He tugged her closer to brush his lips across her forehead. “Yes, and I know you will take it as the compliment it was intended to be.”
His nearness stirred her, as it always had—even when she’d worked so tirelessly to fight against it—and she leaned up to sigh against the strong column of his neck. Her heart picked up its speed, as did his pulse beneath the gentle pressure of her mouth.
“Stop trying to entice me with your American ways, Mr. Cartwick,” she whispered.
“But why?” he asked, tightening his hold, “when it has worked so spectacularly for me thus far?”
“Because it makes me wonder if anyone would notice if we just happened to slip away . . .”
Jonathan chuckled. It was a warm sound, but she heard the unmistakable edge of hunger in it.
“My lady, I think—”
“Goodness!” exclaimed Frances.
Frances and Dorothea were suddenly before them. Sheepishly, Caroline realized that she and Jonathan had not only neglected their guests, at least for a moment, but they’d been carrying on in front of them, no less. Dorothea’s lips were clamped shut in what was obviously an effort not to laugh.
“Apologies, Auntie. Mrs. Cartwick,” she said, her face a mask of contrition as she eased away from her husband. She wasn’t truly ashamed, though, knowing that nothing made her aunt happier than seeing the two of them married and together at last. And her aunt’s happiness was one of the best wedding gifts she could have ever asked for.
“Heavens, no. Don’t stop on our account,” Mrs. Cartwick replied quickly. “Lady Frances and I were just observing the irony in how after resisting each other for so long, it seems that now you can’t bear to be kept apart.”
Jonathan laughed. “Well, Mother, I’ll have you know we did a terrible job of resisting each other before.”
The two ladies exchanged a knowing look.
“Tell us something we didn’t know,” his mother said with a laugh.
“It was obvious,” Frances added at their scandalized expressions. “We’re just not precisely certain when it started. My guess was somewhere around the time I was caught running through the meadows in the altogether.”
She and Jonathan stared at each other for a moment before he cleared his throat.
“A gentleman does not kiss and tell,” he said in wary disapproval.
The two women swapped another glance. Dorothea nodded. Frances grinned.
“That’s when it happened,” they declared in unison.
His mother stepped forwards to place a reassuring hand on the arm of his formal black coat. “Regardless, your father would be so grateful to know that you have found your own way in life, and with the one woman who truly deserves you.”
She saw the muscle in his jaw tighten upon hearing his mother’s words, and he gazed down at Caroline with eyes that had grown bright with emotion. “I can only hope to deserve her too.”
And without any of the modesty he’d attempted to affect before, he kissed her.
When at last he pulled away, she was certain her cheeks were crimson. But thankfully a tiny gurgle caught everyone’s attention, and they turned to find Eliza standing nearby while Clara adjusted her hold on the newest, tiniest member of their group. Jonathan squeezed her hand.
“You should go to them.”
She pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “Then we should go home, don’t you think?”
He said nothing, but his eyes spoke for him. They told of tangled bedsheets and sweat-slickened skin. Her heart fluttered inside her chest.
Soon, she mouthed.
He nodded moments before being accosted by William and Thomas, who were no doubt eager to put Jonathan’s business acumen to good use as a new partner in the development and expansion of their northern cotton mills. His rocky start with Evanston notwithstanding, the three men had grown close over the summer and Jonathan was ready to embark on this new venture. Caroline couldn’t wait to see what the trio could accomplish.
Clara and Eliza glanced up on her approach, and Caroline’s own happiness was mirrored in the smiles that greeted her.
“How is the little darling?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“She’s sleepy,” said Clara, gazing down adoringly at her daughter. Little Maria Halstead had been born just a few days after Caroline and Jonathan were engaged. “But I think she appreciates the fresh air. You were right,” she added, surveying the natural splendor all around them. “Windham Hill is a lovely place.”
“And your dear husband even relocated the fence to accommodate you upon your move,” teased Eliza.
“And Aunt Frances has already settled in nicely, with Beatrice and Minnie close at hand.”
Eliza touched her shoulder. “What a lovely man. I’m sorry I ever doubted him.”
Caroline shook her head in wonder. “No matter where I live, I am grateful to have had at least one Cartwick looking out for me,” she said with a soft smile at her friend. After all, she had once been one of those Cartwicks too.
An excited shriek interrupted their musings and Caroline barely caught sight of Rosa’s golden curls as she dashed off into the sunlit birch grove. Eliza turned her eyes heavenward.
“A squirrel no doubt.”
“Some things never change,” Clara murmured, her mouth quirking upwards into a smile.
But some things did, Caroline realized. Each of them had started their journeys in different places . . . one a runaway, the other a widow and Caroline all but a spinster. They’d faced their own unique challenges in their own ways, but they’d all had one distinct trait in common . . . reluctance.
And now being here together with them, she could see that it wasn’t just she and Jonathan who had come so very far. Clara’s life had been transformed when she’d captured the heart of an earl. Eliza had lost nearly everything, only to find it again with her viscount. And it had taken this headstrong American to help Caroline see that worthy men still did exist, and that they could love her utterly. Completely.
