AN Unexpected Gentleman

by Alissa Johnson

  He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “Well, what do you suggest? You can’t mean to go through with the marriage. You’re the grandniece of a count. You can’t go about marrying just anyone.”

  “Our great-great-great-uncle by marriage was a count, Wolfgang. That means nothing. And I do mean to go through with it. I am happy to go through with it.” She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. Lord, how he exhausted her. “Mr. Brice has the means and desire to provide for this family. Your family,” she emphasized, dropping her hand. “We were but a few short months from the poorhouse. Does that mean nothing to you?”

  “Sir Robert would never let it happen.” Growing visibly agitated, Wolfgang began to pace in front of the fireplace. “Christ, what a mess you’ve created. He’ll not let this slight go lightly, you know. But if you were to make a gesture now, he might—”

  “Sir Robert? You’re angry because I . . . ?” She shook her head slowly, shocked by the words, appalled at his callousness. “How can you champion him now?” she asked on a horrified whisper. The bruise on her cheek had not yet fully healed, and already her brother was willing to forgive and forget. “How can you defend him after everything that has happened?”

  Wolfgang sighed heavily. “I am not defending him. He should not have raised his hand to you. It was wrong of him to do so.” He spoke as if being forced to recite a technicality. As if Sir Robert had done nothing more nefarious than steal a bite from their larder. And wasn’t she being awfully silly to make such a racket over the matter?

  Shock drained away to be replaced by a wave of cold anger. “That you would brush aside the insult so easily speaks worse of you than—”

  “Do you think you’ll receive better from Brice?” His voice dripped with scorn. “He’s a bastard, Adelaide.”

  “Mr. Brice is . . .” She wanted to say he was good and honorable, but that didn’t make any sense. He’d lied to her and compromised her on purpose. It was difficult to argue the good and honorable in that. “He is the acknowledged son of a baron, the man who paid your debts, and the man who will be my husband. You will show respect.”

  Wolfgang’s lips thinned into a pale line. “I’ll pay him back, but that’s all I’ll do.”

  She almost laughed at the outlandish statement. It was just like Wolfgang to make such an impossible promise.

  “Oh, do let me know when hell has frozen over,” she drawled. “Until then, for the sake of your family, and the coin for that brandy you’re wanting, you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head. Am I understood?”

  She didn’t expect to be understood and wasn’t the least surprised when Wolfgang leveled a long, ugly glare at her, then exited the room without another word.

  Adelaide avoided Wolfgang for the next twenty-four hours, a remarkably simple exercise, as he’d taken himself off to the tavern moments after their argument and had not returned home again until dawn.

  Now it was early afternoon, he was still in bed, and she was taking a few moments to tend the hydrangea she’d nearly flattened, and trying very hard not to worry herself over where Wolfgang had gotten the money for drink.

  Isobel, like as not. He’d probably told her he meant to buy new clothes or have a pint in celebration. Fortunately, although Isobel was susceptible to the pleas of a sibling, she was neither a fool nor particularly generous. She’d not have given Wolfgang more than a few shillings. Which he’d no doubt succeeded in turning into a hundred pounds of debt in the course of an hour.

  “You don’t have to do that now.” Connor’s gruff voice fell on her back. “We’ll hire a gardener.”

  Straightening with a small start, she turned and saw he was standing directly behind her, holding a thick stack of papers on top of a large tome. His approach had been muffled by the hum of a light breeze.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Brice.” She peeled off her gloves and smiled. “I like to garden, you’ll recall.”

  “So you’ve said.” He frowned a little. “I assumed that meant cutting flowers and . . . what have you.”

  “I enjoy all aspects.” Even the repetitive work of weeding was rewarding. She tilted her head at him, wondering if the sight of his future wife digging in the dirt had somehow offended him. “Does that bother you?”

  “No.” His face cleared, and he gave a quick shake of his head as if dismissing the idea. “Not if it gives you pleasure.” He shifted the papers in his arms and handed her the tome. “Here, I’ve brought you something.”

