The Convenient Felstone Marriage

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘It’s not my house.’ She shrugged. ‘You may do as you please.’

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  She glanced at him suspiciously, but he looked utterly calm and contained, a whole different man to the one who’d insulted her just yesterday, in complete control of his words and temper. If only she could say the same about herself.

  She pressed her lips together, trying to decide what to do next. The polite thing would be to ask him to sit down, but she was in no mood to be polite. Under the circumstances, it seemed ludicrous to resort to conventionalities. Besides, the room itself made it difficult to concentrate. After her monochromatic bedroom, the parlour was a tumultuous riot of colour, crammed with enough furniture for a room twice the size. A cursory glance revealed at least twelve different places to sit. Even the wallpaper was cluttered, decorated with sprigs of cherry blossom interlaced with tendrils of crimson fruit. Combined with a flower-patterned carpet it gave the distinct impression that her aunt was trying to establish a garden indoors. The effect would have been overpowering even without Mr Felstone standing in the middle.

  What was he doing there? She felt a fresh burst of exasperation. After she’d bade him goodbye so definitively on the train—or thought she had—she hadn’t expected to see him again at all. If he’d come to mock her again then she’d have no compunction about picking up the nearest ornament and flinging it at his head.

  She glanced around the room, searching for suitable weapons, her gaze settling finally on a large box on the table.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A peace offering. You said you didn’t have a gown for the ball.’

  ‘So you brought me one?’ She frowned, surprise vying with irritation. Peace offering or not, the gesture was hardly appropriate. She didn’t want anything from him—nothing except his departure.

  ‘Forgive the impertinence, but I mentioned your situation to my friend’s wife, who was happy to offer a loan. You’re around the same size so I believe it should fit. If you wish to borrow it, that is.’

  Ianthe made her way warily across the parlour, lifting the lid and trying not to gasp as she caught a glimpse of the satin fabric inside. The dress was beautiful, a silvery light grey, simply cut with a round neckline and not so much as a flounce or ruffle in sight. She ran her fingers over the sumptuous material, resisting the urge to press it against her cheek. Such a gown would be a joy to wear. It also looked suspiciously new.

  ‘I recall your brother mentioning that you like grey.’

  ‘It’s lovely.’ She tore her fingers away reluctantly. ‘Your friend’s wife is very generous, but I can’t possibly accept.’

  He ignored her objection. ‘I also managed to procure an invitation for your aunt. I noticed her name wasn’t on the guest list.’

  ‘For Aunt Sophoria?’ She spun around eagerly. That was an even better present than the dress, though she’d no intention of forgiving him so easily, no matter how churlish she sounded. ‘That was very thoughtful. My aunt will enjoy herself, I’m sure, though she hardly needs me to chaperon her.’

  ‘What don’t I need, dear?’ Aunt Sophoria bustled into the room at that moment, barely visible behind a giant tea tray.

  ‘Allow me.’ Mr Felstone stooped to relieve her at once. ‘I was just telling your niece that I’ve arranged invitations for you both to the ball this evening. If you care to attend, that is.’

  ‘The ball?’ Aunt Sophoria’s face lit up instantly. ‘Well, we’d be delighted, wouldn’t we, Ianthe? Do take a seat, Mr Felstone.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Gibbs.’

  He looked around as if searching for an available seat, and Ianthe felt a smug sense of triumph, pleased for once to see him at a disadvantage. Despite the preponderance of furniture, nearly every chair was hidden beneath some form of lace-based frippery.

  ‘Allow me.’ She smiled condescendingly, uncovering a small sofa beneath a pile of cushions.

  ‘My thanks.’ He caught her eye with a flash of amusement in his own. ‘Won’t you join me?’

  The smile dropped from her face at once. Getting dressed, the thought of sitting down had somehow never occurred to her. She’d worn hoops in the past, of course, but never such a vast crinoline. Now she wondered how her aunt managed. Awkwardly, she reversed towards the opposite sofa, bending her knees slowly as she tried to make her progress look as natural as possible.

