The Bartered Bridegroom

by Teresa DesJardien

  Katherine sighed. “Papa. I love you and the boys, but. ..” She lifted her hands, palms up, her fingers spread as if she could thereby make her father open his ears to her words. “But much as I have loved sharing a home with all of you ... I want to live in a house of my own.”

  Papa stared. “It is unseemly in one so young. A female, living alone! Besides, you will have a home of your own when you marry. Er, really marry—”

  “No. Papa. I do not want to wait for marriage. Besides, that would be my husband’s home, not mine. I am one-and-twenty now, nearly, and I want my own home. I want to develop the property on Meyerley Creek—”

  “Meyerley Creek! It is a swamp!” Papa cried in horror.

  “It need not be. with proper drainage. Grandmama always hoped I’d build a farm there someday. It is mine, or will be when I have come into my majority in a month.” Her voice wavered, and she had to swallow down a feeling of apprehension, for she knew Papa would not want to hear what she had to say next. “Papa, I want to develop my property so that I can train and sell racehorses from there.”

  Papa paled. “Sell and—?” He sank back into his chair, passing a shaking hand over his face. “Katherine, my child, you’ll ruin your name! Ladies do not do such things—living alone, and managing a stud!”

  “Lady Farnworth does. She manages her own horses—”

  “She’s a harridan, and ancient besides. And her son lives with her, acting as her steward. You’re a child—”

  “Papa, this is not open to debate,” Katherine said. Now that the words were said, she felt a little giddy with defiance and a dawning delight in this scheme she’d hatched today. No, not hatched—birthed from pain and distress. It had been a dream long in the nurturing—now unexpectedly, even wondrously, to come true. “This is my demand for pretending to be betrothed. Lord Benjamin must do what I know you would not, no matter how prettily I begged, and you must do nothing to interfere now or later. You will sign control of the property over to Lord Benjamin until the date of my twenty-first birthday, the sixteenth of June. It is that, or nothing. Those are my terms.”

  “But your reputation—!”

  “Is mine to hold or lose,” Katherine said firmly.

  Papa bowed his head into both his hands. “Why did your mother have to pass away? She’d be able to explain to you why this is a terrible idea.”

  “No, she would not, because it is not a terrible idea.” She really ought to think it was as awful a pact as Papa clearly found it to be, but Katherine had an opportunity here. She would seize on the idea’s merits rather than its faults.

  “I agree to these terms,” Lord Benjamin said, looking very serious, very sober.

  . Papa issued a groan, but did not lift his head. “I agree”—the words were dragged from him, very low.

  “Agreed.” She was amazed to find she was smiling.

  Lord Benjamin stared for a long moment more, his thoughts his own. “Well then. All is settled.” He seemed nonplused for a moment, then he thought to bow. “Your servant,” he murmured to Katherine, clearly in preparation of leaving.

  “Lord Benjamin,” she said, to keep him from going just yet. “I wish to be absolutely clear. It is my intention to have you do all that is possible in the next month to forward my plans. Please understand that I mean to ask that you complete a great number of tasks as my representative.”

  “I understand.” His tone lacked contentment, but at least he sounded sincere.

  “Well then, we are clear,” she said with a crisp nod, thinking that was an end to their meeting this day.

  Lord Benjamin, however, had a point of his own to make. “And, just so we are clear, you must understand that we must pretend to be happy. At first anyway,” he said, his mouth still held tight, but with some emotion other than anger. Tension, perhaps? Disinclination? “At some mutually agreed upon time, three weeks, shall we say? We can begin to quarrel or ignore one another. As you wish, just so it is believable by the end of a month that we will not suit.”

  “I understand,” she repeated his own phrase.

  “Good.”

  She rose, moving to put her hand on her papa’s shoulder, where he still sat slumped in the chair. She did not say anything, instead merely squeezing his shoulder. Papa lifted his head, she offered him a smile, and he managed to give her a twisted, pained one in return. “Off to bed again?” he questioned, unhappiness rife in his tone.

