Married to the Rogue

by Lancaster, Mary

  “But why?” Lucy demanded. Deborah could see she was torn between relief and hope and suspicion of resentment that her older sister might have eclipsed her by this sudden marriage coup. “Why would he suddenly do this for us when he does not even pretend to love you?”

  “Be fair, Lucy,” her mother said. “How could he love her when he only met her yesterday for the first time, and most of that was spent trying to ride over her. Or not.”

  “Love has nothing to do with it,” Deborah said calmly. “It is to be a marriage of convenience. He needs to be married to obtain his inheritance early, and I need to be married for reasons we are only too aware of. Especially now, when I understand the trouble has been reported in at least one newspaper. Mr. Halland knew I was at the princess’s house.”

  Her mother sprang up, wringing her hands with conflicting emotions as she began to pace the room. “But this is wonderful! At least it would be, but none of us know Mr. Halland, and I am not sure I like him. He is quite wild and unconventional, you know, full of radical ideas that would turn everyone against him were he not an earl’s grandson. And then, women…”

  “Since I do not love him, his past, or indeed present, does not concern me,” Deborah said. “We have agreed upon respect and discretion.”

  “It sounds a very…cold marriage,” her mother said anxiously.

  “It is,” Deborah agreed. “But frankly, it seems the best way out for all of us.”

  “You mean you’re going to live at Gosmere Hall?” Stephen said, his eyes wide. “But you can’t, Deb! It’s haunted!”

  “No, it isn’t,” Giles scoffed. “We only said that because it was so big and quiet when it was shut up, and that old servant loomed out of nowhere. But I went up there the other day when the earl was in residence, and it looked quite different—bustling. I don’t think Deb needs to be frightened of ghosts.”

  “Well, that is comforting,” Deborah murmured.

  “And Gosmere Hall is close, so we can visit all the time,” Lizzie said eagerly. “It will be wonderful! If Lucy is at Coggleton House and Deb at Gosmere, it will almost be the same as now.” She smiled brilliantly at her older sisters, then shivered with delight. “And only think of the hide-and-seek possibilities at Gosmere.”

  This seemed to catch even Stephen’s imagination, and they all began to talk at once.

  Deborah’s mother sat down beside her, searching her face. “Deb, are you sacrificing yourself for us? Do you even like this man? This stranger?”

  Deborah thought about it with some reluctance. Intense blue eyes, a determined mouth, quick laughter, stormy temper, and unexpected care for others, not even of his class. Thoughtful and curious. Intriguing. And handsome, that, too. Her stomach gave a funny little flutter.

  “Actually, I do,” she said, “in so far as it is possible to like anyone on such short acquaintance. It is hardly a love match, but I believe we can deal together reasonably well.”

  “I imagine it will be agreeable for you to have your own home,” her mother said, “even such a dark one as Gosmere. But I suppose you will be in London while Parliament sits.”

  “We have not discussed such matters.”

  “You can’t have discussed very much at all,” Lucy said, staring at her. “When do you mean to be married? If it happens at all!”

  “The day after tomorrow,” Deborah replied.

  Lucy’s eyes widened. “The day—”

  “Pass the smelling salts,” their mother said faintly.

  *

  Deborah rose the following day restless and on edge, suspicious she might just have imagined the whole unlikely tale. What she really wished to do was walk by herself up to Gosmere Hall, either to get a glimpse of her new home or to find out from Mr. Halland if their agreement was indeed serious.

  However, a day of summer drizzle and her mother’s unusually close observation combined to keep her indoors. She spent some time reading and playing with her siblings, and listening to Stephen coaxing rather beautiful music from an old guitar that had been a gift from the bishop.

  And then, around midday, a knock at the front door paralyzed her. Her heart beat so fast she was afraid it might jump out of her body, and she stared at the parlor door.

  Beside her, Giles said intensely, “If you’re frightened of him, Deb, don’t marry him. Nothing is worth that.”

  “I’m not,” she said in surprise. “I’m just not quite sure how to behave.”

