Let It Be Love

by Victoria Alexander

  For the length of a heartbeat she reveled in the warmth of his lips on hers and the longing that rushed through her at his touch, exactly as it had on Christmas Eve. Not that it mattered. Her anger rekindled and she shoved him away.

  “You are a cad, Jonathon Effington! The very worst kind of beast, and don’t you dare try to kiss me ever again!”

  He chuckled. “I didn’t just try, I did kiss you.”

  She sniffed. “Hardly.”

  He stepped closer. “Perhaps I should try again, then?”

  “You’re refusing to marry me, yet you want to kiss me?” She glared in disbelief. “Have you no shame?”

  He thought for a moment, then grinned. “No.”

  “If you come one step closer to me I shall scream, thus attracting the attention of the entire household, including Aunt Edwina. It should be a most compromising position to be found in. No doubt she will insist on marriage at once.” She studied him for a moment. “Upon further consideration…” She opened her mouth to scream.

  Before she could get so much as a squeak out, he had moved to her, pulled her into his arms and clapped his hand over her mouth.

  “Now, now, Miss Fairchild. We shall have none of that.” There was a distinct twinkle of amusement in his eyes and her anger rose. She struggled against him. “If you promise to behave like a reasonable person, I shall release you.”

  She glared at him, wishing that just this once looks really could be lethal.

  “Well? Do you promise?”

  What choice did she have? His hand wasn’t even in a good position to bite. Pity. She nodded.

  “I’m not entirely sure I believe you.” He grinned, and she vowed to hurt him at the earliest opportunity. “I suppose I shall just have to trust you.” He released her and stepped out of range.

  She cast him her most scathing look, then moved to the door and flung it open. “Oliver!”

  “You needn’t yell.” Oliver lounged beside the door. “I’ve been right here all along.”

  She raised a brow. “Then you have heard everything?”

  “I missed something between how trapped you are and what a beast he is, but other than that, I pretty much caught it all.”

  “Good.” She turned and stalked back to the center of the room. “Then I won’t have to repeat it.” Abruptly she turned on her heel and glared at her cousin. “This is almost as much your fault as it is his, you know.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Jonathon said under his breath.

  “My fault?” Oliver’s brows pulled together. “How is this my fault?”

  “You told me I was exactly what he wanted in a wife. You said he would jump at the opportunity to marry me—”

  “I don’t think I ever said jump,” Oliver murmured.

  “You said he was nice!”

  Oliver shrugged. “I was wrong.”

  “I say, I am nice.” Indignation sounded in Jonathon’s voice. “Ask anyone.”

  “Hah!” Fiona crossed her arms over her chest and studied each of the two men in turn.

  She’d thought, and still did think for the most part, that Oliver had been sincere in his suggestion of Jonathon as a husband. Now, however, it was apparent that his motives might not have been entirely pure. Of course, he couldn’t possibly have imagined that Jonathon would think she was part of a hoax.

  As for Jonathon, as much as she needed a husband she couldn’t marry a man who had no desire whatsoever to marry her. Indeed, a man who had strenuous objections. What kind of life would that be? He would resent her for the rest of his days. Why, regardless of how nice he was, he’d no doubt have an actress in his bed before her vows were out of her mouth.

  Still, Jonathon offered her only hope for salvation at the moment.

  “Oliver”—she met her cousin’s gaze—“I will assume that you were sincere when you suggested Lord Helmsley as a prospective husband and had no intention of tricking him in any way.”

  “On my word, Fiona, I had no idea he would think your situation…”—he cast a pointed look at Jonathon—“your dire situation was a ruse. And I never would have put you in such a position. Although I do have to admit”—Oliver tried and failed to hold back a grin—“if it had been a joke it would have been a damn fine one. Brilliant, really.”

  “Not that I would have fallen for it,” Jonathon said under his breath.

