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Authors: Barbara Metzger

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BOOK: The Bargain Bride
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Her voice was low and sorrowful. “You heard my father and his threats.”
He had. “Surely we can come up with another solution. Let me think.”
She watched him pace, back and forth, back and forth, like a caged animal. He did not want to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him, the toad. She had good reasons, thirteen of them. His reasons were that he was, simply, a cad of no character. “Well?”
“All I have been able to devise is offering you a home at one of my estates, so you are not dependent on either your father or grandfather. But your reputation would be in tatters, and I cannot think you would enjoy being ostracized in a new neighborhood.”
“Everyone would think I was your mistress.” Just like Lady Greenlea.
“Exactly. And no, before you get up in the boughs again, I am not suggesting anything improper, just a refuge. I suppose I could ask one of my aunts to take you in, but what kind of life would that be for you, especially after you are used to managing your own household?”
“And I should not wish to abandon Grandpapa. How would he get on? Besides, what if my father cut him off out of spite, or told him about the paintings?”
He paced some more, while she wrung her handkerchief as if it were her father's neck—or the viscount's.
West turned. “I have it! You could claim to be ill. We could paint spots on your cheeks, or dose you with laudanum or feed you something rancid. No, not that, I suppose. But you get the idea.”
Penny thought a moment. “Anything short of my death would only postpone the inevitable.”
“And your father would likely drag you to the church anyway, even if he had to prop you up at the altar. Hmm.”
“There is no hope for it,” she conceded. “You have to leave. Bother your honor. I would rather be disgraced than be forced into a lifetime of misery.”
“Well, I am not going to play the villain, no matter what you think of me. For that matter, many a female would be happy to wear my ring. Damn it, I do not have a ring.”
“I have my mother's,” she answered without thinking, then caught herself. “No, no. The ring is not the problem. You are.”
“Thank you. I do not know when I have been more insulted, at least not since you hit—since I arrived.”
“I am sorry, but I do not want to be your wife. Furthermore, you do not want to be my husband.”
“I never said that.” Not in so many words, anyway.“But if we must wed, perhaps we can learn to rub along. Maybe marriage between us will not be as bad as you fear.”
She made a rude noise.
He ignored it. “If, as you say, the deed is inevitable, we can try to make the most of it. I find you attractive, and that is a start. Your hair, your form. Your expressive face.” West thought he could watch emotions color her cheeks for days, and spend at least a week learning the surprises of her slender figure. A week in bed with no clothes on.
She waved her hand, and her handkerchief, in dismissal. “Faugh. Looks have nothing to do with building a marriage.”
“If that is what you think, you know less about men than a mongoose. Your hair—” He could not wait to see it loose and curling again, free for his fingers to slide through the silky tresses, preferably against his pillow. “That is, your care for your grandfather. I admire your loyalty, your intelligence, your spirit in fighting for what you want.” Her sun-kissed hair. “And your good deeds for the neighbors. You did say you are involved in charitable enterprises?”
She went back to twisting her handkerchief between her hands. The silence went on.
“Um, did I mention your spirit? I appreciate that you have not flown into a tantrum, swooned, or dissolved in tears at a crisis.”
“No, I would not do any of those things,” she said with a sniff, quickly using her mangled handkerchief to blot at her eyes.
He looked at her with suspicion. “Good, for men hate a woman's tears. They make us feel helpless.”
“You are helpless, if you have no other plan to offer.”
“Other than making the best of things? I see no alternative. But can you not think of one thing about me to admire?”
After too long a pause for his self-esteem, Penny said, “You are handsome, I suppose some would say.”
That was a start, even though she had claimed looks did not matter. “Yes?”
“And you like horses.”
“Good grief, ma'am, I am searching for crumbs here. Very well, since you will not credit me with the quality of a clam, let me say that I am honorable. I was an officer and deemed brave. I do not cheat at cards; I rarely drink to excess or gamble more than I can afford to lose. I am an excellent shot and handy with my fists.”
“All excellent qualities in a husband,” she mumbled to herself.
“I am not a fortune hunter. You cannot accuse me of plotting and planning to get my hands on your dowry or whatever moneys you possess, for I never knew you had any.”
“That is true,” she said grudgingly.
“I have never struck a woman.” He ruined that by adding “yet.”
“And . . . and I do not snore.”
Her head jerked up. “We would share a bedroom?”
Saints preserve him from maidenly modesty and a virgin's vapors! And his own heated thoughts of her naked, beneath him. He hurried on, erasing the image. Discussions of the marriage bed could wait until after the marriage, thank the gods. “Not if you do not wish, except occasionally, of course, for the sake of children. You will have your own room, and you can decorate it any way you wish. In fact, you will have all of Westmoreland to redecorate. Although I would ask you to ignore your stepmother's preference for the Egyptian motif.”
“What, no mummies in the morning room?” She smiled at last. “It would serve you right if I did.”
Her smile entranced him. “Quite. Um, I am sure I have more to offer a woman than a crumbling pile to furnish. There is my title, of course, the country property, and a hunting box. Our first son will be an honorable, and he'll have lots of horses to ride.”
None of his assets seemed to impress her, so he stood by her chair and reached for her hand. “I am sorry I cannot be your Prince Charming after all, but think on it, my dear. You have no better way to protect yourself and your grandfather than by marriage, and I have no other way of satisfying my honor. Then there is duty, a daughter's to her family, a viscount's to his heritage, a son's to his father's memory. My father did give his word on the betrothal, and I am bound not to betray him.”
“I understand,” Penny said. “But I need time to think about all this. I wish to speak to Grandpapa and reflect on my choices, limited though they are. This decision is for a lifetime, after all. I should have more than a few minutes to decide.”
The decision was made when she was thirteen, but West held his tongue. Let the poor girl think she was in control of her destiny. He raised her hand to his lips, then said, “Very well, I shall return later this afternoon for your answer.”
That was not late enough for Penny. “Why do you not come to dinner? With my father, I suppose. We can speak afterward, and perhaps if Cook's food is good and Grandpapa's wine is flowing, Father will listen to reason.”
Maybe they could get him so drunk he could be put on a ship for the antipodes, West thought on a moment's optimism. But, no, Goldwaite would only come back. And no wine that West knew of turned solid marble into something malleable.
“Later, my dear.”
 
