The Reluctant Bride Collection

by Megan Bryce

  Licking her wounds, perhaps. But still there.

  He pushed in the door to his little home, calling for Collin before shrugging off his coat.

  The vicarage suited him, he’d been surprised to find. A new home, next to a new church built to accommodate the growing population on the outskirts of town.

  The congregation was welcoming but that might have only been because he was young and there was an overabundance of unmarried young women in the vicinity.

  A woman came in to cook and clean during the week and George had thought that he might hire a dedicated cook but the need had never arisen. Collin could make tea and boil an egg if needed, but since baskets of meat pies, savory stews, and freshly baked bread invariably found their way to his doorstep with a note inviting him to dinner, it was rarely necessary.

  The women wanted to make sure that the bachelor vicar remained robust, and not a bachelor for very much longer.

  He tried not to abuse their hospitality but it was his duty to get to know the members of his parish. And, because he was a man with limited experience in fawning women, he did enjoy a few dinners every week.

  Collin came down the steep stairs lightly. “And how was the lecture?”

  “You remember I told you about the steam woman in London?”

  Collin paused. “Err, no.”

  “The one at the steam lectures with the poor fiancé.”

  “Oh, yes. The abrasive one.”

  “She’s here! She was at the lecture. And sans the fiancé; a free woman, as it were.”

  Collin resumed his descent, going straight to the coat George had just hung up to brush the dust from it. “That is a very strange coincidence that she turned up here, in Manchester.”

  “Very strange. She nearly fell over in shock when she saw me.”

  “And yet, still managed to let you know the fiancé was no more.”

  “I did ask about him quite pointedly.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  Collin pulled papers from the coat pockets and sorted through them. “Just, hmm.”

  “She suffered a change of circumstance and wanted a fresh start.”

  “And she chose Manchester.” Collin pointedly looked at him. “You’re the son of a lord. With a living. Need I remind you that you’re a catch?”

  George snorted and shook his head and went to sit before the fire for awhile. To warm his toes and remember. London and a woman who’d shocked him senseless. An engaged woman he’d been overly familiar with because she was safe.

  Taken.

  And now she wasn’t.

  He remembered a woman who had looked at him with a spark in her eye and said, In your case, I think the correct term would be hunting.

  The next week he was late to the lecture and he’d rushed in to find Miss Blackstock already seated with an empty spot beside her. George sat down with a brief nod and a curt, “Are you hunting me?”

  Miss Blackstock glanced at him. “We’ve already had this conversation. Please try to keep up.”

  George tried not to find her amusing, really he tried. But she was. And he did.

  “I see your wit has returned. Good for you. But during that conversation, you had a fiancé and now you don’t.”

  “It’s true. I did, and I don’t. I. . .am not at all sure I would like to have another. You are safe with me, Mr. St. Clair.”

  The lecturer took his spot and began speaking, and George leaned close to whisper in her ear, “I’d like to believe you. I would.”

  She replied just as quietly, “And I am wondering why exactly you don’t.”

  She moved, just a small shift, and her arm brushed his.

  “Perhaps it’s your choice of wordage. I am safe with you but am I safe from you?”

  “There is a distinction, isn’t there? Because I assume I am safe from you but with you. . . I should make my maid come in next time. She can sit between us.”

  “Sounds horrible. I assume this maid is as loud as the last one.”

  “It does seem like a reasonable assumption. Perhaps there is some assurance you can give me so we don’t need to go down that path. Perhaps you became married since London? I can’t tell by your address, and either I’ve become immune to your manners or else there is a woman working her magic behind the scenes.”

  George couldn’t help his smile. “No wife. No fiancée. I can’t even assure you that I am not looking for one, either. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good living must be in want of a wife, no matter his feelings on the matter.”

  She gasped, twisting to meet him eye to eye. “I knew it! I knew you’d trained for the cloth.”

  Her triumph was palpable and loud, even though it was still whispered, and a gentleman two rows in front turned around to scowl at them.

  George stared into Miss Blackstock’s eyes– brown, they were brown with green and gold flecks– and said, “You knew it because I am condescending and self-righteous.”

  “Yes. Preach the word, be instant in season, out of season, reprove, rebuke, exhort. . . 2 Timothy 4:2,” she said, but there was a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eye.

  They lasted a long moment, facing each other and glorying in their own triumphs until Miss Blackstock pulled away from him. She sat back in her seat, turning her attention to the lecturer again and George watched, a twisty unfamiliar emotion swirling inside him.

  Intrigue, perhaps.

  Interest, definitely.

  Because he wouldn’t mind at all if she was hunting him.

  “I know nothing about her!”

  George threw the letter he’d just received toward the fire. He’d been expecting it and therefore had saved it from the now customary fiery fate– only to find that his solicitor could not find any information on Miss Letitia Blackstock.

  To be fair, George had given the man very little information to work with. Her name. Her former fiancé’s name. She lived with an aunt and uncle, and no George didn’t know their names.

  Blackstock, he would imagine. Unless the aunt was the blood relation.