  It turned out not to matter at that moment, for their visitor was Mrs. Copsley, the squire’s wife, who sailed into the room. She was a stout, well-meaning woman, who took a kind of innocent pride in her rank within local society, a rank only trumped by the rare visits of titled people to Coggleton House or Gosmere Hall. Slightly less appealing was her assumption that this gave her the right to know everything about everyone and to deliver her opinion unchallenged. She had been unquestionably kind to the Shelbys since their arrival in the village, and she had, apparently, promoted the match between Sir Edmund and Lucy.

  “Mabel!” Deborah’s mother greeted her in clear surprise. “How good to see you. Do sit! Bertha, tea, if you please. Will you join us for luncheon, Mabel?”

  “Oh, no, I can’t stop,” Mrs. Copsley said. “But thank you for asking. No, I just came to make sure all was well with dear Deborah.”

  Deborah’s mother bridled, no doubt, with the trouble in mind. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Merely, I saw her yesterday with Mr. Halland—Mr. Christopher Halland—who was clearly making himself agreeable.” She turned to Deborah with a kind smile. “And I know you have been in London and are used to dealing with all sorts of rogues who must have visited Her Highness, but in the country, with a man of Mr. Halland’s reputation, one really needs to be more careful.”

  “Mr. Halland was extremely kind and behaved with the utmost propriety.”

  “That time, my dear, but perhaps not in the future. He has been wild to a fault since his youth and shows no signs of calming down.” She put her hand to the side of her mouth as though to shield Deborah and her siblings from hearing. “Lady Belham, you know. And actresses.”

  “Before you go any further, Mabel,” Mrs. Shelby said firmly, “you should know that we have received an offer of marriage for Deborah from Mr. Halland.”

  Mrs. Copsley’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my dear,” she said in appalled tones. “I do hope you have not accepted him.”

  Deborah tilted her chin. “In fact, I have.”

  “You know how things are with us, Mabel,” her mother said nervously. “And he is, you know, Hawfield’s grandson.”

  “Yes, but the Hallands are just not safe, Emily,” Mrs. Copsley declared. “I beg you will not repeat it, but I have always found something sinister about Hawfield. His wife died quite suddenly, you know, as did his heir. Then there is young Rupert who had to flee the country to avoid standing trial for murder.”

  “If there is a taint there, I am sure our Mr. Halland has avoided it. No one ever said a word against his father.”

  “No, but the daughter—Christopher’s sister—also died in mysterious circumstances. And as for Christopher’s politics! Well, he might as well declare himself a Jacobin and cut off all our heads!”

  “Really?” Giles demanded, showing his first interest in the conversation.

  “No, not really,” his mother said crossly. “Mrs. Copsley is making a point that Mr. Halland has some radical ideas, but he is no revolutionary.”

  “He believes in education,” Deborah put in.

  Mrs. Copsley sniffed. “And the house, Deborah! I would hate to be mistress of such a great, gloomy place, and while I don’t believe in ghosts, Gosmere Hall is the one place that might just change my mind. Ghostly lights swirl about the place on some nights, and such strange, unworldly sounds…”

  “Ooh,” Stephen marveled. “I told you, Deb!”

  “Keep your mind on the hide-and-seek,” Giles advised.

  “At any rate, take your time and th
ink about it, Deborah,” Mrs. Copsley pleaded. “And you know there will be no need if Lucy marries Sir Edmund,”

  “Goodness,” Deborah’s mother said in awe. “I would then have two very creditably married daughters.”

  “You will not rush into this marriage, will you?” Mrs. Copsley asked anxiously.

  “Oh, no,” Deborah assured her. “Tomorrow is time enough.”

  *

  With no sign of Mr. Halland during the day, Deborah began to doubt the agreement she thought they had reached. Perhaps her mother was correct, and it had all been a jest. And she was going to look rather silly when Mrs. Copsley reminded her she had thought to be married the following day.

