Compromised into Marriage

by Liz Tyner

  ‘That’s true. But I don’t plan to stay up any later for you either.’ He strode to the lamp and grabbed it.

  He held the door open and waved the lamp to indicate the hallway. ‘Off to bed, Vivian. And off to wherever, Everleigh. I don’t care. Just go.’

  Everleigh took Vivian’s fingertips and gave them a squeeze before leaving.

  Then he walked by Darius. ‘You’re going about this entirely the wrong way if you want me for a son-in-law.’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ Darius said. ‘I’ll see you to the door.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Everleigh watched as Vivian’s father’s carriage arrived and Lord and Lady Darius descended. No Vivian.

  He had his own carriage waiting. He ran down the back stairway and signalled to his coachman, instructing him to stop at the musical instructor’s home.

  After that, they continued to Vivian’s.

  Everleigh heard the driver call out ‘All clear’ as the carriage stopped. Everleigh pushed open the door and jumped to the ground.

  The second man stepped from the carriage and Everleigh focused his attention on the front door of the town house. He didn’t need a fortune teller to alert him to Vivian’s being inside. Mavis peered out of the window.

  She beamed and waved him forward. Mrs Rush was quite good with delivering notes.

  Lowering his head, he strode to the door. The butler opened it, but blinked as if he simply could not see Everleigh or the visitor with him.

  He dashed up the stairs, the man following.

  At the top, Mavis stood by a doorway.

  He asked, with just a tilt of his head, if Vivian was inside.

  A nod and he knew.

  Everleigh walked into the room, the violinist behind him. The man lifted his bow. Then the violinist spoke to Vivian. ‘I have been hired to travel with Lord Everleigh to Scotland, France and Rome.’

  ‘May I have this dance, Miss Darius?’ Everleigh asked, bowing. ‘I cannot live without a waltz with you.’

  Vivian let out a deep breath as Everleigh took her hand and swirled her around the room.

  The waltz continued, a whirling delight of perfection she’d not believed possible. When the clock chimed, he stopped. Then the violinist bowed to her and left.

  ‘I said I had no tender feelings—but I do have some very strong feelings for you. One might say unspeakably strong,’ Everleigh paused. ‘I breathe for you. My life has no light in it, except for the brightness I see in you.’

  He kissed the palm of her hand. ‘I do love you, Vivian. More than anything. More than I could have believed possible for any human to feel for another. With all the love in my heart, I ask, will you marry me?’

  He waited. Waited for her to say she’d changed her mind. That she wasn’t sure. That she’d meant something else entirely different. ‘If you say no, we can still take those trips. Mavis will have you packed and we can dash off before your parents arrive home. Just leave them a note.’

  Instead she snuggled into him and put her arms around him, pulling herself closer.

  The daggers in his stomach melted away.

  ‘I don’t know if you truly believe it,’ she said.

  He breathed again. ‘I do love you.’

  Love was not the helplessness he’d expected. He had more strength than he’d believed possible, but only with Vivian in his life.

  He pulled her into a tight hug, his hands clasped around her. ‘I love you, Vivian. How could I not?’

  ‘I will marry you.’

  ‘It would be wise to have our betrothal documented.’ He spoke, tossing the words out as if they meant nothing. ‘With a special licence.’

  ‘That would be acceptable. I would not ask you to withdraw a special licence if you obtained it.’

  ‘If we hurry, I have an appointment with the bishop. We can get the special licence and be married today, go to my town house, surprise both our parents and eat the wedding meal that your parents don’t realise they’re sharing with my father and Mrs Trimble, then we can set out for Bath.’ He paused. ‘I’d rather leave the violinist behind...if you don’t mind.’

  He moved closer and leaned to kiss the edge of her mouth. His hand travelled from her shoulder, up her neck, and then he moved back enough so his finger could trace the kiss he’d left behind.

  She locked her knees, and forced her body not to move.

  His voice vibrated inside her. ‘When my mother died and I was upset because she’d never again get to spend her days shopping, Ella Etta said my mother would look down from the stars some day and give me a gift she’d selected just for me.’

  He grasped her shoulders again, gently, and leaned forward, their foreheads touching. ‘You’re my gift.’

  * * *

  ‘Well, the marriage went smoothly,’ he said, as the carriage took them past the same spot where Alexandria had stood.

  ‘Oh, goodness,’ Vivian mumbled as the driver braked and she caught her balance. ‘Not again.’

  Everleigh surveyed the road outside their window, searching for the reason the vehicle had reduced speed.

  Ella Etta’s donkey cart rolled at a crawl in front of them.

  Everleigh thumped the roof and his driver pulled alongside her, stopping.

  He opened the door and leaned out. ‘What are you up to?’ he asked.

  ‘Same as always. Mischief.’ She saw Vivian’s face in the window. ‘And you?’

  ‘Marriage.’

  She waved him on. ‘Only surprise to me is that you waited so long.’ She sniffed. ‘Now, get on your way, you’re causing the dust to get in my eyes.’ She rubbed the edge of her sleeve over her face.

