The Earl's Inconvenient Wife

by Julia Justiss

  ‘And Papa...?’ Pru asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t count on Vraux making an appearance,’ their mother said drily. She hesitated, an uncertain look crossing her face before she walked over to give her newly returned daughter a hug.

  Which, Temper was pleased to note, Pru not only tolerated, but returned with equal warmth. Perhaps her sister’s time away had given her a new understanding and tolerance for their mother.

  But then, radiant happiness did have the splendid effect of expanding to encompass everything around one.

  Once her mother stepped back, Temper took her place. ‘My turn! Welcome home, sister dear! How I’ve missed you!’

  ‘And I, you,’ Pru said, hugging her back fiercely.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Temper said, stepping away. ‘I think you’ve found a more than adequate replacement.’

  She thought she’d accepted when she sent her sister off to Bath that the person who’d been closest to her in all the world would never fill that role again. But the ache in her chest at voicing that truth aloud told her that, though her head might have recognised the fact, her heart was only now beginning to face it.

  You’ll always have me, Giff had told her. The memory both comforted...and disturbed her.

  ‘I must go hunt down Lord Vraux,’ Captain Trethwell was saying. ‘As I mean to become a member of this family with all possible speed, I’ll want his consent at once, so I may head off to Doctors’ Commons and go about obtaining a special licence.’

  ‘I’ll take you up,’ Gregory said. ‘He’s in his library, cataloguing. As usual.’

  ‘Excellent,’ the captain replied. ‘I have a number of questions to ask him about his collections.’

  Gregory shrugged. ‘You may ask. I can’t guarantee you’ll get any answers.’

  ‘While your fiancé confronts the dragon,’ Temper said to her sister, ‘why don’t we have some tea? You can tell us all about your sojourn in Bath—before Aunt Gussie joins us and you have to censor your account.’

  ‘Mama, shall we have tea sent to your sitting room?’ Pru asked, looking at her mother with an affection Temper hadn’t seen her display in years.

  Nor had that lady either. Pru’s request prompted a brilliant smile from Lady Vraux, tears glittering in the corners of her eyes as she nodded her assent.

  ‘I should like that very much. Welcome home, my precious daughter.’

  And so the three women walked up to Lady Vraux’s boudoir, Pru still radiant with a happiness that caused a deep pang of melancholy—and foreboding—in Temper’s breast. Not that she resented her sister’s joy—indeed, she was thrilled that Pru had found the man, and the life, she wanted.

  While Temper had no misgivings about the character of the man she was to marry, she wasn’t sure what she was getting herself into.

  ‘Isn’t he wonderful?’ Pru said as they took their seats around their mother’s divan.

  ‘Certainly a handsome devil,’ Lady Vraux said, giving her daughter a knowing smile. ‘I shall have no worries about you sleeping well at night in your nuptial bed. At least, not for the part of it you sleep.’

  ‘I am so looking forward to that,’ Pru confirmed, a naughty twinkle in her eye. ‘Stolen kisses on a riding trail are one thing—but to have the luxury of time and the comfort of a bed!’

  Laughing, Temper covered her ears. ‘No licentious details, please! But do tell us everything about your captain and how he convinced you he would be much better for you than that gentleman farmer you always said you wanted.’

  And so, over tea, Pru explained how her attempts to be the perfect society maiden, undercut by the reputation that followed her to Bath, were eventually abandoned in the face of society’s hypocrisy—and the realisation that her high-born, titled suitor was a much lesser man than the untitled adventurer who had freed her to be who she truly was. ‘I even managed to create a scandal—and insult the most highly placed social arbiter in Bath!’ she said with a laugh as she finished her tale. ‘I discovered that I am much more like you than I imagined, Mama.’

  Her humour fading, she took her mother’s hand. ‘Will you forgive me? I’ve been...awful to you, the last year or so.’

  Lady Vraux shook her head. ‘Nothing to forgive. Without having the least intention of doing so, I made the path difficult—for you and Temper. That you both will marry well and be happy is the best present each of you could ever give me.’

  Pru’s eyes widened. ‘Both marry well?’ Whirling to face Temper, she said, ‘What have you been keeping from me?’

  ‘Nothing! The matter was only settled two days ago.’ Temper forced a smile. ‘You’ll recall that before you left, I threatened to create a little scandal of my own? You weren’t the only sister who managed it. Only I inadvertently dragged Giff into mine. As it...appeared he’d compromised me, he, of course, insisted on doing the honourable thing.’

  ‘Now you must give me all the details,’ her twin said.

  Once she’d finished, though her sister exclaimed angrily over the duplicity of Miss Avery, she ended by saying, ‘You know, Temper, I think Giff will make you an excellent husband. You know and trust him, and what’s even more important, he knows and trusts you. He won’t be expecting marriage to change you into a conventional, biddable wife who will be content with just managing his house and raising his children.’

  Temper shifted uncomfortably, aware of her mother’s thoughtful gaze fixed on her. ‘He knows what he’s getting, that’s for certain. