An Eccentric Engagement

by Donna Lea Simpson

  Rachel did not want to join them, though her fiancé, the eminently suitable marquess Lord Yarnell, was there, probably mortally offended by half the cheery games now taking place. Sighing deeply, she knew she could not just retreat upstairs, which was all she really wanted to do. She wished to crawl into her bed and pull the covers over her head. Why was she feeling so low?

  This should signal the beginning of her true enjoyment of the Season. She was engaged and could relax now. She had found her ideal life partner, an irreproachable man of distinction. Now was her hour of triumph; she would plan, with her mother, a spectacular wedding to celebrate that triumph, and then settle into the life she was born to lead.

  The doors to the drawing room opened and Colin slipped out into the dim hallway. “I thought I would find you here; I don’t know why, I just did.” He moved toward her in the gloom, dark eyes shadowed by his thick eyebrows.

  Rachel stepped back into the shadows of the staircase, loath to let her old friend and erstwhile suitor see the tears standing in her eyes. “I . . . was just coming to join everyone. Is Belinda all right?”

  “She’s fine. She just was overcome with the emotion of the moment, I think. But Andromeda has her laughing over some conundrum she has written. Andy is a great one for puzzles, you know.” He moved toward her.

  Rachel melted back farther into the shadows. “She always was. When we were children she could keep us amused for hours with riddles and picture puzzles. I had forgotten about that until now.”

  Colin took a deep breath and reached out. He had seen the tears in his old friend’s eyes; he wanted so badly to take Rachel in his arms. She shrank away, evading his grasp, and he could not but interpret her movement as distaste for even his touch. He had brought it on himself, he supposed, by his repeated unwelcome attentions over the years.

  That was finished. She was an engaged woman and he was over the silly infatuation that had made him her slave for so many years. But now he must show her that she need not avoid him. He would be a man about this.

  “Rachel, please,” he said, keeping his voice calm as he let his arms fall back to his side. “Have no fear. All I want from you now is your friendship.”

  She was silent. Her pale face glowed in the shadows, lighting up even the gloom of the dim hallway with her loveliness. Her eyes, the blue of the Yorkshire sky after a cleansing rain, gleamed softly in the thin thread of light from the parlor. He took a deep, steadying breath and moved forward again.

  Taking her in his arms, he hugged her tightly, ignoring the curvaceousness of her form, which had always stirred his amorous senses. “Believe me, my old friend, I understand now how unwelcome my attentions were all those years and I most sincerely apologize for making you uneasy. All I want now is for us to be comfortable together.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed deeply, all the tension draining from her sweet frame. He felt a rush of warmth.

  “That’s good,” he said, though she had not answered him in words. “That’s good.” He patted her head, feeling the soft curls wind around his blunt fingers. But he pushed her away finally, and said, cheerily, “There, now we can be friendly. I am so glad my absurd infatuation is over and I can see clearly now that we would not have suited. In fact, two less suitable people in the world could not be, am I right?” He forced a jocularity into his tone that he did not quite feel.

  “Yes, entirely correct,” she said, her tone brittle. She stood straight and said, “Let us rejoin the company then. I have a wedding to plan.”

  Colin threw a glance at the closed door of the drawing room. “You do mean to marry him, then?”

  “Of course! I’m engaged, Colin, I thought we had established that.” She gazed at him, her eyebrows drawn together.

  “It is just that he is . . .” He broke off, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “I will say no more. Just because the fellow does not suit my tastes doesn’t mean a thing, I suppose. Andy is always telling me I have no idea of elegance, nor any pretensions to refinement.”

  “Andromeda is right,” Rachel said dryly.

  Colin chuckled. “Good, you can abuse me as a friend. I like that.” He took her arm and guided her back toward the drawing room. “Let us rejoin the company.”

