The Bridal Contract (Darrington family Book 3)

by Sandra Sookoo

  The Bridal Contract

  A Darrington family novel

  by

  Sandra Sookoo

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  Kindle edition

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author.

  Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

  Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

  THE BRIDAL CONTRACT  2014 by Sandra Sookoo

  Published by New Independence Books and Sandra Sookoo

  ISBN-9781507056875

  Contact Information:

  sandrasookoo@yahoo.com

  newindepdencebooks@gmail.com

  Visit me at sandrasookoo.com

  Book Cover Design by David Sookoo

  Curly blonde woman white dress blond man© Kim Killion |Hot Damn Stock

  Seamless floral pattern

  © Nataliia Natykach|Bigstock

  Publishing History

  First Digital Edition, 2014

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  Blurb

  When a bridal contract is struck, either parental outrage will void the arrangement or the love of a child will sweeten the deal.

  Oliver Darrington—Viscount Tralsburg—wants nothing more than to hide out at the family property in Brighton until he can secure a sea-worthy ship and return to adventuring the world. However, being handed his former mistress’ child isn’t part of that plan. Neither is the sudden longing for his pretty Italian neighbor.

  Eloisa Hawthorne is in dire straits. Her older brother has gambled away her sister’s hand to a horrible man. In order to save her sister’s virtue and her future, Eloisa needs a fast fortune—or someone who can immediately cover the debt. When her handsome neighbor offers a temporary engagement contract, she accepts with alacrity. Too bad she fell in love with his dark-haired offspring. How scandalous!

  When the two attend his mother’s London dinner party, Oliver wishes the union wasn’t merely a lark. Eloisa fears for the adorable child’s upbringing in heathen locales, but what can she do? The contract is only for a month, and love was never an option. Something must be done to throw over convention before the moment is lost and matters of the heart are sacrificed.

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  Excerpt

  She sucked in a breath as his Darrington-blue eyes bore into hers. Why did they appear so intense, so insistent? “I…” What was it they were discussing? Eloisa slipped her hands behind her back to prevent the temptation of running her fingers along those whiskers at his jaw. “I would like to see this bargain sealed with a kiss.”

  “A kiss?” He drew back slightly. “That’s it?”

  “Well, yes.” She tilted her head and peeked into his face. “You see, it’s such a lovely gesture and I very much enjoy kissing. I haven’t had a beau in a long time, and even though I’m still in love with my dead fiancé and feel absolutely nothing for you, I think having one kiss from you would—”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” he muttered seconds before he laid a hand to her waist and covered her lips with his.

  Eloisa had the distinct impression of tumbling during the all-too-brief meeting of mouths. There wasn’t any passion behind it. She never brought her hands around from their position behind her and he didn’t press his body into hers, but the heat he imparted, the tingles that shot down her spine, the shivers of awareness that raced along her skin couldn’t be denied.

  Perhaps she felt a tiny bit of something for him after all. That something grew into a worry that knotted her stomach. I’ve failed Peter after all.

  All too soon he pulled away and merely stared at her with confusion on his face. “Well, then. I suppose the contract is sealed.” His voice held a hint of breathless wonder.

  “Yes, I suppose is it. Thank you for the celebration, small as it was.” She forced a swallow into her suddenly dry throat then patted her hair. It wouldn’t do to appear disheveled upon meeting the rest of her family. “I should go tell Helen and Charles the joyous news.” Without waiting for his agreement, she slipped around him and fled the parlor.

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  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to some of my favorite ladies on Facebook who are always there with love, support, humor and sympathy. You always keep me busy and keep me going. I love and appreciate you all so much! I’d say the wind beneath my wings, but then that would be so cliché and you know how that’s frowned upon in romance writing.

  Mary Beth FitzHarris, Judy Furry, Fran Randazzo-Hesse, Emma Lai, Jenifer Raneri, Gail Delaney, Paula Farrell, Sue Brandes, Marie Tuhart, Angie Eads, Leah Cummins Guinn, Sonya Grady, Rebecca Poole, Bobbie Jo Baynard, Sheryl Hugill, Allie K. Adams.

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  Author’s Note

  You’ve heard the saying “Life is what happens when we’re making other plans.” (from John Lennon but originally attributed to Allen Saunders from a Reader’s Digest “Quotable Quotes” article from January 1957.)

  Well, the same can be true of my Regency stories.

  While this book is set in the Regency period, please note this is not your “usual” or “traditional” Regency tale like what was popular in the 1990s or early 2000s. My Regency stories have a dollop of humor, are oftentimes highly improper and are very much a showcase of how life could be when human nature and matters of the heart take over, despite the class a person belonged to or duty they felt they were bound by. When emotions are involved, rules and etiquette are thrown out and love comes flowing in. So, suspend disbelief as well as pre-conceived notions and come fall for the romance of my Regency world.

