An Unsuitable Bride

by Jane Feather

  He moderated his pace somewhat. “So you expect me to stand aside and watch while my wife continues her criminal career?”

  “No, you’ll be watching me as your betrothed,” Alexandra pointed out. “We will still be connected, partnered, if you will.”

  “Sometimes I would like to shake you until your teeth rattle,” he stated. “But let us not start this evening on a bad footing.” He stopped on the corner of Berkeley Street and Stratton Street and turned her to face him. “In the morning, I intend to go to Doctors’ Commons and procure a marriage license. We can be married in the church on Bolton Street. My brothers will stand as witnesses. Do you agree?”

  “When the time comes,” she said. “I understand the need for speed, and I will make all haste to complete provision for Sylvia’s future, and then we may be married.”

  “There’s no point having this discussion in the middle of the street,” he stated.

  Alexandra sighed and tried once more. “Don’t you understand, Perry? I must do this alone, because otherwise, as my husband, you would be implicated.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” he demanded harshly. “Once we are married, I am legally completely responsible for you, your debts, and all your actions.”

  “Exactly,” she said with a calm that infuriated him.

  “God help me,” he muttered again as they turned onto Stratton Street. At the house, he unlocked the door and ushered her in.

  He opened the door to the parlor. It was deserted, but the fire had been made up and the decanters on the sideboard replenished. “Let me take your cloak.”

  Alexandra tossed back the hood of her cloak. Her chestnut hair was braided in a double plait at her nape, confined with a tawny gold velvet ribbon. Peregrine reached around and unclasped the cloak at her throat, drawing it away from her. He couldn’t help a smile of appreciation. “Who did these clothes belong to?”

  She looked at him. “Can’t you guess?”

  He frowned for a moment, then gave a shout of laughter. “They were your mother’s, weren’t they?”

  Alex nodded, laughing, relieved that the earlier tension had passed.

  “A lady of considerable taste,” he observed.

  “Oh, she’s certainly that,” Alex conceded. “They don’t even seem to be that outdated, do they?”

  “Barely at all.”

  “Well, she was always in the forefront of fashion.” She traced the neckline of the gown. “Of course, she’s rather better endowed than I am, so the gowns are a little loose. But I don’t think ’tis too noticeable.”

  “I hadn’t noticed at all,” he lied gallantly.

  “Liar.”

  He laughed. “No, ’tis true. The whole impression is what counts; a minor imperfection here and there is not worth mentioning.”

  “Oh, so, ’tis an imperfection.” Her eyes danced.

  He threw up his hands in disclaimer. “Never say so. It is a most beautiful gown, and you are perfection, my dear.”

  She gave a complacent smile. “I thought that since we were dining with Lord and Lady Blackwater, I should be a little more formal than usual.” She shook out the tawny velvet folds of the overgown that opened over an underskirt of bronze damask, spread over wide panniers. The décolletage was particularly low, her breasts rising in a creamy swell almost to the nipples, and the width of the skirts accentuated the smallness of her waist.

  Before Perry could respond adequately, the door opened, and Sebastian came in. “Ah, Mistress Douglas. An honor.” He swept her a formal bow, his eyes dancing, and she responded with an equally deep, perfectly judged curtsy.

  “Mr. Sullivan.”

  “Oh, Sebastian, please,” he said, dropping the formality instantly. “Or Seb. My friends call me the latter.” He regarded her with an appreciative smile. “I must say ’tis hard to picture you in the guise of the dowdy spinster lady Mistress Hathaway.”

  “That is my most fervent hope, sir,” she responded with a mischievous smile that instantly endeared her to Sebastian. She looked between the brothers. “If you were not standing side by side, I confess I would be hard pressed to tell you apart.”

  “Most people have that problem,” Perry said, turning to the decanters on the sideboard. “Sherry, or claret, Alexandra?”

  “Sherry, if you please.”

  “Seb?”

  “Claret, thank you. Serena will be down in a moment.”

  On cue, Serena came into the parlor. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting.” She advanced with a warm smile and an outstretched hand to Alexandra. “Mistress Douglas . . . or may I call you Alexandra?”

