The Convenient Felstone Marriage

by Jenni Fletcher

  The realisation was unexpectedly disappointing, though at least he could ease her fears on that score.

  ‘I already have a ward, a boy I’m raising as my heir. I’m teaching him business, though it occurs to me that you might be able to fill in the gaps in his education. Poetry and history, for example.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her eyes flew to his with a look of surprise. ‘So you do want a governess?’

  ‘I suppose so, if that idea’s more agreeable to you.’

  She didn’t answer, resting her elbows on the table and tapping her fingers together with a contemplative expression.

  ‘Is there something else worrying you?’ Odd that he actually enjoyed studying her face now. She really was far prettier than he’d first given her credit for.

  ‘No. Yes.’ She took a deep breath and then let it out again slowly. ‘It’s just so...final.’

  ‘Marriage?’ He laughed. ‘I believe it’s supposed to be.’

  ‘Yes, but to do it for business. It just doesn’t seem a good enough reason.’

  ‘It seems as good as any to me.’

  ‘But what if...?’ She hesitated, as if reluctant to voice her thoughts aloud.

  ‘What if...?’

  ‘What about love?’ She dropped her hands, fixing him with a serious stare. ‘You say you’re not capable of it, but what if you just haven’t met the right person yet? What if you meet them later? Then I’ll be in the way. It could all be such a dreadful mistake.’

  He gave a shout of laughter, so loud that at least twenty heads swivelled towards them.

  ‘It’s not funny!’ she hissed across the table.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I don’t see why. People fall in love every day.’

  ‘Some of them even believe it, too.’

  ‘They do!’ She folded her arms indignantly. ‘How can you be so cynical?’

  ‘Experience, remember?’ He cleared his throat, trying to be serious. ‘I don’t think your question is really aimed at me, Ianthe. I told you, if it’s romance you’re after, I’m not your man.’

  ‘That’s obvious, though I certainly wasn’t talking about myself.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No! I have no expectations on that score, I assure you.’

  ‘Then it seems we’re quite compatible after all.’ He grinned, but she only glared back at him belligerently.

  ‘And what if your business deal falls through?’

  ‘Why should it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I should imagine there are lots of ways. But if it does, then you’ll have married me for nothing. Have you thought about that?’

  ‘I’ve considered the risks.’

  ‘Maybe they’re bigger than you think.’

  He raised an eyebrow. She sounded as if she were trying to warn him of something. She certainly seemed to have thought of every possible obstacle to their union, though she still hadn’t said no...

  ‘Perhaps I think you’re a risk worth taking, Ianthe.’ He put both hands on the table, laying his terms out as straightforwardly as possible. ‘Look, I’ve told you what I want. I intend to own the biggest shipyard on the east coast. I need a respectable wife to help me achieve that. My instincts tell me that’s you, but the decision is yours. I’m leaving Pickering tomorrow afternoon. Needless to say, my offer leaves with me.’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. I have a board meeting at the station in the morning, but with your permission I’ll call at your aunt’s just after noon. I need an answer before I return to Whitby.’

  ‘So let me get this straight.’ She frowned pensively. ‘If you’re not married, then your neighbour won’t sell his yard?’

  ‘Not to me, no.’

  ‘So you absolutely need a wife?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And buying his yard is important to you? As long as that goes ahead, that’s all that matters?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Not that he would have put it quite so bluntly...

  ‘And it’s me or no one?’

  ‘At this point, yes. Unless you can find me another willing candidate.’ He jerked his head towards the ballroom, trying to lighten the tone. ‘Would your aunt be willing, do you think?’

  Her lips curved upwards. ‘More than willing, I think. She’s been singing your praises all day.’

  ‘Really?’ He beamed. ‘I’m flattered.’

  ‘She said you were civil and charming.’

  ‘And you thought she was talking about a different man?’

  Brown eyes sparked with humour. ‘I thought you had an evil twin.’

  ‘Ah...’ he chuckled ‘...you wound me, Miss Holt, though I suppose I deserve that. But there’s no evil twin, I’m afraid, just me. You’ll have to take me or leave me as I am.’

  ‘Very well.’ She pushed her chair back, still smiling. ‘Then I’ll let you know my decision tomor—Oh!’

  A look of consternation crossed her face as she glanced through the archway that led to the card room. Robert turned around at once, expecting to see an altercation at least, but there was only her brother playing poker with a group of the Baronet’s cronies.

  ‘You don’t like your brother playing cards?’ he hazarded a guess.

  ‘It’s not that. It’s just...he’s not good at it. I ought to stop him.’

  ‘Wait!’ He sprang up as she started out of her chair, grasping her arm just above the elbow. ‘He might not appreciate his sister coming to the rescue.’

  She froze, her whole body seeming to stiffen the moment he touched her. So did his, though in a very different way. He could feel her heartbeat accelerate beneath his fingers, tempting him to pull her into his arms, to press his lips against her shoulder, to trail them along the smooth curve of her throat. Would the skin there feel so soft? The desire to find out was surprisingly tempting.

