Marriage with a Proper Stranger

by Karyn Gerrard

  Since he’d been brought up with servants to see to his needs, and given every luxury one could imagine, it was an arduous process to learn how to prepare his own tea, fry an egg, and reheat Mrs. Ingersoll’s meals. Thinking about it, he could hardly fault Sabrina for wishing to maintain her comfortable living. He may have been hasty to exact a harsh judgment on her when he too had been pampered his entire life.

  Becoming used to such a small area in which to live also proved to be difficult. The entire cottage could fit into his dressing room at Wollstonecraft Hall. Yet he understood he still had an easier time of it than the many families in and around Carrbury.

  Never had he been so alone. Damn it all, he was homesick. Preparing lessons for the next day took up most of his evening, but he was used to lively conversations and the presence of his family. Sometimes in this small abode, the silence was deafening. The ticking of the wall clock sounded like pistols firing, and the slightest breeze whistling through the shutters mimicked a banshee wail. All this did lessen in intensity whilst he prepared his lessons.

  After unlocking the door, he entered the cottage. The bits of furniture were not in the best condition, obviously donations from various residences in town. There would be a brief break next week on the first of October, in conjunction with the harvest moon, an agreement reached by the farmers and board members to allow children to help with the harvest and prepare for winter. Riordan would head home, borrow a wagon and horse from Garrett, and return with a few choice pieces of furniture, like a more comfortable mattress. He sighed as he lit the oil lamp. He missed a great many things. But even in his maudlin bouts of homesickness he found a sense of accomplishment in the fact that he was earning his keep. When he’d accepted this position, he decided to live within his means for the year. It had been sobering and humbling.

  Teaching exceeded all his expectations. Never did he believe he would derive such inner contentment. Turns out he enjoyed the experience, and already it had moved beyond research for his educational reforms. He began to foster plans, like building the progressive school he’d spoken to his grandfather about. Perhaps he would make himself headmaster. Until then, he soldiered on with his work.

  He’d instituted Sabrina’s suggestion of a brief cessation of study, and it had been a complete success. The children gobbled down the ginger biscuits, and after their respite appeared brighter and more alert for the remaining day. Riordan made a mental note to bring up the subject at the next board meeting. There was no reason why the children could not break for a short recess and play outside for ten minutes, weather permitting.

  Laying his satchel on the table, he exhaled with relief when he spotted meat pie and fresh bread on the counter. Moving efficiently about the small kitchen area, he lit the wood stove and placed the kettle on it, then slid the plate into the oven to warm up the pie. A knock sounded at his door. He’d already removed his frock coat and rolled up his sleeves—should he answer the door in such a casual state? Riordan strode to the front door and opened it.

  Sabrina. At least, he guessed—the lady in question wore a wool cloak with a large, fur-trimmed hood that obscured her face. But the enticing scent gave her away. “Do come in, Lady Pepperdon.”

  She scurried across the threshold and he closed the door after her.

  “May I take your cloak?”

  “No. I’m not staying.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “My maid inquired for me.”

  Her words were clipped. She would not meet his gaze, remaining hidden under the hood. Gently, he lowered it, and she gasped. Grasping her chin, he made her look at him. “Why have you come?”

  Her lower lip trembled. “Let go of me.”

  Sabrina’s harsh tone was covered in frost. This from the woman who’d desperately clung to him a mere couple of days past. Riordan did as she asked. “Answer my question.”

  She looked about the small room, and in finding a chair, sat upon it. He could see the distaste in her eyes as she observed his sparse and simply furnished cottage. She was the same as those pretentious young ladies he’d come across at balls. Her haughty tone and look dismissed his earlier sympathetic thoughts toward her. Annoyed, he crossed his arms and waited for her to respond.

