Lord Garson’s Bride

by Anna Campbell

  She flushed and made an apologetic gesture. At least her blush made her look less like a little ghost. “I beg your pardon. That wasn’t polite.”

  He stepped away from the mantelpiece to approach her window seat. “I’d rather we were honest with one another.”

  She regarded him doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll try and cope with anything you throw my way.” Despite himself, he smiled. “But won’t you tell me why you find the idea of a match so outlandish?”

  When she shook her head, he wasn’t sure whether she expressed confusion or denial. As she recovered from her astonishment, her voice firmed. “For a start, I’ve only seen you half a dozen times in the last ten years.”

  “So I feel like a stranger?”

  “Not exactly.” Those gray eyes settled on him with such a searching expression that he shifted his booted feet in sudden discomfort. “But you don’t feel like a suitor either.”

  “I’m willing to court you, if that’s what you prefer.” It wasn’t what he preferred. He’d hoped that she’d say yes, he’d have the banns called, they’d marry in a couple of weeks, and the whole inconvenient palaver would be done and dusted with a minimum of fanfare.

  “I don’t know what I prefer, frankly.” She spread her hands. “This has come as a surprise.”

  “Perhaps I should have written before I called.”

  “I’d still be surprised that you’re offering for me. You’ve never shown any interest before.”

  “I’ve always liked you.”

  “And I’ve always liked you.” She made another helpless gesture. “But that’s not grounds for marriage.”

  He set his jaw stubbornly. “Why not?”

  “Because—”

  Because there was no love. They both knew that. He went on before she could finish. “A marriage could solve quite a few problems for both of us. I’m thirty-four. It’s time I set up my nursery with a sensible, good-hearted woman, willing to make a useful life with me. From your point of view, please forgive me if I trespass on matters that aren’t my concern—”

  “Which means you’re going to,” she said sharply. With every minute, she looked less downtrodden. She was sitting up so straight, her spine could have doubled as a ship’s mast.

  He ignored her interruption and ventured closer. Would it help to take her hand? A glance at her face told him it wouldn’t. “It’s no secret that your father made some disastrous investments, and I suspect your portion isn’t what it was.”

  That was why he’d asked about her plans, to check that he was right about the unappealing options available to her. She might intend to marry someone else. But she didn’t mention an attachment, and surely she would if there was one. It wasn’t very worthy, but he’d arrived, hoping she might choose to marry him to escape a bleak future.

  Two bright spots of color marked her cheeks, and she glared at him as though she disliked him. “I have enough to live on.”

  “As long as you retire to some backwater, or you swallow your pride and move in with Susan.”

  “She’s my closest family.”

  “She’s also very happy to take on an unpaid nursemaid.” Eight years older than Jane, Susan had always been a little cat with a sharp eye to the main chance. He’d never really taken to her. “Is that the best you can do?”

  Jane swallowed and avoided his probing stare as he stood over her. “You’re…you’re very blunt, my lord.”

  My lord? Hell, he really had upset her.

  He sighed and retreated, cursing himself for a thoughtless bully. What in Hades was wrong with him? The world commended his perfect manners, yet here he was acting the complete boor. “I’m making a muddle of this.”

  “Could you…could you sit down, so I don’t feel like you’re about to seize me by the scruff of the neck and give me a good shake?” Her voice trembled, as she fought to maintain her composure.

  “Damn it, I meant to woo you, not harangue you,” he said ruefully, subsiding into his chair.

  Straightaway she looked more at ease, and her bosom rose as she sucked air into her lungs. He couldn’t help noticing how very nicely she filled out that unenticing bodice. With difficulty, he dragged his eyes up to her face.

  She gave a shaky laugh and smoothed her austere coiffure, not that it needed it. “And I haven’t even said no.”

  “Imagine if you had,” he retorted, before he registered what she said. He leaned forward eagerly. “So you will marry me?”

