The Reluctant Bride Collection

by Megan Bryce

  Robin gratefully took his drink, not looking at his friend. “Are you certain you wish to know?”

  “Better to find out from a friend.”

  Robin nodded, looking anywhere but at Jameson. “I just want you to know that I don’t believe Amelia intended it to go this direction.”

  Jameson sipped.

  Robin said, “Once a rumor starts, there’s no stopping it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she could have steered it in a different direction if it had suited her purpose.”

  “She would never hurt you if she could avoid it.”

  Jameson grinned at his friend’s discomfort. “Robin, I am well acquainted with your sister and have no illusions about her character. I liken her to a surgeon. She would chop off my right arm if it would save my life and expect me to thank her for doing it. I don’t doubt that whatever vile thing is floating out there about me she spread it with the sole intent to save me from myself. And I have already thanked her. Her quickness and boldness have saved Miss Underwood from my cowardice. Now, tell me how much it has cost me; what is the rumor?”

  Robin sighed loudly and said, “Like father, like son.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The rumor is that Miss Underwood found out about your father and mother. When she confronted you about the scandal, you told her of your mistress and hoped that she would not overreact like your mother did.”

  Robin stole a quick glance at Jameson. His mouth hung open slightly and his eyes looked vacant. He snapped his mouth shut, then took a drink. He took another drink.

  Then Jameson shook his head and said, “You’re telling me that after jilting my bride so that I would not turn into my father, everyone thinks that I was jilted because I am exactly like him.”

  Robin nodded sadly.

  Jameson continued. “And my bride-to-be is now the toast of the town because she, what, escaped from a cruel, pity-filled marriage before it happened?”

  “Amelia says she has heard Miss Underwood described as a paragon of womanhood and that she is considered a heroine for good and decent women everywhere who get caught in the lure of handsome, soulless men.”

  Jameson snorted. He snorted so loudly that an older gentleman sitting near the fire turned to glare at them. Jameson’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red and his mouth quivered. Robin politely looked away as Jameson took out his handkerchief and covered his face. The poor chap; having the past thrown into one’s face like that would undo anyone. Especially when it was a past one worked so hard to forget.

  A choked sound escaped Jameson’s handkerchief and Robin leaned closer.

  “Shall I hail a hackney, Jameson?” What gossip would come from Jameson crying in public Robin shuddered to imagine. Not even Amelia could control it.

  A muffled “she is a beast” escaped the handkerchief.

  Robin grimaced and nodded. “Yes, but she means well.”

  Jameson patted his eyes and choked out, “My God, she is diabolical.”

  Robin stared. “Are you. . . laughing?”

  “Your sister has an evil ingenuity that I can only envy. Where does she come up with these ideas?”

  Robin slowly sipped his drink. “I’m glad you are amused, Jameson. I was worried how I was going to get you out of the club without anyone seeing you.”

  Jameson knocked back his drink and grinned, still chuckling a little. “I will admit that it was not what I was expecting, but it does have a perfect sort of symmetry to it. I should have expected no less. Did you have so little confidence in my thick skin, Robin?”

  Robin shook his head. “I knew in time you would approve of any character slight if it helped Miss Underwood. However, I was glad that when the time came to tell you, Amelia was not present.”

  Jameson laughed aloud. “Afraid I would be tempted to murder her?” He shook his head. “I have heard far worse from her very lips to take offense. I’m sure your sister would have been here herself if she’d known you were finally going to tell me. I’ve never known her to back down from any threat.”

  “That’s my sister for you. Backbone aplenty.”

  Jameson grinned, then froze with his drink halfway to his mouth.

  He stared at his friend of so many years and slowly said, “Backbone? Yes, she does have a rather lot of it, doesn’t she?”

  “Jameson?”

  “Sorry old chap, I was just hit over the head with a revelation. Dinner tonight?”

  Robin finished his drink and shook his head. “Sorry, I have business to attend to. Come if you like, shouldn’t be too tedious. Better than staying home, at least.”

  “Thank you, I’ll pass. Perhaps I will go and bother Amelia about this rumor she has started.”

  Robin eyed him. “You’re sure you’re not angry? I can’t have you murdering my sister; she’s the only one I’ve got.”

  “I appreciate your faith in me but I doubt I could take her.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps if I snuck up behind her.”

  Robin smiled. “If you’re sure.”

  “Have no fear, Robin. Murder is the furthest thing from my mind.”

  Jameson sent a note round to Amelia after Robin departed.

  Robin is unavailable. Is your cook capable of charring pheasant? The impropriety of entertaining you alone at my home, you see.

  He was left blessedly alone while he awaited her reply. Perhaps his re-entry into polite society would not be as torturous as he had feared. If the fiasco lessened the number of boringly suitable young women thrown in his path, he would consider himself a very lucky jackanapes indeed.

  Amelia’s reply was quick in coming and he read it with anticipation.

  Impropriety, I see. I’m sure it has more to do with you forgetting to give notice to your cook. Have no fear, our cook keeps charred pheasant on hand. We shall simply have to see if the butler grants you admittance. There is so little time to alert him, you see.

