Wedded Bliss

by Celeste Bradley

  Neville shook his head at Miss Beckham. “I must warn you, mine is not a pleasant story.”

  Katarina laced her fingers together and tilted her head, obviously waiting for him to continue.

  Neville caught himself up, pushing himself more upright by the arms of the chair. “I am sorry about your father, Katarina.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I appreciate your kind offer of sympathy. But my complaints are trivial by comparison.”

  Katarina narrowed her unusual dark eyes and pondered that for a moment. “If it pains you so, it cannot be trivial. Now, you have made all the appropriate polite noises, so you may go on.”

  “You are a rather unswerving person, aren’t you, Miss Beckham?”

  She smiled at him. Her smile changed her entire countenance, and the features he saw as mousy just a day ago he now saw as charming. Neville almost hated to burden this perfectly delightful young woman with his story of woe.

  “And you are an observant person, even in your condition.” Katarina’s voice was as soothing as it was sweet. “So, tell me, or send me on my way. I can leave you to your privacy and never speak of this again.”

  “I had the perfect woman.” Neville was surprised how he’d just blurted it out like that. “At least I believed she was mine. We were to marry. My only brother stole her from me.”

  Katarina’s lips parted in surprise. “Oh.”

  “He tricked her. My brother—my half brother impersonated me at my own wedding, and Bliss had no idea she was marrying the wrong man! My uncle knew of my brother’s deception yet did nothing to warn me or put a stop to it.”

  Katarina pressed her fingertips together and drew back slightly. Her large eyes widened in sympathy.

  “Bliss . . .” Neville dropped his head to his hands for a moment, trying to compose himself. Eventually, he looked up again to find Miss Beckham gazing at him, her brow etched with compassion.

  “Bliss is so lovely, you see. Perfect in every way. She is all I ever wanted—so regal, so sure of herself, well organized, practical. She always knew the perfect thing to wear, to do, to say at the perfect time. I never know what to say.” He ran drink-numbed fingers through his unruly hair. “She is a goddess, truly! And . . . she was the perfect woman for me!”

  Katarina blinked a few times. “My goodness. She sounds . . . perfect.”

  “Yes! Exactly! You can see the cause of my suffering!”

  “Indeed.”

  “The truth is, I sometimes feel overwhelmed with my responsibilities, and Bliss always knew how to step in and help me with my burdens. She would have made a perfect duchess, Katarina. I could picture it.”

  She nodded slowly. “The perfect picture.”

  “Yes! You understand!”

  “Perfectly.”

  Surprisingly, Neville felt somewhat better. He smiled blearily at his new friend. “You are a wonderful listener, Katarina. Your companionship seems to relax me. I feel as if I could tell you anything.”

  She smiled again. Really, such a charming smile. “Do you love Bliss?”

  Neville started. “What? Why, yes. Of course I do.”

  Katarina gave a tiny shrug. “I ask because you never said the words. You listed her many outstanding attributes, but you never mentioned love.”

  The Atlas of English Moths slipped from Neville’s lap and thudded to the floor again. Embarrassed, he retrieved it, wondering if Katarina could be mistaken. Had he not said he loved Bliss? How could that be?

  “My papa was always reading, too. You are like him in that regard.”

  Neville straightened up, his mind still snagged on that truth: He forgot to declare his love. But he had to find his way back to the conversation at hand. “Perhaps you inherited your love of reading from your father.”

  “Oh, most assuredly! My mother would scold Papa, saying, ‘You’ve always got your nose in a book!’ But that was where he was happiest.”

  Neville smiled at her. “It is true I enjoy books, but I doubt I could ever build a sugar empire as your father did. I fear I lack that kind of untiring drive, especially when it comes to business.”

  Katarina said nothing, but that tiny divot returned to her brow.

  Suddenly, Neville felt a twinge of guilt. He suspected these poor Beckham women had not been invited to Camberton House out of the kindness of Lord Oliver’s heart. Because, he now realized, his uncle had no kindness, or even a heart. “May I tell you a secret, Katarina?”

