Her Accidental Groom

by Nadine Millard

  Yet whilst Bea had always been happy to leave Ben to his own devices, given that he was already a young man and therefore as uninterested in twelve-year-old girls as possible, Natalia had clung to him and insisted on trying everything he was doing.

  He’d drawn the line when he’d caught her dragging a shotgun out of the gun shed in order to try shooting quail.

  Aunt Elizabeth had insisted on Ben spending at least some of his breaks from Eton and then Oxford here, treating him as the son she’d never had.

  And Ben had been grateful for it, as his aunt had shown him, in ways his father never could have, how to be responsible with money and run a successful earldom.

  The only blight had been the little miss walking with his cousin in the garden.

  Before Ben could examine that peculiar stirring he felt again too closely, the door to the morning room opened, and Aunt Elizabeth swept in, formidable in maroon-coloured skirts.

  Her gown, Ben noticed, was only a shade or two darker than the rich red Natalia was currently wearing.

  And the fact that he noticed annoyed him.

  “Good morning, Aunt Elizabeth.” He strode over to place a kiss on her aging cheek. “How well you look this morning.”

  “Tsk.” The lady shooed away his compliment. “This cold is no good for my bones.”

  Ben escorted her to sit by the already crackling fire in the hearth then rang for tea.

  “Though you may dislike the cold, Aunt, I know you love the season.” He grinned. “Tell me, how many have you invited to your Christmas Eve ball this year? I seem to recall we had a hard time stuffing them in last year.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” Aunt Elizabeth replied stoutly. “There was plenty of room, as there will be this year. And we are to host rather exotic guests this year.”

  “Oh?”

  “Indeed. I’ve just had it from the girl’s aunt. She called this morning at a rather unusual hour. But Natalia was desperate to speak to Beatrice.”

  There was a timid knock, and a maid arrived with a silver tea tray.

  Aunt Elizabeth set about pouring, still chattering away.

  “Lady Natalia’s family are arriving to take her home, and they will spend Christmastide at our neighbours’, so of course they have been invited. Not just to the ball, but to all of our planned activities for my guests.”

  Ben was momentarily speechless.

  “Home?” he asked. “Back to Russia?”

  “Just so.” His aunt nodded. “Her father has decided it’s time the girl married, and so they will be returning to Russia in January. He has some suitable gentlemen lined up.”

  Ben couldn’t have said why the news made him feel unsettled.

  Perhaps he was just used to having the chit around. Even if interactions with her inevitably ended in a headache.

  “Beatrice will miss her,” he manged, whilst accepting his tea. He hated the stuff, but he would drink it dutifully.

  “Terribly.” Aunt Elizabeth sighed. “And you know, much as I worried the young lady would be a bit of tearaway, which she is, she’s been good for Beatrice. Brought her out of her shell somewhat. When she goes, I worry that Beatrice will never go out into Society again.”

  Ben didn’t respond as his mind tripped over the news.

  It would be – strange. Not having her around.

  Quieter though. And infinitely more peaceful.

  “Perhaps it will encourage Bea to settle down herself,” he said in what he hoped was an encouraging tone. The truth was he didn’t think that would happen. His cousin was shy as a church mouse.

  “Yes, perhaps. I admit that I’ve grown accustomed to Natalia. It won’t be the same around here without her. She certainly brightens up the place. I’m sure whoever she marries will be counting his lucky stars to have one such as she on his arm.” Aunt Elizabeth eyed him shrewdly for a moment, before turning her gaze to her cup.

  Ben and Lady Fortescue then fell into a pensive silence.

  “Anyway—” His aunt’s voice jolted Ben from his thoughts. “That’s not why I’ve called you here, of course.”

  “Y-yes, of course.” Ben shook his head slightly and attempted to concentrate on the matter at hand.

  Aunt Elizabeth put her cup and saucer back on the tray, and Ben followed suit. A vague feeling of foreboding awoke inside him.

  Aunt Elizabeth’s face had grown serious. More serious than he was comfortable with.

  “Benjamin.” She reached out and clasped his hand in both of her own. “You know I have always cared a great deal for you. Loved you as though you were my son.”

  Ben’s feeling of foreboding increased exponentially.

  He was terrified the dear lady was about to tell him she was dying or some such awful news.

  “I have never been more pleased in my life than when I realised you were nothing like my wastrel brother, that your father hadn’t shaped the man you’ve become.”

  Foreboding gave way to confusion.

  “I have watched you fight, and struggle, and claw the family back from the brink of disgrace, and I commend you for it. Truly. You have made both your mother and I inordinately proud.”

  Ben felt a knot of nausea form in his stomach.

  Here was his aunt exclaiming how proud she was that he’d stood on his own two feet, and not twenty minutes ago he’d been contemplating asking her for a loan.

  Well, he wouldn’t ask her now.

  Come Hell or high water, he would find his own way out of his troubles.

  “But,” Aunt Elizabeth continued. “I know what a struggle it must be for you. Just as I know that you are too prideful to ask for my help.”

  He nearly laughed aloud at the irony.

  “And the truth is, I don’t want to lend you money.”

