A Bride Worth Taking (Arrangements, Book 6)

by Rebecca Connolly

  That part might have been a little bit him.

  He sighed as he wandered the halls a little, wondering where his family was at this moment. It was too quiet, but Mrs. Creighton was a stern taskmaster when it came to lessons. She might not know how to corral the children when it came to pall-mall, but no one could hold that against her. They were Gerrards, after all. Even Freddie, though not a Gerrard by birth, had exhibited all of the finer qualities, and most of the lesser ones, of the family.

  And Marianne… Marianne had…

  Well, somehow she’d settled the most violent of disputes between the girls not that long ago, and had done so with ease and grace, listening to all sides with far more patience and understanding than he could ever have managed. He had been unable to comprehend the argument at all, something to do with dresses and combs or some other girlish nonsense. But it must have been serious, for Marianne had never once quivered with any hint of amusement. Bitty and Ginny had heeded her with respect and adoration, and then proceeded to regale her with tales of their country adventures.

  Rosie had moodily left the room and he’d not seen her since, but neither had he been paying attention. He and Colin had escaped the gaggle of females for a ride across the estate, and he’d only just returned, Colin having rushed up to check on his wife and daughter for the twelfth time.

  Kit frowned in thought. Rosie needed to get over her dislike of Marianne and accept her, respect her as she did Susannah. She might never be a motherly type to her, and he did not expect that, but she was his wife, and as such, she deserved some regard.

  He nearly missed them, quietly sitting on the floor together in the drawing room, and pulled back to remain out of sight. Not that they would have seen him, as their backs were turned. Rosie sat rather mulishly, picking at the embroidery on her skirt, and Marianne sat far more elegantly beside her, looking at the younger girl with concern.

  At one time he would have bet money that Marianne would never sit on the floor regardless of the situation, and more recently he would have bet more money that she would never elect to be alone with Rosie, yet here she was doing both, willingly and without anyone else around.

  “Perhaps you’d like me if you got to know me,” Marianne was saying softly, a small smile on her lips. “It might not be so bad, you know.”

  Rosie shrugged a little, not meeting her gaze. “Maybe. Kit likes you now, so that says something.”

  Kit winced as Marianne leaned back in surprise. “How do you know he likes me?”

  Again, Rosie shrugged, but she tossed her hair a little, as if what she was about to say was common knowledge. “He used to not smile. Now he does.”

  She had a point.

  “Oh…” Marianne murmured, her eyes widening.

  Rosie brushed at her skirts and folded her fingers together, looking down at them. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  If Marianne knew Rosie better, she would not dare to consent so easily.

  “Will you answer it honestly?”

  “Yes.”

  Rosie finally looked up at her, cocking her head slightly. “Why did you and Kit get married so fast?”

  Marianne’s brows rose slowly and Kit held his breath, knowing he ought to interject before this got out of hand, but at the same time wanting to see how it played out.

  He watched with anxiety as Marianne sighed softly, her expression taking on a faraway look. “We got married in the manner we did because… I needed saving. From myself. I had behaved very badly indeed, hardly the behavior of a proper young woman, and it got out of hand. Your brothers came to save me, and rather than having me endure punishment and ridicule, Kit offered to marry me. And it was better for all if it was very fast and without any sort of fuss. I didn’t even have a proper trousseau, and you know what a shocking thing that is for any bride.” She shuddered and smirked a little.

  Rosie cracked a smile at Marianne’s suddenly sarcastic tone, and Kit felt all of his breath escape in one massive rush of air, surprised that no one heard it.

  Marianne reached out to pat Rosie’s knee, knowing better than to be too familiar with her. “I wish we could have had the time to do things properly. I would like to have met you girls and let you get used to the idea, and to me, before all of that, but it wasn’t possible. I am sorry for that.”

  Rosie nodded, looking thoughtful. “If you could change things,” she asked in a surprisingly mature tone for a girl of ten, “would you?”

