A Bargain With Fate

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  ‘I believe I might enjoy being reformed at your hands,’ he said lazily.

  ‘Perhaps, then, you could start by ceasing to flirt with me.’

  ‘You are undoubtedly correct. I am not certain I could reform if that is your condition. I must admit I enjoy it too much.’

  ‘Have you ever attempted a serious conversation?’

  He grinned. ‘On occasion. Do you have a topic in mind? Plato’s Republic, perhaps, or the political ideology of Edmund Burke?’

  ‘Those topics are a bit too serious for a ball. You could start with more mundane subjects…the weather, or perhaps a remark or two on the company.’

  ‘Are those what most men you dance with discuss? They must either be complete fools or blind. I can think of much more interesting things to say when I’m holding a lovely woman in my arms. Did you know your hair is touched with flame under the candle light?’

  She looked away, flushing. Why couldn’t she turn his compliments away with a cool smile or witty repartee? Instead she behaved like a young miss out of the school room.

  He said nothing more and the waltz finally came to an end. He guided her towards the edge of the room, then looked down at her.

  ‘There you are!’

  Lady Hartman bounded up next to them. She bestowed a delighted smile upon Rosalyn. ‘I had to come and properly congratulate you. I was so astonished last night—you must think I was terribly rude.’

  ‘I quite understand. It must have been a horrible shock.’

  Caroline laughed, and her dark eyes so like her brother’s sparkled with pleasure. ‘Oh, not a horrible shock! A wonderful shock once Giles—my husband, that is—explained who you were.’ She glanced at Stamford. ‘Perhaps you could go and fetch some glasses of lemonade? I wish to talk to Lady Jeffreys without you hovering about.’

  ‘I trust you are not planning to malign my character.’

  Caroline sent him a teasing smile. ‘Oh, not at all. I shall just tell her about all the horrid things you did such as putting mice into our beds and…’

  His brows snapped together. ‘Has Giles ever considered locking you up?’

  ‘Oh, all the time. Do go away! I promise I won’t say anything…at least now.’

  He gave her a warning glance and stalked off. Rosalyn watched in fascination. Caroline turned to her with an impish grin. ‘He can be quite impossible—in fact, he is most of the time. But if one only knows the right things, he is remarkably easy to provoke. I shall give you a few hints.’

  ‘I really don’t wish to provoke him.’

  Caroline patted her arm. ‘Oh, but you will. Particularly when he is behaving in his most top-lofty fashion. Come and sit by me for a bit. I know of a little alcove.’

  Rosalyn followed her, genuinely liking Caroline. Despite her outspoken manner, she possessed a warm heart. Rosalyn had never considered she might actually like his family.

  Caroline nodded at acquaintances. They stopped once, and Caroline introduced Rosalyn to a small group of ladies who could not quite hide their curiosity under polite smiles.

  They turned away, Rosalyn nearly stepping into a lady behind them. The apology died on her lips when she encountered Lady Marchant’s icy stare. Stunned by the anger she saw, Rosalyn looked away.

  They finally made their way to a small niche in a room connected to the ballroom. They seated themselves on the sofa.

  ‘How surprised everyone will be when your betrothal is announced,’ Caroline said. ‘I can scarcely wait! I do wish you would marry right away, but Aunt Margaret says you wish to wait until the autumn. I must admit it will be good for Michael to cool his heels a bit. He is used to women falling over themselves to do his bidding. If I were you, I would make him wait until winter. He should be quite compliant by then. Don’t you think a Christmas wedding would be nice?’

  Rosalyn choked with a laughter she had not felt for an age. ‘I am not sure half a century would be enough time,’ she said shakily, trying to imagine a compliant Lord Stamford. ‘He does not seem very biddable.’

  Caroline merely laughed. ‘Oh, you’ll manage him very well.’

  Caroline began to talk of their family. By the time Lord Stamford arrived with two glasses of lemonade, Rosalyn felt as if she was beginning to know them very well. There was a younger brother, Philip, who had been at the Congress in Vienna with Castlereagh, and had been in Europe forever, but was soon to arrive home. Their younger sister, Julianna, was to be presented next year. She found out their mother had died when Michael was scarcely twenty, and his father had been very much in love with her.