  “I do hope you will . . . or just Alex, if you prefer.” Alex clasped Serena’s hand. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

  “Serena,” Serena corrected. “I will have sherry, Perry, if I may, and Alex and I are going to get better acquainted on the sofa.” She moved to a sofa on the far side of the parlor and sat down, arranging her lavender silk skirts around her so that she left sufficient room for Alexandra.

  “I won’t ask for all of your secrets immediately; you’ll only have to repeat them for Clarissa later,” Serena said comfortably. “But I am most intrigued about selling a library. Perry was telling us that was what you were doing this afternoon?”

  “Yes, I was. Pitting two rivals against each other is surprisingly amusing,” Alex said. “I left them to fight it out between them. Each is as acquisitive as the other, so I’m hoping I’ll get a better than satisfactory price for what is, after all, a priceless collection.” Her smile was a little wan suddenly. “ ’Tis hard to see it sold out of the family.”

  “I’m sure it must be,” Serena said with swift sympathy.

  “Tell us of your travels,” Peregrine invited, deftly removing the attention from Alexandra. “Did you go to Paris?”

  “Yes, and mightily tedious it was, too,” Sebastian said. “No one is in Paris—”

  “There are a few Parisians, Seb,” Serena corrected with a sly smile.

  “Don’t be obtuse,” her husband retorted. “What I meant was that the entire court is ensconced at Versailles. ’Tis like its own little country, tucked behind its borders.”

  “And so rigidly ruled, you wouldn’t believe,” Serena said. “There are times for eating, hunting, sitting, attending church, listening to music . . . and woe betide you if you do something out of turn.”

  “It sounds miserable,” Alexandra said. “How long were you there?”

  “Oh, Serena couldn’t stand more than two days. We went on to Rome as soon as we decently could take our congé of the Vicomte de Lasalles.”

  “He was one of our father’s relatives, wasn’t he?” Peregrine asked. “I seem to remember Jasper mentioning him.”

  “Some cousin by marriage,” his twin agreed. “Jasper said it would cause grave offense if we didn’t make ourselves known to him while we were in Paris. Of course, we didn’t realize that that meant imprisonment in Versailles.”

  The long case clock in the hall chimed seven. “Speaking of Jasper, we should be on our way.” Peregrine picked up Alexandra’s cloak. He draped it around her shoulders and went to the door, calling for Bart. When the lad appeared, he sent him off to fetch a hackney.

  Half an hour later, they descended to the street outside Blackwater House on Upper Brook Street. Alexandra was conscious of a flutter of nervousness as they went past the butler into the house. She was now well and truly in the midst of Perry’s family. Could she fit in, become a part of this clearly close-knit group? And she found that she yearned to belong somewhere, to someone. Apart from Sylvia, she had never felt she had any real emotional connections with anyone. Even her father had been only a distant mentor rather than a close and loving part of her life.

  “Serena . . . Seb . . . how wonderful that you’re back.” A titian-haired woman flew into the hall in a whirl of emerald skirts just as the butler closed the front door. “You look wonderful. Did you have a splendid time?” And then, wit
hout waiting for an answer, she spun towards Alexandra, her hand outstretched in welcome. “Mistress Douglas, I bid you welcome.”

  “Lady Blackwater.” Alexandra curtsied as Clarissa took her hand in both of her own, her clasp warm and reassuring.

  “Oh, we don’t stand on ceremony in the family, Alexandra. You must call me Clarissa.”

  Alexandra smiled her acknowledgment of the invitation and turned to make her curtsy to the earl, who had followed his wife into the hall. “My lord.”

  “I don’t stand on ceremony, either, Alexandra,” Jasper said. “Welcome. Now, come to the fire, all of you. ’Tis drafty standing around here, and in honor of the occasion, we are broaching a couple of our few remaining bottles of pink champagne.”

  He ushered them all into the library, and Alexandra without volition walked instantly to the shelves, her knowing eye sweeping along the titles. “Do you see any treasures?” Perry inquired with a chuckle in his voice.