  Her eyes flashed with humor and she leaned forward in the chair. “Of course. But I thought you already did that.”

  Neville laughed. “No, this is different. I feel I should warn you about something. It has to do with why my uncle invited you and your mother to London. It concerns business. Our family’s White Rose Line will receive an exclusive shipping contract for Sunbury sugar once my uncle has introduced you to Society.”

  Though one of Katarina’s eyebrows arched high on her forehead, Neville did not see any surprise in her expression. “Yes, I am well aware of that arrangement,” she said.

  “Oh, good. That’s very . . . practical of you. But there’s something else.”

  “Pray, go on.”

  “My uncle wishes to push your mother out of the plantation. I believe he seeks to take advantage of your widowed mother’s lack of business acumen to acquire the entire line of production.”

  He watched for Katarina’s reaction. When she bit down on her lower lip and began to glance uncertainly about the library, Neville feared the worst. When her shoulders began to shake, he braced himself for a flood of tears. But it did not take long for him to realize his mistake.

  Katarina Beckham was trying desperately not to laugh.

  She returned her attention to him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “And now I’d like to tell you a secret. May I?”

  “Oh, most certainly.”

  Katarina leaned closer still. “Mummy worked by my father’s side from the beginning, but it was she who built the empire. Papa would have been happy with a simple farm and his bees and his books. Mummy has a nickname in Barbados. Would you like to hear it?”

  Neville felt himself collapse against the back of the chair, stunned. “I cannot wait.”

  “They call her Lady Perai.”

  Neville shook his head. “I fear I don’t follow.”

  “That’s the Bajan word for piranha. They call my mother Lady Piranha.”

  Neville’s mouth opened in delighted disbelief. That silly, shallow creature—was the mastermind of a sugar operation that had shrewd Oliver panting with longing?

  Katarina smiled with tranquil satisfaction. “So you see, Lord Neville, your uncle has cast his line for the wrong fish.”

  Chapter 18

  WITH Morgan safely off to his ship and her dress appointment still hours away, Bliss made a decision. She must go to Neville. It was true that her last name was now Pryce, but Bliss would forever be a Worthington, and Worthingtons did not sit about wringing their hands and complaining that the world had done them wrong.

  Worthingtons were people of action.

  “Camberton House, please, Mr. Cant.”

  Dear Ephraim Cant had been waiting for her on the street, just as he had done the day before. She’d not actually expected him to appear, but Captain Pryce must have tipped very well indeed the previous evening. She blithely assured her new personal driver that her generous husband would continue to do so, but that she would prefer that Mr. Cant simply run a tab for the rest of the week. And it would be best if he waited just out of sight unless he saw her emerge from the house alone.

  The fact that she’d hired her own personal driver was a fact that Captain Pryce did not need to know. She hoped he wasn’t going to continue to be so miserly. After all, he’d been rather ungrateful for all her hard work bringing his home back to a “shipsha
pe” condition, as he’d called it.

  Once settled in the hired hack, Bliss reviewed the disordered state of her life. She had wedded the wrong man. She was a married woman sneaking—well, riding in full daylight—off to see the man she had intended to wed in the first place. That man, however, had ignored her many messages. Bliss found it astonishing how quickly something so pure and certain had become so muddled. In fact, she found herself more confused by the hour.

  It was Neville she loved. It was Neville she desired to wed. So why, then, did his brother now occupy her thoughts, send her pulse racing, and . . .

  No! Bliss would pursue only positive thoughts. A few moments in Neville’s company would surely return him to his rightful place in her heart. A few moments with Neville would banish this inappropriate fascination with Morgan Pryce, forever.

  Bliss was certain Neville would listen to reason and assist her in bringing order to chaos. Neville adored her as much as she adored him, and that bond was more powerful than deception and misunderstanding. She was sure of it.

