An Innocent Proposal

by Helen Dickson

  “My doing!” Alistair exploded, showing incredulity at her outburst and no sign of remorse. “I would not have expected you to deceive yourself on that score. Your brother had no one to blame for what happened but himself.”

  “Nevertheless, you can see why the terms of your offer are detestable to me. It is far better for a child to be happy with one parent than wretched with two.”

  It was exactly the reaction Alistair had expected from the proud beauty who had let him believe in London that her life was one long, frivolous social whirl. This he now knew to have been nothing but a charade, and that, living in the country for most of her life, she’d had little contact with the social complexities of London. She stood quivering beside the swing, her hands clenched by her sides, visibly struggling to regain her composure as she tried to decide what was best to be done. He felt his own anger begin to melt and he looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, touched, despite himself, by her obvious distress, and perhaps also by some private scruples.

  “Louisa, you must be sensible,” he said on a more gentle note, his expression grave as he combed impatient fingers of frustration through his hair. “You cannot bring up a child on your own. You will never endure the disgrace and humiliation when it becomes public knowledge. People can be extremely cruel in such situations. The scandal will be intolerable. You will never withstand it alone.”

  “Better to be pilloried than married to a monster.”

  Her stubbornness provoked Alistair’s eyes to blaze with renewed fury. “And you will find out what kind of monster I can be if you carry on in this vein, lady,” he growled. “The child you are carrying is mine, don’t forget. I will have a say in how it is reared and I refuse to have it brought up a bastard just because its mother—in her abominable pride—refuses my offer of marriage. It is not an offer I make lightly, as well you know, having already had one obligation in the past. Lord knows, I don’t want to sacrifice my freedom—but if you did not find it difficult sacrificing your virtue to a total stranger, then I suppose I shall have to take a lesson from you and grin and bear it.”

  “And with sentiments such as these you expect me to agree to become your wife?” Louisa flared incredulously. “What a sad and sorry pair we would make. When I set about retrieving my brother’s IOU—when I allowed myself to transgress against all my principles, breaking every rule that I had been taught with regard to my virtue—it may surprise you to learn that that night I sacrificed something else, Lord Dunstan, something which was just as precious to me as my virtue. My self-respect.”

  “And was it worth it? Was it worth all this?”

  “If you mean was it worth retaining my home then yes, it was worth it. My only regret is that I could not think of a way of keeping Bierlow Hall without using you to do so. As for the child—only time will tell. I only hope that you got your money’s worth, Lord Dunstan.”

  A thin smile drew his stern lips apart. “As things have turned out, it would seem I’ve got a good deal more. So is it agreed that we will be married?” he asked, choosing to ignore her angry outburst of a moment before, his instinct telling him she would come to see the sense of his offer, despite her aversion to him. When he saw her hesitate, with defiance and resentment continuing to glare out of her eyes, he moved closer, his angry face only inches from her own. He caught her arm as she was about to move away, his fingers gentle, but they seemed to drive into her, sapping her strength, her resistance, and any hope she had of escape.

  “Marrying me is the only possible solution to your problems, you know,” he went on. “If you refuse, then consider your brother. He will have to partake of your disgrace—and any hope he has of marrying well will be dashed. Can you live with that on your conscience, as well as depriving a child of its father?”

  Still Louisa hesitated, abruptly turning her back on him when he relinquished his hold on her arm, struggling against the insidious feeling of surrender which was steadily crushing her, her immediate sensation being one of drowning. How could she endure living with a man who laid down such harsh conditions as he had? Then came the realisation that she had no option. What did it matter whom she married as long as her child was spared the stigma of illegitimacy?

  Suddenly nothing seemed important any more. Everything paled beside this. He was right, she thought, with all the bitterness that came with defeat. She really had no choice. But, when she considered what her feelings were for Alistair Dunstan, she could not deny that he drew her like a magnet. In fact, where he was concerned her mind was all confusion, for she wanted to be his wife, to belong to him, as much as she wanted to be free of him.

  As if all her energy had drained out of her, her shoulders drooped and she turned to face him, her throat constricting painfully, and suddenly she wanted to cry. Endeavouring to keep her voice steady, she spoke quietly, her eyes tear-bright.

  “Very well,” she conceded. “You are right. I have no choice. But with so much bitterness and so many differences between us our marriage will be a sham. I don’t know you. How am I to judge what kind of husband you will make?”

  Reading panic overlying her inner torture, Alistair’s expression softened a little. “Few couples know each other really well before they marry. You will have to take me on trust.”

  “It seems I shall have to.”

  “We neither of us know what the future holds, but if we are to have any kind of life together we must strive for an amicable partnership. For the sake of the child we must be united. My mother died when I was a boy, and, despite the love of my father and my elder sister, Julia, who became like a mother to me, it is a dreadful lack for a child when one parent isn’t there.”

  “You will allow me to return to Bierlow Hall, won’t you? It will always be an integral part of my life.”