  Happy with his quick acceptance of her hobby—and, naturally, with his offer of a gift—she took the book with a smile.

  “What is it? . . . An atlas?” She turned it over in her hand, studying the fine leather binding. It was a thoughtful, if somewhat odd, present. “This was very kind of you. Thank you.”

  “The atlas is not the surprise. It’s a tool. I want you to decide where you would like to go on our tour of Europe.” He reached over and tapped the book. “A bridal tour. That’s the surprise.”

  Stunned, she looked at him, the atlas, then him again. “Really? Do you mean it? We can go anywhere I like?”

  “Everywhere you like. Make a list.”

  She laughed, delighted with the suggestion. She’d made a hundred lists in the past. With pen and paper, when she’d still had the funds for them, then mental lists later—one for bills, one for debts, one for supplies she couldn’t buy, another for repairs she couldn’t afford. Not for the life of her could she remember the last time she’d made a list for fun.

  Everywhere she’d wanted to go. The possibilities were limitless. Well, not entirely limitless. She couldn’t take a full year as her parents had done. There was George to consider, and heaven knew, her brother couldn’t be left unsupervised for so long a time. But she could take a month or two, perhaps even three. Three months of travel to any place she liked. She could scarce believe it.

  Excitement and longing hummed through her veins. “I want to go to Prussia and France.”

  “That’s a start. Where else?”

  “Oh, I don’t think there will be time for anyplace else.”

  “We can take all the time you like.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t leave George alone for too long.”

  “Why should we leave him? Traveling is a fine education for a young boy.”

  “He may come with us?”

  “Certainly, as long as we take a nanny along as well.” He lifted a hand to brush a loose lock of hair from her shoulders. “I don’t fancy competing for your time or fishing him out of a canal in Venice. And I imagine Isobel will want the freedom to explore a bit without having a child in tow.”

  “Isobel may come as well?” She realized she was more or less echoing everything Connor said, but she couldn’t help it. It was all so extraordinary. He was handing her another dream. More, he was fulfilling the dream her mother and father had never been able to see materialize. The Ward children on tour . . . Most of the Ward children, she amended.

  “What of Wolfgang?”

  “He may join us, if he likes.”

  Given her brother’s sour disposition of late, she rather hoped he wouldn’t. But at the same time, he couldn’t be left to his own devices for any length of time.

  “I don’t know that he’ll agree to join us.”

  “Then he won’t,” Connor said dismissively.

  “Wolfgang cannot be left unattended for—”

  “Unattended?” His brows winged up. “Is he an invalid?”

  “Very nearly,” she grumbled. “He makes terrible choices. I don’t know if he’s capable of making good ones.”

  “He’s capable. We will do what we can for him, but he’s a grown man, Adelaide. You cannot stop him if he is determined to make himself miserable.”

  “I know, but I have to try.” Frowning, she looked down and nudged a rock with her toe. “It’s not just himself he injures. There’s Isobel and George—”

  He cut her off by capturing her chin in his hand and lifting her face to
his. “Your fate is no longer tied to your brother’s. Do you understand?”

  Adelaide considered it. A part of her would always be tied to Wolfgang, because a part of her would always hope to see the boy she’d loved become a man of whom she could be proud. Though it pained her, she wouldn’t sever that tie if she could. Who would look for a lost boy, if not his family? Who would mourn his loss?

  But Connor was right from a financial standpoint. The days of fearing complete ruin were over. Nothing Wolfgang did now could change that.

  “Yes, I understand.” She reached up, took his hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go. She let go of her sorrow along with it. Now was not the time to dwell on the heavy matters of the heart. It was a lovely day, a beautiful day. And she had a trip to plan.

  “When shall we leave?” she demanded, growing excited. Directly after the wedding? Or should they take a week or two to settle into Ashbury Hall?

