Barely a Bride

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

“And I, for one, am relieved to hear it.”

  Lady Tressingham gasped. “Where did you come from?”

  “According to family legend, my mother and father gave birth to me. Here in London. Some years ago.”

  Alyssa recognized his voice the moment he spoke. She looked up to find her gaze snared and held fast by the bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes she recognized from two other occasions.

  He bowed first to her mother and then to her as Lady Cowper, the most amiable of Almack’s seven patronesses, made the necessary introductions. “Lady Tressingham, may I present to you Lord Abernathy?”

  The countess nodded reluctantly.

  Lady Cowper beamed at the viscount and then at Alyssa. “Lord Abernathy, Lady Tressingham and her daughter, Lady Alyssa Carrollton.”

  “Lady Tressingham.” The viscount lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles.

  “We were expecting someone else,” she offered by way of apology.

  “I gathered,” he said, before lifting Alyssa’s hand and brushing his lips against it. “Lady Alyssa.”

  “My lord,” Alyssa murmured.

  Lord Abernathy turned to Lady Cowper. “Thank you most kindly for the introduction.”

  “Not at all, dear boy,” she replied. “Glad to be of service. To you both.” She gave Alyssa a mysterious smile. “Enjoy yourselves in the waltz.”

  “The waltz?” Lady Tressingham glanced at Lady Cowper.

  Lady Cowper’s smile broadened. “Many of our ladies and gentlemen have danced the waltz in their travels abroad. And although it is not generally accepted here in England, we—the other patronesses and I—have decided to be the first to allow one waltz an evening.” She turned to Lord Abernathy. “I believe it’s next.”

  Griffin recognized an opening when he saw it. “Do you waltz, Lady Alyssa?”

  Alyssa nodded. The dance instructor her mother had hired had taught them all—Lady Tressingham and her four daughters—how to waltz, even though the dance had not yet found acceptance in England.

  “May I?” Griffin bowed to Alyssa, then took her by the hand and led her onto the dance floor.

  Her thoughts were in turmoil as he whirled her around the room in time to the music. Raising her chin a bit higher in order to meet his gaze, Alyssa found herself staring into the intricately tied folds of his cravat. He was taller up close than he’d looked at a distance and far more handsome. He wasn’t as classically handsome as his friend the duke. Lord Abernathy’s face was a bit too masculine, his features too strong. But his eyes, as blue as a newborn baby’s, were truly gorgeous and succeeded in softening what might have otherwise been too rugged a face.

  Alyssa studied the line of his jaw and the tiny indentation in the center of his chin. Although she was certain that he had shaved earlier, the shadow of his beard had begun to darken his jaw. She wondered how his whiskers would feel beneath her fingertips, how they would feel against the tip of her tongue.

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  Alyssa missed a step and would have stumbled if not for his smooth recovery. “Pardon?”

  “You were a thousand miles away.” He smiled down at her. “And I couldn’t help but wonder what you were thinking.”

  “You’re not a duke.” Alyssa said the first thing that came to mind. “My mother is terribly disappointed about that.”

  “I noticed,” he answered. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” she asked.

  “Have you changed your mind?”

  “About what?”

  “About being a duchess?”

  “Heavens, no!” Alyssa laughed. “The restraints placed upon me by my sex and my position as an earl’s daughter are quite enough, thank you. I can barely breathe as it is. I’ve certainly no desire to add to them by marrying a duke.”

  “It could be that by marrying a duke and becoming a duchess, the restraints placed upon you would be greatly lessened,” Griff offered.

  “Not if the duke in question has a powerful mother who, upon his marriage, would be relegated to the rank of dowager duchess.” Alyssa may not have seen the duke since he was in short pants, but she’d heard enough about his mother to know she relished control and the power her rank afforded her.

  “And is that the state of affairs with the duke in question?”

  “Most definitely,” Alyssa told him.

  “She might take a fancy to you.”

  Alyssa shook her head. “It’s possible, but not very likely. It’s been my experience that powerful women do not appreciate having their position usurped, and sharing the same house could prove to be a most unpleasant state of affairs for the usurper.”

  “I see.” Griff pretended to ponder the problem. “In that case, might you consider marrying a viscount?”

  Alyssa answered his teasing in kind. “Only if he comes equipped without a powerful mother and with a garden.” She smiled up at him.