  Lord Stamford handed Rosalyn a glass. ‘I hope Caro has not talked your ear off.’

  ‘Oh, no. She has told me all about your family.’

  ‘I see.’ His expression was unreadable. ‘Perhaps you won’t mind if I steal Rosalyn away. Giles is looking for you, at any rate.’

  ‘Oh, is he? I dare say he wishes to dance with me. We are most unfashionable in that regard.’ Caroline squeezed Rosalyn’s hand. ‘I will leave you to my brother, then. Will you be home the day after next? I should love to call on you.’ She flitted off, leaving her lemonade on the window seat.

  ‘I hope Caroline did not overwhelm you overmuch.’

  ‘She didn’t a bit. I liked her very much,’ Rosalyn said warmly.

  He looked at her for a moment. ‘I am glad.’ But she really could not tell if he was pleased or not. He touched her arm. ‘Will you stand up with me again?’

  ‘It is not necessary for you to dance attendance on me all evening. Surely we have spent enough time together to satisfy everyone.’ She stared at her lemonade, feeling rather awkward.

  ‘Trying to rid yourself of me again?’ He sounded rather angry.

  She looked up at him, surprised. ‘No, I just thought you might wish to do something else.’

  ‘What I wish to do is dance with you again.’

  ‘Oh.’ She twisted her hands together. ‘Thank you, then.’

  He took her arm and led her through the room which had become increasingly crowded. As they reached the doorway, a woman stepped back into Rosalyn, knocking her arm.

  Her lemonade spilled down the front of her bodice. ‘Oh!’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ Lady Marchant’s lovely face showed feigned surprise. ‘Why, Lady Jeffreys, is it? How very clumsy of me! I am terribly sorry!’ She suddenly seemed to notice Lord Stamford. ‘Why, my lord! What a surprise to see you here! I thought you detested balls!’

  By now several people had turned to stare at them. Rosalyn was mortified. Her glass had been nearly full and she could feel the liquid seeping through her shift. ‘Tis no matter.’ She glanced up at Stamford. His face was expressionless, but she could sense his anger. ‘Please, perhaps we could find my grandmother.’ She wanted nothing more than to escape before there was some sort of scene.

  ‘Of course.’ He escorted her from the room and into the ball room, then released her as soon as he found a vacant space near the wall. The dancers were executing the steps of a quadrille. ‘Damn! Rosalyn, I beg your pardon,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘There is no need. You did not knock into me,’ she said in a feeble attempt to reassure him as he looked completely at sea.

  ‘No, but I’ve no doubt she purposely did it.’ He scowled. ‘I am afraid it is rather noticeable. Do you wish to find a more private room and see if it could be dried?’ he asked doubtfully.

  She sighed. ‘I think it is hopeless. I rather think I should like to go home.’

  ‘Of course. I will escort you.’

  She looked at him swiftly. ‘That isn’t necessary.’

  ‘It is the least I can do. Don’t fight me on this.’

  She waited while he collected her cloak. To her consternation, Lady Carlyn declined to accompany them, merely sending a message that she would call on Rosalyn tomorrow. Lord Stamford said little, however; his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. And when he escorted her to her door, he only bowed over her hand, then seemed to think of something.
‘I will call on you tomorrow. I will also see that you have a replacement for your ruined gown.’

  ‘What?’

  But he had already departed.

  Chapter Six

  Rosalyn finally gave up and pushed the letter aside. She had spent the morning struggling to explain to her dearest friend, Lucy, the Countess of Darmont, why she had entered into such a hasty betrothal. Particularly since Lucy had always teased her about her cautious nature.

  She rubbed her temples. She’d slept little after last night’s ball, making it all the more difficult to concentrate. Perhaps if she walked in the park she’d feel more alert.

  ‘My lady?’ She looked up from her desk to see Mrs Harrod standing in the door of the library. ‘You have a visitor. Your brother.’

  ‘James?’