  Clasping her gloved hands tightly in her lap, Sabrina finally met his gaze. Her harsh expression relaxed, her eyes glistened. “First, allow me to apologize for being forward in asking you to marry me. I haven’t been myself of late. I have nowhere to turn, and the feeling of being lost and desperate makes me cross and annoyed with myself. I do not like being helpless, I abhor it, and yet I have been from the moment I was born.” She laughed cynically. “I have had no say in any aspect of my life. My mother died when I was young. All I have known is cold disregard from my father, even hatred, for I was a daughter, not the son he wanted. The first chance he could be shunt of me, he took it, would not even allow me a season to find a suitable husband near my own age. Instead, I was handed off to an old man—sold to the highest bidder, so to speak.”

  Sabrina looked away, her eyelids blinking rapidly. “Forgive me. I’ve been indulging in bouts of self-pity. I suppose I could surrender and allow my father to dictate whom I marry. But I cannot. I must fight in any way I’m able, do you see?” She met his gaze once again, her eyes full of unshed tears. She spoke with such heartrending emotion, his annoyance fled. And to think he thought her chilly and snobbish.

  “Yes, I see. As a man, I cannot begin to comprehend how powerless a woman must feel. You’re right; from the moment of birth she is dependent upon men to see to her comforts, her very survival.”

  “Precisely. My father threatens to turn me out to find my own way. Where? How? What is a woman to do? I don’t want to be a kept woman, but I’m not trained for any kind of occupation. There is the companion path, but those positions are few and far between. This is the best option I can come up with to work my way toward the independence I crave. I need to formulate my plan without haste.” Sabrina hesitated, and sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

  Damn it. He sprinted to the kitchen and, using a tea towel, reached into the oven for his meat pie. The edges of the crust had started to burn, but the rest was salvageable. Caught up in her narrative, he’d forgotten about his meal. Placing the dish on the counter, he rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs. He should put on a jacket, but to hell with it.

  Riordan returned to the small parlor. “Merely my dinner. I caught it before serious damage was done.”

  She stood. “I should leave and allow you to eat….”

  “It will keep. Please, sit and continue.” As she did, he clasped the chair from the dining table and set it near her, but not close enough to crowd her.

  “I spoke with my father; he will meet with you to discuss a possible marriage. That is, if you have decided to participate in my mad scheme.” She frowned. “You were correct at the first; I’m committing fraud, but I do not care. My father owes me for my miserable childhood and miserable marriage. And if it sounds like a rationalization for the underhanded plan I’m about to embark on, I can live with the consequences. What I cannot live with any longer is not being in control of my life. I am taking the reins.”

  Sabrina spoke with courage and determination. On the whole, she was perpetrating a fraudulent plot. But her reasons smacked of truth, with a smattering of revenge. Did he wish to be part of it? “Let us say I meet with the baron. He could still insist that you marry the marquess regardless.”

  Her lower lip thrust out. “Yes. He could. My father said, ‘You can march every eligible male before me from a hundred mile radius; the fact remains, I would have to approve of the match and the man would have to meet the terms.’ I have no idea what he means. He would not tell me the amount of the settlement.”

  “How much did he pay the earl?” Riordan asked.

  “I’m not sure, as Pepperdon would never
speak of his negotiations with my father. He did mention a sum of fifteen thousand pounds once, saying I was not worth the amount. It was meant as an insult; he often claimed I was useless and worth nothing.”

  He frowned. The earl had been a miserable cur. And hell, was her father that well-off? “Do you believe he would offer as much again?”

  “Perhaps. He is eager for me to be gone from his house. Even ten thousand would set me up in a small cottage far from here; the income from the settlement would be enough for me to live on for many years, surely.” She gave him a shaky smile. “See? Independence. Life on my terms.”

  Riordan crossed his arms. “You wouldn’t be able to afford a place much bigger than this. Look about. My cottage is probably not as large as your bedchambers. If we agree to move forward with this, you will have to live here with me in these close quarters. We’d have to make at least some effort to show we’re married.”

  The look of horrified surprise on her lovely face amused him. “Here? With you? But I thought to take rooms at the inn in town until we can apply for an annulment.”

