Here Comes the Bride

by Alexandra Ivy

  “You desire a promise that I shall abandon such pursuits?”

  “Not at all. I wish you to be happy with them.” She gave a shrug. “I merely prefer a gentleman who possesses no interest in such frivolous entertainments.”

  Barth gave a sharp laugh. “And you believe one exists?”

  “Certainly. There are a rare few gentlemenwho prefer to devote their time to improving their minds.”

  Something in her tone struck a nerve. “Gentlemen such as your mysterious suitor?”

  Her eyes abruptly lowered. “I speak in general.”

  Barth very much desired to meet the gentleman that dared to steal the affections of his intended. He clearly needed a lesson in the dangers of poaching.

  “Tell me, Isa, do you intend to marry this gentleman?”

  “I have no intention of marrying anyone at the moment,” she hedged.

  “Meaning that he has not yet asked?”

  He watched as she stiffened in annoyance. His thrust had obviously hit home.

  “I have said that I would not discuss my private affairs.”

  “But mine are open to speculation?”

  She suddenly lifted her gaze. “Your lack of decorum has made them so.”

  Barth drew in a sharp breath. The biddable mouse was gone indeed. A fault he would ensure was corrected once they were wed.

  At the moment, however, he had to content himself with a mocking smile as Mrs. Lawford scurried back into the room with an anxious expression.

  “Here we are, then. Lunch is served.”

  * * *

  “Really Barth, if you are determined to wear a hole in a carpet, I wish you would do so in the front parlor.” The dowager countess of Wickton, Lady Sarah Juston, regarded her grandson with dark green eyes. “I never could abide that hideous flower pattern.”

  Barth came to a halt in the center of his grandmother’s private chamber. Unlike the rest of the vast sixteenth-century house, it was comfortably furnished with mahogany furniture and heavy tapestries to soften the block-stone walls.

  With a wry smile, he regarded the older woman. Although silverhaired and bent with age, Lady Wickton had been a great beauty in her day. It was said that with her flaming curls and jade eyes she had received offers of marriage from dozens of gentlemen, including a duke and a foreign prince. Instead, she had wed the charming Lord Wickton, who had shared her love for adventure and had escorted her from India to the colonies. Since his death, the dowager had retreated to her private wing and rarely emerged to join the rest of the family.

  “Forgive me, Grandmother.”

  The tiny head tilted to one side. “Why do you not tell me what is amiss?”

  Amiss? Bloody awful, more like it, he seethed.

  Although it was several hours since his uncomfortable luncheon at Cresthaven Manor, his mood was in no way improved. Indeed, the more he brooded over the injustice of Miss Lawford’s betrayal, the angrier he became.

  “Isa Lawford,” he gritted.

  Settled among a pile of cushions, Sarah smiled with obvious fondness.

  “Such a charming child.”

  His aquiline nose flared. “Hardly a child any longer.”

  “No, I suppose not.” A hint of suppressed amusement glittered in her eyes. “Did you not find her well?”

  “I found her ill mannered, sharp tongued, and nothing at all like the proper maiden I left.”

  “Indeed? Well, it has been some time since you have been together.”

  “So she pointed out with annoying frequency,” he retorted.

  Expecting his beloved grandmother to be suitably shocked by Isa’s unfortunate manner, Barth was caught off guard when the elder woman gave a sudden laugh.

  “Did you expect her to be cherishing her youthful affection for you?”

  “Why not?” he demanded with a frown. “She claimed to love me. Her heart is clearly of a fickle. nature. Hardly a characteristic you would want in a potential wife.”

  “La.” Sarah gave a click of her tongue. “What a boorish hypocrite you are, Barth.”

  Barth stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

  The green gaze held a knowing glint. “You have been playing fast and loose throughout England and Europe, and yet you expect Isa to remain quietly in Kent pining for your return.”

  There was no need to make him sound so unreasonable, Barth thought as he shifted uneasily.