  ‘I’ll show myself in.’ He pushed past Mrs Harrod, who took one look at his livid face and beat a hasty retreat.

  Rosalyn stood. ‘James? What is wrong?’

  ‘What is wrong? Are you out of your mind?’ he shouted.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ For the first time she could remember in years, he had an expression on his handsome face besides a closed, sulky indifference.

  He took a deep breath, his fists clenched at his sides. ‘Stamford. He called on me to announce he intended to marry you.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘I can’t say you seem surprised. My God, I had no idea you’d ever met the man! Then I hear some blasted rumour you were at the opera with him and now he’s wanting to marry you!’

  Rosalyn knotted her hands together. ‘I had meant to tell you myself.’

  ‘You’re telling me this is true? He has asked you to marry him?’

  ‘Yes, it is true.’

  ‘And you’re planning to accept him?’ His dark hazel eyes were filled with disbelief. ‘Are you in love with him?’

  ‘I am very…very fond of him.’

  ‘Fond? I don’t believe you! He’s not the sort of man you would ever consider, not after John. Stamford is a rake! A libertine! Some of the stories I’ve heard. And he has our estate.’ He stared at her as if hit by a sudden thought.

  ‘He said he would return Meryton. Something about it being a family matter.’ His eyes were full of accusation. ‘You’re doing it to save Meryton.’

  ‘I…I am not.’

  ‘You are. Blast it, Rosalyn! How can you interfere like this! I told you I would take care of it! You are not going to marry him!’

  ‘You cannot dictate to me, James. I will marry him,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You’ve lost all reason. Has he seduced you? If he has I vow I will kill him.’ His voice held a distinct threat she had never heard before.

  ‘No, of course he has not.’ She stepped towards her brother, holding out her hand imploringly. ‘James, please listen to me.’

  He refused her hand. ‘The man has cast some sort of spell over you. I only pray you’ll come to your senses in time. I, for one, have no intention of accepting your marriage.’

  He turned and stalked towards the door. He wrenched it open and then paused and looked back at her. ‘I will never take Meryton back with Stamford as my brother-in-law!’ He closed the door softly, a sound more ominous than if he’d actually slammed it.

  She sank back down on the chair behind her desk, willing herself not to cry. She had never dreamed he would guess why she became betrothed to Lord Stamford. And she had never expected such anger. Indifference, scorn, perhaps, but not this. For years she’d watched him shut away his emotions and now anger had erupted from him like the sea crashing through a wall.

  The familiar wave of helplessness she experienced when it came to Lord Stamford washed over her. She had planned to break the news to James herself. Instead, Lord Stamford, in his usual high-handed manner, had taken care of that.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, and spilled over. Never had she felt so completely defeated in her entire life.

  The day was perfectly beautiful; the park glittered with that particular dewy freshness that came with the sun after a night of rain. A herd of cows grazed peacefully at one end of the park. Three urchins and a shaggy black and white dog were occupied with a stick and hoop. A couple, clearly in love from the fond gazes they threw each other, strolled down one of the paths.

  These bucolic delights were lost on Michael. He reined his gelding, Faro, to a stop, his eyes searching for his affianced. When he finally spotted her purchasing a nosegay of violets and cowslips from a small girl, he swore. What the devil was she doing in Green Park without her maid?

  He’d come to call on her, only to have her housekeeper inform him Rosalyn seemed a trifle overset and left for a walk in the park. He had no idea what had upset her, but he was determined to find out.

  He waited until Rosalyn had started back down the path, a petite figure in a pelisse of dark violet and a high poke bonnet, before he urged his horse into a trot. He halted beside her.

  ‘What in the devil are you doing?’ he inquired sardonically.

  She gave a little jump and stared up at him. He could have been Satan himself from the look of consternation that crossed her face.

  ‘Doing? I…I am talking a walk.’

  He swung down from his gelding and caught the reins. ‘It is quite improper of you to be strolling around in the park without your maid. Do you have no sense of propriety? This is hardly the country where such conduct might be acceptable, but the middle of London.’

