by Martha Keyes
Her mother kissed the crown of her head. "It is no wonder, my dear, if that is so. Your heart has hardly had time to heal."
Anne said nothing. It wasn't time which was lacking. She had embraced her love match, so desperate that her own marriage not echo her parents' that she had fallen headlong into heartbreak of another kind; so desperate that she had fallen for someone who never even existed.
She would not do it again. She would marry Tobias Cosgrove, and they would have, she hoped, the mutually-indifferent marriage of convenience that would give her the peace and independence she needed.
2
Tobias Cosgrove gave a little tip of the chin at his valet, who frowned slightly before sighing resignedly and tossing a cane toward his master. Tobias caught it deftly in his hand and grinned.
"Admit it, Walters," Tobias said, tapping the cane against his boots. "You enjoy this part of my toilette the most."
"I enjoy all of my duties in service of yourself, sir." His face could hardly have been more at odds with his words—eyes half-veiled in boredom and his lips pursed tightly.
"Hmph," said Tobias, eyeing him suspiciously. "To look at you, anyone might assume I required you to recite your multiplication tables all day long. None of your Friday face today, if you please," said Tobias, putting his cane between his arm and his body so that he could catch the top hat his valet tossed to him. "I have enough to worry about without your disapproving looks."
Placing his hat on his sandy locks, he put his arms out to the side, saying, "Do I look like a husband?" He glanced at his reflection in the long mahogany mirror across the room and let out a puff of air, pursing his lips. "Don't answer that, Walters." He tugged down on his waistcoat. "I was never meant to be a husband, you know. But, alas, I am to become one despite that."
His valet's only response was a small bow, and Tobias gave up, yet again, on eliciting a smile from the man—a seemingly fruitless endeavor.
Tobias was postponing, and he knew it. Surely it wasn't to be wondered at, though, that he wouldn't relish the prospect of paying this confoundedly awkward visit to Lady Anne. If his father was to be believed—or Lady Anne's father, for that matter—Tobias was as good as rescuing a damsel in distress by agreeing to marry her. They could hardly have chosen a man less befitting such a chivalrous errand.
Besides, from what he knew of Lady Anne, she was hardly the type of woman to stand in need of rescuing. Composed and dignified was how he would describe her, based on the few interactions they'd had. Though she was never slow to smile, thankfully. There was that, at least.
He hopped down the stairs, determined not to let the undesirable turn his life had taken ruin his mood.
It could be worse, after all.
When his father had summoned him, Tobias had already had an inkling of what was coming. With Cecilia and Isabel both married, it had only been a matter of time before his parents' expectant eyes had turned to him, bringing his life of bachelorhood to a close. He had long known that he would have little say in who he married. His parents were much too ambitious to leave that decision to him. And truth be told, he couldn’t blame them. He had yet to meet a woman that made him look on the prospect of marriage with anything but distaste.
And Tobias was no fool—he'd known his mother was eyeing a certain Miss Waltham with eagerness. Wealthy, of good family, and obscenely quick to find an excuse to talk to Tobias, Miss Waltham had been the favorite contender in his mother's eyes.
Of course, as far as Tobias was concerned, there were no contenders. Only plaguey women who quite incomprehensibly seemed to have taken a great interest in him and were intent on securing his good favor.
So it was with relief, if not a good deal of surprise, that he heard his father mention Lady Anne Vincent in connection with the marriage he expected from Tobias.
"Lady Anne?" Tobias had said, frowning as he second-guessed the image her name brought to mind. "Is she not married?"
"Annulled!" his father had said with more glee than Tobias thought befitting the situation. "And her father is desperate to marry her off since no one is likely to have her now."
This comment was hardly flattering to Tobias or to Lady Anne, but in truth, Tobias cared little about Lady Anne's reputation. His parents were quick to overlook the brief marriage she’d had, if only it meant their son could marry into a titled family. It was an opportunity they couldn’t pass up. And if Tobias must marry, he would take Lady Anne over a Miss Waltham any day.
Lady Anne didn't seem like the type who would hang upon his sleeve or expect him to dance attendance upon her day and night or flutter her lashes at him like they were some blasted weapon of war.
That was what he cared about. As far as marriages of convenience went, a marriage to Lady Anne might be the best Tobias could hope for.
Of course, he planned to make sure that they were in agreement about just what type of marriage theirs would be, and it was with just such an aim in mind that he was ushered into the morning room at Ingleburn Park, feeling only a touch apprehensive about the future and how to handle such an unwieldy conversation as he was obliged now to have.
Lady Anne stood across the room from him, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes on him.
His resolution and confidence flagged for the briefest of moments as he realized that she was much more handsome than he had remembered. He blinked twice as his mind jumped immediately—and unaccountably—to the china tea set his mother used every day, with its cream-colored porcelain and dainty pink floral borders.
Was it Lady Anne's skin that had brought such a thing to mind? It was certainly not out of the realm of possibility—the color and smoothness of her skin and the light pink of her cheeks were certainly reminiscent of it. Or perhaps it was the way a pink ribbon wound through her dark curls like flowers on a trellis?
But such thoughts came and went in less than a second.
