The Reluctant Bride Collection

by Megan Bryce

  “But Robin said the odds were 3–2 against.”

  Jameson flicked his eyes to Robin, who was slowly losing the battle against gravity, and patted him on the shoulder approvingly.

  “The odds were slightly less favorable than that. Let’s just say I made a pretty penny the night of our wedding.”

  “I thought. . . well, you never make a fool’s bet.”

  He stared at her in consternation. “You thought I started a bet about one of my two oldest friends that she was a whore?”

  Amelia just looked at him and he knelt at her feet. “I don’t know whether to be horrified that you’ve continued to be my friend for ten years thinking that or humiliated that you would think that of me at all.”

  “I was found in a compromising situation with a man who told all and sundry that he had ruined me.”

  He smiled and wiped a tear from her face. “Again with the all and sundry.”

  “Jameson, no one believed me. I don’t even think Father believed that I was untouched.”

  “Of course I knew you were still a virgin, my dear. You wouldn’t let that buffoon within ten feet of you.”

  Amelia fought back a sniffle. “I let you.”

  He rose and pulled her into his arms, no longer caring about the blood and dirt. “I can only assume that I am less of a buffoon. Or am slightly more lucky.”

  It was too much. Her emotions had run the gamut from fear and anger to relief and. . . to whatever this emotion was. He had believed her, had always believed her. She hid her face in his throat and cried great, gasping sobs.

  Robin looked up blearily. “I say, old chap. What have you done to my sister?”

  Jameson continued to hold her in his arms, rocking gently back and forth, moving slowly to an unheard melody. “Your sister is finally letting me lead a whole dance through, my old friend.”

  Robin closed his eyes. “No wonder she’s crying.”

  The next morning, Jameson kissed her cheek softly before sitting down to his breakfast. “And what are you up to today, my pet?”

  She ignored his endearment as he ignored her puffy eyes. “Since Clarice has not forgiven me for marrying you, and really I did the girl a favor–”

  Jameson nodded in agreement as he bit into his toast and Amelia continued. “But I will now have to be more surreptitious in finding her a husband. It will make it a tad more difficult, and I will admit not nearly as much fun. But she is being stubborn.”

  “Curse her for not taking your expert advice on the matter.”

  She paused with her cup nearly to her mouth, then set it down with a thump. “What have I done? Who will ever trust my judgment again, in matters of marriage or otherwise, when I so obviously have no sense whatsoever.”

  “I assume you are referring to the small matter of marrying me.”

  “Of course I am.”

  “I will remind you, my dear, of the many mothers who insisted I would make a wonderful husband for their well-loved daughter.”

  “Hmm. That is true. Perhaps I can persuade the world that you are indeed the most wonderful husband. But no, then Clarice will have great reason for hating me.”

  “What a tangle you find yourself in.”

  “I suppose I will have to live with the consequences of my ill-advised marriage for a little while longer. Perhaps by next season you will have turned into quite the agreeable bridegroom.”

  “We can only hope, hmm?”

  She took in his attire. “And where are you off to today? Is that a new waistcoat? Have you spent my dowry already?”

  “It is indeed a new waistcoat.” He stood and strutted the length of the table for her to admire.

  She bit back a laugh and shook her head. “Generations of smartly-placed investments ended in a waistcoat. The Delaneys will all be turning in their graves.”

  He perched on the arm of her chair. “To get a better look, do you think? I intend to turn a few heads today anyways. I am taking Amelia out for a ride with a crony or two.”

  She glared at him. “Do you call that Amelia ‘my pet’ as well?”

  He smiled. “I do indeed.”

  “Why in the world any mother would want you for their daughter I have no idea.”

  “It must be for my lovely looks, as that is all I have to recommend me.”

  “It must be. They think of curly blond hair on their grandchildren and lose all reason.”

  He tipped her head up. “Do you think of blond-headed children and lose all reason? My pet?”