  A backbone and humor. He shook his head, exiting the club. He waved off a hackney driver and strolled down the street.

  The idea that had tickled his brain earlier tickled a little harder. Married to Amelia?

  He thought of the fears he held of marriage, of hurting a wife as his father had. With Miss Underwood he could all too easily see how it would have happened. With Amelia? He laughed aloud at the thought of Amelia letting any situation get so out of control. At the first sign of impropriety she would spring into action, ending it.

  By what means exactly she would accomplish it, he had no idea. But thinking of the diabolical rumors she had spread to save poor Miss Underwood, he knew it would be swift and fool-proof. Amelia did not lose; her history had proved to her that society could be more forgiving than it threatened. If one was willing to pay the price.

  He had thought before that the man lucky enough to tempt her into marriage would have a peace of mind nearly unheard of. He would be assured of not only her loyalty but his own as well. She would simply not allow anything else.

  He shook his head, imagining himself in the role of her husband and she of his wife. The rightness of it filled him. The peace of it filled him.

  And what an adventure it would be. The fun of it. Butting heads with Amelia was very nearly one of his favorite forms of recreation; pitting his charm against her unbending will left him energized and refreshed. He could only assume she felt the same since they engaged in the activity so often.

  He could only too easily envision his life filled with her, focused on her. Why had it taken him so long to entertain the idea? Besides the fact that she was one of his oldest friends, and he’d grown up with her, and he nearly considered her his sister.

  Yes, those were all very good reasons why he hadn’t thought of her as marriage material in the past. But what about the future? Instead of his friend, could she be his wife?

  Three

  Jameson arrived for dinner late as usual and slightly unkempt.

  Amelia tsked. “I see the butler let you in, although I’m not sure why. Really, Jam
eson, you look like a madman. You’ll scare the servants away.”

  He bowed to Amelia and kissed Lady Beckham on the cheek. “I’m sorry, my dears. I was lost in thought and forgot the time. Shall I freshen up?”

  Amelia shook her head. “Our dinner will be charred in truth.”

  Lady Beckham slipped her hand through his arm and allowed him to escort her into dinner. “Amelia exaggerates. You look a little windblown, that’s all.”

  Amelia said, “Perhaps you are more distressed about that silly rumor than Robin believes. I did think it was the most expedient way of fixing the fiasco; I did not bring it up solely to hurt you.”

  Dinner was served, un-charred thank heavens. While Amelia did not mind her unflattering nickname, in fact found it quite amusing, she did not actually enjoy overcooked meals. It put her in an unpleasant mood and she was feeling slightly put out already. Guilt was not an emotion she entertained overmuch and it did not sit well with her.

  Robin had assured her that Jameson had been amused but it was a touchy subject. And it really had been the best excuse for his, and Clarice’s, behavior. The ton would be quick to forgive them both.

  Jameson said, “I admit your audacity did shock me for a moment, Amelia. But even I must admit there are few reasons society accepts a broken engagement, especially one so close to the wedding. As always, you played the hand you were given with aplomb. I salute you, my dear.”

  Amelia looked to her mother. “It is so difficult to tell when he is being serious.”

  Jameson forked a perfectly cooked piece of bird and ate it with considerably more force than was necessary. It would be easy for a slightly less assured woman to believe he was imagining it to be her. If it weren’t for the diabolical twinkle in his eye, she would.

  Amelia inhaled sharply. “Very well. I accept your compliment and will refuse to believe I have hurt you in the slightest. You may cease with your trickery.” She pointed her fork at him. “Do not go mucking up all my work now that you have come out of hiding.”

  Jameson snorted and Lady Beckham sighed, shaking her head. “Amelia, please lower your utensil. And kindly refrain from threatening Jameson at the table.”

  After dinner, they retired to the drawing room. Lady Beckham left soon after, leaving the door ajar. Jameson had been family for so long that none of them thought of him as anything but a son and brother. He was allowed liberties with Amelia that would have ruined his ex-fiancée.

  He lowered himself into a chair, sipping his after-dinner drink. He watched Amelia read, comfortable in the silence. He was happy here, with her. She was fun, absurdly loyal, sometimes outrageous. He could spend every night with her and never be bored. Never be afraid of hurting her.

  Jameson took a drink to fortify himself and spoke. “I have come to the conclusion, my dear dragon, that we should marry.”

  Amelia looked up from her reading with her eyebrows raised. “Oh, Jameson. Do be serious.”

  “I am serious.”

  She eyed him and the level of his drink. “How much have you had tonight?”

  “You know I never drink to excess around you. You’re much too much even when I’m sober.”

  She shook her head and went back to her book.

  Jameson said, “I’m serious, my dear. I think we should marry. We complement each other, as man and wife should do.”

  She closed her book, set it beside her, and folded her hands in her lap. “You’ve thought of this, have you?”

  “I’ve thought of nothing else all day. You pointed out yourself that I need a wife with a backbone; one who will tie me to the altar when needed. Your brother innocently pointed out today that you have the bone in question in abundance.” He laughed. “He was there to guard me from sister-peddling brothers and unknowingly peddled his own.”

  Jameson realized Amelia was not hopping on board his idea when she didn’t laugh.