  She flushed and spun back to the room. “Oh, I do beg your pardon. ’Tis a habit so ingrained I don’t realize I’m doing it.”

  “Well, you must tell me if there’s anything in there that’s saleable,” Jasper said cheerfully. “The family coffers are in sore need of an injection, and I doubt that any of us will miss a volume or two.” He eased the cork out of a bottle of champagne. It emerged with a discreet, carefully controlled pop.

  “I would be more than happy to look for you,” Alexandra said. “If you would really like me to.”

  Jasper handed her a glass of the pale, faintly pink-tinged bubbles. “If you wouldn’t think me a hopeless Philistine, Alexandra, I should be most grateful.”

  She smiled at him over her glass. “As Perry will tell you, sir, I am quite knowledgeable, and I’m sure I could direct you to a suitable buyer. I’m sure there must be some treasures on these shelves.”

  “Well, I, for one, would prefer it if you did not work this evening,” Peregrine declared. “You may return in the morning and comb through the shelves then.”

  “An unforgivable host, forgive me, Alexandra.” Jasper bowed with a penitent smile. “But do return when you can spare the time.”

  “I am at your disposal, sir.” Alex began to feel comfortable. And the feeling only progressed as the evening went on. Perry’s brothers and their wives were so easy together, such pleasant companions, amusing but also serious when the subject warranted it, that she began insensibly to slide into their shared familiarity.

  “So, when is the wedding to take place?” Jasper asked as they rose from the dining table and returned to the library.

  There was a short, awkward silence, then Perry said, “We are still discussing the date. But it will be in the church on Bolton Street. You’ll be there, of course?”

  “Of course,” his elder brother responded. “It will be, as always, a family affair.” He raised his port glass in a toast to Alexandra. “We will all be there to welcome Alexandra into our ramshackle family.”

  “I hope she knows what she’s getting into,” Sebastian said with a laugh. “But no doubt, Clarissa and Serena will give you all the gory details.”

  Alexandra felt as if she was being swept along on a tide of inevitability. She said hastily, “We shall be wed as soon as I return from Dorset. I expect to hear from the potential buyers by tomorrow evening, and once I have settled the purchase, I will complete my business at the Abbey and return as quickly as possible.”

  Peregrine’s expression darkened, and he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Jasper broke the awkward silence. “Well, that’s between you and Perry, of course. But nothing need prevent us from preparing for a wedding and a wedding breakfast. Clarissa and I will host the celebration.” He shot an interrogative glance at his wife, who nodded.

  Alex said little for the remainder of the evening, and the party broke up soon after. As Perry was handing her into the hackney, she said sotto voce, “I will return to Berkeley Square tonight. I would give your brother and Serena some privacy. And tomorrow I must complete the business of selling the library. The negotiations will take all day, I imagine.”

  Peregrine’s mouth tightened, and then he said, “As you wish.” He called up to the jarvey. “Berkeley Square first.”

  Outside the house, he stepped down, waiting for Alexandra to make her farewells to Sebastian and Serena. Then he held up his hand to assist her to the street. He held her hand tightly. “I will respect your wishes. And I will leave you alone tomorrow to complete your business here. We will talk about this further the day after tomorrow. I will come after breakfast, and we will go riding to Richmond, where we may talk undisturbed.”

  “I will look for you then,” she said in a low voice.

  He raised her hand to his lips and then, without further word or salutation, climbed back into the hackney.

  For the first time since she’d arrived in Berkeley Square, Alexandra made her way around the house to the side door. She reached up to the lintel, and her fingers located the key. It fit a little stiffly, but the door eventually swung open, and she stepped into the dark passage. Her reflection that the caretakers might have left a sconced candle burning to light her way was quickly amended. After all, she hadn’t needed one before. Why should they assume that she would return to her own bed tonight?

  She groped her way down the corridor and into the hall. It was almost as dark as the narrow passage, but she managed to feel her way to the stairs and thus to her chamber. The fire was a mere ashy glow, but there was enough heat to light a taper and from that a candle. She riddled the ashes and threw on some more wood, then unlaced her gown, ridding herself of the stiff petticoats and panniers.