Lady Anne was agreeable to look upon, and it would be ridiculous to think of that as a problem. Certainly Tobias would not have preferred the alternative, and decidedly he would not trade Lady Anne for Miss Waltham.
Time had shown Tobias that beauty was hardly enough to rock him from his secure foundation. All was well.
He smiled at her, doffing his hat and bowing. "Lady Anne," he said as she curtsied in response. What did one say to one's future wife who was a near-stranger? "I imagine you know why I am here?"
A smile trembled at the corner of her mouth, and she nodded. "My father has apprised me of all the arrangements. I believe he and your father have sorted everything out between themselves."
Tobias chuckled, setting his hat down on the nearby table. "They are very"—he paused, searching for the word.
"Efficient?" she suggested.
He smiled and shrugged. "I was going to say meddlesome or zealous, but let us settle on your adjective."
She offered him a seat, taking the one across from him. She was graceful, if nothing else, all her movements contained and soft.
"I will be frank with you, Lady Anne," he said, tousling his hair with a hand. "I find this to be—excepting your presence—devilish awkward."
She laughed softly, clearly sympathetic, and it gave him a dose of confidence. "Somehow it comes about that I've never done this before—marriage, I mean."
Her face fell, and his followed suit. He grimaced, clenching his eyes shut. Of course he managed to match her grace with his bumbling maladroitness.
He shook his head. "I am terribly sorry." He smiled wryly. "Perhaps our fathers were wise to arrange such a meeting between us today, as you now have a taste of the fool you would pledge yourself to in marrying me."
"Don't give it a thought," she said, the red in her cheeks fading. "I would rather you speak freely than feel on pins and needles in my presence, Mr. Cosgrove."
He tilted his head to the side, raising his brows. "And I would rather you call me Tobias than Mr. Cosgrove. May I call you Anne?"
She swallowed and nodded with a forced smile.
"You say you would like me to speak freely, Anne?"
"Yes, if you please."
He pursed his lips and interlocked his fingers. "I thought it might be in both of our best interests if we could be quite frank with one another about this arrangement—this marriage—we shall be entering into."
He looked at her, trying to judge how to approach what he wished to say. "May I ask you what your reasoning is for agreeing to marry me?"
She wet her lips, clearly not prepared for the directness of his question. "I believe that our fathers have arranged a mutually beneficial—"
He put up a hand to stop her. "I know why our fathers wish for the match. But I want to know what has led you to agree to such a scheme. For it is not our fathers who must live out the particulars, the day-to-day."
She said nothing, her eyes searching his face as if she were trying to decide how honest she could be.
He smiled at her. "You have no need to fear wounding my feelings, Anne. You can be entirely and utterly honest. In fact, I would greatly appreciate it, for I am not known for being overly-perceptive or adept at inferring the meaning of words wrapped up in polite speech."
Her hands stopped fidgeting, and she looked him in the eye. "Very well, then. To be perfectly frank, I have little desire to marry, particularly after my recent experience"—she straightened and shifted in her seat, her color heightened. "But I am expected to marry, all the same, and if I refuse, I face a lifetime of censure from my father."
He nodded his understanding, a smile tugging at his lips.
She frowned. "Have I amused you?"
He shook his head. "No. It is only that we share very similar reasons for agreeing to this match. I think that will stand us in good stead. Neither of us need pretend to feelings that don't exist"—he watched her carefully again, and she put up a hand in the air to stop him.
He closed his mouth, stifling a smile.
"You needn't harbor any fear, Tobias"—she said his name with effort. "I have learned to be self-sufficient and have little expectation from you beyond the day-to-day—as you call them—particulars that must be agreed upon between two people living under the same roof."
He let out a sigh of relief, grateful that she had perceived and agreed with his train of thought.
"As for considerations relating to an heir," she said, her neck and cheeks turning pink yet again, "can we agree that it is a matter to be revisited at some future point?"
Tobias nodded swiftly. "We seem to understand one another very well."
She smiled, rising from her seat, and he followed her lead. He was grateful that she was putting an end to their interview. It had gone much more smoothly than he had expected or even hoped, but it wasn't one he would be itching to repeat.
He left Ingleburn Park feeling very satisfied with the whole affair—much more so than he would have imagined if someone had told him two months earlier that he would be married to a near-stranger before the year was out.
There might even be some unanticipated advantages to life as a married man, not least of which would be a liberation from the oversight of his parents and from the weight of their expectations which had been long hanging over his head.
For some time, he had been nervously anticipating the day when they would cut off his allowance, forcing him into a match with one of the simpering, fainting misses he had so often been obliged to dance with over the years.
Well, fate was proving to be a much better friend to him than he had given her credit for. Anne was a right one. The way she had described it, Tobias might not even feel married. It would be much like his life was now.
He flipped his hat around in his hand in a showy gesture seen by no one, passing into the courtyard of Ingleburn Park with a light step, where he hopped up onto his horse and tossed a coin to the boy servant holding the horse's reins.
He was feeling generous indeed. All was well.
3
Anne stood before the door of her bedroom at Ingleburn Park, staring at the doorknob, her own image reflecting hazily back at her in the octagonal brass knob.