  He leaned forward. “And my dear, I have exactly the quality you are looking for in a husband.”

  “Which quality is that?”

  “I have enough charm to coax you out of your murderous tendencies. Had it been in you to kill me, I would have perished a long time ago. It is a match made in heaven, my dear.”

  She was silent, staring at him for a long moment, then started laughing. “I very nearly believed you were serious. Are you trying to get even with me for that rumor?”

  Jameson set his drink down and lowered himself to one knee. She stopped laughing.

  He had not expected her to think it was a revenge-driven joke. He hadn’t thought at all how she would react, simply assumed that she would see how right it was.

  He reached for her hand and she said sharply, “Jameson, you are in danger of becoming one of my weekly proposals.”

  “This is no joke, Amelia. And kindly do not compare me to those idiots. I am not here for your money or for the challenge. I am here because today the idea of marrying you struck me from out of the blue and the longer I think on it the better it sounds. I can think of a thousand reasons for marrying you and not one reason against.”

  He started to get up, then looked to her. “May I get up?”

  “Please get up.”

  He began to pace between the sofa and the door. “If you’ll just follow my train of thought here. You’ll be doing your sex a frightful favor. Think of all the silly girls who’ll have to give up the idea of marrying me. Plus, you’ll save one lucky girl from a fate worse than death.”

  “By taking it upon myself?”

  “No, no. See, you know what I am. There will be no shocking realization a day after the wedding. Or indeed, the day before. Had I tried to break our engagement you would have simply grabbed my ear and frog-marched me to the altar. No painful physical violence. No tears or wailing. You would have no great expectations dashed.”

  Amelia said, “Have you pickled your entire brain? Nothing left in there to decide between a good or bad idea?”

  Jameson said, “And you have willingly and enthusiastically been my friend for more years than I can count. If you worry that one day you will tire of me and stab me in my sleep, you need only look at these last weeks. Not a day has gone by that we have not enjoyed each other’s company. Not only am I still alive but we are still friends. We suit, Amelia.”

  “I can’t think of a single fellow who suits less than you do, Jameson.”

  “You’re not following me.”

  Amelia said, “I’m following you. I’m simply wondering what dark recess this madness has sprung from.”

  “My dear, it’s a perfect solution.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “To your problem. I can see it adding a great many more for me.”

  Jameson eyed her shrewdly and sat back down in his chair. “Ah.”

  “Ah? You really are most vexing. Ah, what?”

  “Ah, you must have some other lucky jackanapes in your sights.” He was surprised to find that gave him a twinge of regret and he took a small sip.

  “I do not have anyone ‘in my sights’. That, however, does not mean I want you there.”

  “I don’t see why not. I’m quite the catch.”

  Amelia raised an eyebrow, daring him to continue.

  “It’s true, and I’ve been told so by more than just your mother.”

  “Have you forgotten that I’ve spent the last two weeks extolling your sins to your ex-fiancée and half the ton?”

  Jameson coughed. “Well, obviously I’m not the best catch for just any girl. But the right girl now. . .”

  “You thought Clarice was the right girl only a few months ago.”

  “And wasn’t it brilliant of me to realize she wasn’t before the wedding?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “We may want to run up to Gretna Green. I don’t seem to do well with a lot of time to think.”

  Amelia said, “I’m sorry, I thought you said drink.”

  He smiled at her engagingly and she frowned. “No. Let me put an end to this nonsense now. No. And I’ll be taking the rest
of your drink with me. You have an upsetting habit of thinking you make sense.”

  “See, this is why you would make me an excellent wife.”

  Her eyes flashed for a moment. “But you, sir, would not make me an excellent husband. Now hand over your drink.”

  “Yes, dear. Will this be a permanent situation or will I be allowed the occasional treat?”

  He rose, holding the glass out of her reach.

  “Jameson.”

  “There is one reason I would make you an excellent husband, my dear dragon.”

  “I have my own money.”

  He took one large step forward, trapping her against the sofa, and bent to whisper in her ear. “That wasn’t the reason I was thinking of.” He pressed the glass into her palm. “Promise me you’ll think of my proposal when you’re not quite sober.”

  A small snort escaped her. “I believe ‘not quite sober’ would be the only way I would ever accept your ridiculous proposal.”

  He smiled and kissed the indentation below her ear. “Ah.”

  The next morning Amelia still refused to shiver, refused to feel the frisson his kiss had caused. It was Jameson, first of all. And second of all, it was Jameson.

  She might still be unmarried, but it was impossible to reach six and twenty with her dowry without being wooed. She knew what he was doing.

  Idiot!

  He’d always come up with the most dangerous play ideas when they’d been growing up. Dangerous and exciting.

  “No, not exciting.”

  Her mother looked up from her ladies’ journal. “I’m sorry, my dear?”

  Amelia shook her head. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

  And Jameson had obviously not been thinking at all. Where had this come from? One moment they were fine friends and then he had to ruin it. A woman had to stay on her toes at all times around him but who could have foreseen this? He’d just got out of an engagement, the last thing he should be thinking about was getting into another one.

  Amelia threw her needlepoint down with a sigh. Her mother peeked up again, then set her journal aside.