A Convenient Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Richard nodded, clearly seeing the idea as having merit. “Perhaps. It will be some months before we need to worry about your expanding girth.”

  Brenna kicked him with her sheet-covered foot. “Even when I am as big as a donkey, as my husband, you must compliment me on my lithe beauty and pretend not to notice my waddling walk and extra chins.”

  “I shall do my best,” he teased.

  The rest of the meal went on with light conversation as Brenna enjoyed the companionship of her husband. With her parents eager to spend as much time with her as possible during this short visit, they seldom had time alone.

  Once the food was consumed, he cleaned up and helped her stretch out on the bed. “I shall return this to the kitchen while you try to sleep.”

  “I am weary of sleep,” she said, then smiled at her choice of words. She did not want him to leave her, even long enough to walk to the kitchen and back.

  “Regardless,” he said, “you must do whatever you can to get well, and sleep is medicinal.”

  Brenna squelched a yawn. Her full belly did make her sleepy. “Did you make that up?”

  “It does not matter whether it is true or not; I am lord of the manor, and you must do what I say.” He gathered up the tray. “I expect you to be sleeping when I return.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  Dressed only in his white shirt, buff trousers, and boots, he cut a fine figure. His broad shoulders flexed as he adjusted the tray and disappeared out the door.

  She placed a hand on her belly. “Your father is a cut above other men,” she whispered. “He will love us. Wait and see.”

  She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

  * * *

  How is your wife?” Bethany asked. She met Richard coming down the stairs. Dressed in a thin robe and obviously very little beneath it, her hair tumbled around her shoulders.

  He wondered if she was tupping one of his footmen.

  Outside of her brother and himself, there were no other men in the household to choose from but the footmen and his elderly butler. And with Richard not interested, and in spite of her hints at her innocence, he was certain she was not as virginal as she wanted him to believe.

  The night she snuck into his bed and kissed him confirmed that notion. No innocent would be so bold. Thankfully, he’d run her off before he’d ended up married to the chit.

  “It appears as if all is well. Thank you for your concern.”

  She shrugged, and the robe slid down to expose the top of one breast. “Thankfully, you managed to control the horse and save you both.”

  Richard kept his eyes averted. Her obvious ploy to entice him left him flat. There was only one woman who roused him to passion, and she was resting upstairs. “It was odd how the bolt broke clean through. We must have hit a rut.”

  He watched her closely, but her face gave nothing away. If she was involved in the accident, she was a very good actress.

  “If you will excuse me.” He left her and continued on to the kitchen. He sent the cook off to bed and returned to Brenna’s room.

  Staring down at her for several minutes, he found that he enjoyed watching her sleep. She was lovely with her dark lashes fanned out on her cheeks and her dark hair spread around her face. However, it was her full mouth that held his interest.

  Though he’d earlier claimed it was her breasts that he liked most, there were so many things about her to intrigue him that, truthfully, he could not name only one.

  He smiled with the memory of their discussion about her breasts. The shock she’d displayed over his brash comment still had the ability to amuse. He’d enjoyed setting his bold wife back on her heels.

  Lud, she was a troubling piece of strength and fluff. It took determination, and her injury, to keep him from climbing into bed beside her.

  The next few days saw Brenna’s health improve as her family and Richard kept her entertained. Even Bethany visited—Brenna thought more from curiosity than concern—and Miriam brought her a plate of flaky chocolate pastries that she’d made herself.

  “Thank you very much,” Brenna said, and bit into one. Chocolate teased her tongue, and she groaned happily. “Delicious.”

  Miriam flushed. “Mother’s cook taught me. He was once employed by a German prince, or so he says. He fled when the prince discovered he was doing more than cooking for the princess, his wife.”

  “What an interesting story,” Brenna said. “If he baked like this for the princess, I can see why she would be smitten.”

  Nodding, Miriam stood up from the chair. “I should go now. Richard wants to go over the household accounts. With Andrew missing, the books need updating. I have a way with numbers.”