  ‘I expect you to send a wedding meal to my camp.’ She clucked to her donkey and the cart rolled away.

  Everleigh shut the door and settled beside Vivian.

  The driver spoke to the horses, and they increased speed.

  Everleigh turned to Vivian. ‘Second thoughts?’

  ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Are you having any?’

  ‘It would be late for that.’

  She brushed at her skirt.

  Then he reached out, took her hand and kissed the back of each knuckle. ‘One kiss for your second thoughts, your third, fourth and fifth.’

  She held up her other hand. ‘I’m not having second thoughts about the marriage. But I can pretend to.’

  He laughed before touching his lips four times to her.

  The carriage stopped in front of his town house. The driver called out, ‘All clear.’

  The door opened. Everleigh stepped out, then helped her down the steps and through his front door.

  Mrs Rush, Mavis and the butler waited inside and all were beaming. They reassured her they were available to help in any way she needed, then faded into the background as he took her upstairs, showing her the rooms, but saving until last where he’d first kissed her. Then he kissed her again.

  * * *

  When Vivian walked into the dining room Rothwilde was sat at the side, joined by Mrs Trimble and Lord and Lady Darius.

  ‘We’re having a late wedding breakfast,’ Mrs Rush called out.

  Mavis followed along behind her, sniffling happy tears. ‘I had to tell them. I couldn’t help it. I’m so thrilled for us, Vivian.’ Mavis dabbed her handkerchief to her eyes. ‘Your mother has asked me to stay on as a governess to the new baby and you’re married to a future earl.’

  Rothwilde glared at her.

  ‘Hopefully Everleigh will not inherit soon,’ she stammered, clenching the handkerchief as she realised what she’d said. ‘And doesn’t that soup smell delicious?’

  Vivian saw the abundance of food on the table. Mrs Rush had a welcoming feast prepared. Soup, venison or beef—she wasn’t sure which—fish, fowl and vegetables.

  Rothwilde held out
one hand to Vivian and clasped hers, before reaching back to his cane.

  ‘At my age, a man begins to think of grandchildren more and more. I had lost hope Everleigh would marry. I was putting all my dreams of a grandchild on my second son. You should be able to meet Daniel soon. He’s on his way here now.’

  He glanced down at his hands crossed over the top of his cane, then looked at Everleigh. ‘Once I knew for certain that you’d forgiven...the portrait, I knew that the two of you would be brothers again.’

  ‘Do you mind if we put off the trip to Bath until he gets here?’ Everleigh asked Vivian. ‘I’d like you to meet him.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Vivian said and they joined the family for the celebration meal.

  * * *

  After eating, Vivian and Everleigh lingered behind in the dining room, standing at the sideboard, sipping wine and planning their honeymoon trip, while the others moved to the drawing room.

  Boot heels slammed up the stairs and Everleigh stepped back from Vivian, giving her the barest clasp at her back. ‘You are about to meet my brother.’

  Daniel stepped into the room, surveyed it, then his gaze stopped on Vivian. ‘You must be responsible for the fripperies. And the smell of plum pudding. I came home at the right time.’ He drew in a large breath. ‘I’m hungry.’

  He gave his brother a bow. ‘Father did write me...that you...had forgiven Mrs Trimble. I just saw her in the hallway.’

  ‘He couldn’t have written to you that I’d married, though. Let me introduce my bride, Vivian,’ Everleigh said, unable to contain his happiness.

  Daniel gave her a bow before turning back to his brother. ‘One thing you need to know...er...just in case you might want me to leave. It wasn’t the housekeeper who scratched out the eyes on Mother’s portrait. I did. I was so angry that you had inherited everything, even Mother’s eye colour.’

  Everleigh started forward. He’d never suspected his brother. Seeing Daniel, he didn’t blame him for the jealousy. He only wished he’d realised earlier how angry Daniel had been to try to destroy the portrait. ‘I suppose I owe Mrs Trimble an apology.’

  ‘I do,’ Daniel said.

  ‘Well, she’ll get two, then.’

  ‘I thought the paint would rub off. I didn’t realise it would ruin the only portrait we had of Mother. I had trouble living with that,’ Daniel said.

  ‘Vivian knows another portrait painter who can copy the original and she believes he can do a much better job in making it right. We’ll have the portrait back.’

  ‘Do you mind if I see if I can find Father now?’ Daniel asked. ‘I’ve missed him as well, and I want to tell him how well things have progressed.’

  Then he stopped and slapped Everleigh on the back. ‘Thank you for all the funds. I’ve been investing in a ship and it made it into the docks. We did well.’

  ‘What funds?’

  ‘Father’s gambling debts.’ He grinned. ‘He was gambling with me. The ship paid off.’

  Everleigh waved him away, smiling. He could hardly believe Daniel had arrived, all animosity gone, and they were a family again.

  Then he enclosed Vivian in his arms.

  She burrowed against him. ‘When I heard your name for the first time at the ceremony, I didn’t know who I’d married.’

  ‘You married me, Evan Aarons, styled as Viscount Everleigh, and I knew exactly who I was marrying. The one I will love for ever.’

