by Anna DePalo
“Colin, what is the meaning of this?” his mother said as she sailed into the room. “Dowager? Kindly instruct your staff that I haven’t been relegated…”
The words trailed off as his mother stopped, realized who else was in the room and widened her eyes.
Colin stepped forward.
“May I introduce my wife, Belinda?” he said, neatly sidestepping the issue of titles and surnames.
After all, one was the Marchioness of Easterbridge and the other the Dowager Marchioness of Easterbridge.
One word of difference disguised the vast gulf between the two women.
Colin watched his mother’s face turn different shades before she opened and closed her mouth.
He raised his eyebrows. “Belinda is residing here.”
Under any other circumstances, it would have been a rather comical statement to make about one’s wife, but all three of them knew there was nothing ordinary about this situation. Why pretend otherwise?
“I thought you meant to find a suitable bride,” his mother breathed.
Obviously, Colin thought wryly, he wasn’t the only one prepared to drop all pretense.
“Belinda is suitable, Mother.”
“She’s a Wentworth,” his mother responded flatly.
“Well, in that regard, you are correct,” he quipped. “Belinda chose to keep her maiden name upon our marriage.”
Apparently anything could be forgiven these days except a family feud. A divorcée, a single mother and the descendant of coal miners had married the heirs to thrones across Europe, but if there was bad blood and scandal between neighbors, then all bets were off.
“How do you do?” Belinda spoke up.
Colin noticed that she maintained an admirable poise under the circumstances, but he wondered whether her question was tongue in cheek.
It was clear to everyone that the older marchioness was doing exceedingly unwell at the moment.
He scanned Belinda’s face, but she didn’t glance at him. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on his mother.
“Colin is correct that I did retain my surname,” Belinda said. “It should be quite easy to avoid confusion, I think, if you remain Lady Granville, and I am styled as Lady Wentworth.”
His mother gave a haughty stare. She was dressed in tweeds, silks and pearls, and her clothes underlined her expression. “Yes, but you would still be the Marchioness of Easterbridge, would you not?”
Colin tried to avoid looking long-suffering. He detested the way some women were able to throw proverbial knives at each other. His mother excelled at it.
“I am sure, Mother,” he said, an edge to his voice, “that you will make Belinda feel comfortable. She needs to learn her way around, and our house is vast.” He’d put a subtle but noticeable emphasis on the word our. This was Belinda’s home now, too, and his mother would need to reconcile herself to the reality.
Belinda turned to face him. “My job is in New York. How will I manage to be employed at Lansing’s and reside here?”
“Yes, Easterbridge,” his mother joined in. “Do tell us, dear.”
Colin lifted the side of his mouth. He had somehow managed to shift the conversation so that Belinda and his mother were aligned against him. If he had any idea how he’d done it, he’d pat himself on the back.
He shot Belinda a glance. “You can arrange a transfer to the London office of Lansing’s. We can spend our weeksdays in London and retire to Halstead Hall for weekends.”
Brilliant. He was satisfied that he’d walked the tight-rope—that is, until he saw Belinda’s expression.
She turned from him to his mother, a tight smile on her face. “However, a transfer may be difficult to obtain, so I may be based in New York indefinitely.” She tossed him a pointed look. “Colin and I haven’t yet discussed our living arrangements in depth.”
“You will continue to have a career?” his mother asked cryptically.
Belinda kept her smile. “Yes, at least until I am entitled to receive back my family’s property under the terms of the postnup.”
His mother looked horrified.
Colin was almost amused by Belinda’s determination. He’d married no retiring English rose.
He folded his arms. “Are you shocked by the fact that we didn’t have a prenuptial agreement, Mother, or by the fact that we’re negotiating a postnuptial one?”
“I should have known a Wentworth would be in this for money,” his mother sniffed.
“I would toss him back if it weren’t for the properties I stand to regain,” Belinda said cheerily.
His mother looked pinched. “My son is not a fish.”
“Of course not,” Belinda replied before he could say anything. “I don’t catch fish—or kiss frogs for that matter.”
Colin gave her a sardonic look. “Thank you for clarifying the issue.”
At least she was willing to allow he wasn’t a frog—while refusing to be cast as a money or title hunter.
His mother looked from one to the other of them until her eyes came to rest on him. “I will see you at dinner, Colin.”
She turned on her heel and headed to the door. The subtext of her words, of course, was that she intended to rest until this evening and, with any luck, awaken to the realization that this was all a terrible nightmare.
When the door shut, Colin addressed Belinda. “Well, that went rather well.”
She shot him an ironic look. “I’m looking forward to dinner.”
Dinner was a pained affair.
Colin watched his younger sister, Sophie, concentrate on spearing her food and chewing while she cast the occasional glance around the table.
Sophie was eight years younger than he was and thus more of Belinda’s contemporary than his own. His mother had suffered a miscarriage between their two births and then had had difficulty conceiving again.
As was his mother’s preference, dinner was a formal affair in the main dining room, though it was only four who were present for the meal.