  Marianne sat back, suddenly seeming almost wistful. “I would change me, and my decisions. I would most certainly change myself.” She slowly shook her head, smiling. “But those decisions led me to this marriage with Kit, and I wouldn’t change that.”

  Rosie’s smile grew and she sat up a little taller, apparently having decided on her feelings at last and a much more animated discussion of books began.

  Kit slid even further out of sight and rested his forehead against the wall, trying to process what he had just heard, and what had happened.

  Marianne was making a conquest of everyone, even his stubborn little Rosie. She was open and artless, warm and encouraging, and utterly unlike any version of her he had seen before Glendare. Gone was the prim and proper heiress who had barely tolerated the children before, and barely tolerated anyone at all, despite their admiration, or lack thereof. Somehow, she’d always been able to draw people in. Even as a young girl, when he had first loved her, she’d had an air of something rather hypnotic that dared others to follow. Once she had learned how to harness and control that power, she’d unleashed it to all of London freely and without restraint.

  Now it was reined in once more, but no less potent.

  Better still, she had found a heart, or ceased hiding it, and she was a creature reborn. Something pure and delightful and winsome, a breath of spring air in a field of wildflowers. He wanted more and more of this, days and weeks and years of it. Slowly and steadily, she was melting away the last edges of his resistance to her.

  What would become of him then? If she managed to ensnare him once more, would he be lost to everyone in the world but her?

  Would he mind so very much?

  If she remained as she was, it might not be so bad. But if she changed once more, if she became caught up in the spirit of London, as she had done before, it would be the bitterest form of torment.

  How far did he trust her?

  How far did he trust himself?

  For a man who made a concentrated effort to feel nothing, he felt his emotions with surprising strength and depth, with an intensity that was a damned nuisance. He had loved her with a passion, and he had hated her with one just as strong. If he let himself go fully now, when things were beyond his wildest imaginations, it would consume him, whole-heartedly and without restraint. There would be no recovery, and if this did not last, it would shatter everything that made him who he was.

  He thanked God his control was as strong as any of his emotions, for the fear of losing himself was paralyzing.

  It all came down to trust. Belief. Confidence in the course before him. He could not properly act until then.

  Perhaps Rosie was more like him than he’d ever thought.

  “Kit?”

  He made a face at Colin’s voice, low and bemused.

  “What are you doing?” his brother asked, coming to lean his back against the wall next to him.

  “Trying to figure out to whom I am married,” Kit muttered.

  “You’ve forgotten?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a shame. I rather like her.”

  Kit cracked an eye open and looked at him. “Do you? You warned me off enough.”

  “Yes, well, she was not the same person then, and nor were you.”

  “Hence the problem,” Kit groaned, closing his eyes again.

  “If she can manage little Gerrards so effectively, you’ve married the right woman. Circumstances or not, Kit, this is turning out rather well. For both of you.”
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  Kit squeezed his eyes shut against the burst of pleasure and pain that seared him. If only he knew what the future held. If only he weren’t such a coward. If only…

  Colin let out a low chuckle. “Why is your face in the wall?”

  Kit released a short, irritated sigh. “Because at this moment that is the best place for it.”

  “Right…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Susannah says you want to take the children to London with you. Are you mad?”

  “Probably. But it was my wife’s idea.”

  Colin choked on air, and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him from the wall and shoving him down the hall towards the study. “Now that is something I need to hear. Go.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It was going to be a disaster, and she hadn’t even left the house yet. Worse than that, she was not even dressed yet. Her first event back in London, a ball hosted by the duke and duchess of Eastbourne, of all people, and she could not find a single thing to wear. Literally every appropriate gown for a ball that she owned was strewn about the room, either on her bed or on the floor, and nothing was even tempting her. Not the scarlet with gold trim, not the cream muslin, not the blue silk brocade, not even her old favorite, the vibrant purple muslin with the sheer overlay, and none of the others either.

  She ought to have thought about this beforehand, but there had hardly been time.