  • • •

  The day ended with an early dinner, and then the company broke up, Andromeda and Colin retreating with Belinda to Lord Strongwycke’s town house. The earl had asked if the brother and sister would like to stay there for the remainder of the Season with his niece, since they were doing him the favor of caring for her. They would then travel north with the girl and take her to Shadow Manor before heading to Corleigh, their own home in Yorkshire, near Haven Court.

  Shortly after everyone retreated, Lord Yarnell was about to take his leave. Rachel’s mother, in recognition of their new status as an engaged couple, gave them a half hour alone together in the drawing room. Rachel sat demurely, her hands folded together, on the dingy sofa, one of the many pieces that her mother had not had time to replace before Pamela’s nuptial breakfast. She waited for Yarnell to speak, hoping he would say something warm, something out of character.

  She did not understand herself at that moment, since it was his elegant coolness that had drawn her initially to him. She had felt from the beginning that they were alike, and suited to each other. And yet she was haunted by the warmth of the look Strongwycke had given Pamela before kissing her so publicly at the wedding breakfast. It had been so full of yearning. Affection. Devotion.

  Desire.

  Shocking thought. She turned away from it and gazed up at her fiancé as he paced on the new carpet in front of her. “What did you think of my sister’s wedding, my lord?”

  “I do not think I have ever seen a less elegant wedding coat than Lord Strongwycke’s.” He sat beside her and crossed his legs. “And I thought your grandmother’s toast very coarse.”

  “It’s just her way, Yarnell,” Rachel said, not sure why she was defending her family when she had been thinking the same things. “She’s from a different time, and has a different sense of humor.”

  “Sir Colin’s was just as distasteful.”

  Rachel frowned and thought that all Colin had said was a toast to long life and happiness in the future. What was wrong with that? But she kept her thoughts to herself.

  Yarnell, his gloves finally discarded, polished his nails on his breeches and stared down at them. “I have been thinking of our wedding breakfast. Do you think, if my mother holds it at our town house, that your grandmother may find it too fatiguing to go?”

  She and her grandmother had never had the closest of relationships, but Rachel was stung that he was obliquely trying to find a way to exclude her. “She has great stamina when she wants to do something. I am her granddaughter. I cannot imagine she would not want to come.”

  “But you don’t even like her. You have said so.”

  “I would never say anything so disloyal as that I do not like her. I merely said we did not always agree. She’s my grandmother, Yarnell, and will want to be at my wedding breakfast.” She paused and eyed him worriedly, then felt compelled by his silence to argue the case further. “She’ll not be able to make it into the church, given the steps, but surely she is welcome at my wedding breakfast!”

  “I didn’t say she would be unwelcome.” He turned and met her gaze. “She may well embarrass you though, my dear. I flatter myself that we think alike on most subjects, and I found her remarks coarse and lewd.”

  Rachel clamped her lips together. She felt like she was suffocating, and wanted nothing more than for Yarnell to leave so she could strip off her gloves—he did not approve of ladies having ungloved hands, he had told her once, and so she had kept them on much longer than necessary—and shed her stays. She longed to crawl into her bed, pull the covers over her head and cry. It would feel so very good at that moment to be free of constraint. Instead, she reined in her temper and collected her thoughts. “As I said, my lord, she is from anothe
r time. It’s her way. She thinks it humorous.”

  “Well I don’t, nor will my family. Please consider that when making up the guest list for our breakfast. Or warn her of what is appropriate.”

  Rachel tried to imagine chastising her grandmother. How would one begin?

  “Where would you like to go on our wedding trip?” he said, changing subjects.

  Again, she clamped her lips together. That was another thing that infuriated her; when Yarnell was done with a subject he considered it closed, even when she had more to say on the matter. And no amount of trying to reintroduce the topic would work, she had already learned. He was single-minded and obsessive.

  “I thought Rome would be lovely,” she said.

  “Too hot this time of year, and infested with artistic types. You would not like it.”

  “But I thought—”

  “No, you must accept my word on this, my dear,” he said, holding up one hand. “I have been there and you have not.”