  She glared at him and he bent his head to ravage her lips. He murmured, “When you get that heated look in your eye I can think of nothing else but taking you upstairs and making as many unreasonably handsome children as I can.”

  Since he so easily conjured heated emotions in her, of varying kinds and degrees, it was a wonder they did not spend the whole day upstairs. She kissed him back with much fervor until he broke it off with a sigh. He adjusted his clothing with a snap.

  “But no, I am already dressed. I can not spare the time to redo all this splendor; one does not leave so-and-so waiting. A pity. Will you save your ardor for tonight, my dear?”

  “You are a devil.”

  He exited the room, laughing. When he was well and gone she adjusted her own clothing. A devil indeed.

  Amelia was forced to spend her afternoon making the rounds of young, chatty women. They could tell her what events Clarice was planning on attending; information she needed if she was to direct suitable matches Clarice’s way. But it took a toll on her good humor. Since her marriage to ‘the finest catch in all of England’, and if she wasn’t married to the reprobate she would correct them on that score, her company had become quite sought after. It seemed young, silly girls loved to hear how wonderful married life was to Lord Nighting. And since she couldn’t very well say that he had this very morning teased her into blithering senselessness and then left without finishing the job, she made the appalling seem romantic.

  “Last night we danced in our dining room.”

  They sighed, a dreamy look in every one of their eyes, and she took a sip of tea. She would not mention that she had been crying her eyes out and he had been drunk and covered in blood. Although, they would think that romantic as well if she told them he had been defending her honor instead of brawling over some stupid bet.

  “And he’s named his newest pony after me. I tried to stop him, but really, the man hardly listens to me.”

  They giggled. One girl even went so far as to tell her how lucky she was. It took more effort than Amelia thought healthy to keep from contradicting her. Was it indeed every girl’s unspoken wish to have a recalcitrant horse named after her? But finally she was able to steer the conversation to the events of the coming week and away from her golden-haired husband.

  By the end of the day her head pounded and her temper was frayed. She’d not seen Jameson all day and yet she was sick of him. The thought of going home was nearly unbearable and she directed the driver to her mother’s.

  She greeted her mother with a kiss. “I have spent all day ferreting out Clarice’s schedule; I am exhausted.” She nodded at her mother’s offer of tea.

  “And what will you do with the information now that you have it?”

  “There are a few gentleman I think she may approve of. I will send them her way but it must be done furtively. Any man connected to my name will have no chance. I feel as if I am once again the black sheep of the ton, guilty of some unpardonable sin.”

  “And you will once again persevere until you are cleared of all charges.”

  Amelia looked down at the floor. “Mama. . . did you believe me? Did you believe that I was untouched?”

  Her mother took a deep breath. “I had hoped. I had hoped he had not hurt you; I didn’t believe that you would have willingly been with him.”

  Amelia was silent, then said with awed disbelief, “Jameson believed me; he never doubted. He bet on me.”

  Her mother raised her eyebrows but smiled.
“That is an unorthodox vote of confidence but heart-warming, nonetheless. He was well worth the wait, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, but if I have to hear one more person tell me how wonderful my husband is, I think I will scream. Even if in this instance it is true.”

  Amelia rose. “Thank you for the tea but I think I will go home to him. When he tells me how wonderful he is, he, at least, is joking.”

  When she arrived home, the butler met her at the door. “Lord Nighting has been injured; the physician is with him.”

  Amelia gasped and raced up the stairs. She flung open the door to find Jameson in bed, the physician sitting in a chair beside him.

  Amelia flew to the bed. “Jameson! What happened?”

  The physician rose at her entrance. “He was thrown, my lady. His leg was impaled.”

  She stared at him in horror, then leaned over Jameson to brush the hair from his forehead.

  Jameson opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Amelia, my love. Why don’t you love me?”

  She looked at the doctor in embarrassed astonishment. He said, “I have given him laudanum for the pain.”