  Therefore it came as a shock to Bliss when she was greeted at the door like a beggar. The Camberton butler, Regis, a man who had always extended a reserved but sincere welcome, now examined her as if she were a stranger.

  “Good morning, Regis. I have come to see Neville. It is imperative that I speak with him.”

  Regis looked her up and down. “Does Madam have an appointment?”

  Bliss was too stunned to speak for an instant, but recovered nicely. “No, I do not. You must assist me, Regis. There’s been a terrible mistake and I need Neville’s help. I need . . .” Bliss was surprised to feel her eyes grow hot, as if tears gathered there. As a rule, she did not blubber, and through all the recent disarray she had not shed a single tear or lost hope. Yet standing on the stoop of Camberton House like an outcast, pleading for an audience with the man she wanted above all others . . . that was almost too much to bear.

  It was too much like the old, familiar loneliness that had plagued her, always. Watching as her parents drove merrily away, with no notion of when they might return. Left behind. Waiting.

  “Please, Regis. Pray tell him I’m here. I would forever be in your debt.”

  The butler’s inscrutable expression left her wondering whether she would be thrown into the street or offered tea and cakes. One could never tell with Regis.

  “This way, madam.”

  Bliss followed, at first greatly relieved. But she felt confused when Regis led her to the formal parlor. In her many visits with Neville here at Camberton, they had always enjoyed each other’s company in the family’s private parlor, a cozy retreat fitted with comfortable seating and filled with the Danton family’s simple delights: well-loved books, casual portraits of family members, and the treasured possessions of Danton ancestors. Every item in the family parlor helped create an atmosphere of ease and familiarity, reminding Neville of the unbroken history of the duchy and his heritage.

  Bliss now sat perched on a stiff and overly ornate settee, designed to intimidate, not relax. The room lacked warmth, feeling more like a museum than a retreat. All around her were items that reflected the Dantons’ power and wealth—priceless collectibles, art from renowned painters, plush carpets, and extravagant floral arrangements.

  The parlor was grand indeed, though, in all honesty, she found herself rather unimpressed with the display.

  She waited. And waited. The ticktock of the heavily gilded mantel clock caused her head to throb. Bliss was forced to consider that Neville was punishing her by making her wait or, worse yet, never intended to receive her at all.

  “Oh, Oll-lieee-eee!”

  Bliss jolted in alarm. What a hideous sound! It took her an instant to identify its origin, and wonder when, and why, the Dantons had acquired a monkey.

  The screech repeated itself a moment later, farther away and fainter. Bliss felt relieved. At least she would not be assaulted by a wild creature while trapped in this gilded cage. Bliss straightened her skirts until they were just so. She waited . . . and waited . . . until she sensed someone’s presence. Her gaze went to the parlor doorway. Her heart sang with the knowledge that her Neville had finally come!

  How very unexpected.

  It was not Neville, but a young woman, someone she did not know. She was petite and slim, with glossy dark curls and wide-set, intelligent eyes. She seemed to be as startled by Bliss as Bliss was by her.

  “Hello.” The woman in the doorway smiled tentatively and arched her eyebrows, a sign she was not entirely displeased by their meeting. “By any chance, is your name Bliss?”

  Bliss perked to attention. “Why, yes! It is!”

  The woman gazed upward toward the ceiling and mumbled one word: “Perfect.”

  Such an odd reaction, Bliss thought. “And you are . . . ?”

  The woman shook her head as if to scold herself. “Forgive me. My name is Katarina Beckham. My mother and I have traveled from Barbados to be Lord Oliver’s guests for the London Season.”

  Neville had mentioned that someone was to join the household for a time, but he’d not said anything about a young lady in the party. “Oh! How lovely! Would you care to join me?”

  Before she answered, Miss Beckham checked the hall behind her, to the left and then the right, much like a thief hiding from the Bow Street Runners, Bliss thought. Once assured of her safety, she turned to Bliss with a rather charming smile. “Thank you. I should like that very much.”