  And likely never would be. With sudden clarity she saw her future; after a very short while she would likely be with child, the requisite heir with luck, and so unfit for travel, and that would be the end of that.

  With child!

  As much as she knew it was the purpose of their marriage, for Yarnell had never evaded the cold hard fact that he needed an heir, it still gave her the shivers. A girl she had been friends with in childhood had died just the year before in childbirth. If she expressed her fears to Yarnell, would he comfort her? Her mind tripped lightly back to Colin’s hug in the hallway, and how for one brief moment she had let her guard down and had been filled with an unwelcome warmth. He was so strong and sturdy; comfort flowed from him and through her in waves, and for a few moments all had felt right with the world.

  Which was all wrong. And so she had drawn away, disturbed by how sheltered she had felt, how protected. Would Yarnell ever comfort her that way? Make her feel so protected? Perhaps that would come when they knew each other better. Someday they would be old friends and he would feel free to offer her the little caring gestures that a woman might need on occasion. Not that she was so weak as that. She took in a deep breath. No, she was calm and cool and derived strength from that cold inner core of her that was impermeable to pain.

  “I think a short trip to Wight—we have a summer home there—and then back home,” Yarnell mused. “That will be adventurous enough for us. Mother thinks she would like to come along,” he finished, casually.

  “Your mother is coming on our wedding trip?” she said, her voice rising as she considered the thought. Not only had he never really meant to consult her on where to go—the Wight trip was evidently already planned—but now she had her mother-in-law to contend with on her wedding trip!

  “It is her summer home too, Miss Neville, and she will be exhausted once the wedding is over.” His tone was reproving. “Surely you would not deny her the rest and relaxation of her own summer retreat.”

  “Then perhaps we could go elsewhere, even to your estate. Then your mother would have the Wight summer home to herself.”

  “No, I think our original plan is best,” he said, standing.

  “Our” plan, Rachel thought, hysteria bubbling up. It had never been her plan!

  “I will take my leave now,” he said, bowing to her. “I’m relieved that this wedding nonsense of your sister’s is over so we can commence the planning for our own.” He took her hand and laid a circumspect kiss on the glove.

  And then he was gone.

  Rachel slumped down on the sofa. How had things spun so out of control?

  Books by Donna Lea Simpson

  See all of Donna Lea Simpson’s

  books at Smashwords!

  Classic Regency Romances

  The Viscount’s Valentine

  A Rogue’s Rescue

  A Scandalous Plan

  Reforming the Rogue

  Lord St. Claire’s Angel

  Noël’s Wish

  The Earl of Hearts

  Romancing the Rogue

  Married to a Rogue

  Taming the Rogue

  The Rogue’s Folly

  A Matchmaker’s Christmas

  Miss Truelove Beckons

  Courting Scandal

  A Rake’s Redemption

  Lord Haven’s Deception

  The Debutante’s Dilemma

  A Lady’s Choice

  An Eccentric Engagement

  Lady Anne Mysteries

  Lady Anne and the Howl in the Dark

  Revenge of the Barbary Ghost

  Curse of the Gypsy

  About the Author

  Donna Lea Simpson is a nationally bestselling romance and mystery novelist with dozens of titles to her credit. An early love for the novels of Jane Austen and Agatha Christie was a portent of things to come; Donna believes that a dash of mystery adds piquancy to a romantic tale, and a hint of romance adds humanity to a mystery story. Besides writing romance and mystery novels and reading the same, Donna has a long list of passions: cats and tea, cooking and vintage cookware, cross-stitching and watercolor painting among them. Karaoke offers her the chance to warble Dionne Warwick tunes, and nature is a constant source of comfort and inspiration. A long walk is her favorite exercise, and a fruity merlot is her drink of choice when the tea is all gone. Donna lives in Canada.

  The best writing advice, Donna believes, comes from the letters of Jane Austen. That author wrote, in an October 26, 1813, letter to her sister, Cassandra, “I am not at all in a humor for writing; I must write on till I am.” So true! But Donna is usually in a good humor for writing!