The Earl's Secret Bride

by Joanne Wadsworth

  “So I have no other choice?” She would do anything for her mother, her brothers, and her father too. She pinched the bridge of her nose, an ache forming behind her eyes.

  “Yes, there is no other choice.”

  “Father—”

  “I’m sorry, Rosamonde.” His apology was spoken firmly but gently. “Surely you didn’t expect to remain unmarried forever?”

  “No, but I had hoped to form a certain attachment to the gentleman I wished to wed, or whom you chose for me. You and Mother love each other.”

  “Marriages within Society are made for many reasons, although unfortunately most of them have very little to do with love. Your marriage would benefit our family greatly, but if there is a man you wish for me to consider as your future husband, then you must speak up now. This is your last chance.”

  Images of Winterly fluttered through her mind, of how he’d rescued her from those brigands six years ago, of how he’d kept her safe from harm, of how she’d always been rather smitten with him, and of how he’d been the only man to ever stir her heart. Not that Winterly had ever shown any interest in her, other than for being her friend. Bowing her head, she nodded her acquiescence. “Announce the betrothal. I shall convince Mother and Avery that I wish to wed the marquess.”

  “Thank you, my child. I shall send Roth my written confirmation of your betrothal, as well as requesting his word that he will no longer demand repayment of the loan until such time as it is actually due.” He removed a piece of paper from his top drawer, dipped his quill into his ink bottle and wrote.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again, swallowing any further protest she might have considered. Outside, a jagged spike of lightning slashed the dreary morning skies. Rain pinged off the window and drenched the gravel drive and the front lawn. She rose from her chair and gripped the forest-green painted windowsill. For her family’s sake, she must consign herself to this coming marriage. No other choice remained.

  “I see Roth has just visited, Father, and thankfully left.” Avery strode into the room, cutting a suave figure in his fine black jacket and tan breeches. He halted as he took one look at her, then father, then her again. He closed the door, a frown marring his brow as he tugged on the hem of his tan waistcoat. “My apologies if I’ve interrupted an important conversation between the two of you. Rosamonde, are you all right? You look sad.”

  “I’m fine, Avery.” She forced a smile to her face.

  “No apology needed, my son.” Father cleared his throat, then gestured to her, a dot of ink splattering the paper. “I would have sought you out soon myself. Lord Roth shall be joining us for our house party. He and Rosamonde are now betrothed. Do wish your sister well on her upcoming nuptials.”

  “Pardon?” Her brother’s face paled. “Is this true?” he demanded as he swung a look at her.

  With Avery she’d have to take all care, otherwise he and Mother would learn the truth, and the last thing she wished to do was to worry either of them. She released her gripping hold on the windowsill, her stomach dipping at the lie she would now speak with her brother. With an incline of her head, she murmured, “Yes, please wish me well.”

  Heaven help her, but she’d have to find a way to make things work with Lord Roth.

  Chapter 2

  Underneath the powerful hooves of his stallion, the ground shook as Richard Trentbury, the Earl of Winterly, urged his mount along the country road toward Hillhurst Hall. He’d left his country estate at dawn to make the four-hour ride across country, his valet having already gone on ahead yesterday with his mother and sister in their carriage. They’d all be here awaiting his arrival.

  Breathing deep, he drew in fresh air and grinned. Spending the coming week with Avery and the Earl of Hillhurst’s family would be a treat since it had been some time since his last visit. He hadn’t been able to make the earl and countess’s annual house party last year.

  Cutting the corner at a breakneck speed, he savored the invigorating freedom of being as one with nature atop his horse, of setting aside his duties and relaxing into the events that the coming week would hold. Hillhurst had a large property with a decent number of game to hunt, then there was the lake where he and Avery had fished and swum in as lads.

  Up ahead, the winding length of Hillhurst Hall’s driveway appeared, along with a rider awaiting him near the cluster of trees at the end. Christopher Raven, Viscount Avery, one of his lifelong friends. Grinning, he came to a shuddering halt next to Avery then lifted his hat and tipped it toward him. “Fancy seeing you out here, old chap.”