  Names were so very trying, he was beginning to realize.

  Collin watched George pace back and forth, back and forth, and repeated mildly, “You know nothing about her.”

  He’d said that before, when he’d watched George pen his original letter to the solicitor, and George had replied, “I know. I want to find out more. Thus, the letter.”

  “And why this sudden interest?”

  “It’s not sudden. I’ve been telling you about her since Lon–”

  “Then why this suddenly serious interest?”

  “She asked if I was married. Not in so many words, of course. And don’t interrupt your employer.”

  Collin had waved away George’s admonition with a satisfied nod. “She’s chasing you.”

  “No. It’s not a chase. There’s a glimmer in her eye, there’s a flush to her skin, there’s a. . .brain. . .a will. . .a plan. It’s something more than a chase. She’s hunting me.”

  Collin’s eyebrows had slammed together. “You sound positively happy about it.”

  George had smiled. “I am. Yes.”

  “And you know nothing about her.”

  George had stopped smiling and said a word no vicar should even know.

  He said that word again, today, and then said, “I don’t know nothing. I just don’t know enough. Yet.”

  Collin ran a finger along the mantelpiece, checking the housemaid’s work. “I think I would like to know a little bit more about Miss Blackstock. Perhaps I will join you today at the lecture.”

  “Because having one’s valet accompany you to a lecture is not strange at all.”

  “Then perhaps I will go as your brother-in-law.”

  George paused in his pacing and cocked his head. “Slightly less strange for the general population. Slightly more strange for me.”

  Collin said, “That’s decided then.”

  They had alr
eady arrived and found their seats before the thought occurred to George that this might have been a horrible idea.

  “Collin, you will be quiet during the lecture. No chatting, no fidgeting, no snoring, no knitting.”

  Collin raised an eyebrow. “I’ll do my best.”

  “This was a horrible idea. What was I thinking? If you interrupt the lecture, I will be forced to replace you.”

  “Try again, George. And try to remember that today I am your brother-in-law and not your valet.”

  “I did remember. And don’t call me George.”

  “Of course not. Sir.” Collin turned in his seat to get a better view of George and said, “Are you always so nervous to see her?”

  “Nervous? I don’t want you interrupting the lecture. It has nothing to do with her.”

  “Of course not. Sir.”

  Collin’s eyes roamed toward the door and he jerked his chin at it. “Since I’ve only seen one other woman here and she must be older than my granny, this must be Miss Blackstock.”

  George turned in his seat to find Miss Twiggy heading right for them and he rose as she approached.

  “Miss Blackstock, may I introduce Mr. Collin Clarke, my brother-in-law. . .so to speak. Our siblings are married. His sister, my brother.”

  “Mr. Clarke. Have you come to be entertained by the wonders of steam?”

  “Not in the least,” Collin said and George said over him, “I’ve taken him under my wing.”

  Miss Blackstock looked between them for a long minute, then sat and made herself comfortable.

  When George and Collin had followed her example, she said, “He’s not going to interrupt the lecture, is he?”

  Collin nearly fell out of his seat laughing and George tried mightily to ignore him.

  “I’ve already warned him off knitting,” George said gruffly and when Miss Blackstock chuckled at his wit, he suddenly found it much easier to keep his attention focused on her.

  George apologized for his brother-in-law’s laughter. “He’s young.”

  “Yes. Should we send him out with my maid?”

  George and Collin walked home in companionable silence. George, because he had sat next to Miss Blackstock and whispered to her and been whispered at, and he didn’t care what Collin thought. Not at that moment.

  Perhaps he never would.

  George realized Collin’s silence was not quite as companionable when the young man sighed and said, “Why do you always fall for the most inappropriate woman? It’s as if your heart won’t even wake up to notice unless your father would hate her.”

  George blinked and suddenly felt the coolness of the night.

  “What’s inappropriate about her?”

  “She’s. . .outspoken.”

  George nodded. “So are you.”

  Collin snorted, then nodded his head in acquiescence. “True. Though not to your father and I suspect the same could not be said for Miss Blackstock.”

  George was glad for the darkness. Glad no one could see how he smiled at the thought of Miss Blackstock meeting his father.

  “I suspect you are correct.”

  “And if that doesn’t carry weight with you, I suspect she would also be outspoken with bishops, arch or otherwise.”

  George’s smile grew a little meaner. “She would be quite unimpressed.”

  “Think, George, what that would mean for your career. Your future.”

  “You mean my father’s hope for my career. This line of reasoning is not going to change my mind about her, you know?”

  “I know. Because you’re the lord’s son and you think what you like.”

  George grinned, then nodded when Collin said, “She’s a little long in the tooth.”

  There was something about the woman that proclaimed she had seen the world. There was a lack of naivete. Of wonder.

  As if her innocence had left her long ago.

  George shut that thought down quickly.

  “She’s not old. She’s just not young. I would guess we are near the same age.”

  “Like I said, long in the tooth.”

  George said, “Perhaps you should ask her next time you meet just how old she is.”

