His Contract Bride (Banks Brothers Brides 1)

by Rose Gordon

Regina moistened her lips. “I—I...”

  “Want to catch your death by coming down with the ague,” Father supplied for her when it was clear she wasn't able to finish her statement.

  “Rain is falling from the sky, not bullets,” she retorted before she could think better of it.

  “Be mindful of who you're talking to, Regina,” Father thundered.

  “Forgive me. I have no idea what has come over me.”

  “I pray you don't disrespect your husband that way,” he said, crossing his arms.

  “I don't.” At least, she didn't think she did. Edward had never grown angry with her or accused her of disrespect when she made such offhand comments.

  “And why are you here and not with your husband?”

  Regina took a deep breath. She'd never asked her father for anything before. But she couldn't avoid it. She had to pay for the items she'd purchased on Edward's credit before he found out about them. She straightened her spine. “I need to borrow a small sum.”

  Father's eyes lit. “Has your husband exhausted his credit somewhere?” he asked, cocking his head to the side in interest.

  “No. I have.”

  Her father laughed. “Too many gowns will bankrupt a man, Regina.” He idly flexed the fingers of his right hand as she'd seen him do many times after meetings with clients.

  She simultaneously cleared her throat and her thoughts. “Will you lend me the money?”

  “I do wonder why it is your husband doesn't ask me himself.”

  “He doesn't know.”

  Father rolled his eyes. “I have a hard time believing that tale. He might have an unnatural interest in natural science, but I doubt he doesn't know to keep track of his expenses.” He waved a stiff hand through the air. “It's of no account. I shall lend you the money.” He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and took out a bag of coins. “How much do you need?”

  “Two hundred pounds,” Regina said with a gulp.

  “Damn, Regina. It's little wonder you need to borrow the money. Any man who sees his wife has spent so much on useless frippery is likely to lock her away.” He gestured for her to follow him down the hall to his study. “Why don't you sit down while I write out a bank note?”

  “I'll pay you back,” she said meekly, taking a seat.

  “Yes, I know you will.” His words were spoken as if it were all a big jest to him.

  “I mean it, Father. I'll pay every pence back. With interest.”

  Father's pen scratched across the parchment in front of him. “Of course you will.” He finished filling in the bank note then set it aside. “Shall we discuss the terms?”

  “The terms?”

  Father flicked his wrist. “Never mind all of that,” he murmured, scribbling across the paper in front of him. He handed the paper to her. “Just sign this.”

  Regina took the paper and picked up a nearby quill. She inked the quill and brought it to the paper.

  Across the desk, her father had that impassive look on his face. The very one he’d worn when he'd convinced Regina that Edward had requested her hand for a reason other than they were already betrothed and he was ready to call in the contract.

  She pulled the pen away and read the paper in front of her. She frowned. It was written in Latin.

  “I understand that I'll have to repay your two hundred pounds, but what does decem mean?”

  “It means ten in Latin.”

  She nodded. “So I'll owe you ten percent interest?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what exactly does the ten have to do with anything?”

  Father's mouth formed a tight line. “You'd do well to remember your place. You're the one in need of something here, not me. I don't know of any other banks who will lend money to a lady, but if you'd like to be insolent, then you may find someone else to lend you the funds.” He leaned closer. “And believe me; even if you were to find such a man, my demands are far more favorable than his would be.”

  A chill ran down her spine. “I'm not refusing, I just don't know what your terms are,” she pointed out.

  “Ten invitations,” he said simply, his face relaxing. “In addition to the two events you are hosting, I should like you to make sure I am invited to ten events that are hosted by someone of the rank of countess or higher.”

  “You're cracked,” she burst out. “I don't even know ten ladies of such rank.”

  “Then you'd better start making friends.”

  Regina's lower lip quivered, so she clamped her teeth down on the inside to keep it still. What he was asking was impossible. She'd never been very popular at school. There was no way she'd be able to make friends with enough ladies this Season to meet his demands. “And if I am unable to gain you the ten invitations?”

  “Than it shall double to twenty next Season,” he said as cool as you please.

  “I'm sorry,” she said, forcing herself to stand. “I cannot accept your loan, after all.”

  “Of course you can,” he said jovially.

  “No. I can't.” She moved toward the door. “If you'll excuse me, I need to be returning home. Baroness duties, and all.”

  His face hardened. “Then do you intend to tell your husband of your folly?”

  “Yes.” Enduring Edward's wrath had to be a better alternative than being in her father's debt. At least, her one saving grace was the items weren't to be delivered until after the breakfast.

  ~Chapter Nineteen~

  “Regina, may I help you with the plans for the breakfast?” Edward said, joining her in the drawing room. At the request of the head schoolmaster, he'd spent all day yesterday and most of this morning at Eton sorting out exactly who had participated in which trivial misbehaviors and the extent of their punishment. Nonsense, if you asked him. But it was his responsibility to be there—even if he'd have rather spent the day with his wife. Not so today. He'd just arrived and didn't want to waste another minute outside her company.