  “No, you would have been too clever for that,” Fiona snapped, then closed her eyes and prayed for calm. She drew a deep breath and leveled Jonathon a firm look. “As for you, I am willing to concede that your agreement to marry was”—she grimaced—“a misstatement—”

  “A mistake,” Jonathon corrected.

  “Said in error.” She clenched her teeth. “That you did indeed believe I was part of a hoax—”

  Jonathon heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

  “However”—she smiled in a pleasant manner—“I do intend to hold you to it.”

  Oliver choked back a laugh.

  Jonathon’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Unless you can come up with a better solution to the absurd dilemma that is my life. And when I say you”—she shifted her gaze from Jonathon to Oliver—“I mean both of you.”

  “I am completely at your service.” Oliver nodded a bow.

  “I don’t really have a choice,” Jonathon said under his breath to Oliver. “Do I?”

  “I don’t see one, aside from marriage.” Oliver thought for a moment. “You should keep in mind as well there is always the possibility of legal action on Fiona’s part. Breach of promise, that sort of thing.”

  “Nonsense.” Jonathon scoffed. “I have excellent solicitors.”

  “As do I,” Oliver said firmly. “And as Fiona is a member of my family, they would be at her disposal to use as she sees fit.”

  Jonathon glanced at his friend. “Would she do that?”

  “She is a desperate woman.” Oliver shook his head. “I might if I were her.”

  “It would create a huge scandal.”

  “Indeed it would.” Oliver grinned. “Might be worth it to at last see you in the midst of something truly tasty.”

  “I am still in the room, you know.” Fiona glared at the men. They were both most annoying. “And I would much prefer that you not discuss me and what I might or might not do, as if I were not here.”

  “Yes, of course,” Oliver said.

  “My apologies,” Jonathon murmured.

  She studied the two of them for a moment, then squared her soulders. “Since I first learned of the provisions of my father’s will, I have, needless to say, con sidered all aspects of my situation. I have come to the conclusion that I essentially have three options.

  “First, I can resign myself to my fate. Surrender to my father—my dead father—complete control over my future and marry Whatshisname—”

  “Who is Whatshisname?” Jonathon asked Oliver.

  “The American her father has arranged for her to marry.”

  “An American?” Jonathon shuddered. “I can see why she objects.”

  She ignored them. “There’s a possibility I could convince him to agree to a marriage of a temporary nature.”

  Oliver frowned. “Divorce?”

  “As distasteful as that is, and as difficult as it is to arrange, yes, or possibly annulment. The solicitors I consulted believe either would satisfy the conditions of the will. However, this would depend entirely upon the type of man Whatshisname is. My inheritance and dowry represent a considerable fortune, you know.”

  Jonathon glanced at Oliver. “How considerable?”

  “Quite considerable,” Oliver murmured.

  “It would take a man of impressive character to let it, and me, go. It would also take brilliant legal maneuvering as well. I am not willing to risk everything based on either character or brilliance. Furthermore, when I marry I would much prefer it be for the rest of my life.

  “Secondly”—she directed her gaze toward Jonathon—“I can fo
rce Lord Helmsley to live up to his agreement and marry me.”

  Jonathon opened his mouth, probably to object, then closed it again and smiled weakly. He obviously had more intelligence than he had displayed thus far.

  “Unfortunately”—given her circumstances she could not believe she was about to say this—“I cannot imagine a more dreadful way to begin a life together than with a marriage that does not appeal to both parties.”

  “I say, Miss Fairchild”—sheer relief rang in Jonathon’s voice—“that is damnably decent of you. I cannot tell you—”

  “My decision”—she thrust out her hand to quiet him—“regarding my second option is contingent upon the success of my third.”

  Oliver chuckled. “I suspected there would be a condition.”

  Jonathon swallowed hard. “And that third option?”

  “I fully plan on marrying someday, Lord Helmsley, and therefore someday my inheritance and my sisters’ dowries will be released. However, the chances seem excellent that Whatshisname will appear to claim his”—she winced—“bride before someday arrives. I fear I shall have no other choice but to marry him, if only to resolve this mess.” She pinned Jonathon with a firm glance. “My character is considerably weaker than you may think, my lord.”