“Grandpapa, I need to speak to you,” Penny said after Westfield left. Her grandfather and Marcel were just finishing the day's work in the studio, so she helped clean up, as usual. She did not reveal her father's threats or the truth about the painting sales, but she did not need to explain about his insistence on the wedding.
“I heard all about it, poppet. But Grasping Gaspar told me to stay out of it. He is set on getting that title for you. And in a way he is right. Fathers have always made matches for their children, being older and wiser and with a larger view of life. Why, I never met your grandmother until a month before our wedding, and I came to love her with all my soul. Your mother caught young Gaspar's eye, but it was his father who approached me about an alliance. Daughters especially were expected to wed where their fathers decreed. Only recently have love matches become fashionable.”
“Then you think it is my duty to obey Father's wishes?”
“I do not know what is in your heart, or in the viscount's, so I cannot advise you, even if I wished to go against your father's whims. You are always welcome here, but Gaspar is right. I will not live forever, and then you will have given up your chances of a life of your own.”
“But I could be miserable in that life!” she said with a wail. “Doesn't that matter?”
“Of course, but you might also be happy. I have never heard ill spoken of him, and he has made good on his father's debts, which shows he is a man of honor.”
“And he is
très beau,
” Marcel put in. “Those shoulders, those muscles, such a distinguished air. Not an ounce of fat, I'd wager, and, oh, the legs of a horseman. Marry him,
chérie
, before someone else does.”
“Yes, yes, he is good-looking, Marcel, but it is his character that matters.”
Mr. Littleton stepped back from the work in progress and squinted his eyes as if that might bring the colors and shapes into focus. “Well, I could not comment on the gentleman's appearance, but he seemed pleasant to me.”
“Is that enough? He has a mistress. A string of them, I suppose.”
The old man shook his head, whether at the painting or her question Penny could not tell.
“Forget the past and look ahead, poppet. I always wished you to find a forever romance, but here? Tending your old granfer? You will make a good mother, and I would not have you miss that chance. And who knows? Perhaps you will find that your viscount is not the reprobate you have pictured. I have known so much love in my days: my sainted mother, my darling wife, your blessed mother, and Marcel, even my dog. Then I was fortunate to have you for these last years. All the loves of my life were different, yet all are to be cherished, in memory and in what time I have left.”
“Do not talk like that, Grandpapa.”
“What I am trying to say is that there is no easy answer, no one definition of love. Yet however and wherever you find it, in whatever shape or form, your life will be richer for it. If you cannot find a grand passion, at least you can make a comfortable marriage. The union will be what you make of it, my dear.”
“But I have no time to get to know him, to see if even friendship is possible.”
Littleton shrugged. “If you are going to do it, best do it quickly, like having a rotten tooth pulled. Sooner it's done, sooner you will feel better.”
Penny had to laugh. “I doubt his lordship's pride will appreciate being compared to a rotten tooth.”
“Better that than a boil on your behind.”
Chapter Six
After their arranged marriage, Lord DH had his clubs; his wife had her committees; they had three children. All expectations were met. They were content.
 
—By Arrangement,
a chronicle of arranged marriages, by G. E. Felber
 
 
 
C
ook was furious she had to plan a dinner with so little time. She was even angrier that she might have to plan a wedding breakfast for the very next morning.
“What do you mean, ‘might'? Either you are getting married or you aren't. Cooking a roast is like being with child. It's either yes or no. You don't cook it, you don't eat it.”
Penny did not feel like discussing beef, babies, or Cook's problems. She had enough of her own. “We can have the neighbors over either way, so yes, plan on a meal after church tomorrow.”
Then Cook was outraged that she was not getting to make the wedding cake. If there was a wedding, of course. By the time Penny had calmed the woman, planned the menus, picked flowers for the centerpiece, and helped Marcel polish the silver, she was more frazzled than before, with no answers.
Then the vicar called. The Reverend Mr. Smithers was a gentleman in his midyears who wore the weight of his position around his waist. He was not pleased with the tidings of the day, either.
“I came as soon as I could after reading Sir Gaspar's note,” he told Penny, after settling his bulk into a damask chair in the parlor, a cup of tea balanced on his meaty thigh. “His request to hold a marriage ceremony tomorrow during church came as a great surprise.”
“Not as much as it was to me. That is, I had not planned on it quite yet.”
He frowned, possibly because the few offerings on the nearby platter were so sparse, Cook being far too busy to make more tarts and tea cakes. “I did not so much as have a hint that you and this Lord Westfield had a longstanding agreement.”
Penny thought he looked affronted not to know every detail of his parishioners' lives.
“It never seemed important. I never supposed an actual wedding would come to pass.”
“I must say, I am disappointed.”
So was Penny. She had thought, for an instant, of asking Mr. Smithers's advice, of telling him her doubts and fears, her broken dreams and impossible hopes, looking for his wiser counsel. Now he seemed too disgruntled over the supposed insult to his authority. She did not speak of her own disappointment.
“Yes,” he was going on, scowling at the last biscuit, “very disappointed. I had hopes. . . .”
“Hopes?”
“You are an excellent addition to our little congregation, Miss Goldwaite, modest and helpful. Just what is wanted in a vicar's wife.”
BOOK: The Bargain Bride
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