cannot seem to escape this bench. You and I sat here, that night—”

  “I remember.”

  “And it was here that Hal told us about his debts.”

  “Ah. Well. I hope your first memory is more pleasant.”

  She shot him a quick, demure glance, but he got the distinct impression she was laughing at him. “It was. You already knew that.”

  “I’m sorry your aunt and cousin are making this so unpleasant for you,” he said, “but we’ll be married as soon as I’m back from London, if you have no objections, and you’ll be free of them.”

  “I cannot understand it,” she said. “You’d think they’d be glad to be rid of me. When my uncle was alive, he was always kind to me and my brothers, distant, but kind, even though we were only his niece and nephews by marriage, with no blood tie. But since he died, Aunt Arrington and Portia…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “You’d think they’d be glad. We’re not their responsibility anymore.”

  James took her hand. “They’re guilty and jealous. That’s why they’re cruel.”

  Her eyebrows flew up. “Guilty and jealous?”

  “Yes. Guilty, because they did so little for you, and so it pains them to think of you as a great lady, with your brothers given ample provision to help them rise in the world. And jealous because—well, I don’t like to boast, but you said last night that you wouldn’t marry Lord Almont, not even to save your brothers.”

  Lucy gasped. “Dear God. You’re right. Portia is jealous of me. Portia would trade places with me if she could.”

  “Well, she can’t,” James said briskly. “I wouldn’t have her if she were the last lady on earth.”

  “She’s very beautiful.”

  “So are you.”

  She looked profoundly doubtful.

  “I like dark-haired women,” he told her. “And I don’t like statues made of ice.” He reached out and captured a dangling curl, wrapping the soft strands around his fingers, and she smiled at him, sweet and shy but playful, too. His heart soared. With any luck, they would contrive to be happy together despite their marriage’s inauspicious beginning.

  “I must go,” he said. “I’d like to be in Cheltenham by nightfall. But I’ll be back as soon as I can. You’ll be free of them within a week.”

  She laughed unsteadily. “Everything is happening so very quickly.”

  “I know,” he said sympathetically. “But it should settle down, once everyone is married. Just think of the gallery at Orchard Park, if it helps. Soon you’ll be free to spend hours there every day.”

  “That does help.” She stood and extended her hand. “Safe journeys, Lord Selsley.”

  “James,” he corrected her as he bent to kiss her hand.

  “James,” she agreed.

  He left her there, alone in the garden, and rode back to Orchard Park. When he reached home, he hurried to the library to gather up the notes and drafts of the marriage settlements he meant to show his solicitor. To his chagrin, Anna was seated at his desk, frowning over some papers.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” He hurried across the room. “My personal papers—”

  “I think I have the right to know the terms of my own marriage settlements,” she pointed out.

  “Of course you do, and I meant to show them to you the instant they were finished. Besides,” he said, pulling a stack of papers at her left hand out of her reach, “these are my marriage settlements.”

  “I didn’t read yours,” she said reasonably, “and you can’t blame me for wondering what it was you felt the need to consult your solicitor about.”

  “You could’ve asked.”

  “I did, and all you said was that you don’t have a solicitor’s training and so you wanted an expert to review them.”

  “That’s precisely the truth.”

  “I know it is, and I also know you’d consider yourself perfectly competent to draw up settlements with the usual terms. So for you to choose to go all the way to London to consult Dunham, I knew there must be something out of the ordinary there. And there is.” She frowned up at him. “I know Sebastian is not the man you would have chosen for me, but must you insult him so?”

  “How am I insulting him?” he asked patiently, drawing out a chair.

  “You don’t trust him. My entire fortune to be held in trust for my children—not even our children, but my children from this and any future marriage—with only the income going to us!”

  “That’s not so very unusual,” he pointed out.

  “Not the trust itself, but to not allow my husband access to any of the capital? And the way this is worded, it’s as if you’re saying you hope Sebastian dies.”

  “Anna, your income is such that you can live in a good style without ever touching the capital. And I do not hope he dies. I hope I’m wrong about him, and that you live a long and happy life together. But, for God’s sake, you’re marrying a soldier during a war! His odds of dying young are rather higher than the norm for a healthy young man and you know it, or you wouldn’t be in such an unseemly rush to wed him.”

  “How can you be so cold?” Her voice was stung, hurt, and her eyes shone with unshed tears.

  James took a deep breath. He was going about this the wrong way again. “It’s my duty to be cold,” he said quietly. “It’s my duty to think of everything that no one in love can bear to think upon, so you’ll be secure no matter what the future brings.”

  “Oh.”

  “The person I truly distrust in this situation is your future brother-in-law. If Lieutenant Arrington were to fall, would you want control of your fortune—and, not to put too fine a point on it, control of you via the purse strings—to pass to Sir Henry Arrington?”

  She blinked. “I suppose not.”

  “That’s what frightens me, and that’s why I’m setting up the trust this way. I don’t want you to be a young wido
w. But if you ever are, I want you to be a free young widow, with enough control of your life and fortune to go where you please and marry again, or not, just as you choose, and without the children of your second marriage being impoverished in comparison with those from the first.”

  She studied him thoughtfully. “You do think of everything, don’t you?”

  “I told you. It’s my duty to think of everything you’re too in love to imagine.”

  “Thank you. Truly, I do thank you.” She leaned back in her chair and smiled mischievously. “But who’s to think of everything for your marriage settlements that you’re too in love to imagine?”

  He blinked at her. “I, in love?”

  “Well, you were caught in a compromising situation. It’s hardly to your credit if you’re indifferent to Miss Jones.”

  He hadn’t thought of it in that way, and it confused him. “I never said I was indifferent.” He fumbled for the comfort of abstractions and legalities. “But the case is entirely different, when the bridegroom is the richer party.” He meant to elaborate by describing how very different his circumstances would be than Anna’s if he were widowed a few years into marriage, but he found that contemplating Lucy’s death, even in the most abstract of fashions, filled him with a sick horror.

  Fortunately, Anna seemed to understand without the elaboration. “Very true. And I hope love comes after marriage for you, if you truly don’t love her yet. I want you to be happy.”

  “That’s all I want for you.”

  They regarded each other for a moment, then looked away in mutual embarrassment at their excess of fraternal sentiment.

  “I hope I’m doing right by Lucy’s brothers,” he said, grasping at the first emotionally neutral topic that suggested itself. In addition to providing for the boys’ education and advancement, he meant to set up annuities to guarantee them an adequate income no matter what happened to them, or to him and Lucy.

  “Your arrangements seemed generous to me,” Anna said. “I couldn’t help but glance at them, since they were atop your papers. How old are the boys?”