  Jonathon stared in obvious disbelief.

  Oliver snorted.

  “Therefore, I—or rather we—need to find some way for me to get, to put it bluntly”—she fairly spit the word—“money. I need to make my fortune.”

  Jonathon scoffed. “Women don’t make their fortunes. They marry fortunes.”

  “I tried that,” she snapped, then forced a measure of calm. “Aunt Edwina plans on introducing the girls to society in the spring. Even though I did not have a London season, I suspect it’s quite costly.”

  “I am more than happy to foot the bill for whatever is required,” Oliver said quickly. “I can certainly afford it and it will keep my mother occupied. If she’s busy shepherding three young women through the straights and narrows of the season with an eye toward suitable husbands for them all, she’ll be far too busy to concern herself with my marital state.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Oliver.” She cast him a grateful smile. “And while I am willing to accept your hospitality for as long as is necessary, I cannot expect you to take on the financial burden of all four of us for the rest of our days. Beyond that, Gen is eighteen, Sophie and Belle are seventeen—”

  “The sisters,” Oliver said in an aside to Jonathon.

  Jonathon nodded.

  “—and there is every possibility their somedays shall occur before mine—”

  Jonathon raised a curious brow. “Do they all look like her?”

  “Not in the least,” Oliver said. “They all have dark hair, dark eyes and they’re shorter than she is. But all three are lovely. They should have no problem finding husbands. I daresay they’ll be snatched up in their first season.”

  “Not if they don’t have acceptable dowries!” Fiona glared at the men. Were they really this dim? Did they not understand the prospects of a good marriage for a penniless girl were bleak? “I need to find a means to come up with the money for—”

  “There is another option. Why didn’t I think of it before?” Jonathon smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead. “We could find you a husband.” He turned to Oliver. “You said it yourself. Freddy Hartshorne would marry her in a minute.”

  Oliver cast Fiona a wary glance. “I’m not sure that—”

  “Oh, it’s a splendid idea. Brilliant, really.” Excitement rang in Jonathon’s voice. “And Hartshorne’s not the only possibility. Let me think. There’s Kensington and McWilliams and”—he grinned—“maybe even Warton and Cavendish. That would serve them right.”

  Oliver shook his head. “I don’t think—”

  “God knows if she wants an Effington, I have a dozen cousins I’d be willing to name who would—”

  “Absolutely not.” Fiona clenched her fists by her side. “I will not be peddled like yesterday’s fish!”

  “But you’re not yesterday’s fish, Fiona.” Jonathon paused. “May I still call you Fiona? We were, after all, more or less engaged.”

  “And you might be again if you’re not very careful,” Oliver warned quietly.

  She gritted her teeth. “By all means. Jonathon.”

  “You’re a wonderful catch, Fiona, not at all like fish, yesterday’s or otherwise. You listed your qualities for me the other night.” He counted them off on his fingers. “You can run a household in seven different languages and you travel efficiently.” He frowned. “Or something along those lines. At any rate, you might well be perfect.”

  She stared at him. “What about stubborn? Opinionated? Challenging?”

  “That’s what makes you perfect for him,” Oliver murmured.

  Jonathon waved off her comment. “We needn’t mention those.”

  “Needn’t mention those? Where? In the sales brochure? In the advertisement?” Surely he wasn’t serious? Perhaps he was simply mad? What he looked at the moment was disgustingly eager. As if this were indeed a brilliant idea. Without warning the absurdity of it all struck and she burst into laughter.

  Jonathon grinned and nudged Oliver. “See, she likes the idea.”

  “Or her mind has snapped under the strain.” Oliver studied her. “Are you—”

  “Daft? I don’t know.” She sniffed and tried to catch her breath. “It’s just all so ridiculous.”