She raised her hand, admiring how her wedding ring glittered in the brilliant sunshine. Topaz. Like the eyes of the man she loved.
Stepping closer, Caroline slid an arm around both her friends. She wasn’t surprised to hear them join her in breathing a hard-won sigh of relief.
They were reluctant brides, no longer.
Acknowledgments
I’ll be honest—it’s tough to say goodbye to these ladies, and I had no idea how much they would end up changing my life. Thank you for being part of it.
As ever, my family and friends have been there for me—especially when the stress was high and deadlines were looming. Thank you to my dear mother, Dorinda, for her valuable reads of my work and for her support in countless other ways (seriously, she sings my praises to just about everyone she knows). To my father, Dave, thank you so much for being a fan and for the encouragement. Thanks to my brother, Adam, who always has a minute to listen, and to his son, Connor, who is simply the best. You guys mean the world to me.
To my husband, Gary, a heartfelt thank you for helping me get the guts up enough to try writing my own books. Thank you to my own children, Elise and Reid, who make me proud every day and who are the most wonderful people. And to Pat, thanks for always being there. I couldn’t do this without any of you.
Every day I feel lucky to have Kevan Lyon as my agent. Thank you for supporting both me and my work and for helping me navigate all things literary. Thanks to Taryn Fagerness, who does a wonderful job on the international side of things. To my editor, Elle Keck, many thanks for helping me polish my stories and for being a truly great person to work with. Thank you to Pam Jaffee, Kayleigh Webb, Jes Lyons, Michelle Forde, Gena Lanzi, Angela Craft, Erika Tsang, May Chen, Nicole Fischer, and everyone at Avon/HarperCollins who is so excellent at what they do.
To my friend and fellow writer, Erika Bigelow, for helping me get off the ground and for keeping me aloft, I am thankful. To my Eastside Romance Writers chapter and the GSRWA, thank
you for helping me to grow and for teaching me so much. Thank you to L.E. Wilson, Samantha Saxon, Alexandra Sipe, Christy Carlyle, Lenora Bell, Nisha Sharma, Lorraine Heath, Lori Foster, Cathy Maxwell, Christina Britton, Eliana West, Charis Michaels, Vivienne Lorret and Eloisa James. And many thanks to Julia Quinn, who helped me when she didn’t have to and is a constant source of inspiration. I am in awe of every last one of you.
Thank you to Shannon Sullivan and Heather Bottomley (and the power of the Tres). Thanks to Kristi Beckley and Eryn Frank, who have been with me since the “olden” days. To Rachel Whitaker, Anna Waller, Sakura Sutter, David O’Connell, Mary Murphy, Haley Ostrander and to all my friends who have read my book and cheered me on, thank you. You’ll never know how much it means to me.
And finally, to my readers—thank you for opening this book and giving me a chance to try and make life a little bit more romantic.
Yours always,
Marie Tremayne
An Excerpt from Lady in Waiting
Want to know where it all started? Turn the page to read the first installment in Marie Tremayne’s sparkling Reluctant Brides series,
LADY IN WAITING
She wants to escape her present . . .
When Clara Mayfield helps her sister elope, she’s prepared for the scandal to seal her fate as a spinster. What she doesn’t expect is to find herself engaged to the vile Baron Rutherford as a means of salvaging her family’s reputation. Determined not to be chained to a man she loathes, Clara slips out of Essex and sheds her identity: she becomes Helen, maid at the Earl of Ashworth’s country estate. After all, belowstairs is the last place anyone would think to look for an heiress . . .
He wants to forget his past . . .
William, Lord Ashworth, is attempting to rebuild his life after the devastating accident that claimed the lives of his entire family, save his beloved sister and niece. Haunted by memories of what was and determined to live up to the title he never expected to inherit, William doesn’t have time for love. What he needs is a noble and accomplished wife, one who can further the Ashworth line and keep the family name untarnished . . .
Together, can they find the perfect future?
From their first encounter, the attraction between them is undeniable. But Clara knows William is falling for Helen, a woman who doesn’t even exist. The question is, if she reveals the truth about her identity, can she trust the broken William to forgive her lie and stand by her side when scandal—and the baron—inevitably follow her to his door?
Available now from Avon Impulse!
Chapter One
The End of the Season
London, England
August 1845
William, Lord Ashworth, was not going to the ball tonight.
Having finally made the decision, he reached up to loosen his white cravat with a sigh of relief. He strode to the sideboard to pour himself a brandy, seeking to numb himself from this acceptance of his failure. It was a pity. After all, he had endured the carriage ride from his country estate in Kent to make an appearance at one of the final and most fashionable events of the season. Were he actually to attend, it would have served to satisfy the ton’s annoying demand to see the new Earl of Ashworth in the flesh, and perhaps quieted their rumormongering for a time. On the other hand, it could just have easily stirred the flames of gossip to unbearable heights. The ton was an unpredictable lot.