  “I did not expect her to pine, but I did expect her to remain loyal,” he accused in defensive tones.

  “Ah.” The smile widened. “So that is what has you so discomposed?”

  Barth widened his eyes in surprise. “You knew she was in love with another?”

  Sarah shrugged, as if the knowledge that her prospective granddaughter-in-law was in love with another gentleman were a trifling matter.

  “I had heard that she was spending a great deal of time at the vicarage.”

  Barth was beginning to wonder if the entire neighborhood was just a bit looby. The vicar was seventy if he were a day. Not even Isa could prefer a doddering fool to himself.

  “Vicarage?”

  “Oh, yes, the new vicar possesses a young son,” his grandmother readily explained. “Quite a well-spoken young gentleman. And handsome, of course.”

  Ah . . . a new vicar with a handsome young son. Just what he needed.

  “I am glad you approve,” he said dryly.

  The elder woman was indifferent to his thrust. She was one of the few who refused to be intimidated by his powerful personality.

  “Oh, I do. It is high time that Isa had someone her own age to bear her company. It has not been easy for the poor dear to remain isolated in the country while other girls traveled to London to enjoy their season. Every lady needs a flirtation or two during their youth.”

  Barth gave a shake of his head. He had always known his grandmother was close to Isa, but he did not suspect that she would take her side over her own grandson.

  “Do you also approve of the fact that she no longer wishes to wed me?”

  Sarah appeared remarkably unsympathetic. “Do you wish to marry, Isa?”

  “What an absurd question.”

  “There is nothing absurd about it.” Sarah narrowed her gaze. “Do you wish to marry her?”

  He abruptly resumed his pacing. “There is no question as to what I do or do not wish,” he pointed out in sharp tones. “Father made a wreck of our finances, and Mother has extravagantly lived on the expectations of the Lawford fortune for years. I shall have to wed her.”

  His dark features reflected the hint of bitterness that lingered deep in his heart. Although his father had died while he was still in short coats, he had managed to deplete the last of the family fortune on ludicrously unsound investments and vast gambling debts. It was said that he once lost twenty thousand pounds on a single turn of the cards.

  As a result, Barth had been raised with the everpresent knowledge that he was expected to save the family from ruin. A knowledge that was never far from his mind.

  Sarah gave a vague shrug. “There are other wealthy young ladies.”

  Barth shuddered in revolt at the mere thought. Bad enough that he must wed. He was not about to tie himself to a stranger.

  “I have no intention of searching throughout England for another suitable maiden.”

  “So, you are angry with Isa because she does not wish to marry a gentleman who is only walking up the aisle to save him the bother of finding another fortune for his impoverished family?”

  “Dash it all, Grandmother,” he complained at the decidedly unpleasant implication. “What would you have me do?”

  She slowly leaned forward. “I would have you seek happiness.”

  He gave a sharp laugh. Such sentimental nonsense was easy to speak of, but it had nothing to do with reality.

  “And what of you and Mother? Would you wish me happy when we are all locked in debtors’ prison? A fine lot of enjoyment that would be.”

  “I doubt that it would
come to such drastic measures,” his grandmother countered. “I possess a small annuity that would provide a modest establishment for myself and your mother.”

  Barth laughed again, wondering if his grandmother was becoming a bit daft.

  “Mother in a modest establishment?”

  Sarah grimaced at the thought of her elegant daughter-in-law. “It would do her little harm to sacrifice once in her self-indulgent life.”

  “And Graystone?”

  “This great monstrosity of a barn would be much improved by a torch and a good deal of kindling.”

  Barth felt a stab of shock. “Grandmother.”

  She leaned back into the cushions. “Your mother has raised you to believe that it is your duty to repair the inadequacies of a century of Wicktons. I am telling you that life is far too short for such grand sacrifices. If you can find happiness, then grasp it with both hands.”

  Just for a moment Barth allowed himself to consider his grandmother’s words.