  He loosened his hold, trailing his fingertips down to her elbow before he finally let go. Clearly the punch had been stronger than he’d thought.

  ‘I’ve no intention of embarrassing him.’ Her voice sounded breathless.

  ‘I’m sure you do not, but considering what happened earlier...’

  He left the sentence unfinished, taking her flushed cheeks to show that she understood his meaning.

  ‘I have to do something.’

  ‘Then let me go. If I join the game, then perhaps I can persuade him to leave.’

  She looked up at him uncertainly. ‘He’s my brother.’

  ‘And if you agree to my proposal, he’ll be mine, too. Why not let me help?’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  He bit back a grimace. Mind was an understatement. He hated gambling with a vengeance, but he wasn’t about to let her go marching into the card room either. Even if it hadn’t been for her brother’s earlier behaviour, Sir Charles was standing beside the door, waiting to close it behind her most likely. What was wrong with the man? He looked like a hunter ready to throw a net over his prey.

  ‘What if you lose?’

  He gave her a look that was part-offence, part-amusement. ‘I appreciate the confidence.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that if you do lose, I won’t be able to pay you back, not for a while anyway.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’

  ‘And I can’t promise anything else either.’ She held his gaze seriously. ‘About your proposal, I mean.’

  ‘You’ll be under no obligation, Ianthe.’ He frowned at the very suggestion. What kind of man did she think he was? ‘Call this my last apology for yesterday. After this, we’ll be even.’

  ‘Very well then.’ She looked relieved. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Is your brother staying at your aunt’s house, too?’

  ‘No
, at the White Swan.’

  ‘Then I’ll make sure he gets back safely.’

  ‘Promise?’

  She grasped at his sleeve, and he nodded, touched by her care for her brother. It was only a pity the youth didn’t deserve it.

  ‘I’ll do my best, I promise that.’ He glanced down at her hand, barely resisting the impulse to cover it with his own. The urge to touch her again was almost overwhelming. But if he touched her now then he’d have to find a way to let her go again as well. Somehow, for some inexplicable reason, he didn’t know if he could.

  ‘It might take me a while.’ He cleared his throat huskily.

  ‘Of course.’ Her hand slipped from his arm as she took a step backwards. ‘In that case, I’ll go and find my aunt. It’s getting late.’

  ‘Good idea.’ He inclined his head. ‘In that case, don’t worry, Ianthe. Trust me.’

  ‘I do.’ She looked him straight in the eye with a look that he couldn’t interpret. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.’

  Chapter Seven

  Ianthe glanced impatiently at her aunt’s front door, pacing up and down as she waited for news. At first she’d tried pacing the parlour, but after bumping into the furniture a half-dozen times she’d finally given up and come out to the hall. She needed to keep moving, needed to do something to stop herself from worrying about Percy. Despite his behaviour, she still wanted to know he was all right. She’d hardly slept, wishing that she hadn’t left him the night before. What if Mr Felstone—Robert, she corrected herself—hadn’t been able to get him away from the gambling table? What if he was ruined? What if they were destitute?

  What had happened?

  The front door opened and she whirled around expectantly, practically jumping upon her aunt as she entered.

  ‘Have you seen him? Have you seen Percy?’

  ‘Good gracious, no.’ Aunt Sophoria tugged at the strings of an oversized gingham bonnet with a chuckle. ‘He’s still asleep, the landlord says. Returned to his room quite the worse for wear apparently, but there’s no need to worry. He was the victor last night.’

  ‘Percy won?’ Ianthe gaped at her aunt in astonishment. Of all the outcomes she’d anticipated, that one had never occurred to her.

  ‘A small fortune, too, by all accounts.’

  ‘But he never wins! I’ve been so worried!’

  ‘Why?’ Aunt Sophoria patted her curls back into place nonchalantly. ‘You left him with Mr Felstone, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but...’

  ‘Not that he’ll be so pleased about that. He’s the one who lost.’

  ‘What?’ The feeling of relief vanished at once. ‘You mean Robert lost money to Percy?’

  ‘Robert, indeed?’ Aunt Sophoria gave her a sly wink. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. The curious thing is that he never usually gambles at all, though now I suppose we know why. Still, a man can’t be good at everything. Shall I make tea?’

  ‘No.’ Ianthe grasped hold of the banisters, thoughts still reeling. ‘Thank you, Aunt, but I think I’ll take a walk.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Aunt Sophoria bustled off into the parlour. ‘I could do with a nap anyway. See you at lunch, dear.’

  Ianthe picked up her bonnet and shawl with a deep feeling of guilt. She was the one who’d sent Robert into the card room. If she’d known he was an inexperienced card player, she would never have done so. But then why had he volunteered? Why had he risked it? And just how much was a small fortune?

  She stood outside on the pavement for a few moments, wondering which way to turn. She didn’t want to go into town, didn’t want to see or speak to anyone until she’d had a chance to clear her head. She needed time and peace to think rationally. With all the worry about Percy, she’d hardly had a moment to consider Robert’s proposal, let alone make up her mind.