  “A garden?” He frowned. The mother he understood, but he was puzzled by her second requirement. “Like the Sussex House gardens?”

  She shook her head. “Not like Sussex House gardens. They’re perfectly magnificent, that’s true, but I don’t want a garden someone else has perfected. I want to create my own.”

  “You like to design gardens?”

  “I like to garden,” she corrected, smiling. “Without an army of gardeners and a hundred years of tradition dictating what I can and cannot do. Unfortunately, I’ve been forbidden to dig in our gardens for the duration of the season.”

  “And why is that?”

  “A lady of impeccable breeding should not give the appearance of coming from yeoman stock.”

  “That sounds as if it could only come from a mother.”

  “My mother,” she agreed. “Which is why I’d prefer to marry a man who will provide me with a garden of my own and who won’t complain about my desire to dig in it.”

  Griffin grinned. “In that case, I’m your viscount. My title isn’t as lofty, but it’s old and well-respected and it comes with an estate, a manor house, acres of parkland, and a rather overgrown and badly neglected garden and,” he added for incentive, “a generous income.”

  “You forgot about the mother,” she teased.

  “I have one,” he admitted. “Lovely lady. Very nice. Looking forward to welcoming a viscountess into the family.”

  “Oh, well.” Alyssa managed a perfect imitation of her mother’s dramatic sigh. “The garden sounded too good to be true.”

  “Did I mention the fact that my father is still very much alive and that he and my mother have a very large, very well-tended estate of their own in a county far away from the one in which my viscountess would reside?”

  She had thought, at first, that he was teasing, but the look in his eyes told her he wasn’t. “You’re serious…”

  “I have need of a bride,” he said. “And I want her to be you.”

  Alyssa didn’t find his proposal entirely flattering, nor was she surprised by the suddenness of it. But she pretended to be by quietly, calmly murmuring all the protests she imagined any young lady would murmur at such a time. “Lord Abernathy, we’ve only just met. I know nothing about you. You know nothing about me.”

  “I know enough,” he told her. “I chose you from the moment I first saw you at Lady Cleveland’s.”

  “This is much too sudden—”

  “Not for me,” he said. “I don’t have the luxury of time for a long courtship. I’m joining my regiment soon.”

  “You’re leaving?” Alyssa bit her bottom lip.

  “I’m afraid so. Unless you choose to stay with my parents, you’ll be alone at Abernathy Manor.” He gave her a rueful smile. “As alone as one can be with fifty servants wandering about the place.”

  She knew why he was offering to marry her, knew she should be offended at the idea of being his means to an end, but she wasn’t the least bit offended. She was intrigued and seriously considering his offer. “How long would yo
u be gone?”

  “I’m a soldier,” he said. “And we’re at war. Who can say? Perhaps months, perhaps years, perhaps forever.”

  “Forever?” She tried very hard to keep from sounding eager, and she must have succeeded, for he seemed not to notice or find fault with her manner.

  “There is always that possibility,” he reminded her. “I’m in the cavalry.”

  The strains of the music faded, and Griff gracefully guided Alyssa to a stop and led her off the dance floor on the opposite side of the room from where they had left her mother.

  The assembly rooms at Almack’s were deuced inadequate when it came to seeking respite from the crowd. Unlike most private residences, Almack’s had no terrace or gardens from which to escape the closeness of the ballroom. Griff had never been inside the assembly rooms, but he knew that Almack’s was perfectly suited to its purpose, which was to provide a place for eligible young men to view and dance with the marriageable young ladies without danger of compromising them.

  The only possible chance of escaping the eagle eyes and ears of the patronesses and of the Marriage Mart Mamas lay in finding the ladies’ retiring room unoccupied or in slipping behind one of the curtained window alcoves or behind the profusion of strategically placed potted palms. Griff decided the ladies’ retiring room would offer the most privacy—provided it was unoccupied and provided Lady Alyssa proved to be a passable actress.

  “It’s uncomfortably hot in here,” he prompted after their dance. “You must feel faint—”

  “Not at all,” Alyssa protested. Except when he stands so close.

  Recalling that she was an innocent, Griff tried again. “If you feel faint, Lady Alyssa, I’ll be happy to escort you to the ladies’ retiring room or to one of the curtained alcoves behind the potted palms where you might catch your breath in private.” He emphasized the word.

