The Bargain Bride (13 page)

“I prefer the theater.”

“Good, so do I.” And he hated the harp. “Remember the museums, the lectures, the circus. And the stores. I never heard of a female who did not like shopping.”

She dabbed at her nose with his handkerchief. “I suppose I will enjoy some new gowns or a fancy bonnet.”

West wracked his brain to think of something else that might appeal. “You'll have my house to make over as you see fit. You can even let Marcel help you, unless you have other friends in London.”

“I used to, but they are all married with children. None of them are in Town.”

“Well, you'll have your stepsisters.”

She clutched the sodden handkerchief to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

“Well, my brother, then. No, you wouldn't come to Town at all if you knew him and his rackety friends. You'll make new ones. You'll see. My friend Endicott's wife runs a charity school for girls, and another friend's wife holds a literary salon you would enjoy. You can meet some of the authors whose books you have been reading.”

She tried to smile but failed, her blue eyes awash in tears.

West could not help himself from reaching out and pulling her closer to him, caressing her back, letting her weep on his shoulder. “You'll be happy, I promise. You will. I never meant to ruin your life, Penny, and I will spend forever trying to make it up to you. You will not have to worry about anything. You have a husband now.”

She looked up at him. “That's what scares me the most.”

So he kissed her. And Molly headed home.

 

Penny's grandfather retired right after dinner that evening, leaving them alone in the parlor. West offered his arm to Penny for a stroll on the terrace, where the clouds had finally blown away and the stars were out.

Neither spoke for a minute or two; then West put his arm around Penny, drawing her to his side. “So you do not take a chill,” he said, liking how she fit so perfectly.

She liked it, too, by how she stayed close and put her arm around his waist.

He feathered kisses on the top of her head. “I do mean to make you happy, with all my heart.”

She looked up, moonlight in her eyes. “I believe you mean that today.”

“Not just today,” he told her. “Marriage is forever.” The words would have chilled West to the bone a week ago, but now they were warm on his tongue.

She shook her head. “You cannot promise what you do not have to give.”

“I can try. That is all any of us can do.”

Penny started crying again.

West stepped away from her so he could find his fresh handkerchief. “Good grief, what now?”

“You have been so kind, helping with the packing without complaining, playing with the children at the orphanage, charming all the poor widows and old men when we delivered packages. I saw you hand that crippled soldier a coin from your own pocket. And you have been patient and understanding.”

“That is what you are crying about? I thought I was being a good husband. I am not proficient at it yet, of course.”

She threw herself back into his arms and pounded on his chest, sobbing. “But I did not want to like you.”

He held her hands before she could think of inflicting serious harm. “Ever?”

“Not yet.”

“Ah.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead and pushed her in the direction of the stairs. “Go to sleep, my dear. We will speak more tomorrow. You must be more tired than I thought if you cannot even carry your grudge.”

—By Arrangement,
a chronicle of arranged marriages, by G. E. Felber

 

 

 

Y
es, Penny was sad, and yes, she was tired. Mostly, yes, she was a buffle-headed beanwit. She'd all but told West that she liked him! She might as well have handed him a lance, then stood before him without a shield.

Penny knew she never had a fair chance to start with. Viscount Westfield was a practiced charmer and she was nothing but a bookish spinster. Still, she might have withstood compliments and kisses, no matter how gratifying, no matter how glorious. Those were a rake's stock-in-trade, after all, and she knew better than to trust them. But kindness? She had no defense against that.

Very well, she told herself as she rebraided her hair for bed, she liked him. She might as well accept the inevitable. He was her husband; a slight degree of affection was acceptable, especially since she knew him for what he was. Now she had to draw the line at liking and save what was left of her poor, bruised heart before he skewered it.

Unless, she thought, setting the brush aside and climbing into bed, West was being nice for his own scurvy, slimy motives. He wanted a woman and he wanted an heir. She was the only available woman—unless he went back to the inn in Upper Falls—and she was the only one who could give him a legitimate heir. Once he had his son, and his mistresses back in Town, he'd have no more use for her.

Fine, Penny told herself as she snuffed out her candle, the sooner he left, the better. She wanted children of her own and an independent life. So she would draw the line
there
. She would permit him to consummate the marriage, but she would not enjoy it. Passion was merely another practiced ploy of his, another chain binding her to a pipe dream. Pleasure would only raise her expectations, and they already had too far to fall.

So she fell asleep thinking about the fences she'd built around her feelings, the lines she had drawn. She dreamed, however, about the line of West's straight nose, the line of his well-muscled leg, the line of his lips as they touched her.

 

She liked him! West saluted his victory with a glass of brandy raised to the moon. Now he knew he had a chance of a comfortable marriage. This wedding business was more complicated than he'd imagined, not that he ever believed he could understand a woman, but he knew he had to try. He did not want to live with a rebellious, reluctant bride, or like a monk. He touched the garnet ring on his little finger, a gift from his mother. He wanted a better marriage than his parents had, too.

He liked his wife, especially now that he had seen her softer side, so winning her heart would be no hardship. He had never considered a woman's affections to be more than a convenience at the beginning of an affair, a burden at the end. But a wife was different. Penny was different. He wanted to take her to London and show her the sights and show her off, instead of dragging her there. He wanted to make her happy, to atone for the past. Mostly he wanted her, now.

Lud, the few kisses he'd taken had been heaven, the way she responded, the little murmurs she made, how she pressed herself against him. Straitlaced Persephone Goldwaite had far more heat than she knew, waiting for him to fan the flames. Once he had her burning with desire, he hoped, the rest would follow.