  How would it feel to walk away from his responsibilities and simply enjoy his life?

  He could return to London. He could be in the arms of Monique and enjoying the companionship of his friends. Oh, perhaps he would have to tailor his lifestyle to a more modest means, but he would no longer be plagued with the burden of an unwanted wife. Surely that was happiness?

  Then a wry smile twisted his lips.

  Could he be happy with the knowledge that his mother’s pride was forever damaged at being reduced to living on a mere pittance? That Graystone was falling into disrepair? And just to the point, how long would Monique remain with a penniless earl?

  No, it was a ridiculous fantasy. His duties were clear.

  “A lovely sentiment, Grandmother, but hardly sensible.” His lips twisted. “I doubt that I should enjoy living in genteel poverty any more than Mother.”

  Something flashed deep in the green eyes as Sarah regarded him in a speculative fashion.

  “Then what shall you do?”

  His expression hardened. “I shall marry Miss Lawford as I have planned for the past twenty years.”

  “And if she will not have you?”

  “She will have me.” An unknowing glint of anticipation entered his hazel eyes. For the first time in a very long time, Barth found himself looking forward to the future with a tingle of excitement. like most gentlemen, there were few things he enjoyed more than a challenge. “Make no mistake on that, Grandmother. Lord Wickton will not be bested by a common cad who does not possess the sense to steer well clear of my intended.”

  A mysterious expression settled on the dowager’s lined countenance.

  “I wish you luck.”

  “Not luck, but skill, my dearest.”

  “Skill?”

  Coming to a halt in the center of the room, Barth allowed himself to conjure up the delicate features. and wide amber eyes of Isa. Surprisingly, the image did not provoke the familiar flare of panic. Instead, he recalled the tempting softness of her lips and the feminine curves visible beneath the muslin gown.

  “Winning the affections of a lady is like winning a battle,” he murmured. “You must plot a strategy, have the best possible weapons, and know everything there is to know about your opponent.”

  Sarah gave a wry laugh. “Scoundrel.”

  Barth offered his grandmother a sudden bow. “Now you must forgive me, Grandmother, I have a great deal to do.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  Barth gave a slow smile. “I have a battle to plan.”

  Three

  If Isa had hoped that a night’s sleep would soothe her stormy emotions, she was sadly disappointed. For one thing, she had spent precious little of the long night actually sleeping. Instead, she brooded over the uncomfortable encounter with Lord Wickton.

  What had gone wrong?

  For weeks she had rehearsed precisely how she would inform the gentleman she could not become his wife.

  She would be calm, considerate, and firm. She would tell him in concise words that he must find another wealthy young maiden and send him on his way. There would be no need to confess her feelings for Peter or even to reveal her lingering pique at his shabby behavior.

  But nothing had worked out as it ought to have.

  First, she had been absurdly ill at ease in his presence. How did one pretend indifference before such a disturbingly powerful male? His every glance or lift ofhis brow had made her feel as awkward as a schoolgirl. And as for the mocking gaze—well, it had rubbed against her nerves in a manner impossible to ignore. Was it any wonder her composure had crumbled and she had come to appear as a petulant child? She had even allowed him to guess her attachment to Peter. A mistake she was certain to regret.

  But perhaps worst of all was the knowledge that while she had been goaded into revealing her inner emotions, Lord Wickton had kept his own very much a secret.

  She still had no notion if he was angry or relieved at her refusal to wed him. Or even if he had accepted her decision.

  All she knew for certain was that he had discomposed her in a fashion she found distinctly unnerving.

  In the hopes of clearing her troubled thoughts, Isa had dressed in a warm wool gown of amaranthus with a delightful matching bonnet. Then, with a determined stride, she had headed toward the vast parkland and distant cliffs. There was no better means of easing her nerves than a pleasant walk. And of course there was always the hope that Peter would be taking his morning stroll. His soothing presence would surely take her mind off the disturbing Lord Wickton.