  “It’s not feasible, Sabrina. Can you afford such an expense? I cannot. Besides, if we’re living apart from the beginning, it will state to the court that we made no attempt to make the marriage work. It could go against us. Speaking of annulments, I’ve explained what would have to be done to dissolve the marriage. None of those options are ideal for either of us. I’ve written a solicitor friend of mine in London.”

  Sabrina gasped.

  “Easy, I did not mention any names, merely asked hypothetical questions regarding possible options. I expect a reply any day. In the meantime, refresh my memory: when are you supposed to meet with Sutherhorne?”

  “Tuesday next. Why?” Her eyebrow arched in question.

  “Does the marquess live nearby or in London?” Riordan asked.

  “I believe he is in London at the moment. I assume he attends parliament.”

  Riordan stood and held out his hand. Hesitating, she finally slipped her gloved hand in his. He assisted her to her feet and took a step closer. She blinked rapidly and her entire body tensed. As he lifted her hand to his mouth, he kept his gaze firm on her. The enticing scent of citrus invaded his nostrils. Her nearness made him aware of her as a woman. An astonishing development.

  Brushing his lips across her knuckles, he moved his thumb under the glove and found her pulse. The touch of her bare skin caused his heart to stutter and blood to rush to his nether regions. In response to him caressing her wrist, her pulse quickened. She was affected by his touch. Gratifying, yet alarm bells sounded in his fevered mind. If they steamed ahead with this harebrained scheme, they would be under the same roof. Temptation incarnate.

  The overwhelming need to pull her close and kiss her senseless brought him up quick. His fingertips leisurely skimmed across her upturned palm. She didn’t pull her hand away. In response, he caressed the tips of her fingers with his, and the heat between them seared, even through her glove.

  Riordan stepped away. “Go home, Sabrina.” His voice was hoarse. “Meet me at the school Monday during luncheon break. I’ll have more information. And my answer. Until then, act as though you’re meeting Sutherhorne.”

  “I do not understand….”

  “Go now,” he rasped. Before I pull you into my embrace. Before I touch you all over.

  She must have read the raw desire on his face, for she pulled up her hood and fled through the front door without looking back.

  Slowly, he walked toward the door and closed it, sliding the bolt. He rested his hand flat against the door and waited until his racing heart and rampant arousal calmed. What in hell was happening here? Obviously he’d taken leave of his senses if he was even considering this madness.

  Her courageous words stirred him. The tragic look in her eyes moved him. Mix in the fact that he found her appealing and this could be a recipe for disaster. With a sigh, he headed toward the kitchen and his burnt meat pie. Could he keep his heart from getting singed?

  Chapter 6

  Surprisingly, Sabrina slept well after her nocturnal visit to Mr. Black. Correct that—Riordan. She couldn’t bring herself to address him as such, at least not to his face, even though he’d called her Sabrina. She never should have suggested they use first names. What had possessed her?

  However, her inner thoughts used his given name. It was Irish in origin, and certainly fit with his black-as-midnight hair and startling light blue eyes. His pale skin was creamy and flawless—Celtic, to be sure. His speech was elegant, but she assumed it had come more from his training than his actual background.

  The schoolmaster had told her nothing of his life. Perhaps he came from the middle class? What did it matter; she would not be bound to him for life. Sabrina didn’t like the idea of him contacting a solicitor, but it was one way to be sure of the options. She pulled the blankets up to her chin, closed her eyes, and started drifting to sleep.

  Mary entered the room and bustled to the window, tearing open the silver drapes, allowing sun to pour into the room. “It is nigh on eleven o’clock, my lady. You never sleep this late. I’ll bring you toast and tea immediately. Are you well?”

  Mary hurried to her bedside and plumped the pillows as Sabrina yawned and sat upright, blinking at the bright autumn sun. “I must have needed the sleep. Toast and tea sound lovely. I suppose my father did not miss me at breakfast?”

  “I doubt it, my lady. He left around eight this morning. I hear he’s off to London for two days, paying a visit to a certain young lady. Would you like me to find out the name?”