Sweat broke out upon his brow, and he unfastened the top button of his linen shirt before gripping the tumbler with shaking fingers and throwing back the drink, sending fire cascading down his throat. He uttered a groan, then slammed down the glass and only the sudden appearance of his friend, Viscount Evanston, stayed his hand from pouring another. In contrast to William’s own state, Thomas looked crisp and perfectly at ease in his formal black-and-white attire. He glanced first at the decanter in William’s hand, then with a raise of his brow, cast a critical eye at the state of his clothing.
“I wouldn’t normally recommend attending a ball with your shirt open and cravat untied, but no doubt the ladies will approve,” he said lightly, crossing the study to join him. The viscount’s tone was teasing, but William did not miss the note of concern that was also present.
“I am staying home tonight,” he said stonily.
His friend paused, then slipped the crystal container from his hands and replaced the stopper. “Come now, Ashworth,” he chided gently. “Don’t force me to be the responsible one. We waited until the end of the season, as you requested. You went through the motions. Accepted the invitation, traveled to London—”
William shot Evanston a leaden stare, silencing him immediately. “Yes, I went through the motions. As it turns out, that is all I can offer.”
The disappointment that briefly flickered across his friend’s face set William’s teeth on edge. Inevitably, people would be upset by his inability to come out in society, especially after he’d finally relented for the event in Mayfair tonight. But even if he were to show up, there was no guarantee that the ton could be appeased. Any answer to their questions would be ruthlessly scrutinized for a sign that he was failing in some regard. A moment’s hesitation could be the difference between projecting an air of self-assuredness and creating more fuel for their stories.
William knew there were fewer things more fascinating than an eligible lord who had suffered a calamitous loss, and for the past eighteen months he’d given them very little in the way of entertainment. Instead he’d shut himself away in the country, spending the time mourning three loved ones while recuperating from his own injuries, physical and otherwise. They would not take kindly to his absence tonight.
He closed his eyes wearily. They could all go to hell.
“Look, I don’t care what you do,” said Thomas, although the statement rang untrue. “And I certainly wouldn’t bother yourself with what the ton thinks at any given point in time. But might I remind you that this was something you wanted to do . . . both for yourself and for your sister?”
Yes, William could admit that Eliza had probably been his most important consideration. Especially now that her house had been entailed to the next male in line for her late husband’s estate. He needed to smooth their way back into society to make things easier for her, should she choose to remarry. And he needed to represent the earldom in a way that would have made his father proud, and his older brother, too—though they were no longer of this world.
He swallowed hard against the inevitable memories that always lurked, ready to invade his consciousness. They were actually less like memories, and more like the reliving of a horrid tale that often insisted upon its own retelling.
The sickening tilt of the vehicle . . . the screeching of the horses . . . the last time he’d seen them alive, eyes pale in the gloom and wide with terror. His father reaching for him from across the carriage—
“William!”
William blinked to stave off the nightmarish recollection, and he could feel the blood draining from his face. Evanston must have noticed, for his gaze dropped down to the sideboard. Going against his earlier censure of William’s drinking, the viscount removed the stopper to pour another drink while waiting for his reply.
“I would do anything in my power to make things easier for her,” William managed at last.
His friend cocked his head. “Is this not in your power tonight?”
He seriously considered the question, then shook his head gruffly and looked away.
Evanston surveyed him calmly, then heaved a large sigh.
“I know you don’t think I understand, but I do,” he said, sliding the tumbler towards William, then retrieving a glass for himself. “But rather than viewing this as the aristocracy cornering you in a ballroom, you need to see it as a strategic move on your part, designed to—”
“I can tell myself anything I like,” he said sharply, cutting him off, “and don’t think I haven’t tried. But I was in the carriage too, Thomas. My scars are not visible, but still they show. This i
sn’t simply a matter of losing family and moving on. It’s a matter of losing control, and of those selfish bastards finding any sign of my struggle so vastly entertaining!”
Throwing his glass down, it shattered loudly despite the carpet on the floor. The amber contents splashed out unceremoniously to soak the ground, and silence hung heavy in the air as he and Evanston stared down at the messy aftermath of his temper. William ran a hand impatiently over his face.
“Christ.”
Thomas leaned casually towards the wall to tug on the bellpull. Then he came close again to grip William’s shoulder.
“You will not be able to exert perfect control over every situation. This is a truth you need to accept.”
William rolled his eyes. “Says the man who can command a room, and everyone in it, simply by entering.” He sighed. “Besides, you know this is different.”
“Not true,” Thomas corrected. “It is more similar than you know. My success in navigating society comes from being adaptable. By changing course to suit what the situation demands, not the other way around.”
“And given the reality of what this situation demands of me and my inability to provide it, I am changing course by not going to this ball.”
Even as he spoke, he knew his friend was right. But being out among society was not the effortless exercise of his past. With no notice at all, he could get pulled back into the carriage to relive his family’s final moments. It was a risk he was, quite simply, unwilling to take.
Evanston squeezed his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. A crooked smile brightened his face.
“Fine. Perhaps it is best for you to skip the ball tonight.”
William laughed weakly in spite of himself. “I believe I already knew that.”
“Not a word more,” said Thomas with a shake of his head. “Only come with me to Brooks’s. You can distract yourself at the card tables.”
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