Scandal's Bride

by Gibson, Pamela

  “Yes. The soprano. The one who’s high notes were off-key. Longley left early as I recall. You arrived late.”

  “You have a remarkable memory. Your recollection is exactly right.”

  He moved two pillows and sat next to her, grabbing a strawberry tart from the tray. He stuffed the entire sweet into his mouth, then shot a pointed look at his brother as he chewed.

  “Come, Miranda. I believe I promised to visit James in the nursery. I understand he’s crawling now.”

  Taking the hint, Miranda removed herself from the couch and nodded at Gwen, as if to say, “everything will be fine.” She took her husband’s arm, and they left, leaving the door ajar for propriety’s sake.

  “I believe . . .”

  “I don’t . . .”

  They both laughed as they spoke at the same time.

  Even without her spectacles, she could see he was a fine-looking man, a bit taller than average, with a shock of brown hair that fell over his forehead, giving him a mussed look. Longer than fashionable, his hair tumbled over the top of his collar in back. His smile held a hint of mischief, and his eyes, as golden brown as the tea he now held in his hand, were warm and kind. A tiny ember of heat flared to life in the pit of her stomach when she gazed at him.

  Oh, this would not do.

  Or would it? Was it not better to be attracted to one’s future husband than repelled?

  Tongue-tied, she reached for another lemon tart. He smiled and sat back, careful not to touch her with his knees.

  “I see you are fond of tarts,” he said. “They are my favorite as well.” His gaze swept over her. Did he find her lacking?

  She nibbled the edge of the tart and put down the rest on a dainty napkin. “Has Miranda enlightened you regarding my dilemma?”

  “She has. While I am sorry you have such a dire situation, I have to say in some ways I am glad. Have you been apprised of my problem?”

  “I have.”

  “Are you willing to be my solution?”

  “If you are willing to be mine.”

  John got up, walked over to the windows, and looked out over the rose garden. Longley House had reduced its London staff to save money, but the rose garden still looked spectacular and well-maintained, even with sparse blooms. What was Mr. Montague thinking as he stared out into space? Perhaps he was reconsidering.

  He turned toward her. “I want you to fully understand my circumstances before we finalize the details of our betrothal. I’ll be taking you to a village in Yorkshire where I have an estate. The original buildings, mostly now in ruins, were once part of an abbey. The main house still stands but is in dire need of repairs. It is . . . primitive at present. But there is a housekeeper and butler in residence who live in the steward’s house. When we wed, I shall send word to them to prepare a private sitting room and two bedchambers in their cottage prior to our arrival. We’ll stay there while repairs are made to the main house.”

  He paced the length of the room, his attention fixed on the floor.

  Gwen weighed her words before speaking. “I will have my own bedchamber?”

  He turned. “Yes. I assure you, this is a marriage of convenience for us both. Please do not trouble yourself in that direction. We barely know each other, and I’ve been told you are a woman who values her independence.” He paused. “If you are still willing, despite the condition of the house and lack of entertainment, I would be honored and relieved if you would consider becoming my wife.”

  As proposals go, John’s was the least romantic one she’d ever heard. But then, she’d only had proposals from featherbrains and lechers who were after her dowry.

  John is after your dowry.

  She studied his intent face as he awaited her answer. If he had been an actual suitor, she still might have considered acceptance based on Miranda’s recitation of his character. He was intelligent, she’d said, and well read. He was a gentleman, but not afraid of hard work. And he’d taken good care of Phoebe, Jeremy’s ward, when his brother was in Jamaica. If Miranda had not been in love with Jeremy, she’d said she might have turned to John, who could be a tease but was a delightful companion.

  “Thank you for your candor, Mr. Montague. I am not afraid to be without cultural pursuits, and I do enjoy independence. I’m sure you’ve heard I am a bluestocking. It is because I began hosting an afternoon tea on Thursdays, which turned into a weekly salon. I admit I shall miss those afternoons with interesting people. As long as you are kind, you allow me to express my opinions, and you do not limit my access to books, I think we shall rub along nicely.” She took a deep breath. “I accept.”

  His smile turned his face into a work of art, causing that tiny ember in her midsection to flutter and flare. Remembering to breathe, she smiled back.

  “What is the next step then? Shall I approach your father? Is he at home today?” John rubbed his hands together as if eager to seek her father’s approval.

  “No, I mean, yes, he is home. But there is something I need to tell you first.”

  Oh lord, how would he take this?

  He frowned and sat beside her. “And what is that?”

  “In order to be rid of Lord Caulfield, I told Papa there was someone else I fancied, someone who was not able to offer for me because of impoverished circumstances. But we were desperately in love, and I wanted time to convince him the offer would be accepted.”

  “I see.” He thrust his fingers through the lock of hair on his forehead, his eyes troubled. “How is it we are in love when we have not seen each other for nearly two years?”

  She took a deep breath. “Correspondence? We could have been writing letters.”

  A line deepened on his forehead as he stared into space. “Wouldn’t your father have screened your correspondence? Young unmarried ladies do not receive letters from unattached gentlemen.”