  Then he paused. ‘Before the new portrait of my mother is started I must have two miniatures done. One of you and one of me. I want us always to be able to look into each other’s eyes.’

  ‘We always will. Even without the paintings.’

  * * *

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  The Flapper’s Fake Fiancé

  by Lauri Robinson

  Chapter One

  August 1928

  An escaped convict! Imprisoned for robbing a train seven years ago. That’s the real cat’s meow!

  And whiskers!

  Patsy Dryer’s heart thudded as she quickly folded the newspaper article and tucked it inside the suitcase that held various other articles she’d saved over the years. This was it. The story that would get her name in the byline. She’d be the reporter. The one to get the scoop on the news overtaking Los Angeles.

  Father wouldn’t be able to keep her locked up then. She’d become rich and famous on her own—without having to marry a man he handpicked. He was adamant that his daughters marry well and kept them all under lock and key until he found a suitable man for her and her sisters.

  He’d already picked out a man for her oldest sister, Betty, so it was only a matter of time until he found one for her and Jane. Which meant time was running out.

  Right next to the articles Patsy had snipped out of the newspapers was a stack of articles she’d written, about all sorts of things, along with a rejection slip for each one.

  But this. An escaped convict. That’s exactly what she needed. Everyone would be interested in that and when her version of the story hit the editor’s desk, it would be printed for sure.

  Then she’d have a real job, and wouldn’t have to worry about being forced into a marriage, or stuck in the house cleaning all day, day after day.

  With that thought encouraging her, and her mind spinning with images of a man dressed in black-and-white stripes, she closed the suitcase and shoved it under her bed.

  Gathering all the information she could before another reporter beat her to the scoop was a priority, and she knew just the place for that to happen.

  The Rooster’s Nest. Everyone knew whiskey loosened lips. If there was news to be heard, that’s where it would be heard first. The crowd at that speakeasy was full of tough guys—mainly dockworkers who were certain to know more about an escaped convict than anyone else.

  The docks were full of chin music. And criminals. At least that’s what she’d heard. Well, read. The newspapers were always full of stories about people being shanghaied.

  Oh, maybe that’s what happened to the escaped convict!

  She had to find out more information right away.

  The morning sunlight filling the room sent a river of discouragement clear to her toes. It’d be hours before she could get to the Rooster’s Nest. Before she could sneak away. Today was wash day. So those hours would be filled with washing everything from rugs to linens, hanging it all out to dry and ironing each and every piece before putting it all away.

  Patsy pushed up her sleeves and huffed out a breath while walking to the door of her bedroom, past the vanity table with its round mirror and matching bench seat, both painted bright pink to match the rest of her bedroom furnishings. Her life had been painted pink since the day she was born because she was the baby of the family. Daddy’s baby girl.

  Despite graduating high school, and secretarial school, everything was still painted pink. When she had her own house, her own life, nothing would be pink. She wouldn’t be anyone’s baby girl, either. She’d be a reporter. A woman of means.

  Shopkeepers already thought of her as a woman of means because she was Patsy Dryer, William Dryer’s youngest daughter, but they didn’t know the half of it. Her family hadn’t always been rich. Father hadn’t started making
money until ten years ago, and most of his wealth had been acquired in the past few years, since the houses he’d had built started selling. Those houses didn’t sell on their own, either. They had to be cleaned from top to bottom once they were built, and that was what she and her sisters had been doing, besides keeping their own home in tip-top shape all the time.

  She and her sisters had decided some time ago that they weren’t going to do this forever. They weren’t going to be like Mother, either. Being told when to get up, when to go to bed, when to eat and what to do all the time.

  “I’ll wash today,” Betty said as Patsy stepped into the hallway. “Jane will run the wringer.”

  Betty, being the oldest, kept track of rotating everyone’s household duties. Everything from washing day to shopping day, Betty was in charge, per Mother’s orders, of course.

  Mother, of course, was following Father’s orders.

  That was the golden rule of the Dryer household.

  Father’s orders.

  The Dryer household was a prune pit. So old-fashioned it felt as if she was being smothered every day, living in the last century, long before women were given the right to vote. Father threatened he’d send them to a convent if they didn’t follow his orders. Well, living here was nearly as bad.

  It was not that she wasn’t grateful. She was thankful that she always had plenty to eat and new clothes to wear, but what was the fun in having new clothes if you were never allowed to go anywhere? Not allowed to do anything? Father’s strict rules kept them practically imprisoned in their own house.

  She wasn’t the only one to feel the way she did. Her sisters were as starved for freedom as she was.

  “And I’ll rinse,” Patsy replied to Betty as Jane stepped out of her bedroom and joined them in the long hallway that would take them downstairs of their big Hollywoodland home.

  Theirs had been the first home built in the hills that now hosted several dozen large and elaborate homes. When Father had inherited the land that was too hilly for farming years ago, he’d decided to plot it off and build houses to sell. Like everything else, he had very specific building requirements and very specific requirements as to who could purchase any of the homes—only the rich and famous. Because that was what he wanted to be. He wanted the Dryer name to ring with recognition.