Still, even the arrangement of the seating had been a fraught affair. One of his aides had come to see him about it before the appointed dinner hour.
He’d instructed that he’d take his usual seat at the head of the table, and Belinda would be seated to his right. Because of Belinda’s presence, his mother had been moved to his left and Sophie farther down the table.
Colin glanced at his sister again. He doubted that Sophie minded being away from the fray. And fortunately, there was plenty of spacing between the seats at the long Victorian dining table.
Colin heaved an inward sigh. He had hoped that the spacing would stop the ladies from lobbing dinner rolls at each other, and so far dinner had been a tame affair—too tame.
Conversation had been desultory.
His mother was trying to ignore Belinda, and Sophie was a reluctant participant.
Sophie resembled him in coloring, but she’d had more trouble escaping their mother’s influence—no doubt partly because she was younger, and his mother had her own hopes for her only daughter.
Colin looked from his sister to Belinda. They should be at least vaguely familiar with each other. After all, they were only a few years apart in age and had grown up in the same social circles.
He cleared his throat. “Sophie, I would have thought you and Belinda were acquainted.”
His sister jerked her head up and gave him an alarmed look. Her eyes darted to their mother before returning to him. “I believe that Belinda and I have been at some of the same social functions, but we hardly spoke.”
Everyone, of course, knew why.
The friction between the Granvilles and the Wentworths was legendary, and judging from the conversation tonight, it was also in their blood to be unable to communicate.
Colin would not be deterred. “My sister is a graphic designer, Belinda. She’s always coming up with new prints inspired by famous artists.”
Belinda and Sophie exchanged wary looks.
“Actually, my designs
are influenced by manga,” Sophie said. “I’ve visited Japan several times.”
“I’ve been to Japan for Lansing’s,” Belinda responded.
Sophie nodded…and the conversation lapsed.
Colin firmed his jaw.
He guessed he wouldn’t be able to unearth the witty Belinda tonight even if he had professional digging equipment. The same went for Sophie.
His mother was, of course, a lost cause.
No, the only things that glittered about the women tonight were their clothes and their jewels. Belinda’s beaded top caught the light, competing with his mother’s five-carat ruby necklace.
He suddenly saw the months stretching ahead of him like a dusty desert road. If his family and Belinda could barely talk then he’d have to keep them away from each other.
He could easily do so, of course. He owned several houses, and Halstead Hall was quite large. But it rankled that he’d have to resort to it.
This should have been a moment to savor because Belinda was his.
She’d set down her weekend bag in a guest suite when she’d arrived earlier today, but in his mind, now that she’d agreed to remain his wife, it was only a matter of time before he seduced her into thinking that heading back to bed with him was a good idea.
He studied his wife. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders and just caressing the tops of her breasts. Her lips were full and glistening pink, and her profile straight. The soft lines of her cheek and jaw were outlined by the light and shadows of the dining room.
He wanted her.
They had explosive chemistry in bed, and he was looking forward to enjoying it again.
On the other hand, explosive could hardly be used to describe dinner.
It was time, he decided, to ignite the fuse on the proverbial bomb.
He cleared his throat, and three pairs of eyes fixed on him.
“Belinda and I have been invited to the Duke of Hawkshire’s wedding to Pia Lumley,” he said. “It will be our first public outing as a couple.”
Aside, of course, to their literal outing as man and wife at the Wentworth-Dillingham near-miss of a wedding last year, he added silently.
His words rang out like the peal of cathedral bells—though Hawk and Pia were in actuality getting married in a local parish.
Belinda’s eyes widened.
Colin could tell it hadn’t occurred to her that Pia and Hawk’s wedding was next week, and now that she’d agreed to their bargain, they’d be attending together as husband and wife.
His mother, on the other hand, looked aghast.
He guessed she was thinking that next week didn’t give her enough time to change his mind or do damage control.
Colin took a last bite of his food, satisfied that he’d taken control of matters.
“By God, you’ve done it.” Uncle Hugh smiled, slapped his knee and then grasped the arm of his leather chair.
Belinda regarded her uncle from where she was sitting on the sofa and had to agree. On the other hand, she and Uncle Hugh almost certainly had different ideas about what his words connoted.
“I hope you’re satisfied.” The words were a strange echo of the ones that she’d slapped Colin with.
She was back in Uncle Hugh’s Mayfair town house after a night at Halstead Hall.
Except, of course, it wasn’t her uncle’s town house any longer.
Belinda glanced around the sitting room. Her uncle was looking several shades more robust than he had mere days ago, when he’d declared that all was lost. Her mother was as elegant as ever as she sat sipping tea next to Belinda on the sofa. On the surface, there was nothing to distinguish this gathering from hundreds that they’d had in this house before.
But now Belinda knew Colin owned these walls.
The town house was furnished with a few antiques but certainly nothing that would impress a marquess used to even grander quarters. Without the family history here that the Wentworths had, what possible use could Colin have for this house?
I intend to make a conquest of the Wentworths once and for all.
Colin’s words had become more of a reality than she could possibly have predicted.