She glanced at the dress which lay on the coverlet of her bed, her mouth trembling slightly as she closed her eyes and looked away. Her maid had laid out the dress, apparently operating under the assumption that Anne would wear the same dress on this wedding day as she had worn on the previous one.
Anne could hardly blame her. It was a beautiful dress, after all, and much more befitting such an occasion than the one she wore now—a pale yellow satin, unembellished save for a small line of gold beading at the neckline, waist, and sleeves. She had worn it more times than she could remember.
She ran a hand across her waist, sucking in and then exhaling slowly. Different as the marriage she approached was from her last, she had not been prepared for the nerves or recollections which had assailed her for the past few days in preparation.
Her marriage to Anthony she had anticipated with much inner excitement and impatience. She'd had a new dress made up for the occasion, and the wedding had been attended by a fair number of people, though they had all been Anne's family and close friends. Anthony had excused his own family with the explanation that his mother was too ill to travel the distance to Dorset from their estate up north near Manchester.
Anne shook her head softly. The tales she had believed in her excitement at marrying a man as charming and demonstrative as was Anthony Haywood. Or Nicholas Hackett, rather—whoever he was.
Today's affair would be much simpler. In fact, Anne's father had insisted that it be smaller than the first, with none but immediate family members invited to attend. And Anne had not complained. She would have been content to have only herself and Tobias there, perhaps with her mother for support.
She glanced back at the dress on her bed and hesitated a moment. Stepping toward the bed, she picked the dress up by the shoulders, running her eyes over it. When Anthony had seen her step out of the carriage at the church, wearing this dress, his jaw had dropped, along with the bunch of bluebells he'd been holding in his hand. He had scrambled to pick them up, his eyes fixed on Anne, who had laughed merrily at the sight of him.
She rubbed her fingers lightly on the fabric of the dress shoulders, embroidered with silver thread and matching spangles. After the wedding, as they had sat alone in the rumbling coach, Anthony had run a finger along the silver embroidery, all along the shoulders and across the neckline, making her spine and skin tingle.
She moved to the wardrobe, thrusting the dress inside and closing the doors. She wouldn't let the memories of her folly ruin this day. She took in a deep breath and forced her lips into a pleasant expression.
This time was different. She was making a calculated, well-considered decision. There was no heart in the match, so there could be no hurt in it, either.
* * *
Tobias held his hat in his hands, drumming his thumbs on its rim. The morning air was turning crisp, and it was thick with the scent of the rain which had fallen during the night. The leaves on the large tree in the churchyard were still mostly green, though the tips of some had turned. In a matter of a fortnight, they would flame bright yellow and orange before falling to the ground in crinkling heaps.
His sister Isabel nudged him softly in the ribs. "Tobias," she said, putting a hand on one of his to still it. "You are making me nervous. Stop your fidgeting."
He chuckled softly, letting his hand drop to his side with the top hat. "Never been so jittery in my life!"
Isabel let go of her husband's arm beside her, coming to stand in front of Tobias. She put her hands up to his cravat, straightening the knot. "If you are nervous, imagine what Lady Anne must be feeling. She must be very conflicted indeed, returning to a place that has been a source of such misery.” She glanced at the church with a grimace. “Your task is to ensure that she is as much at ease as she can be." She put a hand on his arm and smiled at him. "And you are the perfect person to do that."
Tobias frowned. He hadn't even co
nsidered what Anne might be feeling at the prospect of marrying for a second time in such a short period, to say nothing of having it occur in the same church as her first wedding. It was all so unusual.
A carriage turned into the lane, and Tobias looked up, recognizing the ornate crest of Lord Purbeck on the side. He swallowed and straightened his shoulders.
Isabel smiled at him, squeezing his arm. "Forget yourself and think of her. You will feel less nervous if you focus on setting her at ease."
He nodded. Isabel was always right—and she was always thinking of others, something Tobias struggled to do.
The carriage came to a stop, and the driver hopped down to open the door. Lord Purbeck emerged, raking his critical eyes over Tobias and his family. He moved toward Tobias's father, leaving the coachman to hand his wife down from the carriage.
Isabel nudged Tobias again. "Go," she said. "Help Anne from the carriage."
Tobias set his hat atop his head and strode quickly over to the carriage, dodging a small puddle on the way. Lady Purbeck smiled kindly at him, and he bowed, putting a hand out toward the open door of the carriage from which Anne would emerge.
Emerge she did, and Tobias swallowed as her head appeared. He blinked rapidly. The contrast between her dark hair, arranged in face-framing curls and punctuated with small yellow flowers, and her pale dress was striking. He had seen her less than a month ago, but his memory hadn't done her justice. Why did he always find himself surprised at how beautiful she was?
She smiled at him gratefully as she took his arm, only a hint of shyness in her gaze. If she was laboring under strong nerves, she did a very good job at concealing them. But surely she had been raised to appear elegant and composed, no matter what she happened to be feeling or thinking.
"What a surprise to run into you here, Anne."
She looked at him questioningly for a moment, and he smiled at her with a small wink.
"Are you ready?" he said, clasping his hands behind him as he looked at their families conversing together under the shade of the tree.