  The humor drained from her face, returning her to the wan shadow she’d been when he arrived. His gut tightened in protest at seeing her this beaten down. She looked so weary, he just wanted to pick her up and take her somewhere she’d never suffer again.

  What the deuce? That was a more powerful reaction than he’d anticipated. He’d embarked on this course after coldly and calmly weighing his alternatives. Yet here with Jane, his confused feelings were making him stupid.

  “Why do you want to marry me?” He heard the effort she made to keep her voice steady. He also noted she didn’t answer his question. Was that a good sign or a bad one?

  He couldn’t tell, although he’d thought he knew her well. Damn it, that familiarity was one of the things that convinced him she’d make a fine wife. Yet looking into the face that he’d never considered anything remarkable, he recognized the presence of mystery.

  “I told you.”

  “Because we both offer a convenient solution to the other’s difficulties.”

  When he heard the tartness lacing her soft voice, Garson hid a grimace. He shifted uncomfortably on his chair. He hadn’t handled his premier foray at all well, blast him. Was it too late to regroup? “It’s true. As I said before, I like you.”

  His lukewarm declaration didn’t deserve to move her. And it quite clearly didn’t. “You’re a rich, attractive man with no obvious vices. You must have your pick of society’s unmarried ladies. Women younger than me who can give you babies, and who I’m sure you could come to like without too much trouble.”

  He noticed that she, too, avoided the word “love.” But then, that was the issue that narrowed the list of candidates for his bride to one. Most women expected something stronger than friendship from their future husband.

  “Jane, when I saw you at your father’s funeral, I thought you’d make me an ideal wife.” He was relieved to hear himself sounding calm and measured, the soul of logic. He had no idea what had come over him when he’d first proposed. He’d like to blame the ale, but it was an insipid brew. “I’m not a foolish boy anymore. Nor are you a silly girl. You’re a grown woman of good sense. I believe we could make an excellent life together. I pledge my respect and fidelity. You must remember that when I make a promise, I keep it.”

  “I do remember.”

  Encouraged, he went on. “Think of the advantages. You’ll be mistress of a great house. You’ll have money to do whatever you wish. It’s the life you were born for, not a hand-to-mouth existence as an indigent spinster in cramped lodgings a hundred miles from the fashionable world. Or would you rather be your sister’s dogsbody? You have a choice, Jane. Penury and isolation, or a full, purposeful life as my wife, and the mother of my children.”

  “I’d like children,” she said haltingly.

  “You’ll make a wonderful mother. You‘ll make a wonderful baroness. Please say you’ll marry me.”

  Strangely this speech left her looking more troubled than his hectoring. For a long time, she stared down into her lap, then she glanced up, gray eyes somber. “That’s a very nice proposal, Hugh.”

  The tension across his shoulders loosened. She called him Hugh. That meant she relented.

  “It’s what I should have said when I arrived. I’m sorry I was such a dunderhead. I’m out of the habit of proposing.”

  She didn’t smile. “But then, you have proposed before, haven’t you?”

  His blood ran cold. Damn and blast, had the gossip about his failed engagement spread as far as this re
mote estate? What an ass he was. Of course it had. Susan would share all the on dits in her letters.

  “That was over three years ago,” he said stiffly, even as he warned himself about getting all het up again.

  Jane sat up straight on her window seat and lifted her chin. Her tone was uncompromising, and her eyes were watchful. “It doesn’t matter how long ago it happened, if you’re still in love with Morwenna Nash.”

  *

  Chapter Three

  *

  All expression fled Hugh’s face, which was sign enough that she’d touched a nerve. Then Jane met his austere gaze and glimpsed the ocean of hurt seething beneath his polished exterior.

  Yes, he was in love with Morwenna Nash. He didn’t need to answer her.

  With a weariness that struck her as more spiritual than physical, he stood and crossed to look through the next window along from her. “That’s not your concern.”