  “Yes, but we could have sent letters to each other secretly through Miranda. While you were away fighting Napoleon, I turned down two offers without a second thought. Papa would remember.”

  He seemed to mull over the idea, then nodded. “I believe it will work.”

  “Are you a good actor?”

  “Passable, but I can make him believe I have been nursing a tendre for you for the past two years.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned, displaying an adorable dimple in his left cheek. The room was growing overwarm. She wished she’d brought her fan.

  “Then let us do this. Come tomorrow in the afternoon. I shall inform Papa you will be arriving around three. Is that acceptable?”

  “It is.” He picked up her ungloved hand and gave it a squeeze. His grip was firm, and his hand was callused. A soldier’s hands. “Pour more tea, and I shall inform Jeremy and Miranda that they shall soon have a new member of the family.”

  And then he winked.

  Winked.

  “We shall make good co-conspirators, Lady Gwendolyn.”

  He left, and she took out her glove and fanned her face.

  Chapter 3

  The Earl of Culbertson’s home mirrored Longley House in its grandeur, but the drawing room looked like it had been recently decorated by Cleopatra’s handmaidens. Blood-red drapes with gold tassels hung from the windows. The tables and chairs had legs resembling miniature obelisks, and a representation of a sarcophagus stood in the corner of the room. It appeared Lady Culbertson had succumbed to the Egyptian fad that had swept England after the defeat of Napoleon.

  John positioned himself in front of the mummy case with his hands behind his back, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He’d chosen to wear his beige pantaloons and a frock coat of bottle-green wool to give him confidence. Jeremy’s valet had helped him tie his cravat in the latest style.

  His attire was perfect. He would not be found lacking. Why then could he not stand still
?

  A stiff servant finally appeared and showed him to the earl’s study. The room featured bookshelves, a modest oak desk, and restful paintings of English countryside settings. Apparently, Gwendolyn’s father was not as fond of the current Egyptian rage as his wife.

  “Come in, come in.” Culbertson rose from behind his desk, gesturing to a comfortable chair. John sat and studied his host. He was thin to the point of emaciation with a hawk-like nose that appeared more prominent because of the narrowness of his face. While the man was in obvious poor health, Gwendolyn claimed her father was not in any danger of expiring. John wasn’t so sure.

  Father had looked much like this before he died.

  John fidgeted in his chair, unable to get comfortable.

  Culbertson picked up a pair of spectacles and appeared to have forgotten John’s presence. After a prolonged silence, John cleared his throat.

  “I am here to offer for Lady Gwendolyn.” He struggled to remember his rehearsed lines. “She has assured me my suit would be met with approval. She says you want only her happiness, and I will try very hard to make her happy.”

  The silence continued. Culbertson turned to another page of a document in his hand, appearing not to have heard John’s appeal.

  John leaned forward in his chair. “I know you wished her to make a better match, but for reasons I cannot fathom, she appears to want me. We met years ago, became friends, and over the past two years, we have grown close.” He paused. He may as well be talking to the portrait framed behind Culbertson’s desk. Perhaps his future father-in-law had impaired hearing. Gwen had not mentioned it.

  “Now that I have returned from the wars, I am ready to occupy my estate in Yorkshire. It has a house and is surrounded by acres of land. If you approve the suit, Gwen and I shall marry as soon as the banns are read and will travel there. You and Lady Culbertson are of course welcome at any time.”

  But not too soon or the strong drafts in the house will carry you out and up into the boughs of nearby trees.

  He stopped.

  “I shall take my leave now and await your decision.” He stood.

  The sad-eyed man coughed into a handkerchief, examined it, and put it back in his pocket. “Sit down.”

  John sat.

  “You are destitute?”

  “No sir, I receive a small allowance from the Longley Estate.”

  “I see.” His stare pinned John to the chair. “But Gwen’s dowry would not be amiss.”

  “No, sir.”

  Honesty compelled him to be truthful about his circumstances. He wanted to be frank about the rest, but Gwen had implored him to play along. The specter of Caulfield momentarily rose into his vision. The man was a lascivious old fool. He could not allow Gwen to become wife number four, even if he had to play a part.

  “And you say you love my daughter?”

  He swallowed, hoping the moisture on his forehead could be attributed to the heat in the room. “Yes, sir.”

  Another silence ensued as both men stared into each other’s eyes. Culbertson’s were glazed, probably with pain, but he did not flinch. Finally, he looked away.

  “Your father was a friend of mine.” He sat back in his chair. “I was staid and scholarly. He was a bounder . . . a philanderer. And yet we understood one another, and our friendship flourished. Your mother was a rare beauty. Delicate might be the best word to describe her, and loyal to a fault.” He closed his eyes for a moment, a sad smile on his face. “I offered for her, did you know? She turned me down. Said she loved one man and would never love another.”

  “I did not know that, sir.”

  “No? She never told you the stories of her superb come-out? Half the eligible gentlemen wanted her. Turned them all down. I suppose a woman’s memories of her come-out are more likely to be shared with a daughter than a son.”

  He coughed again, his shoulders shaking with the spasms. Culbertson’s handkerchief covered his mouth, and when he withdrew it, there was blood.