  ‘I know perfectly well what I am about, my lord. You need not concern yourself with my behaviour. My abigail had a headache today so of course I would not ask her to accompany me.’

  ‘You could ask a footman.’

  ‘My footman has other business to attend to.’

  An exasperated snort escaped him. ‘Then, in that case, I suggest you forgo your walk.’

  ‘If you have interrupted my walk merely to lecture me on propriety, then I suggest you leave. You are wasting your time, my lord,’ she replied with stiff dignity. She turned her back on him and moved away, her head high.

  Her prim accents and attempts to keep him at arm’s length filled him with the most wicked desire to flirt with her unmercifully.

  He caught up to her. ‘That was not my chief reason for calling on you. I wanted to discuss our betrothal, my love,’ he replied softly, pulling her arm through his, drawing her closer to his side.

  He was gratified to see the action noticeably confused her, causing the pink in her cheeks to intensify.

  ‘I am not your love, my lord. I pray you will release my arm.’

  ‘Only if you will address me by my given name.’

  ‘This is most ridiculous, my l—Michael,’ she replied.

  ‘My Michael?’ he drawled, raising a satirical brow. ‘That is certainly some improvement over “my lord.” Does this mean you hold me in some affection after all, my dear Rosalyn?’

  She yanked her arm out of his, stopped on the path and turned to face him. He was delighted to see her eyes flash and her cool composure melt. Her fist closed about the small bouquet of flowers, causing them to wilt.

  ‘That is not what I meant, as you very well know!’

  ‘Really? I am disappointed. What did you mean?’ he inquired.

  ‘Can we please stay with the matter at hand?’ she snapped.

  ‘You seem rather out of sorts for a lady about to receive an offer,’ he remarked blandly.

  ‘I am not about to receive an offer! Why must you always be so odious!’

  To his astonishment, her lip quivered and tears welled up in her large eyes. She quickly turned her head.

  The lone tear trailing down her cheek, which she wiped away hastily, had an instant sobering effect on Michael. Feminine tears usually inspired little emotion in him besides exasperation, but he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that he had gone too far.

  ‘My dear girl, I did not wish to make you cry,’ he said.

  ‘I…I am not crying.’ She sniffed and another tear rolled do
wn her cheek.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ he insisted softly. ‘Look at me.’

  She shook her head, refusing to face him. ‘I…I never cry.’

  He gently touched her averted cheek. ‘Of course not. But I can see you are overset. Can you not tell me what is wrong? I am sorry if I have teased you too much. My sisters have often flung that accusation at me.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong. I would like to return home, if you please.’

  She brushed ineffectively at the tears that were now freely falling. He fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief and handed it to her. Taking her arm in a firm grasp, he led her under the spreading branches of an oak, his horse following obediently behind. He dropped the reins and caught both her hands in his. Her nosegay fell to the ground.

  ‘What has you so blue-devilled, Rosalyn?’

  She finally raised her head. Her eyes searched his face. She drew in a deep breath. ‘It is James. He called on me, and he was so angry. He said he did not want Meryton. I…I had wanted to tell him about our…our betrothal myself.’

  ‘Is that it? I did not mean to cause you more distress by going to your brother. I thought to save you some trouble by telling him myself that my intentions were honourable. I thought, too, you would want to know I intended on keeping my side of the bargain.’

  She sniffed again and dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. ‘I…I see. But…but he doesn’t want Meryton if I…I am betrothed to you.’

  He touched her cheek. ‘But you want it.’

  ‘Y…yes.’

  ‘Do not distress yourself too much, he will come around. I will see to it.’

  ‘Thank you, then,’ she said quietly and gave him a shy smile. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, he nearly found himself at a loss for words. He was suddenly aware of the clean light scent she wore, a mixture of lavender and roses, and of how very soft and pleasing her small gloved hand felt in his.

  An unexpected bolt of desire shot through him. He dropped her hand as if it burned him and then could have cursed himself for the startled expression on her face.

  ‘I believe I should escort you home,’ Michael said, running a distracted hand through his hair. He avoided touching her as she fell into step beside him. Faro trailed along behind.