  Impatience tightened her lips. Apparently he could ask her candid questions, but she wasn’t granted the same freedom. Too bad. “It is, if I’m thinking of marrying you.”

  He cast her a brief, curious glance. “Are you?”

  Was she? Devil if she knew. “The story is she broke your heart, and you’ve been carrying the willow for her ever since.”

  He sighed and stared out at the overcast day. “You know,” he said softly, as if he spoke to himself and not to Jane, “I’m damned sick of the world only thinking of me as the man Morwenna threw over.”

  Pity pierced Jane, sharp as a knife. She could understand that he was deathly tired of playing the role of discarded lover, after the dramatic events of three years ago. Up until then, he’d been at the top of the tree, generally admired and envied. He must have suffered an agony of humiliation over the last few years, aside from any pain he felt because the woman he loved was reunited with her long-lost husband.

  “I’m sorry that this is a painful subject.” She rose and went to stand beside him. This close, she couldn’t mistake his tension. “But if we’re contemplating a life together, we need to talk about this.”

  Still he didn’t look at her. “I was a fool to hope you were the only person in England who didn’t know.”

  She couldn’t mistake his fierce unhappiness. Could she deal with that if she married him? If she took on the man, she’d have to take on the broken heart, too. A daunting prospect for any bride. “When you were a boy, you were always steadfast in your affections.”

  “You know the family motto,” he said tonelessly. “‘Loyalty unto death.’”

  A wry smile twisted her lips. “You speak as if that’s a bad thing.”

  He turned in time to catch her expression, and temper sparked in his eyes. “Don’t you bloody dare laugh at me.”

  She raised a hand to touch his arm, then thought better of it. “I’m not.”

  “I’ve had enough of that as well.”

  “Everything was so public.”

  Her sister’s letters had been full of the gossip. When Morwenna’s husband returned miraculously from the dead, the reunion had taken place in a ballroom, under the full glare of the world’s attention. There had been no way of saving Garson’s pride, or allowing him to make a discreet withdrawal from a romantic triangle that became unbearably crowded.

  “The irony is that she never loved me.” He leaned one hand on the windowsill. It had started to rain, as if the weather reflected the heavy atmosphere inside the room. The gray light starkly revealed the sorrow in his face. “I always knew that.”

  “But naturally you hoped.”

  His mouth turned down in self-derision. “Yes, I hoped.”

  “After all, her husband had been dead—or at least we all believed he was—for years.”

  “Five.” His voice was bleak. “She has a steadfast heart, too.”

  A tacit admission that he still loved Morwenna. Not that anyone who saw him now could doubt it. In an odd way, Jane found it admirable that he couldn’t turn off his love, despite the lack of any happy ending. Admirable—but not necessarily a positive feature in a future husband.

  “I’m so very sorry, Hugh.”

  “So am I.” He straightened and shot her a direct look. “The shambles of my past doesn’t change my need to make a life for myself. I’ve moped long enough. I owe it to the title to marry and have children. There’s no use pining for the moon.”

  Which well and truly put Jane in her mundane place, didn’t it? It rankled a little that he saw her only as a broodmare. Her pique surprised her. Over the last dreary years, she’d thought she’d forsaken all claims to feminine conceit. Clearly not. “So you settled for me.”

  “As I told you…”

  “You always liked me,” she said flatly, returning to her window seat. All of this was too much to take in. Confused thoughts tumbled over each other, performing chaotic acrobatics in her mind.

  “That’s something.”

  “But hardly love’s young dream,” she said with a hint of bitterness, even as she told her vanity to step back because it had no part to play in this purely pragmatic decision.

  “I’d hoped…”

  With a touch of irony, she raised her eyebrows. “That I was past the age of wanting hearts and flowers?”

  Hugh had the grace to look ashamed. His repentance was charming—she’d forgotten over the years quite what an attractive man he was. Or perhaps she’d never let herself notice before, to protect herself from inevitable disappointment. The women Hugh Rutherford pursued, even before he fell in love with Morwenna, were counted as diamonds of the first water. Jane couldn’t compete with that.