  Skirting the lake and faux Roman ruins her mother had commissioned, along with a large hedge maze, Isa followed the narrow path that was lined with towering oaks. For long moments there was nothing to break the silence but the occasional cry of a bird and a distant echo of water against the rocky shore.

  Then, just ahead, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. A smile curved her mouth as she hurried forward.

  At last, Peter.

  Smoothing her skirt in an unconscious motion, Isa rounded the sweeping curve, only to come to an abrupt halt when she saw the gentleman walking in the center of the path.

  Botheration.

  The large muscular frame and sinfully handsome features certainly did not belong to Peter. And the youngest son of a vicar could never afford the fitted Cossack green coat or gleaming Hussar boots.

  But what the devil was Lord Wickton doing roaming the countryside at this hour of the morning? Did rogues not lay abed until well into the afternoon?

  Tilting her head, Isa regarded the unexpected intruder with a queer leap of her heart.

  “My lord.”

  The sunlight slanted through the trees and shimmered in his chestnut locks.

  “Good morning, Isa.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to visit you.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

  A sudden smile curved his mouth at her abrupt manner. It was a smile that sent a shiver of alarm down Isa’s spine.

  “Just because we are not to wed does not mean that we can no longer be friends, does it?” he retorted in persuasive tones.

  Isa blinked, absurdly aware of just what a magnificent beast this gentleman was. It was hardly surprising that she had once fancied herself irrevocably in love with him, she acknowledged. What young maiden could resist such a male?

  Then the realization of the direction of her thoughts made her stiffen in annoyance. She was no longer an impressionable cabbagehead to have her head turned by a handsome countenance and devilish charm.

  “I did not realize we had ever been friends,” she charged.

  “Ridiculous.” He stepped close enough for her to catch the scent of soap and warm skin. “When we were young, we spent hours together fishing and exploring the old caves.”

  “You mean that I used to follow behind you and you endured my companionship as long as I was willing to carry and fetch for you and the other boys.”

  A glint of amus
ement entered the hazel eyes.

  “How cynical you have become, my dear. I have always cherished my memories of our times together.”

  A surge of suspicion rushed through Isa. Lord Wickton had considered her nothing more than a pest when they were young. Why pretend they had been the closest of companions?

  “Fah. You considered me a nuisance and did your best to sneak away when you saw me coming,” she said in scathing tones. “You also took great delight in terrifying me with ghost stories that kept me awake at night.”

  He gave a sudden laugh at her accusation. “You did your own share of trying to frighten others. I believe poor Oswald actually fainted when you ran through the cave swathed in a sheet and yelling at the top of your voice.”

  Isa blushed at his words. As the only girl among the neighborhood children, she had often felt insulted when the boys retreated to their secret cave among the high cliffs. In an effort to prove she was as daring and capable as any of the boys, she had crept into the cave during the midst of their midnight storytelling. Then, just as Lord Wickton had been entertaining the other boys with the gruesome tale of the bloody pirate who supposedly roamed the caves at night, she had dashed through the cave screaming like a banshee. She had to admit that it had created quite a stir.

  “It was a childish prank.”

  “It was also vastly amusing,” he insisted. “I quite admired your courage in creeping out of your house and through the night to perform your stirring rendition of the ‘Ghost of Pirate Cave.’”

  * * *

  She could not wholly suppress the renegade twinge of amusement.

  “My courage had me confined to the schoolroom for a fortnight.”

  “Ah, but do you not recall that I would sneak in each day and bring you treats to ease your punishment?”

  She determinedly refused to recall the delightful thrill she had felt when the handsome young man would slip through the servants quarters and to her chambers with a variety of surprises. Fresh fruit, her tiny puppy, Gothic novels, and the precious art supplies that her mother had forbidden were duly delivered each afternoon to relieve her boredom. He had seemed like her knight in shining armor at the time. Indeed, it had been almost a disappointment when she had been freed from her punishment and her afternoons alone with Barth came to an end.