  Jameson grasped her hand. “Amelia threw me, cantankerous horse. I should never have named her after you.”

  Amelia tried to still her wildly beating heart and said with some amount of calmness, “No, you most certainly should not have. You should not have bought a horse that delights in trying to throw you.”

  His eyes fluttered closed. “But it is so much fun.”

  The physician rose to leave, much to Amelia’s relief. “Send for me if a fever develops, otherwise I will return to check on him tomorrow.”

  Jameson’s eyes opened again at the sound of the door closing. “Don’t leave me, Amelia. Don’t leave me alone in this house. They always leave me alone.”

  “Oh, Jameson.” Tears prickled her eyes. She crawled into the bed, careful not to jar his leg, and wrapped her arms around him fiercely. “I won’t ever leave you.”

  She nursed him through the night and fed him laudanum and alcohol until he smiled at her. “My Amelia. So beautiful.”

  She caressed his face, smiling. “That should be enough; delirium has set in. Now close your eyes.”

  He did as she bid, still smiling. “The house is so much happier now that you are here with me. It was so cold.” He opened his eyes in panic. “You won’t leave, will you?”

  “Never.”

  He sighed and closed his eyes again. “All the ghosts are afraid of you. They stay away when you are here.”

  A great welling sadness rose in her throat. He laughed and pranced and smiled every day, but he had been alone since he was twelve years old. Unloved since he was twelve years old.

  She kissed him gently. “You are no longer alone, Jameson. I love you; I won’t ever leave you. The ghosts will have to haunt someone else.”

  He opened his eyes. “Tell me again when I’ll remember.”

  She laughed. “I will. Go to sleep.”

  She awoke the next morning, still in her dress, shivering on top of the covers. He was watching her. “Tell me again.”

  “That I love you?”

  “Do you?”

  “You are the most handsome, most irritating, wildest, craziest man I have ever met in my life. Of course I love you. How could I not?”

  “You forgot best dressed.”

  “Second best dressed. I can not love you for that.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And just who is the first?”

  “One of my suitors was fond of wearing a pink feather in every buttonhole. I still consider him the finest dressed gentleman of my acquaintance.”

  He thought for a moment. “I’ll allow it. Now should I tell you that I love you?”

  “You already did, last night.”

  “Did I? Damn laudanum, I can’t remember it.”

  “You said your ghosts were afraid of me. If that isn’t a declaration of love, I don’t know what is.”

  They looked into each other’s eyes until he closed his, sighing. “I suppose I will need another dose of that hateful stuff. My leg is on fire.”

  “You can tell me again.”

  He opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “That I love you? That I would shrivel and die without you? That I leave everyday wondering how soon I can come back to you? That I watch you leave with a worry that you won’t be able to come back to me?”

  “I wonder that the poets write so much about love. It sounds a painful affliction to me.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  She offered him a spoonful of laudanum and he took it grudgingly. “I have the most vivid dreams. I can’t tell what is real and what is not when I’m taking this stuff. Will I think this all a dream?”

  She leaned over him, catching his eye before she kissed him lightly. “We’ll put it in the marriage contract. Then when we are arguing I can shove it in your face how much I love you.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “How horrible. No wonder my ghosts are afraid of you.”

  She looked down at him imperiously. “Nearly everyone is.”

  He smiled, taking her hand in his and closing his eyes to sleep. “Nearly.”

  Two weeks later Jameson was well enough to hobble around on a crutch. “I will have to get a cane. Something fashionable. I can’t be seen like this.” He looked at Amelia askance. “I’m thinking of getting one with the head of a dragon. I can say I have you in the palm of my hand.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Did you not learn your lesson with the horse?”

  “Oh, yes. I have no intention of naming the cane after you.”

  She sighed. “They will think you even more dashing with a cane.”

  “They?”

  “Oh, everyone. I am forced to hear ad nauseam how wonderful you must be as a husband.”

  He smirked. “And do you tell them the truth? That you wake singing my name and have never been happier?”