  “I would not wish it otherwise. But Huntswood will be your home.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Then, if that is settled, for obvious reasons there must be no delay. The wedding will take place very soon. You do wish to be married in Bierlow, I take it—not in London?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then I shall call and see the minister when I pass through the village on my way back to London. The first of the banns can be read this coming Sunday.”

  Louisa stared at him in astonishment. “So soon?”

  “Yes. It is best. You will leave the arrangements to me, but there will be no pomp at the ceremony. That must be understood.”

  “That will suit me perfectly.”

  “I would like you to come to London to meet my sister, Julia. I would also like you to be fitted out with a new wardrobe before the wedding, which she has very kindly offered to take charge of.”

  Louisa’s heart sank at the thought that he had discussed her with his sister, and she wondered just how much he had disclosed to her. “You—you have told her about me?”

  “Naturally. Julia and I have few secrets from each other,” he replied brusquely. “Do you have any friends or relatives who you can stay with in London?”

  “No. No one—and James has given up his house in Henrietta Street.”

  “Then have the goodness to present yourself at Dunstan House in town tomorrow. My plans for immediately after the wedding are to take you to Huntswood. Fortunately it is a convenient time for me to leave London anyway, my business being concluded, and I am sure you will like it there. It is very peaceful—not unlike Bierlow. The countryside should remind you of it.”

  At that moment James appeared, coming hurriedly along the path towards them, having been told by Mrs Marsh that they had a distinguished visitor who had gone into the garden to find Louisa.

  Abruptly Alistair turned from her. “I will discuss the terms of the marriage with your brother before I leave.”

  “Wait,” Louisa said, halting him as he was about to turn away.

  “What is it?”

  “I—I have to ask about your wife—Marianne? Where is she? What happened to her?”

  “Never fear
,” he said, his handsome lips curling with light irony. “I am not about to commit bigamy if that’s what’s worrying you. Marianne is dead. She was killed in unfortunate circumstances on the night she left me.”

  An icy thrill ran through Louisa as she watched Alistair walk away from her, an awful sense of shock invading her entire being, although why she should feel this way puzzled her, for she had never really given much thought as to what had become of his former wife. But, with a certain conviction in her heart, it flashed through her mind that there had been something mysterious and sinister about her death. Then she shuddered, casting the awful thought to the back of her mind, refusing to fill her head with such nonsense and telling herself not to be silly.

  As she began making her way slowly back to the house, she had to admit that she was curious as to the manner of Marianne’s death, and why she had not heard that she was dead before now. Neither Timothy nor James seemed to be aware of it either, for she was certain they would have told her. And when she had spoken to Alistair and Lady Bricknell about her they had failed to mention it, leaving her with the impression that she had left him for someone else and that as a consequence he had divorced her.

  Whatever lay behind the mystery, all thoughts of Marianne were obliterated when she realised, with a pang of almost unbearable anguish, how little time she had left at Bierlow Hall before she must leave for London.

  The following day it was a subdued Louisa who left Bierlow Hall to travel to London. She would not return until the wedding. A listlessness settled over her as she sat across from James, who was immensely relieved and pleased with the developments. It was all turning out far better than he’d dared to hope. Louisa was confused by all that had happened, by the changes that had suddenly turned her life upside down. In a moment of anger, confusion and despair she had committed herself to this course. She was sick in mind, bewildered, and weary in body, made worse because her pregnancy often made her feel quite ill.

  When she entered Dunstan House she could not help remembering the last time she had been there—or the moment she had left in such dreadful circumstances. She could not have foreseen that she would enter it again as the future Lady Dunstan. Alistair wasn’t there, but had left instructions with the servants—who received her with welcoming smiles—that she was to be shown to the bedchamber that had been assigned to her. It was situated at the back of the house because it was quieter, overlooking the gardens and Green Park.

  It was with tears in her eyes that she said goodbye to James, who was to stay with Timothy at his family’s town house in Long Acre until they returned to Bierlow for the wedding, and he promised to return to Dunstan House the following morning to see her and Lord Dunstan. She watched him go, her mind crying out for him not to leave her, wishing she could be with him. However, apart from Timothy, she had never met any other member of the family, and it would have been most inappropriate of her or James to have suggested such a thing.

  Already she was feeling homesick and so very lonely, wishing she were back at Bierlow Hall. Her determination not to let it slip out of her family was the reason for the sorry plight she was in now, but at least that particular anguish would be lifted if James was sincere and abided by his decision to remain there, and she was content that he firmly intended marrying Amelia—something her parents would not have considered had she, Louisa, refused to marry Alistair and her condition had become public knowledge.

  Alone in her bedchamber, she moved to stand by the window, aware that an uncertain future loomed ahead. She tried to quell the nervous fears that were mounting inside her as the time drew near when she must face Alistair. Dusk was fast approaching and lengthening shadows stretched across the park, of which she had a splendid view over the high garden wall. In the silence that shrouded the vast house, with a sigh she let her thoughts wander.