He had a few more days to work his way further into her affections and into her bed. Tomorrow she was going to be busy with meetings of her charity boards and bankers, and the following night the Whitstanleys had asked them to dinner, to celebrate their marriage and bid Penny and Mr. Littleton farewell. After that, they could leave for London, husband and wife by decree, lovers by choice, he hoped, partners by the grace of God.

He raised his glass again before swallowing the last sip, and made a toast. “To a good marriage.”

The moon winked back.

 

“Shall I accompany you, my dear?” he asked over breakfast the following morning. Penny was looking rested and confident again, far more tempting in a bright raspberry-colored gown than the raspberry jam on the table. She had her ubiquitous lists, but no frown, for once.

She even smiled. “What, come with me to the Ladies' Guild meeting? Now, wouldn't that cause a stir, like a new rooster in the chicken yard? No, my lord, you would only be a distraction from the business of the day.”

“Laying eggs? I always thought a rooster was necessary for that.”

For once she did not blush. Penny was proud that she was getting used to his teasing. “Our business is running the church bazaar. I need to hand over all my notes for the fair so someone else can run it next year. And I have been acting as secretary of the guild, keeping the lists for whose turn it is to arrange flowers, launder the altar cloth, that kind of thing. You would find it all boring.”

Not if he could watch his wife.

“Besides, I doubt anyone would expect you to accompany me there, since gentlemen never do, so your absence will not stir up more gossip.”

“What about after the meeting?” He hoped they had time for a picnic, a stroll, an afternoon cuddle, a kiss in the carriage, anything.

“After the meeting I have to deliver the vicar's sermon notes. The man would repeat himself forever, I swear, with no one to keep track of his lessons. And then I have instructions for Mr. Edmonds at the bank about transferring my funds. After luncheon I meet with the governing board of the orphanage. That should take the rest of the afternoon, because no one wants to accept the new responsibilities. We need another instructor, now that I am not here to help teach the girls needlework and such.”

In other words, no cuddling, no kissing. West rode alongside the pony cart when she went to her first meeting, and made sure the ladies saw him hand her down, kiss her hand before leaving. The vicar saw him, too, and the banker. No one was going to think his Penny was alone, unprotected, uncherished.

After a brief stop for luncheon, Penny asked West to stay behind when she went to the orphanage.

“I have been neglecting Grandpapa these past days. Would you stay and keep him company? He is used to having me read to him, or playing chess. I have to warn you, he remembers all the moves even if he cannot see all the pieces, so you cannot cheat. Not that you would, of course.”

“But you tried?”

She laughed. “Once, just to see. And got my hand slapped.”

He handed her into the pony cart, threw kisses to her and Molly, and watched them drive off before he returned to the house. He wondered how she would get on in London, when no woman of standing went anywhere unaccompanied by a footman and a maid, if not a gentleman escort.

Her grandfather thought she would do fine. “She ain't stupid, my girl. She won't do anything to embarrass you.”

“I never thought she would. I was merely concerned for her own sake.”

“And about time, too.”

What, did he have to court the old man, too? West tried to return the book of Penny's poems, but Littleton said they'd be no good to him anymore, since he could not read them and would not share his granddaughter's private thoughts with Marcel or another servant. He asked West to read them aloud, one last time.

The meter was still as ragged, the images just as melodramatic.

Littleton wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “She was all heart, my girl. I'd like to see that back, in the woman.”

So would West.

He met her at the orphanage and stole her away for dinner. That is, he convinced her to let him drive, his hired horse tied behind the cart. Instead of going back to her grandfather's house, he drove to the Black Dog Inn in Upper Falls. He ordered a private parlor, a bottle of wine, and, once the meal was served, privacy. There were no lists, no relatives, nothing but newlyweds. They spoke of her errands and her grandfather, the plans he had for Westfield, the friends of his she would meet in London. He was diplomatic; she was demure. No one mentioned the marriage bed or the thirteen years, the pair of demons that shared the meal.

When they were finished, West almost suggested they spend the night in one of the rooms above, but her grandfather would worry, and she had none of the things a woman deemed essential, her nightgown, brush, fresh clothes for the morning. He could do without all of them, especially her clothes, but Penny was already outside, feeding a lump of sugar to Molly while he paid the bill.

Once home, he kissed her good night, fully intending that to be the first kiss of the evening, not the last. She returned his kiss, even weaving her fingers through his hair. She was not going to refuse him, not now.

West undressed, washed, and shaved again, counting how long he imagined it took for Penny to get ready for bed and dismiss her maid. Then he was on his way across the hall to her room, the same unopened bottle of champagne in his hand.

He was about to knock on the door with his free hand when the door opened. She stood there, her hair loose around her shoulders, outlined by the fire's glow in a sheer gown with nothing but ribbons for shoulder straps, like a present. And it was not even Christmas or his birthday.

“I . . . I came to wish you good night,” West said when his tongue remembered its purpose. No matter that he'd said the same words not thirty minutes ago.

“I was coming to do the same.”

She was? His heart rate, his hopes, and his manhood all rose. Before he could speak, Penny almost pulled him into her bedroom. His eyebrows rose, too.

She looked directly at him, her blue eyes like sapphires in the dimness. “I have decided that we know each other well enough.”

“Well enough for . . . ?”

“Must I say it?” She twisted the end of one of the ribbons. “I . . . I thought that we should . . . you know . . . if you like.”

He smiled, from the inside out. “Yes, my dear, I do know. There is nothing I would like better. You have made me a happy man.”

“Well, this way I do not have to be anxious about it any longer, and we can be comfortable afterward.”