THE RELUCTANT BRIDE

The
Reluctant Bride

Joy
Wodhams

THE
RELUCTANT BRIDE

Joy
Wodhams

Copywright
2013

All
Rights Reserved

OTHER
BOOKS AVAILABLE

Thank
you for ordering this book. If you enjoy it you may like to try two
others by Joy Wodhams which are available on Amazon Kindle.

THE
ARMCHAIR GUIDE TO HEAVEN is a contemporary romance. It tells the
story of 20 year old Zoe, Heaven's newest arrival following a road
accident, and the conflict between her desperate attempts to return
to Earth and her growing attraction to Trevor, her appointed guardian
angel. It's a lighthearted fun read, ideal holiday entertainment.

THE
FLOATER is a collection of eight short stories, all with a twist in
the tale. Some are macabre with a dark element, others are humorous
or quirky. Perfect bedtime reading!

To
find out more about the author, click on the JoyWodhamsPollyannaPage
(joywodhams.blogspot.co.uk)

You
can also find Joy's Art and Creative Writing pages on Facebook.

CHAPTER
ONE

“
Marry!”

Gabriella's
attention had wandered as the solicitor read out an interminable list
of bequests to obscure societies. But his latest words catapulted her
out of her chair.

“
Did
you say
marry
,
Mr Brewster?” She stood over him, impatient as he conquered a
nervous cough.

“
I'm
sorry. That's quite correct, Miss Stevens. Would you like me to read
it again?” She nodded speechlessly. “Let me see, yes …
'I bequeath my company, Englands Engineering, together with all its
assets, jointly to Roderic Michael Nicholson and Gabriella Stevens,
employees of the aforesaid company, subject to the following
provisos: One, that the aforesaid Roderic Michael Nicholson and
Gabriella Stevens agree to marry within two calendar months of my
demise -”.

“
That's
impossible!” Gabriella burst out. “It's – it's –
the idea is obscene!”

From
the depths of an armchair across the room came the sardonic voice of
Roderic Michael Nicholson. “Thank you, Miss Stevens.”

Gabriella
rounded on him. “Did you know about this ridiculous
proposition?”

“
No,
I didn't. And quite frankly, I don't find the idea any more
attractive than you do, but perhaps we should let Mr Brewster read
the rest of the Will before we start getting hysterical.”

“
I
am not hysterical!”

“
Oh,
do sit down, Gabriella, and let's get on with it.” He flicked a
grey silk and mohair sleeve and glanced at his watch. “I have
to be in Wolverhampton at three.”

Gabriella
glared at him and subsided abruptly. It had to be a joke, and a
pretty perverted one at that. If Ben were here – but Ben was
dead and this was his Last Will and Testament. Besides, Ben rarely
joked.

Making
a great show of shuffling the papers on his desk Mr Brewster was
clearly embarrassed. “I'm sorry, Miss Stevens, Mr Nicholson. I
had no idea. I assumed that you already had plans to marry. Or at
least that you had – er -a strong feeling for each other.”

“
We
have, Mr Brewster,” said Gabriella. “A strong feeling of
mutual dislike.”

“
Dear
me. This is all very difficult. Mr Englands led me to believe that a
marriage would be in the best interests of both yourselves and the
Company.”

“
Obviously
Mr Englands wasn't in his right mind. At the end.”

“
He
died of heart disease, Gabriella, not senility.” Rod's deep
voice held irritation. “When was the Will made, Mr Brewster?”

“
Four
months ago. And whatever Mr Englands' reasons there can be no doubt
that he was quite rational.”

“
Four
months ago,” Rod repeated. “That's about the time Minerva
started angling to buy Englands. I wonder -”

“
You
said provisos, Mr Brewster,” Gabriella cut in. “What are
the others?”

The
solicitor took up the Will again. “Number two … Dear
me!” He gave the hostile pair an apprehensive glance. “Er
– Number two, 'That they remain married for a minimum period of
five years.' Really, Miss Stevens, I think -”

“
Five
years
!”
wailed Gabriella. “I wouldn't remain married to that man for
five minutes!”

Rod
was out of his seat now. “You seem to think that the choice
would be entirely yours. Well, let me tell you, Gabriella, if I kept
a register of marriageable females you'd be way down at the bottom!”

“
Please,
please!” It was some time before Mr Brewster's frail voice
could be heard but at last he managed to quieten the two antagonists.
He waited until they had both returned to their seats then went on:
“Mr Englands had a high regard for your skills. He was
extremely anxious that the business should be put in your joint hands
but, for reasons I know nothing of, he insisted that the bequest be
tied to your marriage. However, if marriage between you is out of the
question, then so be it. There is, of course, no way in which Mr
Englands' last wishes can be enforced.”

“
And
if we don't marry?” asked Rod. “What happens to
Englands?”

“
It
will be sold.”

Rod
looked up sharply. “To Minerva Engineering?”

“
To
the highest bidder.”

Rod
nodded. “Minerva.”

Mr
Brewster smoothed and folded the Will. “As you may know, Mr
Englands has no surviving relatives. Should you not marry within the
stated time the proceeds of his entire estate, other than the
bequests I have already mentioned, will be divided amongst a number
of local charities.”

“
Then
you'd better get on with it, Mr Brewster.” Gabriella's voice
was icy. “Because nothing –
nothing
could persuade me to marry that – that – that second rate
Casanova!” And with a final dagger glance at Rod Nicholson she
swept through the door, scattering a cluster of clerks and
secretaries who, drawn by the raised voices, were hovering outside.

Emerging
into the busy High Street she realised she would have to call a taxi,
having accepted a lift to the solicitor's office in Rod's car. The
unplanned expense added further fuel to her anger and when a taxi
stopped at her wave she glared at the innocent driver as if it were
all his fault.

Rod
must have known. He and Ben must have hatched this mad scheme between
them. But why? Surely both of them knew it would make it impossible
for her to accept the inheritance?

Her
eyes stung with tears of disappointment and anger. Although Ben had
never said in so many words that she and Rod would inherit, he had
talked to them often about the future of the business, dropping heavy
hints that it might be theirs when he was gone, and the prospect had
motivated them both to work all the harder – although neither
of them had anticipated Ben's sudden death at only fifty seven.

But
now she felt as if he had given her a slap in the face and she
couldn't understand it.

She
thought he had known her so well. They had met when she was only
sixteen, when he had come to view White Gables, the house she and her
mother had been forced to put on the market after her father's
disappearance.

He
had stumped through the lovely old rooms, prodding at window frames,
peering suspiciously up chimneys, and Gabriella had hated him as she
hated everyone the estate agents had sent to view the house. He had
seemed oblivious of her strained face, her lack of enthusiasm as she
showed him round, but as he was leaving he said, “Someone has
to buy the place, it might as well be me. Don't worry, I'll take care
of it. I'm not one to change everything.”

Perhaps
the agent had told him something of their story, for he added, “Hear
you're leaving college. If you want a job, come and see me,”
and had given her his card.

She
had wanted to throw it in his face but instead she slipped it into
her purse. And six weeks later, at the end of term, she had gone to
work for him.

Over
the next eight years he had quietly helped her to advance in the
Company, promoting her to become his secretary, later encouraging her
to take her British Institute of Management diploma, for which he had
paid all her fees.