  “Yes, fancy that.” A responding grin. “Your family arrived yesterday without issue and your mother and mine are both enjoying tea and a chat whereby neither my father or I can get a word in edgewise. Thus, that is why I’m here at the end of the drive awaiting your arrival.”

  “What of my sister?”

  “Olivia is at the lake with Rosamonde, chaperoning her since—” His friend released a long, staggered breath. “We’ll discuss that later. The ladies are enjoying a picnic by the lake. They took fishing poles down with them and since Rosamonde usually throws the pole in the water rather than just the line, it would be best if we could rescue those poles before they join the other hundred or so already gracing the bottom of the lake. Our cook made an array of delicious picnic foods.” Lifting his nose to the air, Avery sniffed and let out a rumble of hearty appreciation. “I can already smell the roast beef sandwiches, pickled eggs, and ham and egg pie. Can you?”

  “No, but then you always could scent food from a mile away.” His friend had a true talent in that regard. During their years they’d attended Eton together, he’d enjoyed the odd holiday here at Hillhurst Hall with Avery’s family, little Rosamonde always trekking after him and her four older brothers. In her short skirts and pantaloons, she’d gotten into a dratted amount of trouble, more so than his own sisters ever had at their country estate. “How is Rosamonde, other than still adept at losing fishing poles?”

  “She is quite out of her mind.” Avery tsked under his breath.

  “Whatever do you mean? Has she been climbing trees and getting stuck in them again?” The last time he’d seen her she’d been halfway up a tree along this very drive when he’d ridden in with Avery one warm summer morning. She’d been trying to rescue a wee kitten from the upper branches, something she should never have attempted to do on her own, although something Avery had found immensely amusing as he’d watched his sister struggle within the swaying boughs. Rosamonde had growled at her brother and demanded he come up and fetch her and the kitten, but since Avery had been laughing so hard, Winterly had instead been the one to climb up to save Rosamonde and her scraggly-haired pet. When he’d reached her, he’d been shocked to find her wearing a pair of her brother’s old breeches, the waist held up with suspenders, and the hem of the long legs rolled to mid-calf. Such beguiling calves she’d had, her golden locks all disheveled and loose about her face. He’d plucked leaves and twigs from her hair before climbing higher and snatching the kitten from its perilous perch. Then he’d aided her while she’d clambered back down and once they both had their feet on solid ground, he’d given her a sound lashing with his tongue. If she’d fallen she could have broken a leg or an arm, or even worse, lost her life. Trees weren’t for ladies to climb, but to sit underneath and enjoy the shade they provided on a hot summer’s day. She’d huffed and puffed at him, stating her mind rather clearly before thanking him for rescuing her and Marmalade.

  “I’ll explain what I mean about Rosamonde while we ride to the lake. Let’s race. Keep up if you can.” Avery thrust his knees into his horse’s flanks and took off like a ball being shot from a cannon. With his knee-length riding boots polished to a high sheen and his green riding jacket tailored to his tall form, his friend tucked his head in closer to his horse’s neck, the wind at his back.

  Winterly bolted after him and when he caught up, they raced side by side across the fields. Over the rushing wind he yelled, “How is
Rosamonde out of her mind? Explain now if you will.”

  “She and the Marquess of Roth are betrothed, their wedding set for the end of the month, and Rosamonde has decreed that she can’t wait for that day to arrive. She will be married in twenty-six days, Winterly.” A snarl from Avery.

  “Surely you jest?” He almost lost his seat. He hadn’t even caught the slightest murmur of gossip regarding a possible betrothal between her and Lord Roth, a man who was old enough to be her father, a man who’d buried three wives and five, no, six children now. His third wife had birthed a stillborn son before she’d passed away from childbirth. “It hasn’t even been a year since Roth lost his last wife.”

  “Six months to be exact, but he is desperate for an heir.”