  “When I’ve done with Sir Robert.”

  That was not the answer she’d been expecting.

  Hadn’t Connor said he had his own list? A long list of treats in store for his brother, or something along those lines? How long? How many weeks or months, or even years, would it take to check the items off on that list?

  She struggled not to let her disappointment show. He’d never promised her a trip. He’d certainly never promised a trip taken in the immediate future. Eventually, he would take her, and that was more than she’d ever thought to ask for.

  “Well,” she said in what she hoped was a passably cheerful voice. “I shall have some time to plan, then. Is there someplace you’d like to recommend?”

  “I remember Vienna being agreeable in the fall. Isobel would enjoy Rome, I imagine.”

  “You’ve been those places as well?”

  “My mother took me to Vienna when I was a child. I was in Rome two years ago on a matter of business.”

  She tilted her head. “What is your business, exactly?”

  “I’ve more than one, but the bulk is shipping. Goods from the Americas, silk from China—”

  “China? You’ve been to China? How on earth did you go from escaping impressment to traveling the world?”

  He shook his head. “Another time.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve something else for you.” He handed her the papers.

  Distracted from the inquiry, she took them with a baffled smile. “More presents? What is all this?”

  “The contracts. Your fifteen thousand pounds. A few other items of business.”

  With a gasp, she bobbled the atlas in an attempt to get a better look at the papers. “How on earth did you get these so quickly?”

  “It wasn’t easy.” He reached out and retrieved her book before she could drop it. “The special license alone cost more than—”

  “Special license?” She dug through the papers, realized she had no idea what a special license looked like, or why she needed to know, and stopped in favor of gaping at Connor. “But we don’t need a special license. We agreed to wait for the banns to be read.”

  “Yes, because you didn’t want to be married by the blacksmith.” He jerked his chin toward the papers. “Now we don’t have to.”

  There had been a host of reasons to wait. She tried to remember them now as her heart galloped. “I . . . I don’t have a gown. Isobel and I went to the modiste only yesterday.”

  “Wear the gown you had on when we met. Marry me today.”

  “No.” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “No, that was a ball gown. And I need to review the contracts and—”

  “So review them,” he suggested easily.

  “What, now?”

  “As good a time as any.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about the law. A solicitor—”

  “If I wanted to cheat you,” Connor cut in with a hint of impatience, “I’d have seen to it the contract was too complicated to decipher, then I’d simply pay whichever solicitor you hired to say everything was on the up-and-up.”

  “Not everyone is susceptible to bribery,” she grumbled.

  “No, just enough to keep things moving along nicely,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s move this courtship along—”

  “But you wanted a grand affair. You wanted an acre of flowers and your bride in the finest gown.” She’d assumed he’d meant to make a great show of his victory over Sir Robert.

  “I’ll buy you a hundred fine gowns and watch you tend the garden.” He smiled when she did. “I wanted to elope first, you’ll recall.”

  “Yes, but I . . . I’ve made plans.” Most notably, the plan to marry in a few weeks. “I cannot—”

  “Change them. Every day you put it off is a risk, you know. I could be thrown from a horse on my way home, or change my mind and run off to Australia with the widow McClary tomorrow.”

  Mrs. McClary was old enough to be his grandmother. “She wouldn’t have you. She’s more particular in her taste than I.”

  While he chuckled at that, she considered his argument. What he said did make a sort of sense. He could change his mind. If he discovered the truth of why Sir Robert had courted her, he might very well change his mind. Then she would be out the fifteen thousand pounds as surely as if the contract was a lie, and she would be out of a husband.

  Connor must have sensed her resolve was wavering. He set the atlas and papers on the ground and stepped closer, until the scent of him filled her senses. The fingers he trailed gently along her cheek were warm and lightly calloused. “Ashbury Hall is habitable now. All but the interior designer, architect, and a few craftsmen are gone. Most of the new windows are in. There’s furniture, staff, a nursery all set up for George. I’ve a gardener—”

  “You made up a nursery?”