  Then, just as they were about to sit down to dinner, Bertha brought in a hand-delivered note, directed to “Miss Shelby”. Lucy reached for it eagerly before her mother slapped her hand away.

  “Miss Shelby is Deborah. At least until she is married.”

  Deborah took it with a murmur of thanks. Aware of Lucy’s resentful gaze, she broke the seal and glanced hastily at the signature at the bottom scrawl. Christopher Halland.

  Her stomach tightened. She could not tell if she felt excitement or dread, or if she was glad or sorry not to be let off the hook. Forcing herself to read, she took it in, then folded the note and set it aside.

  “Mr. Halland has arranged a license and spoken to the vicar. We are to be married at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “How am I supposed to organize a wedding breakfast by then?” her mother wailed.

  “We could just send a note to the inn,” Deborah suggested. “And I doubt it will be a large party, just us and Mr. Halland. And his groomsman, I suppose.”

  Although she maintained her calm during dinner, inside, she was too agitated to face the evening in the company of her family. Pleading the desirability of an early night before her wedding, she escaped to her own chamber.

  By the light of the solitary candle, she gazed out of the rain-spattered window. Her marriage to a total stranger was arranged for tomorrow morning. By midday, she would be completely in his power. The feeling that she had made a terrible, irreparable mistake rose quickly, overwhelming her until she could stand it no longer.

  With a gasp, she swung away from the window, seized her pillows, and pushed them under the covers so that they might resemble her sleeping person should her sisters give it a cursory glance. It was the best she could do. In any case, surely she would be home by midnight.

  She grabbed her coat and candle, then crept downstairs.

  *

  The weather was not kind, and she arrived at Gosmere Hall two hours later, soaked to the skin. But at least she had finally made her goal. She raised the knocker on the front door and rapped. Only then did she glance upward at the big, forbidding house. No wonder Stephen thought it was haunted. A drop of rain splashed into her eye just as the front door opened.

  Blinking rapidly, she saw an elderly footman gazing at her in consternation. She must look like a drowned rat and very little like the lady who would—probably—be his mistress by tomorrow.

  “Mr. Halland, if you please,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster. Then, as the man looked as if he was about to send her about her business, or at least to the back door, she added, “He will want to see me.”

  Apparently, this meant something to the servant who grudgingly opened the door wider to let her enter. He pointed at the mat inside the door, and she obediently wiped her soaked, muddy boots and extinguished the lantern before setting it down.

  “Follow me,” he said sternly.

  Deborah looked neither left nor right. She did not care about the house that was to be her home. She only wanted to see the man who was to be her husband. Wet, cold, and exhausted, she stumbled up a wide staircase and squelched after the servant to a closed door, which he knocked perfunctorily before opening.

  Deborah saw Christopher at once. He sprawled in his shirt sleeves at one end of a large dining table, his long fingers curled around a brandy glass while he stared broodingly into it, as if it held the answers to all life’s questions.

  “This young person, sir,” the servant announced. “She believes you are expecting her.”

  Mr. Halland’s head snapped up. He frowned in irritation, presumably at the disturbance. And then, seeing her, his lips parted in shock, and he jumped to his feet.

  “Good God! Ma’am, you are soaked, come here by the fire. Eric, go away, and not a word, do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the footman and departed, closing the door behind him.

  By then, Christopher had reached her and taken her hand, drawing her toward the fire. She offered no resistance, though she ignored the chair he set for her and instead sank to her knees before the hearth.

  His boots moved away. She heard the slosh of liquid, and his boots reappeared. He crouched down, thrusting a glass into her hand. But she was far too agitated to drink anything. She set it down on the hearth.

  “What is it?” he asked urgently. “What has happened?”

  “Nothing,” she managed. “I just had to see you. I had to be sure.”

  A frown pulled at his brow. “About marrying me?”

  She nodded.

  A rueful smile flickered on his lips. “I’m afraid you find me at a disadvantage. I am hardly dressed to receive visitors.”