  They’d been back in London three days, and the children were quite accustomed to the house and the situation, and were delighted by the amount of space in their rooms and in the garden behind the house. They’d kept her and Kit quite occupied, so much so that they’d barely seen each other but for meals. She caught the flash of heat in his eyes when she came to breakfast in her nightgown and wrap the first morning, but that had been before she had realized the children would wake early and dine with them. Since then, she had taken care to dress appropriately, at least until they were used to her and more accustomed to her ways.

  But what Marianne wanted most desperately at this moment was to see her husband look at her, in all her finery and elegance, and to know what he was thinking. He’d grown so familiar to her recently, she could see the slightest flicker of emotion in his once unreadable face. And he’d become such a tease, so delightfully witty, sometimes even shocking her, that she’d begun to wonder if she had married the more playful and sly Gerrard twin. And she adored every moment.

  She would know if he approved of her look within a heartbeat. Assuming she found something worth wearing. The Eastbournes were very respectable and she must look the part, as Kit Gerrard’s wife, but everything she owned was so blatantly Marianne Bray that she hesitated. She was so changed now, they did not even seem like her gowns.

  Bitty had suggested that Marianne wear something with frills tonight, as she currently thought anything with frills must be the height of finery, and at this moment, she was tempted to bring her up here to pick something out for her. Bitty would be very decisive and have no prejudice to any gown in the room.

  Marianne could use such a perspective.

  Then she would not be standing here, hair completely unbound, half-dressed, straining against her corset with her irritated breathing. There was not time for this madness. They would be late if she did not come to her senses and pick something. It was too late for regrets, even if she could believably feign a megrim. And rather like with the Rivertons, there was no refusing the Eastbournes. Not if one wanted to conceivably remain in Society.

  She turned to the long mirror, holding up a moss-colored green silk, smoothing it against her hip and legs, cocking her head. Almost, but still not quite right. She huffed in irritation and flung it back on the bed. “No, no, no,” she groaned as she rubbed her temples. “This is not going to work!”

  Anna clicked her tongue sympathetically, but she looked beyond exasperated. “You have so many gowns, madam, surely…”

  Marianne shook her head and adjusted a chemise strap that had slid off of her shoulder. “It is not the number of gowns, Anna. I have no qualms repeating an ensemble. The trouble is that I feel so different now, nothing seems to suit.”

  She reached for her gold-embroidered muslin and looked at herself in the mirror, holding the dress up. She shook her head again, and sighed. “Everything I own for a ball is so bold and brazen, and I do not feel like that girl anymore.”

  “Personally, I would go with the blue.”

  They both whirled to see Kit leaning rather rakishly in the doorway, half-dressed himself, and watching with interest. His shirt was open at the neck, exposing his throat rather temptingly, and he suddenly seemed taller, more imposing, even more dangerous.

  Marianne clutched her dress to her more tightly to cover herself, as she was fairly exposed thus. She had no idea how long he had been there, or how much he had seen, but propriety suddenly seemed important. Her cheeks heated and she was, for the moment, entirely without words in the face of his attractiveness.

  He smirked a little and raised a brow at her.

  She cleared her throat faintly. “The blue?” she managed, sounding too breathless and too slow.

  He nodded once, a sultry hint of a smile on his lips. “Indeed.”

  She started to smile, then tucked it back to play a little. She gave him a look of disapproval as if she would scold him for such a suggestion. “But is that not rather bold?”

  Again came his slow nod. “It is, but so are you. Be bold, Marianne.” He pushed off of the doorframe with a wink and left, but not before taking in her current state with too much thoroughness.

  Marianne bit her lip, buried her face in the gold dress with a faint squeal, then turned to Anna. “Let’s try the blue again.”

  The Eastbourne ball was nearly as important as Almack’s to the opening of the Season, and they could always boast the best company, the best refreshment, and the best décor, should they have boasted at all. Which the Eastbournes, as a rule, never did.