  Brenna waited until she was alone again and ate three more pastries. Though she’d jested with Richard about her growing girth, she knew that once she was allowed out of bed, she’d plan daily walks around the grounds to keep from becoming a sloth.

  “I cannot become so big that I will not be able to walk through doors.” Brenna caressed her stomach bump. “Such a humiliating thought that is.”

  I will miss you so much. I wish we did not have to leave,” Kathleen said, squeezing Brenna tight. Her parents had already stayed almost an extra week, waiting for Brenna to be up and about, before Father insisted they needed to return to London soon or miss the birth of Eva’s baby. “We will be back before Christmas, I promise.”

  “I’ll miss you both,” Brenna said, her eyes filling. “You must give Eva and the duke my love. Noelle, Gavin, and Laura, too.” She scrunched up her face. “Even Simon, I suppose.”

  Kathleen smiled. “Will your brother and you ever make peace? Or will this war between you rage on until you are both too old to remember all the reasons you squabbled in the first place?”

  “Simon and I take pleasure in our arguments,” Brenna said lightly. She loved her brother dearly, though she seldom admitted to it aloud. “I suspect they will go on until one of us drops over dead.”

  Mother shook her head. “Then I am pleased you two are miles away from each other to keep your bickering to a minimum.” She hugged Brenna again. “Be well, my darling girl.”

  “You too, Mother.”

  Brenna kissed her father and watched her parents and servants load into the coaches. She brushed away a tear and waved, clinging heavily to Richard’s arm with her other hand.

  She’d been out of bed for short trips over the past two days but still felt somewhat weak. So when the coaches disappeared down the lane, Richard scooped her into his arms and carried her back to bed.

  “I feel so helpless,” she grumbled. He bussed the top of her head. “If I do not recover soon, Bethany will reclaim my place at the table.”

  Richard frowned. “She’d not dare. I think deep inside her confident exterior, she fears you. In a fight, my wager would be on you, Wife.”

  Picturing them wrestling on the floor, shirts tangled, hairpins flying, lifted her spirits. She chuckled softly. “Let us hope our feud does not come to a brawl. A well-bred viscountess must always behave.”

  “Dearest, you have never behaved,” Richard jested.

  Lucy found her reading a very dull book about gardening a few hours later, when she came into Brenna’s room. Lucy’s face was white and her eyes red rimmed. She clutched a letter against her bosom.

  Brenna tossed the book aside and slid up on her bottom.

  “Lucy, what is it? You look like a ghost.”

  Lucy’s lip trembled, and she stumbled over to the bed. Brenna collected her into an embrace as sobs overtook her friend. “Lucy, you are scaring me. Tell me what has happened.”

  It took a minute for Lucy’s sobs to subside. She eased back and faced Brenna. “Franklin is dead.”

  Shocked, Brenna gaped. “What?”

  “My husband is dead.” Lucy held out the note. “He took a fever in Paris and died.” Her voice rose. “I was barely a wife, and now I am a widow.” Her voice caught. Brenna hugged her close. “We never got a chance to know
each other. We were married one night when he left. Now he’s buried in Paris. The government will not allow his body to be returned because of the contagious nature of his illness.”

  “Oh, my darling Lucy.” Brenna rubbed her back while she cried for the loss of the husband she hardly knew.

  After a time, the tears subsided, and they opened and read a second letter together. “As his widow, you will receive a portion of what he owns and stipends from his business ventures,” Brenna said. “According to the bankers, it should be enough for you to live on comfortably, if you spend wisely.”

  Lucy dropped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “I never met his family. I only know he had elderly parents and no siblings. It appears that they are content to let the bankers handle their correspondence and have no interest in meeting me.”

  Brenna touched her knee. “It is their loss.”

  Nodding, Lucy puffed out her cheeks and expelled the breath. “What am I to do now? Do I wait for a year, then ask Miss Eva to match me again? Do I find a small town house and live out the rest of my days in quiet seclusion with dozens of cats?”