  “I doubt I could fall back to sleep,” Katherine said, and now it was her turn to give an uneven smile. She glanced around at Lord Benjamin, hoping her irritation that he seemed inclined to linger did not show. “I am not sure how we go on from here. When will I see you next? And do we”—she gave a shrug of her shoulders and made a questioning gesture with one hand—“do we attend balls and soirees together? Drive together? Visit museums?”

  “Yes, of course.” Lord Benjamin cleared his throat, perhaps giving himself a pause in which to ponder a moment. “I will speak with your father and see what events we have been invited to in common. We will compose a list.”

  “Good,” Katherine said on a nod. “Well then. Good night—” She glanced toward the sun-filled window. “I mean, good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Lord Benjamin said politely.

  That was another point in his favor: Even if he made appalling bargains, at least he undertook them with a show of manners.

  She started to move again, but a sudden thought made her turn back to Lord Benjamin with a sway of her skirts. “Please, do not think me rude, but I feel I must state clearly that we have an agreement, one that cannot be changed merely because I have left the room. I expect both of you men to honor our agreement, unaltered.”

  To her surprise, Lord Benjamin smiled at last. He had a nice smile, not meltingly beautiful as was Cyril’s, but it flattered his features. “A cautious lady,” he said, and she was surprised to hear the edge of a tease there.

  “Wiser than her years,” Papa put in bitterly.

  “Well then,” Katherine said, displeased to be blushing yet again. “I will see you soon then, Lord Benjamin.”

  “Soon.” He bowed again. Katherine curtsied in return, and then left the two men alone in the bookroom.

  She walked up the stairs whose shadows she had hidden in last night, and marveled at how the oddest of events could be twisted into a touch of good fortune. She must dance to a tune the two men below had played—but in the end she was the piper who would be paid.

  It will all turn out well, she thought. All this would end with her having a home of her own, from which she could begin to make her own choices in life. And she could surround herself with horses! As many horses as her purse and her hopes of developing a stud would allow. No one would ever again force her to sell what she loved, go where she did not wish to go ... and all it would take to earn such freedom was one month of playacting. She could do that. She would do that.

  Excitement at what she had arranged carried her up toward her room, which door she reached before it occurred to her that one important factor had yet to be dealt with: her betrothed. Her true betrothed, Mr. Cyril Cullman.

  Katherine slipped into her room, her heart beginning to pound painfully. She had not exactly forgotten him—in the back of her mind she’d pictured living on the stud with someone who adored horses, or at least adored her, horses or no; Cyril would feel that way.

  Cyril, the man who liked her as she was, who made her feel discomposed whenever she glanced up and saw his handsome face. The man who had asked for her hand—not as a ruse, as Lord Benjamin had, but for real. Cyril wanted the real Katherine. He had even been to see her property, along Meyerley Creek outside Bexley. He had asked to see it, and she had not thought herself vain in thinking that he asked to see it in order to please her.

  Cyril—a better man by far than Lord Benjamin could ever hope to be, she thought, attempting a sniff of disapproval. The problem was, how could she possibly explain to him, the better man, that she had to be betrothed, p
ublicly, for a month to someone else?

  Chapter 7

  “The Repository is betrothed to whom?” Jeremy cried.

  “The Repository” glared up at her eldest brother, and cursed the rapidity with which tidings flew through London. Mercer had brought the “news” of her betrothal home from his morning’s ride in the park. Here it was only eight hours since Katherine had been summoned from her bed to agree to Lord Benjamin’s fatuous scheme, and clearly the man had already spread his tidings to the world.

  “Kate’s hitching herself to Lord Benjamin Whitbury!” Mercer asserted from where he and Lewis slumped in a pair of the parlor chairs. Mercer was the only brother to come close to having the same auburn hair as Katherine, but his was a lighter red with hints of gold, never so dark as hers. “I said to Jamie in the park that it wasn’t true, that her brother would know. I said she’d not have such a jackanapes. And now she tells me it’s true!”