  Was it so short a time since she had been in this very house—in another room, Alistair’s room, in his bed, when her body had quivered with fear and anticipation? How happy she had been that night, despite her reason for being there, when she had loved Alistair with all her youthful being, and when he had made love to her with a passionate intensity, initiating her in the overwhelming joys of love. But tonight no man would come to her in this house. No desire would come to claim her body in which life was growing.

  She moved towards the bed in the centre of the room and tiredness overcame her. Lying down on the quilt, she closed her eyes, drifting off into a deep slumber, knowing nothing else until she was woken by a maid, who had come to tell her that Lord Dunstan had arrived home and was asking for her. With a pounding headache she rose, feeling quite ill and wishing she could stay in her room and not face anyone that night. In an attempt to revive her flagging spirits and cool the heat inside her head, she swilled her face with cold water. Tidying her hair, she smoothed her skirts with trembling fingers before following the maid downstairs, who showed her into the room where she had taken tea with Alistair on her previous visit to the house.

  The room was empty and her mind was in a strange, feverish state as she waited for Alistair, but then she heard his brisk step on the tiled floor of the hall outside. The door opened and he came in, closing it behind him, and she was unprepared for the way her heart began to pound, becoming loud in her ears so she thought she might pass out at any moment.

  He regarded her coolly, like a stranger, distant and completely different from the man she had spent the night with in his bed, who had made love to her with such intimate tenderness. Fear stirred inside her, fear and consternation at the gulf that had opened between them. He stood looking at her, and there was a sudden quickening in the depths of his eyes when they rested on her face, but there was no welcoming smile to soften his stern and masterful features.

  They were not the same two people who had come together before. Then, Alistair had seen Louisa as a potential mistress, and they would have claimed nothing from each other but the pleasures to be enjoyed in each other’s arms. Men did not marry the women they chose as their mistresses, and as his future wife he saw Louisa as someone completely different.

  Crossing the room, he seated himself, motioning her to a chair opposite, not wanting to get too close, but close enough to look at her, near enough to smell the delicate perfume of her skin. He was sternly formal, bearing no trace of a happy bridegroom, seeming awesome and remote.

  “Please sit down.”

  He had no difficulty in sustaining an air of cold detachment, which had become second nature to him over the years. It was his most useful weapon when dealing with the attentions of the opposite sex. Lord knew, he’d had enough practice.

  Her head pounding with an ache that was like nothing she had experienced before, compounded of misery, built-up tension and her condition, Louisa mechanically obeyed, sitting quite still, her hands folded on her lap as she waited for him to speak. What she had seen, that sudden spark in his eyes on seeing her, had been extinguished like a flame. The man who had loved her so ardently had withdrawn from her completely, which she would have to accept as just punishment for what she had done.

  “I apologise for not being here when you arrived. I’ve been to Richmond to fetch Julia, who has only recently returned from Huntswood, where she has been spending a short time with Mark and Sophie. When I returned I was told you were sound asleep, so I instructed the maid not to wake you until it was almost time for dinner.”

  “Thank you. I was more tired than I thought,” said Louisa quietly, trying to ignore the dizzy nausea spinning round inside her, “and sleep is the best way of shortening a period of waiting.”

  “How are you?” he asked suddenly, the question abrupt, although he was concerned to see that the lustre had gone from her eyes. Her face was like a delicate piece of carved ivory, so pale, but he thought it only served to emphasise the purity of its lines. Clearly she was not finding the early weeks of her pregnancy easy, and he was surprised by the concern and sympathy that washed over him.

  She gave him a falterin
g little smile, knowing he was referring to her pregnancy, which caused her some embarrassment, and she felt her cheeks flush. It was surprising, for modesty was not a word that would normally apply between two people who knew each other’s bodies as intimately as they did.

  “I have felt better, I cannot deny,” she confessed, although she gave him no indication of how dreadful she was feeling at that moment. “But it does improve, I am told. Pregnancy is supposed to be a natural process for women, so I shall have to endure it as best I can.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “No,” she said softly, looking down at her hands. “I was both ashamed and afraid to face the doctor who has attended me all my life with this.”

  He nodded, understanding this perfectly well. “Then I shall arrange for you to see one here in London before we leave for Sussex.”

  “Thank you. Your—your sister is here, is she?” she asked in an effort to divert the conversation away from the child.

  “Yes. She has expressed a wish to meet you.”

  “Then I look forward to meeting her. Am I to meet your son—and your other sister?”

  “No. Both Mark and Sophie are at Huntswood. I shall introduce you when we go down there after the wedding.”

  “And your sister’s husband? Am I to meet him also?”

  “I’m afraid not. Being a politician, Joshua is immersed in his work at Westminster, but you will meet very soon. Julia and her husband often travel down to Huntswood. You will like him. He’s a quiet, gentle man. Julia has kindly offered to stay here to act as your chaperon until we leave for Bierlow for the wedding, in order to protect your reputation—which we both know has been ruined through both our faults,” he said drily, “and which I have no intention of blackening still further.