  Ben’s heart sank, but he retained his equanimity.

  “O-of course, Aunt.” He smiled, if a little weakly.

  “That being said,” Lady Fortescue continued, as though he hadn’t spoken. “Whilst talking about money is rather vulgar, the fact is I have more of it than I know what to do with. Beatrice will continue to be a very wealthy woman. And you, my other benefactor, will be a very wealthy man.”

  Ben froze.

  Surely she didn’t mean that he would inherit part of her fortune? He had never had any such expectation from the lady.

  “But – “

  “Your sisters are settled,” his aunt went on, ignoring his spluttering. “And even if they weren’t, I’m honest enough to admit that you have always been a favourite of mine.

  “I could ramble on all day.” She let go of his hand and sat back, eyeing him intently. “But what it comes down to is I want to give you your fortune now. Bea will be well taken care of in my lifetime and has as obscene dowry should she choose to marry. On my death, she will be one of the wealthiest women in Christendom. In short, she doesn’t need the money now. And I suspect you do.”

  Ben’s head was spinning. Never would he have imagined that he would be summoned by his aunt for this.

  “You’re a hard worker and a good man, Benjamin. So instead of making you wait until I shuffle off this mortal coil, as the bard would have it, I am going to give you your inheritance now.”

  Ben’s heart nearly flew straight out of his chest.

  He couldn’t quite believe it.

  Could it really be that, just like that, all his worries would be over?

  “There is, however, one condition.”

  As quickly as the excitement had come, it dissipated.

  “What is that, Aunt Elizabeth?” Outwardly he was calm. Inwardly he was a raving lunatic.

  “As I said, you are a hard worker. Too hard working, to my mind. You are getting older, Ben. And whilst my brother was a scoundrel, my father was not. I want to see his name carry on. And you are so entrenched in your work that I’ve never seen you even glance at a lady, never mind court one.”

  What the hell is this? Ben wondered. Not liking for a second where his aunt was going.


  “In short, Benjamin, I will give you the money—” his aunt paused long enough to put the fear of God into him. “When you announce your betrothal.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Natalia stomped through the woods that bordered her uncle’s estate and Lady Fortescue’s.

  She could get no peace.

  Her talk with Bea hadn’t helped. All it had served to do was make her even more anxious.

  She missed her family. Of course she did.

  For the first year at least she’d cried daily, wanting to return to her mama.

  But Natalia had grown accustomed to life here. Had grown to love England.

  What would she do back in Russia? Marry a man she barely knew because Papa considered him a good match? But what about what Natalia considered a good match?

  No doubt Papa would think her a silly child, a romantic fantasist, but Natalia absolutely refused to marry someone she didn’t love.

  A noise up ahead broke into her depressing thoughts.

  Speaking of someone I don’t love, she thought wryly as the figure of Lord Staunton on horseback appeared in front of her.

  Natalia glanced around, wondering if she could run away before he spotted her. But to her exasperation, he tipped his hat then dismounted.

  The grimace on his too-handsome face served to irritate her further still.

  What did he have to be grimacing about? She wasn’t the odious, arrogant cur at this particular meeting.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Natalia.” He bowed, and Natalia annoyed herself by noticing the way the winter sun glinted off his light, sandy coloured hair.

  He glanced up, his deep, golden eyes only a couple shades darker than the lock that currently fell across his brow as he gazed up at her.

  “How do you do, my lord?” She curtsied because manners dictated that she did. Not because she wanted to.

  “I believe you are to return to Russia after the seasonal celebrations.”

  It was a statement, not a question, but she was obliged to respond in any case.

  “Yes, my family will arrive next week for the festivities, and then we shall return home together.”

  Or so my father thinks.

  Natalia could never have accused Lord Staunton of being attentive to her before, but today he was positively rude, not even pretending to listen to her explanation.

  His gaze was elsewhere, and judging from the distracted frown, his mind was, too.

  And it annoyed her. Especially because she had far more important things to do than waste time idly chit-chatting with the cad.

  “Am I boring you, my lord?” she asked, her voice dripping with acid.

  He blinked at her as though in shock, then suddenly grinned.

  Natalia was appalled at the fluttering in her chest at that expression.

  What on earth did her chest think it was doing?

  “Not at all, my lady,” he said, all charm.

  She didn’t buy it for a second.

  He’d never be charming to her. At least not on purpose.

  “Forgive me.” He nodded his head apologetically. “I’m afraid that I have a lot on my mind at the moment.”

  He looked worried of a sudden, and Natalia could only imagine that look was similar to one she’d been wearing herself when he’d come upon her.

  “I know the feeling,” she said wryly before she could think to stop herself.

  “You have something troubling you?” he asked.

  Natalia didn’t particularly want to talk to Lord Arrogant about this problem.

  But she found herself unable to keep her silence.

  “I am returning home to get married, according to my father,” she said, looking up at him.

  Natalia had always been on the tall side, but Lord Staunton still towered over her.

  “He’s chosen a handful of suitable grooms, and I must pick one.”

  Lord Staunton grimaced.

  “And you don’t want to pick one?” he asked.

  Natalia shrugged helplessly.