  “You are welcome to stay here until you decide,” Brenna said. “I enjoy your company, and I know you want to see the baby.”

  Lucy met her eyes. “I suppose I can tolerate you for a few more months.” Her lips trembled. “I cannot believe I am a widow. I was a courtesan longer than I was Mrs. Pruitt.”

  Brenna took her hand and lay down beside her. The two of them stared at the ceiling together and talked about the complexity of life. Lucy lost her husband before they had a chance to fall in love, and she had a husband who promised to never love her.

  What a pair they were.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The days aged onward as fall turned into winter, with the arrival of the cold weather and occasional whirls of falling snow. The duchess, Eva, had her baby, and she and the duke named their daughter Catherine Victoria. The sometimes hard-edged duke was said to be a doting father.

  Richard kept vigilant for any further signs of trouble, but the culprit seemed to have satisfied his desire to make mischief. Either that or he preferred to limit his crimes to times when the weather was temperate.

  Watching the arrival of the last party guests, he glanced over at his wife, resplendent in red velvet, her dark hair swept up into a fetching twist on top of her head.

  Brenna grew lovelier as her belly rounded out, making her condition obvious to everyone around her. Against the backdrop of Christmas decorations, Richard could not keep his eyes from her soft beauty.

  And with each day, he grew fonder of his wife.

  “I cannot believe how well you look, my dear,” Mrs. Turner was saying from her place across the table from Brenna. “How far along are you now?”

  “Almost five months,” Brenna said. “It feels like twenty.”

  “Posh,” the elderly woman replied. “When I was carrying my Doris, I could hardly leave the bed. A trial, that one was.” She looked down the table at the eldest of her six daughters. “You, my dear, are the picture of health.”

  Brenna glanced at Richard, and he smiled. Though Brenna had met most of the guests at previous parties, this was her first time hosting. The nausea had passed, her back had recovered, and she was back to the lively Brenna he knew well.

  Mrs. Turner also peered down the table at him. “Tell your wife how the babe gives her a certain happy glow.”

  He nodded and rested his warm gaze on Brenna. “I have never seen an expectant mother quite so content, or lovely, as my wife.”

  Brenna flushed, her cheeks pink in the candlelight. “Thank you, Mrs. Turner, Lord Ashwood.” Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight.

  Duties as host required he charm the ladies seated at either side of him. If not for that, he’d be quite content to spend the evening staring at Brenna.

  The Christmas party had been her idea, and she’d spent weeks fretting over the decorations. Bows and ribbons and pine branches gave the house a festive air, and she’d had the footmen cut a small tree that was set up on a table in the library as a surprise for the children who would join them on Christmas Eve.

  “I wonder if the snow will ever stop,” Lady Allen said, as Richard returned his attention to the lady seated beside him.

  “I suspect so, though it looks like we are in for a snowy Christmas.” He tried to focus on talk of the weather, but his mind, and eyes, continued to drift back to his wife.

  She laughed at some witticism from Mister Gray, and their handsome neighbor appeared besotted. Richard scowled and wondered why he ever agreed to invite him.

  Not sharing a bed with Brenna was torture. Watching other men flirt with his wife made it worse.

  The cold baths had done nothing to ease his suffering. Who knew one could get aroused while racked with shivers?

  Whoever came up with that cure for male sexual frustration had obviously never met his wife.

  * * *

  Mister Gray was an entertaining sort. Brenna found his stories amusing. However, what amused her more was the way Richard glared at her companion as though he wanted to yank him from his chair and toss him out into the snow.

  She did not have to look at him to know he was watching her. It seemed to be his favorite pastime. Though it was impossible to know what he was thinking, she’d sometimes catch him watching her with the heated intensity he’d previously reserved for the times they’d shared a bed. She suspected he was regretting his choice to keep his distance.

  This encouraged her and gave her hope.

