Elizabeth Mansfield
Read Elizabeth Mansfield Online
Authors: The Bartered Bride
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THE BARTERED BRIDE
A Signet Regency Romance
An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Charter edition / September 1989
Jove edition / December 1994
InterMix eBook edition / April 2012
Copyright © 1989 by Paula Schwartz.
All rights reserved.
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ISBN: 978-1-101-56845-3
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Table of Contents
Special Excerpt from A Very Dutiful Daughter
Special Excerpt from The Counterfeit Husband
Chapter One
The patrons of Hollings and Chast, Linendrapers, gasped audibly. One of the clerks had actually accused a young woman (who seemed the epitome of sweet-faced innocence) of trying to steal! He may not have said it in so many words, but his meaning was clear to everyone in the shop. They stared in speechless dismay as the color drained from the poor girl’s face. Her lips turned so white that the onlookers feared she might swoon right then and there.
The incident would not have been quite so dreadful if the girl weren’t so shy. Her shyness made everything worse, for it prevented her from speaking up for herself with any conviction. Never in her life before had Miss Cassandra Chivers been so horribly humiliated, but humiliation is the sort of emotion that makes shyness even more pronounced. The girl, who would never be described as outspoken even at the best of times, could not be expected to express herself well when things were at their worst. And what could be worse than hearing a booming-voiced clerk shatter the air of a large, busy, very fashionable shop with the accusation that one was
stealing
? It was no wonder the poor little chit became utterly tied of tongue. She could only stammer, “But I
p-paid
you!” in a small, unconvincing voice.
Mr. Dorking, the clerk behind the counter, sneered. He was the senior clerk, the most important of the fourteen clerks who handled sales for the firm of Hollings and Chast. Hollings and Chast, Linendrapers (established in 1790 and doing a thriving business at this, its original location on Wigmore Street, London, throughout the quarter-century since its inception) was a favorite shop for members of the
ton
and ordinary citizens alike, for it was bountifully stocked with the widest possible selection of fabrics at all prices. At this very moment, for instance, all manner of patrons were making an amazing variety of purchases. At one counter a plainly dressed woman was examining a length of fine kentin for night-clothes; at another, a uniformed cavalry officer was selecting shirting. Here an overweight matron was bargaining for a remnant of muslin, and there a modish young lady was looking at a bolt of luxurious Persian silk. Every clerk was busy, and a number of customers were waiting to be served. And right before all these people, the shy Miss Chivers was being accused of thievery.
The clerk’s loud accusation could be heard throughout the shop. All activity ceased. The clerks paused in their measurements or their cutting of the fabric or their rewinding of the bolts to watch Mr. Dorking “spear another sharper.” Most of the patrons were too well-bred to stare, but they were not too well-bred to eavesdrop on the drama being enacted in their midst.
Dorking, the accusing clerk, was a long-nosed, thin-lipped, toplofty fellow who’d been employed by Hollings and Chast since he was a boy of fourteen. Hardened by his two decades of dealing with clutchfisted, crafty, cunning, conniving customers, mostly female, he was convinced he’d seen every kind of swindle the human mind could devise. He liked to brag to his associates that he could sniff out a deceitful canarybird at twenty paces, so he was not going to be fooled by
this
little cheat, pretty though she was. She might look as innocent as a newborn babe, but he’d learned long ago that appearances could deceive. Therefore, he looked down his nose at the trembling girl with complete disdain. “I would
remember if you’d paid me, wouldn’t I?” he asked loudly.
“B-but I
did
pay you,” the frightened Cassie Chivers whispered tearfully. “You
m-must
remember! You said the cambric was thirteen shillings fourpence, and I gave you a whole g-guinea!”
The clerk, aware that the scene he was playing was attracting the attention of the other customers (and pleased as punch to be performing the major role), smoothed his thinning hair in a gesture of pure arrogance and sneered again. “If you gave me a guinea, miss, then where is it, eh? Is it in my hand? No. Is it lying there on the counter? No. Is it on the floor? No. Is it in the parcel? No. Then where, I ask you, can it be?”
“I d-don’t know,” the girl murmured, her face painfully flushed. She tried to avert her head, as if to protect herself from the curious stares of the shop’s patrons, but the self-effacing movement only made her seem more guilty. “But I
gave
it to you, t-truly! That guinea was all I had with m-me, except for a few pennies. Here! S-see for yourself!” And, her hands trembling, she turned the contents of her reticule out on the counter before him.
The contents were pathetically meager: only a handkerchief, a vial of smelling salts, a comb, an envelope on the back of which was scribbled a short shopping list and three pennies. The clerk eyed them with contempt. “And what do you think
that
proves, eh?” he asked scornfully. “You could have hidden your guinea anywhere on your person, if you ever had the guinea at all. Do you take me for a flat?”
“Hidden it on my
p-person
?” Cassie stammered, appalled. “Why, I would n-never
think
of such a—!”
“What on earth,” came an angry voice from the back, “is going on there, Mr. Dorking? Do you realize you are creating a scene?”
It was Mr. Chast, the only partner of the partnership of Hollings and Chast still alive. He had emerged from his office at the rear of the shop and, in a stride befitting his importance, came marching across the floor to the counter where the scene was taking place. The other clerks immediately resumed their work, and the eavesdropping customers quickly turned their attention back to their own business, all except the cavalry officer, who continued to watch the proceedings with a troubled frown.
Miss Chivers lifted her head and glanced fearfully over her shoulder at the linendraper who now loomed ominously behind her. She saw a tall, potbellied, dignified gentleman whose posture, expression and striped-satin waistcoat all contributed to his air of authority. It was plain that this gentleman was in charge of the shop. Was he going to clap her in irons, she wondered, her heart pounding in terror? “I … I—” she muttered helplessly.