  ‘Sugar lumps!’ Her aunt’s sudden cry made her freeze halfway down.

  ‘What’s the matter, Aunt?’

  ‘I forgot the sugar lumps.’ Aunt Sophoria was already back on her feet. ‘Do pour Mr Felstone some tea, dear. I won’t be long.’

  Ianthe stared at the teapot in horror. If she offered him tea then she’d have to stand up again! She cast an anxious glance towards him, but he seemed oblivious to her distress, apparently engrossed in the porcelain figure of a small dog at his feet.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Would you care for some tea, Mr Felstone?’

  He glanced up, the shadow of a smile passing his lips. ‘I think perhaps we ought to wait for your aunt.’

  She dropped the rest of the way into her seat with an unladylike thud. What was he still doing there? He’d made his peace offering, as he called it. If he was waiting for her to forgive and forget, he could wait all day. Silently, she stared down at her hands, her fingerless, crocheted gloves folded neatly in her lap. Why couldn’t he just put her out of her misery and leave?

  ‘Miss Holt.’ His deep voice broke the silence at last. ‘Yesterday I behaved in an appalling manner. I’m afraid that my temper has a tendency to get the better of me. My apology was churlish and my proposal somewhat less than chivalrous. I beg you to forgive me.’

  She looked up again quickly, glancing towards the parlour door in alarm. She didn’t want her aunt to overhear that!

  ‘Very well. We’ll say no more about it.’

  ‘Just one more thing and I’ll be silent. Before you left, you accused me of mocking you. I assure you that I wasn’t.’

  ‘No?’ She couldn’t keep the scepticism out of her voice.

  ‘No. You may not think me a gentleman, but I do have some sense of decency. Why would I joke about such a thing?’

  ‘Because, as my brother so delicately observed, I’m not the kind of woman men generally propose to.’

  ‘None the less, I was quite sincere.’

  Ianthe curled her hands into fists. He sounded genuine, but he couldn’t be. More likely he was simply regretting his behaviour and attempting to cover his tracks, pretending that his proposal had been real in order to protect his reputation. It would serve him right if she said yes!

  ‘Mr Felstone...’ she pulled herself up haughtily ‘...if you’re afraid of me spreading gossip about you then I can relieve your worries at once. I assure you, I have no intention of telling anyone else about your proposal.’

  ‘I’m not worried at all. I’m quite accustomed to being talked about.’

  ‘Then if you think you’ve compromised me...’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Then I don’t understand you, sir! Why would a man of fortune, apparently in full possession of his faculties, make such an offer? Unless it’s your custom to propose to complete strangers?’

  ‘It’s not my custom, as you say, to propose at all. Up until a few months ago, I’d never given the matter any thought.’

  ‘Then why...?’

  ‘I’ll be blunt, Miss Holt, since you seem to favour that approach. I’m a busy man. I like business and I like my work, but I don’t enjoy the social obligations that come with it. Lately, I’ve felt I might be better placed if I had a wife to assist me.’

  ‘So naturally you asked me?’

  ‘Naturally, I asked a woman of my acquaintance who I was led to believe would favour my suit. She didn’t. W
hen we met on the train, I was returning from that interview. I won’t deny that injured pride played a part in my proposal to you, but I was perfectly serious. I still am. When I learned of your predicament in regard to Sir Charles, I saw an arrangement that might suit us both.’

  ‘My predicament, as you call it, is none of your business!’ she snapped. How dare he talk about her private affairs so familiarly, never mind the arrogant presumption that she needed his help! She didn’t need him or any other man to save her! She could save herself from the Baronet...just as soon as she figured out how.

  ‘I do not need rescuing, sir.’

  ‘I never said that you did.’ He sounded infuriatingly calm. ‘I’m simply offering you a solution.’

  ‘But you don’t know me!’ She sprang back to her feet, crinoline forgotten. Where was Aunt Sophoria? Surely it wasn’t so hard to find sugar lumps!

  ‘How well do any couple know each other before they marry?’