  “The man is arrogant and detestable.” A growled statement as he jumped over a wooden rail then ducked his head under a low branch before cantering around a copse of trees. He and Avery rode directly toward Hillhurst’s private lake which shimmered in the distance. “Roth is a terrible match for your sister.”

  “When I asked Rosamonde if she had any desire to wed Roth, she said her marriage to the marquess would benefit our family greatly. Something more is afoot though. Six years ago, Father had been in negotiations with Roth regarding a marriage between Rosamonde and the marquess, one which would align our two families but those negotiations came to an abrupt end following Mother’s accident. Rosamonde was needed at home, and I never thought Father would ever consider going there again, allowing a match with Roth. I hadn’t agreed with it the first time, let alone this time either. I fear I won’t even get to see my sister once she’s wed, particularly since Roth had a tendency to keep his previous wives sequestered under his roof with very little freedom granted to them.”

  “I never actually got to meet any of Roth’s previous wives. Whenever he came to London, he arrived alone.” Of course many marriages within their Society were sought for purposes of social and financial advancement, with many young ladies speaking vows with gentleman twenty, thirty, or even forty years their senior. The ladies desired a standing position within Society, and the men desired a young wife to provide them with children, particularly an heir and a spare.

  “Rosamonde certainly isn’t fighting Father’s wishes, and Mother seems consigned to what is about to happen. Her only concession to it all is that Rosamonde won’t be living far away. Roth has also agreed that Rosamonde may return home for visits as often as she’d like, but only once she is already expecting his child.” Avery snapped his teeth together. “Damn it, but I don’t want to see my sister wed to such a brutish man. She deserves someone who will honor and respect her kind and loving heart. Perhaps you might have a word with her, Winterly? You are one of the few gentleman outside of our family who she would actually talk to about this issue. She’s always admired and respected you. In fact, she’s considered you her personal hero ever since you saved her and my mother.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” He couldn’t allow Rosamonde to wed the marquess without first speaking to her about her decision and understanding the full reasoning behind it, for there was surely more to it than what he’d so far heard.

  They rode on and arrived minutes later at the edge of the lake. He brought his steed to a halt on the grassy embankment, just as Avery did. A quick dismount and he looped his reins around a post where his horse could reach the water’s edge for a drink.

  Avery secured his horse to the same post before wandering down to the rocky shoreline. His friend removed his black leather gloves and tapping them against his thigh, crouched and scooped a pebble. “Choose a stone,” Avery demanded with a challenging arch to his brow. “It’s been two years since we last skipped stones here.”

  “I’m no better at it. I don’t have a private lake to practice with as you do.” He and Avery had skipped stones here often over the years, his friend relentlessly beating him on the number of skips and the distance he could manage. Still, he selected a stone and closing one eye, judged the right spot on the water he intended to hit. A fling and he sent the stone spinning out. It bounced, once, twice, three times, then sunk below the surface.

  “That is a pitiful effort.” A snort and grin from Avery. “Come, surely you can do better than that?”

  “What is the trick to getting it to bounce farther?” He searched the shoreline for another stone, one smoother and flatter than the first.

  “The trick is all in the way one turns their wrist.” Avery laughed and sent his own stone spinning out. It skipped across the surface an impressive six times before it disappeared below the water.

  “Well done.” He clapped then prepared himself for his next throw. He sent his stone flying and managed four skips this time—an improvement. “How many skips can Rosamonde manage?”

  “Eight is the highest she’s reached. I’m not quite sure how she manages it myself, but if you want some tips then she is the one to ask.” His friend motioned toward the trees along the embankment where the sweeping branches of a willow dipped into the water and the faint giggle of two ladies echoed back to them. “Our sisters, I believe, are just around the corner.”