  The women sat opposite each other on equally stiff chintz settees. They politely evaluated each other. It was, indeed, an awkward meeting, and Bliss could not help feeling an unexpected twinge of envy regarding Miss Beckham. It took a moment for her to comprehend the cause.

  As a guest in Neville’s home, the young lady from Barbados had every right to be at Camberton House, while Bliss had none. Bliss was married to someone else. She did not have an appointment.

  She felt her spine stiffen at a strange thought. Was the reason for Neville’s sudden disinterest in Bliss seated right in front of her? Had his attentions shifted? Was Neville already smitten with his pretty houseguest?

  “Would you care for tea? I shall ask Regis to . . .”

  As if waiting for his cue, Regis appeared in the doorway with a lavish tray. He poured for the ladies and asked if they needed anything else. His query was directed to Miss Beckham, not Bliss.

  Though her chest burned with the hurt of dismissal, Bliss was determined not show it. “Are you enjoying your stay here at Camberton House, Miss Beckham?”

  “Oh yes.” She took a dainty sip from her fine china cup. “Though we have only been here two days, Lord Oliver and Neville have made us feel quite welcome.”

  Neville. She had just referred to the Duke of Camberton as Neville, and a mere two days after making his acquaintance! Bliss took a sip from her cup as well, reminding herself that in addition to being people of action, the Worthingtons also were people of active imagination. Perhaps that was to blame for her discomfort.

  Bliss looked toward the hall. “And is Neville on his way?”

  Miss Beckham shook her head. “I’m afraid His Grace is rather indisposed at the moment.”

  His Grace is rather indisposed . . . such intimacy that statement implied! It almost seemed as if the young lady from Barbados was protecting Neville . . . from her!

  “Pardon me, but is Neville aware that I am here, waiting to see him?”

  Miss Beckham placed her cup and saucer on the tea table, then folded her hands neatly in the skirts of her morning dress. A rather outdated morning dress, truth be told, of simple cut and plain blue muslin, accessorized with an equally plain bandeau around her hair. Perhaps fashion was not of much import in the West Indies. “I can’t really say, Miss . . . ?”

  Bliss smiled. How clever she was, forcing Bliss to say her name aloud, thereby emphasizing the crux of the matter�
��Bliss was married to someone else. “My name is Mrs. Pryce.”

  Miss Beckham smiled sweetly. “Neville did mention that congratulations were in order.”

  Bliss tilted her head and studied the industrious Miss Beckham. In just two days she had become Neville’s protector and confidante, the knowledge of which sent an odd sorrow washing over Bliss. It was then that she fully understood that Neville did not wish to see her.

  This meant that when Bliss finally did win her annulment, Neville might not be waiting.

  “Oh, Ol-lieee-eee!”

  There it was again! Bliss flinched as before, but now questioned whether even a monkey could be responsible for that singsong screeching. “Has Regis taken up yodeling?”

  Miss Beckham’s eyes widened, and then she laughed aloud. It was such a pure-hearted sound that Bliss found herself smiling, too.

  “I fear that was my mother.”

  Bliss did not know what to make of that confession. Should she comfort Miss Beckham? Express pity? Press her for what would surely be fascinating details?

  But she said nothing, and the conversation faded. It was obvious to Bliss that Neville was not coming.

  She stood. “I apologize for the brevity of my visit, Miss Beckham, but I must be going. I have a dress appointment.”

  She escorted herself from the parlor, through the hall, and out the front door.

  She knew the way.

  • • •

  PERFECT . . .

  Katarina laughed at herself. As much as she would prefer to think Neville had exaggerated the charms of his stolen bride, he had not. And her visiting gown! Good gracious! Katarina had never seen such fine fabric and skilled construction . . . so impeccably fitted . . . on such a lavish female form.

  Katarina collapsed into the settee in a most unladylike position, allowing her thoughts equal freedom. Bliss Pryce was everything Katarina was not, and if that level of elegance and natural endowments was expected of young women during the London Season, she was woefully unsuited for the task ahead.