  “It worked for her uncle’s name, didn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  It had. And neither of them had missed the attention she paid to the question.

  Collin said, “There’s something too aggressive about her.”

  “I think Miss Blackstock could handle any situation she found herself in. Father would like that.”

  “We know nothing about her, George.”

  “This is a very bad habit you’re starting, with this name thing. And we have her uncle’s name now. We’ll just learn a little more about Miss Blackstock, won’t we?”

  Collin sighed. “Why couldn’t you have fallen in love with the girl who made those hot cross buns?”

  George stopped on the pavement. Fallen in love? Had he?

  He’d only loved one woman before and the memory now was distorted. Corrupted by everything that had come after.

  In love?

  No. He didn’t know enough about her. Not yet.

  But for the first time, he thought he might be willing to fall again.

  George started walking and when he came level with Collin, he patted his friend, brother, and valet on the back.

  “I couldn’t ever fall in love with the hot cross bun girl. I don’t want a tubby valet.”

  Five

  When Honora arrived the next week, there was Mr. St. Clair, alone, in their customary spot.

  She sat down next to him without a word, he continuing to read his leaflet with great concentration, and Honora wondered how they could be here, surrounded by people, and yet it was just the two of them.

  It had been illuminating to see him interacting last week with his brother-in-law, with someone he was obviously close to and fond of, and when he began to speak softly, she thought he sounded like he was still talking to a friend.

  “How do we proceed, Miss Blackstock? I am lost.”

  Honora turned her head enough to see that he was still studying his leaflet.

  “Perhaps there will be another lecture after this one, Mr. St. Clair. Steam is not likely, but perhaps. . .Egyptian antiquities? I admit I have no real fondness for mummies or the desert or long-dead languages. Still, I had no interest in steam before falling into my current fascination. There’s hope.”

  “Is there? Another lecture and another because we did this all wrong?”

  She smiled slightly at his profile. “We did, didn’t we? No balls, no dancing, no chaperones.”

  “No context. I am supposed to be able to ask delicate questions to your relations and acquaintances, and you are supposed to be able to do the same to mine.”

  “I missed my chance. I should have asked your brother-in-law.”

  Mr. St. Clair sighed. “I never had the chance. Unless you count the time I physically accosted your uncle.”

  Honora blew out a breath before it turned into a much-too-loud laugh.

  He said, “Or the time I verbally accosted your aunt. And your maid. And you. Bloody hell, I should just be happy I can sit next to you in a crowded lecture hall.”

  He turned his head toward her and he didn’t have to say that he was. Happy to sit here with her, as happy as Honora was to sit here with him.

  They sat together, alone in the crowded room, and she said, “I suppose I could bring my uncle to the next lecture.”

  George closed his eyes and Honora wanted to laugh again at his pained look.

  Before he could agree to such a ridiculous suggestion, she said, “Or I could extend to you his invitation to dinner.”

  “His invitation or yours?”

  “Both of ours.”

  He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at her.

  Honora smiled. “My uncle is a good, kind man. Slow to anger and quick to forgive. Besides, he was hardly awake when you assaulted him. He doesn’t equate you
with the gentleman I’ve been. . .”

  She stopped and looked down at her lap. Then decided to give him the truth. Because she’d begun this dance half a dozen times before and had never had a truth to give any of them.

  “. . .the gentleman I’ve been boring them with for the last few months.”

  When she looked back up, he was looking forward and smiling stupidly. He said softly, “You know nothing about me. And I know nothing about you.”

  “Nothing? Then you must be very unobservant because I know quite a bit about you.”

  His smile grew. “You’re right, Miss Blackstock. It’s not nothing.”

  Honora flew around their Manchester home, making sure everything was perfect for Mr. St. Clair.

  Every pillow in its place. Every table setting just so.

  She did not dare step foot in the kitchen, just in case her presence burned the meat or scalded the soup, and instead kept sending her aunt in to make sure everything looked good.

  They’d spent days agonizing over what to serve for dinner.

  “Something simple?” her aunt had asked.

  “No. He’s somebody. Somebody’s son.”

  “He’s a vicar. A bachelor vicar. I expect meat and potatoes and bread, and he’ll be happy.”

  Honora made a face. “He’s nothing like Mr. Moffat. He won’t be impressed by country fare, nor worried at all about whether his wife can cook. Do you think our cook could make turtle soup?”

  Aunt Gertrude choked. “No. Not even if we could afford it.”

  Honora blew out a breath and tried to remember back to a different lifetime. She muttered to herself, “What would Father have served to a dignitary?” and Aunt Gertrude had nearly fallen out of her chair in shock at the mention of the man.

  They’d finally settled on oxtail soup, roasted hare, stewed cardoons, pigeon compote, kidney beans, lamb’s tongue with spinach, and almond cake.

  A beautiful dinner, Honora told herself over and over again, trying to calm her abnormally nervous stomach while her maid curled her hair.

  The girl looped and tugged and smoothed, and completely ignored the ornament Honora had told her to use.

  “You’re forgetting something.”