  “Were you expecting otherwise?”

  “Well, no.” Or possibly yes. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but she’d not have been surprised if he’d not thought of George’s needs. “It’s only—”

  “Everything is ready,” Connor said softly. “Why wait?”

  She thought through the matter with a mind for what was best for herself and her family, but quickly realized that, barring Connor taking a tragic fall from his horse, her decision would make very little difference in the long run. Whether she married Connor today or married him in a few weeks time, the end result would the same.

  Except that, if she waited, there would no longer be a decision to make. She would wake on her wedding day knowing her only options were to arrive at the chapel and say her vows or send her family to ruin.

  But today . . . She could marry by choice. It was an exceedingly loose definition of choice, a razor-thin veneer of control, but it was enough to bring a smile to her lips.

  She could marry Connor today because she wanted to marry Connor today; there didn’t need to be any other reason. There didn’t have to be strings or expectations. She could do exactly as she liked.

  “I want to change,” she announced. “I want Isobel and George to be in attendance.” She gathered up the stack of papers and all but shoved them into his chest.

  “And I want you to sign the contracts.”

  Chapter 20

  At the age of thirteen, Adelaide had briefly fancied herself in love with young Paul Montgomery, the son of a local farmer, and for three long weeks she had hounded her mother for the details of her parents’ wedding day. Had there been music and flowers? Had she felt like a princess in a gown of silk and lace?

  Her mother had answered with patience and humor. What she remembered was excitement, and nerves, and a great whirlwind of activity. The details would forever remain a blur.

  Adelaide anticipated a similar experience on her own wedding day. Only there wasn’t much in the way of activity. The only whirlwind was George, who strenuously objected to having to bathe and wear Sunday clothes on a Friday and made his displeasure known by leaping out of the tub and streaking about the house while screeching at the top of his
lungs like a soapy, irate piglet.

  It took a solid half hour to catch him, rinse off the soap, and wrestle him into his clothes.

  There was little to be had in the way of excitement after that. Unlike her mother, Adelaide wasn’t in love with her bridegroom. She was, at best, cautiously fond of him.

  She thought perhaps she might be a little excited, but it was difficult to determine the exact cause of her racing pulse and trembling hands. It could just as well have been nerves. Unable to identify the source of her anxiousness, she set aside the question of how she felt and focused on what needed to be done.

  Practicality. That’s what her wedding day was filled with.

  She washed; she changed. Word was sent to Wolfgang at the tavern. No one expected a reply.

  Connor left for Ashbury and returned with his carriage a few hours later to whisk them all to the small chapel where Adelaide had attended services all her life. She knew every detail of its one stained-glass window, and the backs of the pews she knew as well as the back of her own hand. The vicar was the same man who’d baptized her as an infant and patted her back years later when she’d been sick on his son.

  Now she was standing before him at the altar as he spoke of fidelity and the sanctity of holy matrimony. He said something about wives and masters, as well. She pretended not to hear.

  Another step, she reminded herself as her world spun. This was all merely one more step, and it had been her choice.

  She said her vows. Connor said his. Isobel clapped when the vicar pronounced them man and wife. George bumped his head on a pew and howled. Michael Birch and Gregory O’Malley signed as witnesses.

  And she was married. Just like that, she had a husband, a new life.

  It was done.

  “Well,” she heard herself whisper in a daze. “Well.”

  Connor’s large hand settled on her back, and his low laughter floated over her head. “Ready to leave, are you?”

  She wanted to take offense at his amusement, but the presence of his touch and voice were welcomed anchors in her spinning world. Slowly, her mind began to clear as he ushered her outside into fresh air and the last light of evening. She felt nearly coherent when she thanked Gregory and Michael for their assistance and then climbed into the carriage with her family and Connor. And by the time they were rolling down her drive, she fancied herself quite . . . Well, herself.