  Laughter caught in her throat. “You are at a disadvantage?” she countered, indicating her soaked state.

  “Well, at least I had the fire lit, though the servants think I’m either mad or extravagant at the height of summer. Actually, the room’s dashed gloomy without a fire. Do you want to see the house?”

  She shook her head, searching his face instead.

  He bore it in silence for a little. “You are having second thoughts.”

  She shivered. “I was glad to receive your note. Truly. Only then…it was real. And the reality is, we are strangers.”

  “And you place yourself in my power tomorrow.”

  “Exactly,” she said, relieved by his quick understanding. “We have an agreement, and I trusted you yesterday, only now I can’t remember why.”

  “You have no reason to trust me,” he acknowledged.

  “Nor, you, me,” she said, “And coming here like this… can’t have endeared me to you.”

  His smile was unexpectedly warm. “On the contrary.”

  Her eyes fell, not in fear or even embarrassment but because she was suddenly overwhelmed by the intimacy of the moment, kneeling before a fire with him crouched close beside her, supremely casual in only his shirt and pantaloons. A little thrill of awareness passed through her, urging her into a slightly desperate speech.

  “You must think I am insane. Already ruined through no fault of my own, now I walk voluntarily into another impropriety. I can only imagine what your servant thinks…”

  “He can think what he likes, but if he speaks it, he will be out on his ear, and he knows it. All will be well tomorrow after we are married. If you still wish to be married.”

  She gazed into the fire, trying to slow her breathing, and again he took her hand. Her gaze flew up to his.

  “I hold you to nothing, Deborah,” he said quietly. “I understand your doubts. And God knows we are both taking a risk. Yours is undoubtedly greater.”

  Her lips twisted. “Is it? You see me now as I am. I don’t always do as…as society expects. I don’t always realize it’s wrong until I’ve done it. I’m not sure you want that in a wife.”

  His eyes flickered from her face and down her sodden person and then came to rest on their joined hands. A strange heat sparked somewhere in her stomach, warming her from the inside. She made the faintest jerk to be free of his light clasp of her hand, and then let it lie still. His touch did not frighten her. He did not frighten her.

  He looked up, catching her searching gaze. “I want you to trust me. As for the rest, I like eccentric people. And I’m afraid you will need to, too, if you marry me.�
�

  His eyes were humorous, inviting her to share the deprecating joke. A sense of ease, almost of wonder, crept over her.

  He rose to his feet. “I’m going to order the carriage and take you home. Sleep. If you come to church tomorrow, I shall be glad. If you don’t, I’d like us still to be friends.”

  Ten minutes later, she sat beside him in friendly darkness as his carriage bowled down the drive from Gosmere Hall.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered. “I didn’t mean to drag you out.”

  “I’m glad you came to me. And don’t worry. Neither Eric nor Danny on the coach will blab about this. You can still cry off with impunity.”

  “I won’t,” she said.

  In truth, she thought it far more likely after tonight that he would.

  Chapter Four

  The absence of a groomsman only struck Christopher when he rose on the morning of his wedding day. He supposed he could drag Hunter, the Gosmere Hall butler, into it, but he suspected Deborah’s family might find that odd or even insulting. However, there had been no time to summon any of his particular friends from London, and the only family member he’d cared much for—Cousin Rupert—had fled the country after killing someone in a duel.

  It would have to be Edmund Letchworth. Since the morning was still early, he donned riding clothes and rode over to Coggleton House.

  Sir Edmund was discovered at breakfast with his mother and sister.

  Christopher bowed politely to the ladies.

  “Join us,” Lady Letchworth invited regally. “And tell us what we can do for you so early in the morning?”

  “I can’t stop, thank you, ma’am. I’ve come for Sir Edmund.”

  “What?” Edmund asked, startled.

  “I need you. But you have to hurry. Take the carriage to the village, and I’ll meet you at the church at about a quarter before eleven.”

  “The church? Not like you, old fellow,” Letchworth remarked. “And why do I have to take the carriage?”