  Jonathon pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her. “Much of life is ridiculous, really. It simply depends how one looks at it. I have a sister who is about to marry the man who once broke her heart because he thought he was doing the right thing. Quite silly when you think about it.”

  “Why?” She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. “If he was doing what he thought was right?”

  He shrugged. “It just seems to me that when you stumble upon the person who is truly the love of your life you should let nothing stand in your way.”

  Her gaze locked with his and for a long moment they stared at one another.

  “He does have a point,” Oliver said, and the moment was shattered. “At least this way you would have an opportunity to select your own husband, which you did say you wished to do—”

  “I am not going to ask another man I have just met to marry me.” She shook her head firmly. “It was difficult enough, as well as humiliating, to do so once. It did seem like a good idea originally, but now…”

  “Then we are back to choice number three,” Oliver said. “Making your fortune. It won’t be easy, especially given as we have no idea how much time we have to do so.” Absently he paced the length of the room.

  “Which eliminates any kind of investment possibility.” Jonathon’s brows furrowed in thought and he too began to pace. “Anything that would generate the kind of funding she needs would take a considerable amount of time.” He stopped and glanced at her. “Do you have any skills?”

  “I have been mistaken for an actress on occasion.” She cast him a pointed glance. “Perhaps I could go on the stage?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Jonathon scoffed. “You weren’t actually acting. Surely there is something you are good at?”

  “There are many things I am good at,” she snapped. “I can efficiently run a full staff of servants. I can organize a dinner party for a hundred people on less than two days’ notice. I can select the appropriate fashion, furnishings or flowers for any occasion.”

  “All of which makes you well trained to be a wife but little else.” Oliver sighed. “This may indeed be hopeless.”

  “Nonsense,” Jonathon said staunchly. “It’s far too early to give up on option three.”

  “Especially as that would require acceptance of option two,” Oliver pointed out.

  “Come, now, Fiona, surely you have some sort of marketable talents?” Jonathon looked at her hopefully.

  “Only when it comes t
o marketing me for marriage.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s hopeless. I might as well resign myself to marrying Whatshisname and pray he turns out to be a decent sort.”

  “Not yet.” Jonathon shook his head. “Surely the three of us can come up with something.”

  “I must say, you surprise me.” She studied him curiously. “I would think you of all people would encourage me to comply with my father’s wishes. It would certainly do away with any obligation you feel toward me.”

  “Ah, yes, but the guilt.” Jonathon clasped his hand over his heart in mock remorse. “The guilt would be more than I could bear.”

  She resisted the temptation to smile. “Guilt?”

  “Absolutely. If I had gone through with my agreement to marry you, you would not have to marry Whatshisname. In addition, you requested my assistance, you asked for rescue and I failed you. I shall have to live with that guilt for the rest of my days, especially as I now know how it feels to be faced with a marriage one does not want. No.” Resolve shone in Jonathon’s eyes and he resumed pacing. “There is a solution. We simply have to find it.”

  Oliver paced in one direction, Jonathon in the other. In a part of her mind not occupied by the desperation of her dilemma Fiona wondered how they managed to avoid knocking into one another.

  “Helmsley here writes stories,” Oliver said, “although he has never sold anything or seen anything in print.”

  “Yet.” Jonathon’s voice was firm. “I have not had anything published yet. You don’t by any chance—”

  “Only letters.” Fiona blew a long breath. “In truth I have no skills beyond what any woman of my station has. I embroider, admittedly not very well. I play the piano adequately and sing better than I play, but my voice is not exceptional. I do draw rather well, but—”

  Oliver raised a brow. “How well?”

  “Very well.” In truth she was quite proud of her artistic abilities. “I have studied for years. My portfolio is in my room.”

  “May we see it?” An eager note sounded in Oliver’s voice.

  She stared at her cousin. “It’s nothing more than a pastime. I seriously doubt—”

  “I have an idea, and it might well be brilliant.” Oliver grabbed her arm and steered her toward the door. “But it would help if we could see your work first.”