  “But... the Repository’s only a child! She does not need to be betrothed to anyone, let alone that scoundrel!” Jeremy protested.

  “I do not appreciate your speaking as though I were not in the room, or as if I lack a proper name,” Katherine said crisply. “And I am hardly a child. I will be one-and-twenty in four weeks,” she informed Jeremy. “I ought to have been out of the schoolroom at least three years ago.”

  “Well, that is my point exactly! Perhaps you ought to have been, but you were not. Miss Irving acts as much the tutor as she does the chaperone, and it has . . .” He tapped his foot against the carpet as though to jar his thoughts, clearly searching for words that suited and yet would not offend.

  “And this continuing pursuit of education has made me seem

  younger than my years, is that what you mean, Jeremy?” Katherine said crisply.

  He gave a grimace and a small nod.

  With a heavy sigh, Katherine tossed aside the embroidery at which she’d been pretending to work. Stitchery was not a craft at which she excelled. Instead, normally she would have had any number of news sheets spread out on the floor, and would have been on her hands and knees reading the race news and adding the information she garnered to the books of racing results she kept. Today, however, she was expecting a visitor, and it would hardly serve to be caught either on her hands and knees or compiling racing figures. Her caller might then think her as rash or undisciplined as Society dubbed her to be.

  Truth be told, Katherine did not comprehend why she’d been branded as such. Why was it wrong, anyway, to tell someone they had their facts about Napoleon’s childhood wrong, even if that someone were a viscount? Napoleon Bonaparte was not an only child, and that was simple fact! Or for that matter, why was it wrong to laugh at a joke if one divined the ending before it was completely told? No one at home in Bexley bothered to hide their mirth if they were quick enough to see the humor in a tale being told!

  Katherine sighed to herself; London had a hundred rules that defied reason or even simple enjoyment—and she was fairly certain she’d broken most of them already.

  “I know you will not like to agree with me,” Jeremy went on, avoiding her gaze as he began to pace. His limp from his war wound had long since become scarcely noticeable. “But, yes, damn it, Katie, this being your first Season and all—you do seem to me to be too young for marriage!” Jeremy turned, seeking his brothers’ support.

  Lewis, the middle in age yet the tallest of the three, just shook his head as though puzzled. Mercer rubbed his upper lip and nodded. “She does seem youngish for marriage,” he agreed.

  “Enough!” Katherine stood, pressing her hands into her skirts to keep from curling them into fists. “Regardless of my age or what you all think about its suitability, I am betrothed to Lord Benjamin! I do not care if any of you like it or no. Papa knows, and Papa ... approves. For now, I am expecting a caller. I want all of you quit of the room before he arrives. So go!”

  “I am not leaving you alone with Lord Benjamin,” Jeremy declared.

  “My caller is not Lord Benjamin.” Katherine tried to keep the asperity from her voice as she reached to neatly snag Mercer’s ear and give it a pinch. He cried out. clapped a hand to his head, and leaped to his feet as she’d intended. Lewis followed suit, clearly not wishing to risk his sister’s inclination to pinch a second time.

  “Then who is your caller?” Jeremy demanded, but he, too, danced away from his sister.

  “It is none of your concern.” She made shooing motions in the air, herding her brothers before her like geese. “Miss Irving will be down in a moment to serve as chaperone, so you have no more excuses to linger and play big brother on my account,” she said as she forced them across the parlor threshold.

  “I am going to discuss this Lord Benjamin matter with Papa!” Jeremy warned.

  “I shan't stop you!” Katherine shot back as she closed the parlor door between them.

  “That could have been worse,” she said aloud to herself, even though she had difficulty imagining how.

  Her brothers had heard unpleasant rumors about Lord Benjamin—probably far worse than Katherine had herself. She could hardly blame them for thinking it an unbefitting match— and clearly Papa had not revealed the reasons why it had gone forward. A wise decision. She would not tell her brothers either, and not just about the size of the debt Papa must owe. Were she in Papa’s place, she would fear what the three might attempt against Lord Benjamin, out of revenge or anger. Revenge would never do, not when only a month’s time and a little pretense could resolve the financial difficulties and no one the wiser.