  “Milady Brenna.” Mister Gray leaned to take her into his confidence. “You have not yet agreed to run away with me. I have a coach waiting outside for your word.”

  Brenna shook her head. “I fear, Mister Gray, that I cannot run away with you. Waddling is the best I can do. And I think my husband might protest to find me gone. I carry his heir.”

  He grinned. “Pity. Then I shall have to wait until summer, when you are otherwise, er, unencumbered.”

  Knowing the man was an outrageous flirt, she did not take his offer seriously. Instead, she rolled her eyes dramatically and drew laughter from her companion.

  “You are a delight, Lady Ashwood,” he said. “Your husband is very lucky.”

  Brenna shook her head. “It is I who is lucky. Richard is a devoted husband.”

  When the meal was finished, the guests moved to the ballroom, where a small orchestra played. There was no dancing, but conversation and laughter kept the evening light.

  By the time the clock chimed twelve, the last of the guests were collecting their outerwear and bracing for the cold.

  George and Miriam had already gone to bed, and Bethany was sharing a farewell with Mister Gray. By the flush on her cheeks, he was saying something outlandish. Brenna wondered if it was another proposal to run away. One could hope.

  “You look exhausted,” Richard said, as the last guest hurried out into the night. He took her arm and led her toward the stairs. She leaned to put her head on his shoulder.

  “I am tired,” she admitted.

  He patted her hand. “The party was a success. That is quite an accomplishment, Lady Ashwood.”

  “I think everyone enjoyed themselves,” she agreed. Brenna rubbed her lower back. It ached from standing most of the night. “All my worries have come to naught. No soup was spilled and no arguments over political differences. I am certain I have you to thank for the latter.”

  “I threatened any gentleman who dared ruin your party with lashings. They all promised to behave.”

  Brenna smiled. She knew he was teasing. Still, he had been watching over her. She took comfort in that.

  They got to the top of the staircase when she felt a small fluttering in her belly. She pulled Richard to a stop and released his arm. She placed both her hands over her belly.

  “I felt something.” Her eyes widened. The fluttering came again. “I think the baby is moving.”

  Without thinking, she reached
and placed his hand over the spot. The movement abated. “Drat.”

  Richard stood frozen, as if waiting for the babe to move again. Then he blinked and pulled his hand away.

  In her excitement, she’d forgotten about the son he’d lost. Surely, he’d also felt that baby move. The memory had to ache deep within his heart.

  He often appeared uncomfortable when she spoke at length about the baby, his worry over losing another child tempering his anticipation of the impending birth. She tried to reassure him, but until their child was born healthy, he’d still suffer from the malady of fear.

  “Soon we will feel him kick,” she said, and reclaimed his arm. “Mother said I was prone to hiccups. It often kept her up at night.”

  A longing filtered through his eyes. It was then that Brenna realized how desperately he wanted to be a father.

  Hoping to keep him from turning sober, Brenna continued on in a mock-serious tone. “Soon, we will need to choose names. I was thinking Daisy, Petunia, or Nettle if it’s a girl, and Horace, Newlin, or Percy for a boy.”

  He frowned. “You cannot be serious?”

  A brow went up. “You do not like Nettle or Newlin? I am quite fond of Newlin Ellerby.”

  “We are not naming our daughter after weeds, or giving our son a name better suited for an ancient uncle than a robust young man. I think you need to rethink your choices, madam.”

  She feigned insult, though she agreed wholeheartedly with his assessment of the names. She chose them to tease him.

  “If you think my choices dismal, then perhaps you should try to come up with a few of your own.” Choosing names would further establish his role as a father.

  “I shall put thought into it.” He grimaced. “Newlin? How dreadful.”

  They stopped before her bedroom door. “We do have a few months to decide.” She lifted to her toes and kissed him, a brief brush of her mouth, a press of her breasts against his arm, just enough to remind him that she was still his wife.

  One day soon, after the baby was born, she’d find her way into his bed, permanently, if she had to use all her femininity and seductive wiles to do so.