  The Eastbourne events were not as ornate or elaborate as the Riverton’s, but hardly faulted for it, and far less scandalous things occurred there. One entered the Eastbourne home and found themselves growing more respectable by the moment. It was for that reason, and the duke’s rather imposing glare, that all rakes, scoundrels, and rogues kept far from the premises.

  There was always a dinner before the dance, and Marianne had been a little disappointed to find herself seated next to Lord Blackmoor, but she was determined to make the best of it. And one look at her husband had given her the confidence to do so, as even that brief of a glance had given her an echo of the scorching approval she’d seen when she finally descended that evening. He’d not managed a single word beyond a hoarse “good”, but his eyes had said so much more, and she’d barely managed to make it steadily to the carriage, even with his arm.

  Kit had given her a very small smile over the dinner table, as more would be unlike him in public, but she returned it and inclined her head, then turned to the man beside her in an attempt to converse.

  It had not gone well.

  He’d been polite, but cool. Reserved, aloof, and even arrogant. She knew how highly Kit thought of him, but she had yet to find any legitimate reason why. The man might have been one of the marble statues at Glendare.

  But try she did, and she could not call him rude, technically, as he’d somehow managed to be polite amidst the rest of his qualities. Hardly a proper dinner companion, but still a gentleman.

  The finest of cuisine had been at their disposal and not even Lord Blackmoor’s surliness had been enough to render the meal a waste. Neither too rich nor too bland, and such a selection that it was nearly as troublesome as her dress selection to determine just what she would eat and what she would not. Compliments flowed to the host and hostess as freely as did the wine, and the former became more elaborate as the latter increased.

  Soon enough, they were dismissed to the ballroom, and there, at least, Marianne felt in her element. She was immediately set upon by Gemma, who had not been able to
find her before, and she was tugged aside before the usual throng could form.

  In rapid, low tones, Gemma related details that she could not have put into a letter, as it was simply too shocking, she claimed. It seemed that Lily Arden had been settled into a hasty engagement with Thomas Granger, who was pleasant enough, if a bit reticent, all for the sake of saving his fortune. Lily’s parents, absent from her life but for the business details, had practically sold her off to their old friend, and Lily was heartbroken. Despite having carried a tendre for the man secretly for some time, this was hardly the situation she had wished for.

  “Well,” Marianne said rather coolly, squeezing Gemma’s hand, “we shall be her steadfast friends, and do our part. If we cannot save her from him, we can at least save her from gloom.”

  Gemma’s eyes blazed and she nodded. “Exactly. I knew you would see it properly.” She glanced to the side, and looked back at Marianne with a smile. “I think your coterie is waiting.”

  Marianne saw them and grumbled, “Only a few weeks ago they despised me.”

  “Yes, but that was before Fanny Hayes’s incident, and James Harper’s ill-timed proposal to Georgina Whittle, and before Penelope Davies tore her dress at the theater and exposed some very bowlegged knees.” Gemma grinned swiftly and kissed her cheek “You are back on top, my dear. Don’t forget me.”

  “Never,” Marianne insisted. She winked and then turned with a sigh to the gathering people and began her rounds with them.

  Kit watched the people surround and nearly engulf his wife, and further watched with a hint of pride at how smoothly she managed them all. While he may have wished his wife had been a bit more of a meek creature at times, there was no denying her skills when it came to people. She was efficient and brusque and never tolerated nonsense, and she did it all with such charm.

  It might drive him mad, but he could not deny that he was impressed.

  He mingled a little with some of the guests, the Bevertons and Whitlocks primarily, as well as Blackmoor, who had said nothing about his dinner conversation with Marianne, which Kit supposed to be very telling. Marlowe was nowhere to be seen, but Kit had learned never to expect anything with him. The Duke of Eastbourne had paid his respects, and Kit had conversed with him politely, having always held the man in high regard, but not in depth, as the man was the host and monopolizing him would have been rude.