  ‘Better than this!’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m sure over time we would develop a regard for each other. You strike me as a sensible, respectable woman, and I want a respectable wife. My life has been more than eventful enough.’

  ‘Oh.’ She flinched inwardly. Sensible and respectable were good. They were what she wanted, how she strove to appear, yet somehow the words still felt like an insult. Besides, he didn’t know her at all if he thought she was sensible. Sensible women didn’t elope with their employer’s sons!

  ‘You cannot hear yourself, sir. You say that you want a sensible wife and yet your proposal is quite the opposite. Forgive me for thinking there must be some other reason behind it.’

  His lips curved in an appreciative smile. ‘It seems that I’ve underestimated you, Miss Holt. The truth is that I’m an ambitious man. Yesterday I was forced to confront certain facts about my position, or lack of it, in society. And since I cannot progress in that direction, I’ve decided to progress in another. I want my shipyard to be the biggest and best on the east coast. To achieve that, I need to buy out one of my neighbours, a certain Mr Harper. He’s an old man and willing to sell, but he’s somewhat...traditional. He doesn’t approve of me or my background, and he definitely won’t sell to a bachelor. Hence my need for a bride.’

  ‘Any bride?’

  ‘Not any, but one he’ll approve of, yes.’

  ‘How flattering. What if he hears that you proposed to someone else yesterday?’

  ‘He might hear rumours, but if I announce our engagement before they reach him, he’ll dismiss them as just that—rumours.’

  ‘And you don’t think he’ll be suspicious if I simply appear out of the blue?’ She shook her head incredulously. ‘Why not ask someone else you already know?’

  ‘Because I need an engagement to be convincing. I go away on business often enough to make a long-distance courtship plausible. He won’t know that we’ve only just met.’

  Ianthe drew her brows together thoughtfully. Put like that, it sounded almost convincing. It would put an end to Percy and Sir Charles’s plotting, not to mention give her a new start, a new home, somewhere to call her own again. And she was a new woman after all. Perhaps she could be the sensible bride he wanted. It might be tempting, if it weren’t so preposterous.

  ‘Unless you have some personal objection to me?’ His face darkened abruptly. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of my background? My parentage?’

  She blinked, taken aback by the flash of steel in his grey eyes. ‘Your parentage is irrelevant, sir. If I thought that birth were any indication of breeding then I’d have married Sir Charles already.’

  ‘Then perhaps you dislike me personally?’

  ‘I think you’re moody and ill-mannered. Other than that, I’ve no objection to your character.’

  ‘I might have used the same words to describe you this morning. With the addition of stubborn, that is.’

  ‘I am not st—!’ She stopped mid-word, gritting her teeth at the irony.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘What about love then?’ She inched her chin up. ‘Or do you think that doesn’t matter in marriage?’

  ‘I believe that’s your poetry speaking again.’

  She felt a stab of bitterness. Did any man think of love? Not Percy or Sir Charles or this man either, apparently.

  ‘I assure you, it’s quite possible to marry for love. My parents did.’

  ‘That was fortunate for them, though for my own part, I’ve never had the benefit of any such example. My father wasn’t known for his finer feelings and my mother only came to regret them. I’ve seen the effects of your so-called love, Miss Holt. I’m not capable of forming such an attachment myself. If that’s what you’re waiting for, then I’m afraid I can’t help you. What I’m proposing is a practical arrangement, not a romantic one.’

  ‘Practical?’ She gave a sceptical laugh. ‘Yesterday you condemned me as a schemer and yet today you tell me I ought to be practical? Make up your mind, Mr Felstone.’

  ‘There’s a great deal of difference between marrying a man you despise and simply being practical.’

  ‘You’ve given me every reason to dislike you.’

  ‘True, but at least we know where we stand.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Things can only get better.’

  Ianthe bit her lip. That was definitely true. Unconventional as his arrangement sounded, it did make a kind of sense. But how could she possibly agree to marry a man she’d known for less than a day? He didn’t scare her like Sir Charles, but she knew even less about him. At least with the Baronet she already expected the worst. This man was an unknown quantity, more attractive and yet potentially even more dangerous.