  A good thing Mary kept her apprised of the comings and goings and other activities of the house, or Sabrina would have no idea what was going on. Her father told her nothing. “Yes, be subtle about it.” A maid from downstairs entered the room carrying a tray and Mary took it from her. The girl gave an awkward curtsy and left the room.

  “Here we are,” Mary murmured, laying the tray on Sabrina’s lap. “Toast, tea, and fresh blackberry jam, just how you like it.”

  Her devoted lady’s maid was about fifty-five years of age, the daughter of a sailor. When Mary’s father was lost at sea in her early twenties, she’d no choice but to enter service to keep a roof over her head and look after her widowed mother.

  By the time Sabrina had arrived at the Pepperdon estate, Mary was already there as a parlor maid, and since she’d served as a lady’s maid to the former Lady Pepperdon, Sabrina chose Mary to do the same for her. With her no-nonsense manner, twinkling brown eyes, and kind nature, Mary was precisely what Sabrina needed. Though her chestnut-brown hair had threads of gray at her temples, her pleasant face remained remarkably unlined.

  Mary spoiled her terribly, but Sabrina reveled in it. It was the first time in her life anyone had paid attention to her in a positive way. How many nights did her kind maid offer soothing solace after a horrific episode with Pepperdon? At the lowest points of her life, it comforted Sabrina to think of Mary as a kindly aunt. Servants were not supposed to be thought of in such a way, but Sabrina couldn’t help it. Mary was all she had.

  Swallowing down the ball of emotion lodged in her throat, she gave Mary a warm smile. “I do not tell you enough how much I appreciate you. You mean a great deal to me. Have a seat, Mary. I must tell you about our status in this house. It is rather precarious.”

  Mary sat in the chair next to the bed. “I’ve an idea what you’re about to say. The servants do gossip, I’m afraid. Your father wishes to marry you off to another elderly peer.”

  Sabrina arched an eyebrow as she sipped her tea.

  “George is worse than an old washer woman for gossiping. He needs a talking to. Mentioned you met the schoolmaster for luncheon. Alone. Although he did believe your tale about it being a business-type meeting, contributions for the school and the like. But it wasn’t, was it, my lady?”

  Spreading jam on her toa
st, she shook her head. “No, Mary. It was not about the school.”

  “I heard from the twittering maids that the new schoolmaster is a virile young man, with black hair and sparkling blue eyes to rival the summer sky above. I’m quoting the foolish young things, mind you.”

  What an apt description. “He is as you describe. When I tell you why I went to see him, you will be shocked.”

  In between eating her toast and sipping her tea, she told Mary everything—even of her clandestine visit of last night.

  Mary sat back in her chair, her mouth slightly agape. “You astound me, my lady.”

  “I astound myself. Never believed I had it in me to be audacious. But if I can enter this sham of a marriage, obtain a quick and quiet annulment, and collect the settlement agreed upon, then you and I will move far from here. I’ll be able to purchase a small cottage by the sea, large enough for the two of us.” Sabrina frowned into her half empty cup. “Perhaps at last I will find a modicum of peace.” The last words ended on a whisper.

  Mary patted her hand. “If anyone deserves it, it’s you, my lady. But how can you trust this schoolmaster? He’s a stranger, only been in the area barely a month.”

  Sabrina recalled listening to his lesson outside the window. She’d been enthralled by the mere resonance of his deep, hypnotizing voice. In the rich tones she’d heard consideration, civility, and intelligence. At that point, she did not care a bit what he looked like, he sounded…honest. Sincere. Then, when she had seen him…Lord, what a vision. She nearly sighed aloud thinking of him standing there, the wind ruffling his thick, black hair. The afternoon sun framing him in a golden halo.

  Enough daydreaming. “He is a complete stranger, but I believe he is a proper one. I heard something in his voice, the way he spoke to the children, treated them with respect. He may not even agree to any of this. Perhaps I’m mad.”