  “I don’t know any of them,” she cried. “I haven’t been back to Russia for eight years. How can I be expected to pick a husband the moment I arrive?”

  “You have my sympathies, Lady Natalia,” he replied in an unusual show of kindness.

  Since the time Natalia had been in short skirts, Benjamin Trafford had been nothing but mean to her. Why was he suddenly acting as if he cared?

  “Well, thank you,” she responded rather dryly. “But as a man, you can have no real idea of my predicament,” she explained. “You will not be forced to marry with little or no say in your own future, your own life.”

  The bark of laughter was bitter and unexpected, and Natalia blinked up at him in surprise.

  “On the contrary,” he scowled. “I understand more than you know.”

  “Oh?”

  His golden gaze snapped to hers, and he studied her intently.

  After an age, he spoke.

  “Can you keep a secret?” he asked suddenly.

  “O-of course,” she stammered.

  This was bizarre. Never had she and Lord Staunton shared secrets.

  It was yet another odd happening on a truly odd day.

  He heaved a sigh, his shoulders looking impossibly broad in his charcoal-grey superfine.

  But that was entirely irrelevant, of course.

  “I find myself in a most unusual position, Lady Natalia,” he said. “God only knows why I’m telling you this. But there we have it.”

  Natalia was too curious to feel insulted.

  “It appears that I need to find myself a fiancé,” he said matter-of-factly. “And fast.”

  Natalia could only stare at him.

  Surely he was joking?

  Surely this was impossible! That he should need a fiancé right when she needed a fake betrothal.

  “Why?” she blurted. “How?”

  “It is – complicated, let’s say,” he answered, squirming a little. “But suffice to say my entire future, and the futures of all of the tenants in my care, depends on me finding a woman to marry. The problem being, of course, that I have neither the time nor the inclination to persuade a woman to marry me. And I certainly have no interest in marrying anyone.”

  Natalia’s mind was racing.

  “You need a wife? You need to be married?” she demanded brusquely, well aware that she sounded completely addle-pated.

  Judging from Lord Staunton’s look of alarm, he likely agreed that she sounded quite mad.

  But then he frowned, looking pensive.

  “Now that you mention it,” he said carefully, as though mulling it over. “I suppose technically I don’t need a marriage so much as an engagement.”

  Natalia could barely contain her glee.

  This was it! The perfect opportunity had fallen straight into her lap.

  Her throat was dry, her palms clammy, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to breathe properly again.

  But Natalia gathered every bit of her nerve and looked her childhood nemesis straight in the eye.

  “It just so happens,” she said, “that I have the perfect solution for you.”

  He frowned, scowled really. Exactly like he used to when they were younger, when he took great pleasure in swatting her away like an annoying fly.

  “And what’s that?”

  “You and I—” she spoke clearly so there could be no confusion “—are going to announce our betrothal.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The chit was mad.

  Fit for Bedlam.

  He’d suspected it when he’d caught her with that shotgun all those years ago.

  Or when he’d found her on the roof of an outhouse getting ready to jump onto a bale of hay because she’d seen him do it.

  When she’d gotten stuck in that damned tree and he’d had to climb up to get her, lest Beatrice wake the dead with her caterwauling.

  At least then she’d been a child.

  But this?

  Thi
s was lunacy the likes of which he’d never encountered.

  And he hadn’t a damned clue what to say.

  “I – you – what?”

  Never in his life had he had as many shocks as he’d received today.

  First, his aunt had offered to solve all his problems but attached impossible terms to it, then this beautiful bane of his existence had proposed to him.

  The world had gone utterly insane.

  “You need a fiancé,” she said excitedly, and he steadfastly refused to acknowledge how becoming she was when her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Don’t you? That’s what you said. You said you don’t need to be married, only betrothed.”

  “Yes, but—“

  “Well, I need a fiancé, too. At least for now. For Christmastide. Don’t you see?” She reached out and clasped his arm, sending an unwanted and inappropriate frisson of awareness down the idiotic limb.

  “Tis perfect,” she cried, removing her hand from his person and clutching it to the other excitedly.

  “Lady Natalia.” He struggled to find equilibrium, pinching the bridge of his nose as his head began to ache in its usual manner whenever she was within a five-mile radius. “Forgive my crassness, but what the hell are you talking about?”

  If she was offended by his language, she gave no sign of it.

  Merely sighed impatiently and eyed him as though he were a dimwit. As though she were making any bloody sense!

  “My father wants to marry me off,” she said slowly and carefully, for all the world as if she were explaining something very, very simple to someone very, very stupid. “He wants to drag me back to Russia and hand me over to a complete stranger.”

  Ben frowned at the uncomfortable feeling her speech evoked.

  For as long as civilisation had existed, women had been at the behest of men’s wishes. She would marry whomever her father chose and have little to say in the matter.

  It had never sat comfortably with Ben, this idea of women not being in charge of their own lives. And he was even more uncomfortable about it listening to Lady Natalia describe her own sad situation.

  “And I don’t want to go,” she said, her ice-blue eyes shining in a way that would make her very hard to say no to. If one was susceptible to a pair of pretty eyes. Which he most certainly wasn’t.