  “I have never sung your name.”

  “Mmm. You have; you do. When you’re com–”

  She cleared her throat. “Does no one make comments to you on our marriage? Not one day goes by I don’t hear a sigh and a congratulations on catching you. And it’s not always young, silly girls as you would expect.”

  “Oh, when we were first married I received quite a bit of ribbing. Some men seemed to think being married to the dragon would be a chore.” She pursed her lips and he said, “But I would simply smile and tell them there are distinct advantages to having a wife with a sharp tongue.”

  She inhaled sharply. “You did not.”

  He grasped her hand, laughing. “Not in so many words. But I believe I have made it clear I am quite happy. The jokes have fallen off precipitously.”

  “How very unfair that I am the joke and you are the paragon.”

  “It is indeed, my dear. And I see no hope for you; who would believe that it is a chore to be married to me?”

  She helped him sit as Robin was announced. “Robin, you believe me that marriage to Jameson is naught but one big headache, don’t you?”

  “Is it?” he said and Jameson laughed.

  Robin paced the length of the room and Amelia watched him. “He is obviously distracted, otherwise he would have agreed with me.”

  “Obviously. Sit down, old friend. Whatever the matter is, Amelia is dying to jump in and fix it for you.”

  Robin hemmed. He cleared his throat. He gripped his hat between his hands.

  Amelia said, “Robin, you’re crumpling your hat. Sit down.”

  Jameson wiggled his eyebrows at Amelia. “I’ll bet you a fiver it’s about a girl.”

  Robin jerked and Amelia sighed. “Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with a barmaid.”

  “As long as you’ve not actually married the chit, you can get out of it.”

  Amelia looked at Jameson. “You would know, my dear.”

  He winked at Amelia and Robin cleared his throat, realizing they would never stop if he didn’t just
tell them.

  “I wanted to tell you that I’ve become engaged before you hear it elsewhere.”

  Jameson shook his head sadly as Amelia jumped to her feet.

  “Robin! What have you done! Does mother know? Who is the girl? You can not just go around proposing. Jameson may be able to wheedle out of his responsibilities but you can not.”

  Jameson tipped his head at her. “Ouch, my dear. Two blighters with one stone. Well done.”

  Robin ignored both of them and continued to talk to his hat. “Mother knows. She thinks very highly of the girl.”

  “That’s a relief. She must come from a good family, then. Still, I can not believe you didn’t at least hint. . .” Recognition dawned in her eyes and her mouth fell open. She stared at her brother.

  Jameson looked at his wife’s expression. “I didn’t catch the name. Someone shocking, I suppose?”

  Amelia shut her mouth and cleared her throat. “Well, this will be a pretty story. Still, I can not fault the girl, only the timing.”

  “Let me in on the joke, will you? The only girl I’d known you’d been spending any time with was Miss Underwood. . . Never!”

  “I swear men should not be in charge of these things.”

  “Did she accept, old chap?”

  Robin nodded. “We’ll be married as soon as the banns have been read.”

  Amelia frowned. “Is that enough time? A normal wedding takes some planning.”

  “She didn’t want a long engagement,” Robin said, studiously avoiding his friend’s eyes.

  Amelia had no such qualms. “I wonder why ever not.”

  Jameson refused to be baited and toasted his friend. “Congratulations are in order, I believe. Many felicities to the both of you.”

  “I wanted to be sure there were no hard feelings.”

  “Why should there be? I was the fop who let a nice decent girl get away and married that instead.”

  His wife gave him an arch look and said, “It is really too bad that you deserve exactly what you got.”

  He looked at her through lidded eyes and gave her a heated smile. “Do I deserve you indeed, my dear? How did I ever get so fortunate.”

  Robin cleared his throat, hoping to bring their attention back to himself. After a moment, he quietly left the room, shaking his head. He had never expected to see the sight of his sister flustered and distracted by the smile of any man, let alone one she’d been bossing around since she was six.