  She gave another sigh and turned her back to the door and leaned on it for a moment, as if to draw strength from its solid oak build. At least her brothers’ consternation at the betrothal could serve as a warning. She was not sure if she was grateful to them for a peek at how Society would react to the news, or not. One thing was certain: The next month would be a volatile one, full of moments she would have preferred to do without.

  For that matter, so would the next hour, for Mr. Cullman had agreed to call on Katherine.

  She'd sent a footman with a note early this morning—but Mr. Cullman’s reply had not come back until nearly noon. Now it was quarter past two, and him due to arrive at half past. Had he heard of the proposal yet? She prayed he had not. And if he had not. how would she find the words to explain? At least he had been willing to come to see her today, not forcing her to wait and worry through a long, restless night.

  A knock sounded on the door at her back, making Katherine jump before she realized the lack of a butler’s announcement meant it had to be Miss Irving. Katherine opened the door to her chaperone, and after murmured greetings each lady moved to fetch a bit of stitchery, an art Miss Irving had been trying to teach her charge. Katherine chose a chair near the door; Miss Irving moved across the room to take advantage of the window’s light.

  The stitchery could not possibly hold Katherine’s attention, of course, she realized with a sigh as she put it aside. Not while she was waiting for this particular caller. Not while she wondered what to tell the man who had stolen a kiss from her, all but announcing to the world that he loved her.

  A minute later, when the butler announced that Mr. Cullman had arrived, Katherine silently thanked Miss Irving for choosing a seat with better light—for Katherine and Mr. Cullman would be able to speak in low tones that would not reach Miss Irving’s ears, where she sat by the window. Life would be easiest, Katherine had decided, if, like her brothers, Miss Irving did not know or even suspect the falsity of the betrothal to Lord Benjamin.

  The butler retreated, and Mr. Cullman moved into the room, coming to Katherine’s side with his usual grace of movement. She spied a folded news sheet tucked under his left arm.

  Katherine offered her hand to Mr. Cullman as he approached, but to her utter astonishment, he seized her proffered hand and held it against his chest instead of bowing over it as she expected.

  “My sweet! My dear, dear lady,” Mr. Cullman said, the look on his face
anguished.

  He must have heard already, Katherine thought, her heart abruptly feeling as heavy as lead. Certainly Mr. Cullman was aware that something was astir.

  “How can I explain my sorrow at my folly? At that cur’s cunning?” he cried.

  Katherine pulled her hand back, and she sat once more, for her knees were definitely unsteady. “What... ?” she asked, her voice faint.

  He took the news sheet from under his arm, unfolding it once and laying it in her lap. Katherine took it up with both hands. It was one of the afternoon papers, and there beside the crease where it had been folded, she read: “Sir Albert Oakes of Oakes Hall in Bexley, in the county of Kent, lately of Wigmore Street, London, announces the betrothal of his daughter, Miss Katherine Oakes, to Lord Benjamin Whitbury of Severn's Well, in the county of Somerset. Bridal plans have not yet been announced.’’

  “You are betrothed to another!” Mr. Cullman stated, his mouth turned down.

  Katherine’s hands began to shake as she set aside the paper. Papa had done as he’d said he would, putting a notice in the afternoon papers, making this moment even more difficult for his daughter. Her mind went blank, just when there was no excuse for silence.

  “Mr. Cullman,” she said around lips gone dry—but no explanation came to her, just as it had not in the more than eight hours since Lord Benjamin had secured a token betrothal to her.

  ‘Tell me what occurred,” Mr. Cullman said, the voice of reason. He sat beside her, the knee of his dove gray breeches brushing her skirts. He gathered up her hands again, both of them within his own. The look he gave her was compassionate, not hostile.