  “You don't have to help me plan anything. As the hostess, it is my responsibility.”

  “You're right,” he acknowledged, looking at her curiously. Something seemed different about her this morning. “But I want to help.”

  She eyed him curiously. “You're not offering to help because you think I'm handling everything poorly, are you?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So help you, Edward Banks, if you're lying I will order the gruel right now.”

  “There is no need for such. Besides, per your own rules, I still have one mistruth left.” He paused. “Or are we counting my minor omission at the beginning of our marriage as a lie?”

  She swatted at him with a sofa cushion. “I ought to suspend your 'lying allowance' by ten years for that one alone.”

  “It's too late for that, madam,” he said. “You've already agreed to the rules.” He took the paper from in front of her and scanned the list she'd made. “So what do you say? Would you like my help?”

  “But it is my duty.”

  Edward scoffed at her weak attempt at a protest. It would take more than that to sway him. “Your duty, you say? I don't remember seeing a line saying, 'Thou shan’t accept help from thy husband, the baron, when planning a social event.' anywhere within the pages of Brazzel's Instructions for Baronesses.”

  “Are you certain?” Regina set down the quill she'd been using to make notes. “I specifically remember seeing that very line on page two hundred ninety-three.”

  “Two hundred ninety-three is mighty ambitious, don't you think?” he asked, leaning closer to her. “I'd have thought the duties of a baroness could have been summed up in a matter of one paragraph.”

  “And would the theme of that paragraph be? To do whatever it takes to please the baron?”

  “Of course,” he agreed with a grin, “including letting him help when
he offers his assistance.”

  “What makes you think I'm in need of your help?”

  He sighed. Her pride was both admirable and damnable. “Would you like the truth?”

  “Yes, for I should hate to make you unwell in an effort to spare my feelings.”

  “Thank you. That's very considerate,” he murmured, screwing up the courage to say his next words without sounding like a besotted fool. “I should like to spend the day with you today.”

  “Don't you have some experiment to attend to or a formula to test?”

  “No.” The truth was, even though he felt he was making remarkable progress with Regina, he didn't want to be locked up in his library working on his latest project today. Odd, that. He cleared his throat. “What do you say? Would you care to spend the day with your stodgy lord of a husband?”

  “Can I tell you something first? Then let you decide if you'd like to spend the day with your biddy of a lady wife?”

  He laughed. “With a statement such as that, I don't believe I wish to hear whatever confession you think you need to make.” Not to mention that short of murder or adultery, both things he was certain she hadn't committed, there wasn't a single thing she could have done that would make him not want to spend the day with her. “How about a compromise? You can tell me whatever it is you believe will make me think of you as an old bird tomorrow; and as your payment for whatever ghastly thing you've done, today we go do whatever I wish.”

  A slow smile spread over her lips. “I'd love to.”

  He stood and extended her his hand. “Splendid.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Regina said when they entered the carriage, and Edward requested she wear a blindfold until they arrived.

  He doubled over the black silk stocking. “I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Then I shan't look out the window.”

  “How do I know you won't peek?” he questioned smoothing the silk over his thigh.

  “It's just a chance you'll have to take.”

  “Unless, I keep you distracted with something else,” he murmured. He folded up the stocking and shoved it into his breast pocket. “All right, you have been spared the blindfold, but will now have to suffer my conversation.”

  “I don't mind so much.”

  He couldn't stop his smile at her admission. “I'm glad to hear that.” And he was. He'd grown quite fond of her in the past weeks and would be a bit saddened to find she didn't feel the same for him.

  The carriage rolled on, taking this street then that. It was forty-five minutes before the carriage came to a stop. Booming voices and peals of laughter filled the chilly air.

  “Where are we?” Regina asked, pulling back the edge of the red velvet curtain that hung over the window.

  “Do you remember when I suggested that I should take you to go see some of your own kind?”

  “Jesters, you mean?”

  “Just so,” he said with a nod, oddly pleased that she'd remembered that. “I thought today I'd take you to Covent Garden to see the jesters. And, of course, we'll be sure to see the jugglers, bearded ladies, rotten vegetable vendors, and two-bit actors, so you can decide which source of entertainment to hire for the breakfast.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, come along, then,” he said, reaching for her hand. He hated being thanked. He didn't deserve it, especially where Regina was concerned.

  Regina allowed him to help her descend the carriage then, without his prompting, put her hand on his arm.

  Blood pounded in Edward's ear at her simple gesture. “I'm assuming you haven't been here before,” he ventured after they entered the grounds and he caught sight of Regina's partially opened mouth as she stared at a man on stilts juggling his “wife's” apples while she chased after him, scolding him in front of a roaring crowd.

  “You assume correctly. My father never made time for this sort of thing; he was far too busy. And it'd have been an offense of the highest order to even mention such a place at Sloan's.”

  “I do wonder why?” Edward teased, pointing to the left where a woman dressed as a barmaid and wearing a tall wig stood on a small stage and sang.

  “Perhaps because the school used to be run by nuns before the ban of Catholicism?” Regina suggested, a teasing sparkle in her eye.