  Besides, the thought of marrying without love went against all of her old cherished ideals and dreams. Even if she didn’t expect it for herself any more, she hadn’t changed so completely. She still believed in the possibility of love, even if not for herself...

  ‘Mr Felstone...’ She started to speak and then stopped, disturbed by a knock on the front door, by the sound of her aunt’s voice followed by Percy’s, then another man’s... She caught her breath in panic.

  ‘Sir Charles, I presume?’ Mr Felstone looked utterly unperturbed, pulling himself casually to his feet. ‘In that case, I’ll take my leave. I’ll be staying at the Swan until Thursday. If you wish to discuss any part of my offer, I’m more than happy to do so. If not, I promise never to mention it again.’

  ‘Wait!’ She swung around, as panicked now by the thought of him leaving as she’d been by his presence half an hour before. She’d been prepared to face Sir Charles then, but now she needed time to recompose herself. As if such a thing were possible with Mr Felstone’s proposal still ringing in her ears! Her head was still spinning from the fact that he actually meant it. How could he throw her into such confusion and then abandon her now?

  Besides, it occurred to her that his presence there might actually be useful. Even if she had no intention of accepting him, Sir Charles wasn’t to know that. If he found them together, alone and unchaperoned, the situation might look just compromising enough to deter him. And if not... Mr Felstone would make an intimidating rival, even to a baronet. If anyone could scare him off, surely it would be him.

  If she could persuade him to stay. Which meant changing everything about her behaviour so far.

  ‘I mean, please wait!’ She stepped in front of him, effectively blocking the way. ‘I’ll think about your offer, but don’t go!’

  Chapter Four

  ‘You want me to stay?’

  Robert studied her face, trying to understand what she was really asking him. Her expression had just run the gamut of emotions from dismissive to panicked to imploring in less than thirty seconds. He’d been about to quit the field, certain that she’d been about to reject him—again—but now she was actually pleading with him t
o stay.

  Why?

  ‘There’s no need to leave on Sir Charles’s account.’ Her voice quavered slightly. ‘You haven’t had tea yet.’

  He knit his brows suspiciously. She was trying to smile and failing, her strained features barely concealing an undercurrent of fear. Clearly she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she didn’t want to marry Sir Charles, but fear? Aversion was one thing, but this...this was something else entirely. Was she afraid of him, then?

  ‘Please.’ She threw a nervous glance over her shoulder when he still didn’t answer. ‘Just for a few minutes.’

  ‘You don’t want to be alone with him?’ He felt vaguely disturbed by the idea. ‘Your aunt and brother are here.’

  ‘It’s not that...’

  ‘You want to make him jealous?’

  Her eyes flew to his. ‘Yes. If he sees us alone together...’

  ‘He might not like the competition?’

  She held his gaze in guilty silence for a few moments before shaking her head. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m flattered.’

  ‘Then you don’t object?’

  He gave a small shrug, surprised to find that he didn’t object at all.

  ‘Not if you think it might help, though it might not be the wisest course of action. Some men like a challenge.’

  ‘I don’t know what he likes!’ Brown eyes flashed tempestuously. ‘But I’ve tried everything else!’

  Robert cocked an eyebrow, surprised as much by her vehemence as by the words themselves. What did that mean? That she’d tried ‘everything else’? What else?

  His gaze dropped to her extravagant pink dress, so wildly different to her sensible grey outfit from the day before. She seemed to have gone from one extreme to the other. There was nothing remotely sensible about her appearance now. When she’d entered the room he’d thought he’d made a mistake and had the wrong woman. She looked like a younger version of her flamboyant aunt, the ridiculous lace cap on her head framing her face like the petals of a huge flower. Not that there weren’t still points to admire. The tight bodice accentuated curves that had been largely hidden the day before, revealing a surprisingly statuesque figure, shapely waist and ample, round breasts...