  He made an apologetic gesture. “Please send me on my way, if you can’t hold with more of my blundering.”

  To her surprise, she raised a hand to stop him. “Don’t go rushing off.” She struggled to inject a lighter note. “I had no idea you were such an impulsive fellow, Hugh. Please sit down, and let’s talk about this.”

  He eyed her warily, then resumed his seat. He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it so he looked even more charming, plague take him. Jane hardened herself against his attractions. If this union was going ahead, she needed to keep a cool head. Going gooey-eyed over his handsome face wouldn’t help her at all.

  “This is turning out to be a blasted unconventional proposal.” Self-deprecating humor deepened the creases around his eyes.

  “I don’t know if I can live without love,” she said baldly.

  He frowned. “Are you saying if we married, you wouldn’t be faithful?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. When I make a promise, I keep it, too. I’m trying to work out whether the absence of love is a strong enough argument against saying yes. After all, I’m twenty-eight, and nobody has yet taken my fancy. Perhaps nobody ever will.”

  She’d like to share some spark of passion with the man she married. Perhaps for a staid, provincial frump past first youth, that was too much to ask.

  “I hate to play devil’s advocate, Jane, but your world isn’t exactly overflowing with hordes of eligible gentlemen.”

  “I’ve had my chances.” Even if they were all over fifty, and not in the best of health.

  He looked curious, but this time he remembered his manners before he pursued any details. “I’m sure you have. Your devotion to your father’s care alone recommends you as a suitable wife.”

  She hid a wince. Still not a word about her personal appeal. One of today’s surprises was the discovery that her romantic younger self claimed a place inside her respectable bosom.

  “What do you want of me, Hugh?”

  That impressive jaw set with determination, and his voice emerged strong and steady. “I want a companion, a mother for my children, a friend. I want a sensible woman who’s willing to build a life with me. A woman who respects and likes me, and won’t ask for more than I can give her.”

  His love, he meant.

  She crossed the room to stare sightlessly into the fire. One hand began pleating her gray merin
o skirt as she tried to decide what to do.

  This was a cold bargain, but it had its benefits. She might harbor hidden longings for what she’d never known—love and adventure and excitement. But if she was brutally honest with herself, her chance to experience those things had passed.

  At twenty-eight, she was on the shelf, especially now her dowry was so meager. While she might like to think that her alternative to marrying Hugh was some resplendent future, the reality was different. As he’d bluntly pointed out, right now her choices lay in becoming her sister’s drudge, or moving to some backwater and sharing her restricted means with a middle-aged chaperone.

  Neither prospect filled her with unbridled joy.

  She’d waited ten years to seek the life she wanted. But she’d left it too late.

  Too late. Surely the saddest words in the language.

  A sensible woman—how she grew to hate that adjective!—would say yes. As Hugh remarked, Lady Garson would have every worldly advantage. She’d have respect and influence. She’d also be part of a family.

  What about love? Doesn’t that matter?

  Her foolish heart cried out in anguish as it viewed the emotional barrenness extending ahead. But the bleak truth remained that love wasn’t on the cards, wherever she went. Surely if she must yearn, it was better to yearn from the comforts of beautiful Beardsley Hall, than from shabby rented rooms in an unfashionable seaside resort.

  She glanced up to find Hugh watching her steadily. He showed no sign of anxiety. Why should he? He’d chosen his bride as a practical matter, much as she’d say yes as a practical matter.

  If she said yes.

  “You claim you want your independence,” he said in that reasonable voice. “I can understand that. Especially after running the show here for so long. I can promise I won’t be a tyrannical or a demanding husband, and the settlements will ensure a generous allowance.”

  She fiddled with her skirt and mulled over her answer. She knew he wouldn’t be demanding. He was an unusually considerate man. Even more to the point, he didn’t want her. Not in that way.