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  Chapter One

  Late April, 1815—Brighton, England

  Oliver Darrington, formally known as Viscount Tralsburg, the courtesy title being bestowed upon him for actions of heroism and deeds done while fighting Napoleon in Spain—a title he’d vigorously attempted not to accept but ultimately his protests were ignored—paced about the confines of the front parlor. His older brother, Felix, was the new earl of Swandon now that their father had died, and Oliver was eternally grateful he was the second son. That much responsibility and expectation on a man’s shoulders was stifling. Being a viscount rankled. It was much too confining for his freedom-loving soul, and if he had his way, he wouldn’t linger upon England’s shores long enough to make much use of it. The title could languish for all he cared. It hadn’t done anything for him yet, and with his intent to return to the sea, it wouldn’t still.

  “I appreciate your wish to stay on and see to my every need, but again, I must tell you that I won’t have need of your services, for I don’t plan on being in residence for longer than a few months.” As patiently as he could, Oliver explained his stance to the older couple who stood before him. Probably the same age, if not a few years older than his mother, they’d both been reta
ined to look after the Darrington family’s Brighton property and resembled matching bookends, if human beings could be such. They took the responsibility of caring for the family and property seriously. “I’d hate to dash your hopes.” In fact, he disliked having to act the man in charge and take time out of his day for servant affairs.

  “Then we’ll stay for as long as you’re here, Lord Tralsburg,” the male of the pair stated with a slight nod. A bit of scalp shone through his thinning gray hair. Caruthers had been employed when Oliver’s father had inherited the title. They’d been contemporaries of sorts, though separated by social order, and his father had wished to take care of the man and his family. Oftentimes, the Darrington siblings had played with Caruthers’ children when at the property in Kent.

  “That’s just the thing, my good man,” Oliver rejoined. “I’m quite capable of looking after myself. No need to put yourselves out.” He’d been on his own for too long to have servants constantly underfoot. “I learned how to feed myself and wash my own clothes long ago.”

  Caruthers’ wife, Susan, spoke for the first time since he’d joined them. “If you don’t mind, my lord, we’d enjoy serving you as much as we did your father. It’ll be our pleasure and our way of honoring his memory.” Her brown eyes shone the way they had back in his childhood when she’d slip sweets to him and his brother between meal times. “The old earl was so good to us, and there’s more to life here in Brighton than merely getting a bit of sup and clean breeches.”

  When her husband chuckled and she smiled, the heat of embarrassment crept up the back of Oliver’s neck. Obviously, life was more than that. He wasn’t a callow youth. “What I meant to say,” he continued as he clasped his hands behind his back, “is that I don’t wish to make use of any servants for any reason. My time here is most limited, as I’ll return to my ship once the repairs on her are finished.” He thought wistfully of his fair schooner lying in berth in the Brighton port. Though he consciously knew it was a vessel, he fondly referred to her as a female, for she had that sort of personality, and at times, the ship and the sea played games with his affections.

  “No more excuses, my lord,” Susan stated while shaking her head. Fat, gray sausage curls bounced beneath her mobcap. “The mister and I know how independent you are, but even a sea-faring viscount has needs, and you’ll be wanting a bit of conversation now and again while you’re on land. Nothing for it. You must accept the time for relaxation.”

  Oliver employed precious willpower into not rolling his eyes. “Yes, and if I truly feel as if I’ll go mad without the human connection, I shall call upon one of our neighbors.” Except, he truly couldn’t recall their names or even if they were the same neighbors as they were the previous time he’d visited the Brighton town house years ago. On the off chance they hadn’t changed, what did he really have in common with them when he’d already seen so much of the world? Beyond fighting the French with Felix, and his Father’s pride, protest then ultimate resignation of having both sons fighting in Spain, he’d visited exotic ports all over the world and had immersed himself in the different cultures. Returning to England seemed so… tame comparatively.

  Carruthers chuckled. “I wouldn’t argue with my missus, my lord. She always knows best.” He rested his faded green gaze on Oliver’s face. “Besides, she remembers your favorite dishes and has already aired the master suite for you. Best make use of her hard work.”

  Devil take it! Oliver stroked his bewhiskered chin. How did Felix handle stubborn servants or even his daily life as it related to domestication? Did Father ever have these moments of indecision? He didn’t know. Felix had spent more time with their parents than he had. Left to his own devices, and after succumbing to the siren call of the sea, Oliver had never gotten the knack of the intricacies of family life.

  Finally, he nodded. “You’ve bedeviled me into this decision. I’ll let you stay, but the moment I receive notice the Scandalous Lady is seaworthy again, I’m closing up the house and sending you back to Kent.”

  Carruthers and his wife brightened. The man beamed and the gesture exponentially increased the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. “Very good, sir. I’ll notify the rest of the staff right away.”

  “There’s more?” He rubbed a hand over his face. Of course there were more. A town house couldn’t be maintained with only a butler who masqueraded as a valet and a housekeeper who also doubled as the cook.