  “Let’s be off then.” Stuffing his gloves in his coat pocket, he trekked alongside Avery around the lake until they stepped through a cluster of willows. Dappled afternoon sunshine beamed down on the golden-haired heads of two angels. One angel was of course his beloved sister, Olivia, who today was dressed in a daffodil-yellow walking gown, the other angel being Rosamonde. Sweet Rosamonde’s shimmery golden curls tumbled over her shoulders and down her back in a silken veil, while a pale pink bonnet sat upon her head with satin ribbons tied underneath her dainty chin. Her long lashes swept her rosy cheeks, her striking eyes reflecting the stunning blues and greens of the rippling water lapping close to her slippered feet. Her dress was sweetly simple, made of pale pink muslin with short capped sleeves trimmed with white lace, a white silk ribbon tied underneath her breasts, the ends of the ribbon fluttering about her bare arms.

  Since leaving her childhood behind, she’d become a beautiful lady, her curves womanly, her hips softy rounded, her waist trim and breasts firm and generous, the upper swells of her bosom showing above the low neckline of her gown. She’d become a woman proper, one whom the gentlemen of the ton would be clamoring over to meet. An odd thought really, which had his gut clenching in the most uncomfortable way.

  Closing his eyes in the hope that the thrall that had suddenly overcome him would just as quickly vanish, he counted to three then opened his eyes again. Unfortunately, the thrall resumed as if it had never ceased. Her lush lips tipped upward at the corners as she smiled at him, the innocent twinkle in her eyes a painfully arousing reminder that she would soon belong to the Marquess of Roth, a condescending man who didn’t deserve such an angelic beauty at his side.

  Avery clapped him on the shoulder. “Speak to Rosamonde now if you wish. I’ll divert Olivia. See if you can uncover my sister’s true thoughts about Roth. I’m relying on you, my friend.”

  “Of course.” He waved to his sister and Olivia waved back, the two of them having only spoken yesterday.

  Avery left his side and joined the ladies. His friend snuck the fishing pole from Rosamonde’s hands and motioned toward him with a few words to Rosamonde he couldn’t quite catch, although which must be something along the lines of her greeting him since she nodded at her brother and sashayed toward him with a welcoming grin.

  “Lord Winterly, it’s wonderful to see you’ve arrived.”

  “Lady Rosamonde.” He removed his hat and dipped his head. “You are a fetching sight and quite stunned me just now.”

  “I did?” A blush stole across her high cheeks as she lowered into a curtsy, her gaze going to the grass then lifting again as she met his eyes. “That is very nice of you to say. You look quite dashing yourself, as if you’ve had a rather invigorating ride from your country estate.”

  “Extremely invigorating. It’s been far too long since my last visit.”

 
“Yes, we need to have more house parties, not just a yearly one.”

  “Or you could travel to town. I’m in London at least six months of the year.”

  “Mother still won’t travel to town, I’m afraid. The most she manages is the local village.”

  “You’re always welcome at my townhouse.” He caught her gloved hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. “Olivia would adore having you stay. The fun you two could get up would keep me on my toes for days.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I can visit, but I’ll endeavor to keep you on your toes while you’re here instead.”

  “Walk with me so we can catch up.” He tucked her hand around his bent arm and steered her toward the tartan blanket laid out on the grass underneath one of the trees. “Have you caught any fish yet this morning?”

  “No, and I sometimes wonder if there are actually any fish in this lake to catch.” She tapped her lower lip, her rather deliciously full lower lip.

  “I’ve heard some interesting news from your brother.” It was best he get right to the point. “You’re to be married to the Marquess of Roth?”

  “Yes.” She fumbled in her step and he tightened his hold on her. “Ah, Lord Roth shall be joining us soon. He asked me to organize this picnic by the lake for midday so he might be able to get to know me better.”

  “Speaking of Roth, perhaps you might explain a few things to me.” Keeping his tone low, he leaned in closer, drawing in her sweet fragrance of raspberries and vanilla, a unique scent he’d only ever caught on her. “Why are you marrying him?”

  “Did Avery put you up to asking that question?”

  “Your brother loves you, has only your best interests at heart.”

  “I love my brother too.”

  “You haven’t had a Season yet, Rosamonde.”

  “My mother’s good health and welfare comes first.”