  She climbed into bed at last, lying against the pillows, watching the firelight on the ceiling, and wishing that she hadn’t parted company with Perry in such an unfriendly fashion. She could imagine how frustrating it was for him, but if she was to be in any way true to herself, she had to complete what she’d started. And that meant she had to leave him before he found a way to prevent her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Alexandra awoke the following morning with a feeling that something was not right. It didn’t take her many minutes to realize what it was. She was lying alone in a strange bed, or at least it felt strange after the last few nights when she had awoken curled against Peregrine in the deep feather-bedded warmth of Stratton Street. She got out of bed, shivering. The fire was almost out, and a brisk wind was rattling the badly fitting windowpane.

  She threw more kindling onto the embers in the grate and crouched in front of it until the first flames flickered into life, then she wrapped herself in a dressing robe, pushed her feet into a pair of slippers, and left her bedchamber. It was reasonable to assume that the caretakers didn’t know she had slept in her own bed, and they were not sufficiently attentive to come and check. She made her way down the backstairs into the kitchen, where the lit range provided welcome warmth.

  Mistress Dougherty was frying eggs and looked startled as the door opened. “Eh, Mistress Hathaway. Didn’t know you was ’ere.”

  “I came in last night.” Alexandra sniffed hungrily as she warmed her hands at the range. “I would like some breakfast.”

  The housekeeper looked a little doubtful. “I’ll see what’s in the pantry.”

  “No, I’ll look,” Alex said hastily. “Don’t stop what you’re doing.” She went to the pantry and rummaged among the mostly bare shelves. She found two eggs in a bowl at the back of a shelf, half a loaf of bread, and a crock of butter and brought them out to the kitchen table. “I’ll fry these myself. Don’t let me disturb you, Mistress Dougherty.”

  The housekeeper was sliding her own eggs onto two plates at the table and merely nodded, seating herself as Billings came in from the backyard privy, adjusting his belt. He glanced at Alexandra with surprise. “Didn’t expect to see you this mornin’.”

  “Then I expect it’s a pleasant surprise,” she returned. “Would you please light a fire in the breakfast parlor fo
r later?” She added butter to the skillet and turned her attention to the range. She set a pan of milk on the heat to warm for her chocolate, fried her eggs quickly, buttered a thick slice of bread, and took her breakfast away with her up to her chamber, where at least the fire would be blazing by now.

  There was nothing she could do until she heard from the prospective buyers, which left her with the whole day to herself. And whose fault was that? she asked herself ruefully. She had told Peregrine that she wished to be alone, and he was abiding by her wishes. Ordinarily, the prospect of an entire day to herself would have pleased her, but now it seemed a rather bleak prospect, as much as anything because she knew he was angry with what he saw as her intransigence. To make the prospect even bleaker, rain was now beating against her bedchamber window, and she imagined how it would be in Stratton Street for Perry and his brother and Serena. They would probably be breakfasting together and making plans for the day. While she spent the time in lonely discomfort in this cold and unwelcoming house, with only memories for company.

  And then she remembered Jasper’s invitation, almost a request, that she examine the contents of the library on Upper Brook Street. Was there any reason she shouldn’t do that today? With a renewed surge of energy, Alex wrote a note to Clarissa asking if it would be convenient for her to look at the library that morning. The invitation had come from Jasper, but etiquette demanded that she communicate with his wife. She went in search of Archie, sending him off to Upper Brook Street with instructions to await an answer, then returned to her bedchamber to dress before going down to the breakfast parlor.

  Archie came back half an hour later with a note. “Butler give me this, ma’am. Said it was from ’er ladyship.”

  “Thank you.” Clarissa took the note and slit the wafer. Clarissa had written briefly but warmly.

  My dear Alex,

  Come, by all means. Jasper is engaged with a riding party this morning, so the library will be entirely at your disposal. You would be doing us a big favor if you can find anything of value. I will be waiting for you.