When she’d arrived at Halstead Hall two days ago to meet with Colin, she’d immediately been shown to a guest suite, and it had been easy to avoid Colin with the interference of his mother and his sister in the house.
The morning after the stilted family dinner, she’d made her excuses and departed for London and eventually New York to settle her affairs and attend to business, particularly now that she knew she’d be spending more time in England for the foreseeable future.
Colin hadn’t appeared happy about her departure, but if he sensed that her work wasn’t as pressing as she made it seem, he’d said nothing. Besides, she knew he had his own business matters to attend to.
He seemed content to bide his time, but she knew he was intent on seducing her. They were engaged in a game of cat and mouse, really.
Recalling Belinda back from her thoughts, her mother set down her cup and saucer on a nearby table. “When I asked how you planned to quell the scandal du jour, I had no idea that you would do so by staying married to Easterbridge.”
“What did you expect me to do, Mother?” Belinda asked.
She’d always felt as if she had a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t relationship with her mother.
She’d expected her mother to be overjoyed. Uncle Hugh certainly was. But then, her uncle was a lot closer to the family’s bills and financial statements than her mother. He was the gatekeeper, while the idea of being financially responsible was one her mother had never grasped.
Her mother sighed. “What will your life be like?”
What, indeed. Belinda had asked herself the same question numerous times since agreeing to remain married to Colin.
She was having a hard time seeing what their marriage would be like. Perhaps, like most couples, they’d have to make things up as they went along.
Belinda bit her lip. What if she became pregnant with Colin’s child?
She could only imagine what their two families would think about the joining of their bloodlines and what kind of life their child would have caught between the feuding families.
Belinda gave a slight shake of her head. No, she and Colin had an agreement, and at the end, they would go their separate ways. Implicit in that understanding was the fact that they would plan not to have children.
She was thirty-three. Even if Colin turned the property over to her in two years, she’d be thirty-five and still have some time ahead of her.
She recalled Colin’s words when she’d asked what would prevent her from obtaining a divorce eventually. Perhaps I’m banking on the fact that you won’t want to.
She experienced a strange quiver. She wasn’t sure if she still completely understood Colin’s motives, and that was troubling.
Her mother exchanged looks with Uncle Hugh and then addressed her. “Perhaps you might see Tod…in order to make amends.”
Belinda’s jaw dropped. “Make amends?”
“Yes, darling, in order to keep your options open. You will, after all, be a single woman again some day.”
Belinda was flabbergasted. Here she’d been concerned about the possibility, however unlikely, of conceiving a child with Colin, and her mother was already thinking about her next husband.
Her mother had obviously not given up on the Dillinghams.
“You know I won’t be around forever,” Uncle Hugh joined in, “and Tod would make a good steward of the Wentworth estates.”
“There are practically no Wentworth estates at the moment,” Belinda retorted. “It’s all in Granville hands.”
It wasn’t technically true. They still had one estate in Berkshire left, as well as a couple of rental buildings, but it hadn’t been in the family that long. Still, at least they wouldn’t be homeless, thank goodness, if Colin turned them out.
“This arrangement with Colin need be only a bump
in the road,” Uncle Hugh went on. “Surely once it’s over, you’ll wish to return to your rightful groom and pick up where you left off.”
Belatedly, Belinda recognized just how much animosity her uncle harbored toward Colin, who’d divested him of the Wentworth patrimony. Uncle Hugh was ready to shoo her back in Tod’s direction at a moment’s notice.
Her mother was worse. She was almost suggesting that Belinda befriend Tod and keep her options open, as it were, even before her marriage to Colin ended.
“Tod is no longer in the picture,” Belinda responded flatly.
She reached forward and set her teacup down with more noise than necessary.
“Now, now, Belinda,” her mother said in a soothing voice, “no need to get snappish. Your uncle means well.”
“We’re thinking of your best interests.”
“Are you?” Belinda said as she stood up. “Then why is it up to me to save the family fortunes?”
She turned then and walked out the door.
She would head back to her London hotel, and then fly to New York to settle her affairs there.
Life had just taken a detour—one that led to Halstead Hall.
Seven
Belinda’s eyes misted as Pia reached the front of the church.
Pia looked beautiful in her wedding gown, holding a tightly bunched bouquet of red roses. A delicate tiara graced her coiffure. It was a gift from Pia’s groom, Hawk, for their wedding day.
In a nod to her groom’s country, Pia had made a fashion-forward choice from a British designer. In a bow to tradition, however, the dress had lace elbow-length sleeves and a full skirt. The ensemble was light and ethereal, like Pia.
Belinda adjusted the skirt of Pia’s dress and then took the bouquet from her friend’s hands, all the while steadfastly refusing to make eye contact with Easterbridge, standing a few feet away, next to the groom.
The service was being held in the parish church near Silderly Park, the Duke of Hawkshire’s estate in Oxford.
Belinda was Pia’s lone attendant. Because Tamara was several months’ pregnant, she had bowed out of being part of the wedding party and had instead chosen to remain comfortably seated among the wedding guests.