  How long until their interview? The grandmother’s clock in her aunt’s hallway had said it was just before ten. That gave her another two hours to decide.

  She turned her feet in the opposite direction, making her way up the hill and along a succession of side streets towards the castle, impressed as always by the sight of the three giant stone towers standing like silent sentinels over the town. The original fortress was old, dating back almost to the Conquest, though the stone edifice had been added later by Henry III. Six hundred years later, the towers and curtain walls were still standing mostly intact—the same ruins she’d climbed on as a child, though they had more of an air of neglect than she remembered, the original gateway boarded up and half-hidden by weeds.

  It had always been a special place for her, the place where her parents had met, where her artist father had spied her mother sitting under the battlements, poetry book in hand, a vision waiting to be painted, or so he’d always said. Entranced by the sight, he’d asked permission to paint her portrait and that had been that. They’d fallen in love that very afternoon, in the space of one sitting.

  Ianthe heaved a sigh, starting to relax in the familiar surroundings, remembering the way her father’s face had softened and her mother had gazed back adoringly whenever they’d spoken of that first meeting—a story they’d loved to tell as much as she’d loved to hear it, one that had always given her hope for her own future, in the possibility of finding love for herself. Too much sensibility, her aunt had said, and perhaps she was right. Romance had turned to love for her parents, but then not everyone was so lucky...

  She climbed over a pile of boulders and sat down on the edge of the old moat, now a ditch filled with nettles and long grass, pulling off her bonnet and placing it on the ground beside her as she thought of her own disastrous love affair. There had been no happy ending for her. Albert had pursued her during his summer break from university, following her around under the pretext of spending time with his younger sisters, quoting Byron, Marvell and Shelley, all of her favourite poets, pledging his heartfelt devotion on a daily basis.

  Still in mourning for her parents, she’d been flattered by the attention, pleased to find someone she thought was a kindred spirit in her lonely existence, turning a blind eye to the more selfish, self-centred aspects of his personality. Now she knew that she’d been deceiving herself all along—a realisation that had been almost as painful as the rest of it. She’d been stupidly naive, so desperate to feel something—anything—but grief, that she’d willed herself into falling in love with him, as if by recreating her parents’ love story she could somehow bring them back. She’d agreed to the elopement against her own better judgement, knowing that his family would disapprove, but believing that love would conquer all.

  It hadn’t.

  Their love affair had started with poetry and ended in bitter, hurtful recrimination. When his family had overtaken them on the road to Scotland, it had taken less than ten minutes for them to turn him against her. He’d stood and listened as his parents had called her a schemer and seductress, every vile name she could imagine, berating her for so long and so vociferously that she’d almost started to believe the words herself. She’d risked her heart, her reputation and her future on a man she’d thought had loved her, but his affections had been worse than fickle. They’d been entirely false.

  She’d returned to London and Percy under a grey cloud, heartbroken and humiliated, vowing never to let any man get so close to her again, putting on her grey dress as a sign to the world that that part of her life was over. Robert was wrong when he accused her of waiting for romance. The old Ianthe had risked everything for love and lost. Even if she were tempted, the new Ianthe would never be so foolish—wouldn’t gamble her heart and happiness on any man again.

  In which case, why not accept Robert’s proposal? It was a good one, everything her new sensible persona could ask for, even if it was all a pretence. Neither of their hearts was in any danger. He’d been brutally honest about that, telling her he wasn’t capable of love—lau
ghing at the very idea—and making it abundantly clear that he’d no romantic intentions towards her, let alone physical ones. She didn’t need to provide him with children, didn’t need to do anything except put on a respectable façade.

  More importantly, he was the one who’d said the past didn’t matter. And if it really didn’t, if he was truly looking to the future, then perhaps there was no need for her to tell him anything about hers either. The only people who knew about the elopement were Percy and Albert’s family, none of whom were ever likely to tell. So long as she was beyond reproach now, surely that was all that mattered. The past could stay in the past and she could accept his proposal with a clear conscience...couldn’t she?

  She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on top, already knowing the answer. The truth about her elopement wasn’t particularly scandalous. She’d shared a closed carriage and a few stolen kisses with Albert, that was all. But Robert had proposed believing her to be someone she wasn’t, someone without a past, without any hint of scandal, and definitely without the strange urges he seemed to awaken in her, urges that would probably repel him if he ever knew about them.

  Not that he’d seemed entirely averse to her at the ball. During their dance—those few moments of weakness when she’d let the old Ianthe free from her self-imposed prison—his expression had shifted to something strangely akin to yearning. He’d accused her of looking like a different woman, but he’d seemed a different man, too. His tall, powerful body had moved to the music in perfect time to hers, the metallic hardness of his eyes turning smoky, as if the iron in them had melted, boring into hers with a nerve-tingling intensity...

  She heard a crunch behind her and glanced casually over her shoulder, expecting to see a squirrel or bird and finding Sir Charles there instead. For a few terrifying seconds her heart seemed to thud to a standstill and then start pounding again, harder and faster as if to make up for lost time. He was standing only a few feet away, staring at her with a voracious expression that made her blood run cold.