  Susan’s brow winkled. “Yes. This property has a groomsman, a carriage master, and two maids. Should Carruthers scout for other interested parties?”

  “No!” The word came out with more force than Oliver had intended. “Er, I meant to say, what we have now is enough. I will be the only one in residence. No need to have more people hovering about me.” Why couldn’t a man just have privacy and silence when he wanted it?

  A desperate knocking upon the front door interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at Carruthers with a frown. “Are we expecting visitors?” As far as he knew, no one in Brighton was aware he’d occupied the town house, since he’d only arrive two hours ago. On a usual day, members of the ton indulging in leisure activities seldom stirred before the noon hour. Perhaps the riotous knocking heralded a matter of import. Perhaps not. The pace in Brighton was severely less hectic than in London.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” the older man replied. “Perhaps it’s one of your neighbors wishing to welcome you back to England.” He left the room, presumably to answer the door and inquire about the caller’s intentions.

  Alone with Susan, Oliver slumped onto a settee. “A six-month voyage is not as stressful as coming home.”

  His lament was met with a low-pitched chuckle from his housekeeper. “You aren’t exactly home, my lord. Also, have you been made aware there are several letters from your mother waiting in the study?”

  He groaned. “I don’t doubt it. Mother is adamant her offspring marry with alacrity. Nothing else matters, apparently.” He cringed. Matrimony wasn’t something that interested him—now or ever. Mistresses he’d had aplenty. Maria had been his last, the affair dead the day he set out for the sea once more. Beyond that, no woman had caught his fancy or his heart, and he’d found he didn’t mind the silence that much. Had he searched for a woman to pledge the ultimate alliance to? Sure, but not very hard, and it wasn’t the end all of his life if he never found her.

  The housekeeper’s cheeks dimpled with her grin. “There are worse things.”

  “Yes, there are, but children and timid wives tie a man down,” Oliver replied without thinking. No doubt Felix would have chosen different words or not said anything at all. The likelihood of Felix conversing with servants was laughable, even though he’d more or less married one. After a fashion that was. Oliver frowned. He really needed to ask his brother how exactly that union had come about. Indeed, being leg-shackled to a woman afraid of her own shadow was a valid fear, not that Felix’s spouse was that, but for Oliver it was something he dreaded in a life mate. If he had to choose a female to spend his life with, she’d certainly need to know her own mind and not shrink from adventure. She’d have to have inner strength and not depend on him for every little thing. “I’m not exactly a family man.”

  Carruthers returned to the parlor with an expression of concern. He cleared his throat. “Lord Tralsburg, there is a woman at the door.”

  “I suspected, since someone had knocked and there was half a chance the caller would be female,” Oliver returned with a touch of amusement. “Ghosts don’t often formally visit. Show her in here.”

  The butler shook his head. “I’d rather not do that, my lord. There are other extenuating circumstances at play.”

  “Such as?” Really, this morning was turning farcical rather quickly and luncheon would soon be upon them. His stomach growled as if it, too, thought of food.

  “I’d rather not say, and I’d rather not invite the woman into the house if her story cannot be verified.” He stood to his full height and his frown grew. “If you could jo
in me in the hall?”

  Oliver heaved a sigh. His first day back and already the annoyances were multiplying. “Fine.” He followed Carruthers out of the parlor then down the hall until they’d reached the door, which was closed. Apparently, the butler had left the questionable caller on the stoop. “Let’s unravel the knot, shall we?”

  When the butler swung open the door, Oliver stared at a dour-faced woman of average height. Her mousy brown hair, shot with gray, had been pulled back in such a severe bun, he feared her facial skin had been drawn too tight. Her lips rested in a thin line and she had the distinct air of someone who’d once sucked on a lemon then had never gotten over it. Even her dress of serviceable gray serge couldn’t have been more severe. The most remarkable thing about this harsh individual was the child in her arms. Probably not more than four, the girl possessed masses of curly, black hair, slightly olive skin, and dark brown eyes so rich and intense to be almost black. The rosebud mouth formed a pout around the thumb stuck in her mouth. She was adorable enough as children went, but he had no twinkling of how those two individuals went together.

  “Pardon me, but do you require assistance?” Oliver asked in lieu of finding more appropriate words.

  “Are you Viscount Tralsburg, or rather Oliver Darrington?” the woman asked without delay and in a brusque tone.

  “I am. Is there an issue?”

  “Not anymore.” Without further preamble, the woman shoved the child into his arms. The girl took one look at him and burst into tears. Despite being accompanied by such a severe bulldog, the child seemed clean and well cared for. Her dress was a pretty yellow, which complimented her slightly dusky skin and the pinafore apron, crisp white and lined with scallops. Even still, pretty clothes didn’t muffle the noise. He transferred the child to one arm, albeit awkwardly. How exactly should he hold the small person for both their comfort? “She’s yours.”