  “Right. We're here to see your kind. I nearly forgot.” He pointed forward. “They keep the jesters over there so not to scare the patrons.”

  She scoffed. “Scare the patrons? I think that dancing barmaid took care of that.”

  “Not these patrons.” He led her slowly down the lane. “If we walk past anything you wish to see longer, let me know.”

  “Is that man juggling knives?”

  Edward followed her outstretched finger with his eyes. “Indeed. Notice the black glove on his left hand?”

  “Does he wear it so he doesn't cut himself?”

  Edward shook his head then leaned in close to her. “Look carefully.”

  She leaned her head closer to Edward's, her silky hair brushing his nose. “What am I looking for?”

  Edward inhaled her scent. She smelled of spring and honeysuckles. So intoxicating. “Just look closely and you'll see it,” he murmured.

  “Does it have something to do with his glove?”

  “Mmmhmmm.”

  She gasped. “He has only four fingers!” She turned her head to look at him and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  ***

  There was an intensity in Edward's eyes she'd never seen before, quelling her words and thoughts. His body so close to hers, she could feel his heartbeat the same as she could feel her own.

  Their two gazes held. The rest of the world was all but forgotten.

  But the moment was not meant to last and abruptly ended when a man carrying an open pint of ale stumbled into Edward.

  “Pa'rn me, guvnor,” the drunk man stammered before turning away.

  Edward turned back to Regina, the intensity on his face gone now. “Are you all right?”

  “Just fine,” she returned, smoothing her skirts. She lifted her hand to block the bright sun from her eyes. “What is that fellow wearing?”

  “That's a jester!” Edward's excitement at seeing the man dressed in a yellow shirt with a large white, stiff, circular collar and crimson breeches with green stockings and blue slippers, jumping around made her laugh.

  She gestured to the silly looking man. “That’s what you think of me?”

  “Just listen to him for a minute.”

  “Do ye wonder why the noblemen’s all have the pox?” The jester lifted his bushy eyebrows nearly to his hairline and pulled his lower lip down until his entire row of bottom teeth were exposed, then cast a quick gaze at Edward before turning back to her. “They been spendin’ too much time down at the docks.”

  The only person who seemed to find that remotely humorous was the imbecile who’d spoken the words.

  “Once again, I ask you, is that what you think of me?” Regina asked.

  “Of course.” The lines around Edward’s eyes crinkled. “I have to admit it's been a while since I've been here. I'd quite forgotten how little intelligence one had to have to enjoy this part of the gardens.”

  “Did you used to come here often?” she asked as they walked away.

  “More often than most.” He steered them away from the other jesters. “When I was a boy, my father used to bring the lot of us here about once a week when we visited London.”

  “The 'lot of you'; isn't there just the two of you?”

  Edward nodded; his eyes fixed ahead of them. “No. There were four others.”

  “I'm sorry,” she said quietly.

  “Don't be.” His stiff shrug belied his careless words, and her heart went out to him.

  “Did you enjoy coming here as a boy?”<
br />
  “It was much better than the alternative,” he said, laughing. “Yes. Not only was it a pleasant escape from the mundane life of studying in a nursery all afternoon, but I actually enjoyed eating a giant turkey leg and watching the performances.”

  The image of a little blond haired, wide eyed boy flashed in her mind. “You were an adorable child, I'd wager.”

  “You'd lose that wager.” Not a drop of sarcasm was in his voice. “Mother claimed I had a face that only a mother could love.” He twisted his lips. “Though, if the truth were known, I have a hard time believing that she loved it.”

  I do. She bit her lip to keep from embarrassing herself that way. “Surely she didn't mean that.”

  “I'd imagine she did.” He grinned. “When I was three, I found a rock down by the brook that I was certain had to be a diamond. The largest one I'd ever seen.” He held his hands up and put his fingers together to show her an oval the size of an egg. “In my hurry to show my father my discovery, I tripped over a large stick and fell on the front step of Watson Estate, knocking out these four teeth—” he ran his index finger along his four front teeth on top— “and these;” he pointed to the two bottom ones in the center. “I was ten before they all grew back. But by then, I'd naturally lost some of the others. It was more than ten years from the time I knocked those out until I had a full set again.”

  Regina had no idea why that was such an endearing story. But it was. “I don't have a story that could rival that one, I'm afraid. My life was always uneventful. When I was four, my mother died of pneumonia and my brother and I went to live in the country with Aunt Florence. Then when I was ten, I went to Sloan's School for Young Ladies and Toby went to live in London to learn to be a banker like Father.”

  “Did you see either your father or brother again before your come out?”

  “Rarely,” she admitted. “They were both too busy to visit and preferred I went to Aunt Florence's country estate for breaks and holidays.”

  “I'm sorry,” he said, leading her to a nearby bench.

  “It's all right,” she said dismissively, squinting from the bright sun. “At least at Aunt Florence's, I had more freedom than Father would have allowed. Not much, of course, but more than just sitting in Father's townhouse all day.”