  Understanding dawned, and Alyssa blushed to realize that he wanted permission to escort her somewhere private so they might continue their discussion away from prying eyes and ears. “Oh!” She leaned heavily against him, feigning dizziness. “As a matter of fact, I do feel faint, my lord.”

  “Easy,” he cautioned, keeping a hand on her arm as he pretended to steady her. “Don’t overact. I’ll have to burn a few feathers as it is…”

  Alyssa wrinkled her nose as he expertly guided her through the crowd, past the first card room, to the ladies’ retiring room.

  The drapes hanging in the doorway were opened, a sign that the room was unoccupied. But Griff wasn’t taking any chances. He motioned Alyssa inside, then leaned close to whisper, “Are we alone?”

  Alyssa nodded. “Yes.”

  Griff quickly stepped inside the room and pulled the velvet drapes partially closed. To pull the drapes completely closed was to risk the chance that someone would notice and come to inquire about the occupant. To leave them completely open ran the risk of having some other lady or some other couple seek respite from the crowd. Partly closing the drapes seemed the best way to insure some privacy without putting Alyssa’s reputation at risk.

  Griff glanced around, getting his bearings. The ladies’ retiring room was large, with medallioned ceilings and numerous gilt mirrors. Upholstered chairs lined the walls, and several velvet-covered low fainting couches were placed about the room. A large circular table in the center of the room held a stack of ladies’ handkerchiefs, a collection of decorative smelling bottles, a large metal box of Promethean matches, and several bottles of asbestos and sulfuric acid in which to dip them in order to ignite them. A large china urn held an arrangement of peafowl and peacock feathers for burning.

  He pulled out a peacock feather and lifted several matches along with a bottle of igniting fluid, and a bottle of smelling salts and carried them to a table beside a fainting couch away from the door, close to the far wall out of the line of sight of the gilt mirrors, making certain they were at the ready should he be required to use them.

  When he was certain they were alone and out of earshot of anyone who happened along, Griff took hold of Alyssa’s hand. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Alyssa’s heart began to pound. She would be foolish to take him seriously. She couldn’t take him up on his offer, and yet she thought she might regret it if she allowed this chance pass her by. It wasn’t as if she was going to be miraculously delivered from the prospect of being sold into marriage to a stranger. At least, with Viscount Abernathy, she could do the choosing instead of her father. And Alyssa really disliked the thought of being the duchess. The rank of viscountess would suit her much better. She could do as she liked. No one would pay much attention to a viscountess. Not when there were countesses and marchionesses and duchesses around.

  “What would you expect of me?” she asked.

  “Well, I will require an heir.”

  Alyssa frowned. She’d forgotten about that possibility.

  He gave her a commiserating smile. “That is the purpose of marriage for people like us.”

  “Yes, of course you’ll require an heir,” she murmured. “And a spare after that one.”

  “Two sons is the standard for which every man hopes,” he said. “But I won’t demand it. One will be sufficient. And once the inconvenience of your confinement is over, you will naturally be free to pursue your own interests without the worry or responsibility of rearing a child. I can afford excellent care, and our child shall have the best nurses and nannies.”

  “I wouldn’t mind the responsibility,” she murmured. “Or having a hand in the rearing of my child.”

  “Then, of course, you would have a hand in it,” Griff assured her. “The decision would be yours.”

  Alyssa smiled. “We’re speaking of having a child together, and I don’t yet know your Christian name.”

  “It’s Griffin,” he answered. “My friends call me Griff. But you may call me anything you like.”

  He grinned at her, and Alyssa felt her heart flutter at the warmth in his brilliant blue eyes.

  “Some would call you mad,” Alyssa retorted. “I may be one of them. Tell me. Lord Abernathy, why me?”

  “Because I have need of a wife, and you are the only young lady I’ve ever seen who made me believe I was meant to be her husband.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I have met the man I am going to marry. He comes with an old title and a neglected estate. He also comes with a commission in His Majesty’s Army. With luck, I shall become a viscountess and take up residence at his country estate in time to continue my experiments in propagating and transplanting Capability Brown’s variety of pink rhododendrons.”

  —Lady Alyssa Carrollton, diary entry, 25 April 1810