  Should I call someone?

  Gwen was not facing the truth. Her father was indeed close to the end.

  Culbertson recovered and took a few deep, rasping breaths. “While I am skeptical of this grand passion Gwen claims you share, I am going to allow the betrothal. Caulfield won’t be happy, but Gwen is allowed to choose her own husband. When I pass, everything goes to my son Reginald. He is besotted with his wife, and unfortunately, his lady wife dislikes Gwen for reasons I do not comprehend. She would not allow Gwen to continue to live here, and Reggie won’t defy her. The minute I die, he’ll marry his sister off to some fool or send her away to be a companion or governess if she refuses to marry. Caulfield was not an ideal choice, but his wealth made him attractive. I want to see my Gwennie settled. If she wants you, then I shall approve the match.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I have prepared the papers you need to sign. I know you have already spoken to Gwen, and she has agreed to the marriage. I would appreciate it if you would send the notice to the newspapers.”

  “I shall see to it.”

  This time Culbertson took hold of a cane as he rose. “I would shake your hand, but I do not want to lose my balance.” He was silent as his gaze held John’s. “Please take care of her. My little girl is an original. Have patience with her. She is warm and kind. I am giving you my greatest treasure. Do not make me regret my decision.”

  “It will be my honor to wed her, sir.”

  “Make it soon.”

  “I shall.” He hesitated. “Will you be informing Lord Caulfield of the change in circumstances?”

  “I suppose I must. It would be awkward if he learns of it by reading it in the post.”

  “I’ll wait a few days then to publish the announcement.”

  Culbertson nodded and rang for his valet. The man appeared almost immediately. Perhaps he’d been listening to the conversation behind the door. “Assist me to my rooms and send Lady Gwendolyn here.”

  John remained standing as Culbertson and his valet departed.

  He picked up the papers, quickly scanned them, and nearly collapsed when he read the amount of her dowry.

  Am I doing the right thing?

  Conscience was a terrible thing to have when you needed money. Gwen had called it a modest sum. To him it was a fortune. Gwen’s dowry would go a long way to putting the old abbey to rights.

  As if his thoughts reached her, Gwen burst through the door. “It is done then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh la, I am rid of Caulfield.” She raised her arms as if to hug him, then dropped them at her sides and blushed. Today she wore a gown of fine lawn, cut high under her breasts. Her curves were more generous than he recalled. He was taken aback when his celibate body responded with a warmth that spread like treacle.

  He stepped back. “Here. I almost forgot.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a ring with a single sapphire. “Miranda assured me it would fit.” He slipped it on her finger, and she held her hand up to the light.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Small, but it was all I could afford.” Miranda had selected the betrothal gift and assured him the stone would be perfect. “It matches your eyes.”

  Those orbs widened in surprise. Perhaps she thought he hadn’t noticed her best feature.

  “Thank you, Mr. Montague.”

  “I believe you can call me John as we are going to be wed as soon as the banns are read. I wish we had more time, but we must get to Woodhaven-on-the-Ouse before the winter rains.”

  “And I am Gwen.”

  She gazed at him like he was a hero. He reached up and loosened his cravat. “Well then, that’s settled.”

  “I shall inform Mama, and we shall make modest wedding plans. Perhaps we can be wed at the Longley town
house? The gardens are beautiful, and the weather is still good. I fancy an outdoor wedding. The pergola in the center of the garden is charming.”

  “Anything you wish.”

  She hesitated, then reached up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  He smiled down at her, surprised by her bold gesture, but glad he could help her escape her elderly suitor.

  The reality of their situation washed over him. He was the one getting the best of the bargain. Hopefully, she wouldn’t regret her decision.

  Now, to make the ton believe in their love match.

  “I suppose we should begin being seen in public together. Would you like to drive with me in Hyde Park on Monday afternoon? The notice should be in the papers by then.”

  “I would be delighted.”

  He bowed and took his leave, a new lightness to his step.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was a fine day for a drive despite the clouds drifting over the sun. For her first appearance in public as John’s fiancée, Gwen wore her best bonnet and a walking dress of blue lawn with a row of embroidered rosettes on the hem and on the neckline. A darker blue ribbon circled the high waist and tied in a draped bow at the back.

  She squinted at her image in the mirror. Today she would leave her spectacles behind.

  John agreed to call for her at the most fashionable hour to be seen driving through Hyde Park, to let the ton have an opportunity to ogle the newly betrothed couple. The announcement had appeared in the newspaper, and yesterday morning the first banns had been read. Gwen’s particular friends had sent notes and good wishes.

  Her sister-in-law had not been one of them.

  Ready for her adventure, Gwen descended the stairs. Lydia was waiting for her at the bottom. Her back was rigid, and her arms were crossed.

  Oh my, she’s going to berate me again.

  “How dare you accept a penniless second son when your dear Papa had your future arranged with Lord Caulfield,” she sneered. “You are a detestable daughter who has caused so much ill will and embarrassment for this family I cannot countenance it. I thought you would finally be tamed and had a slight chance to turn into a proper lady.”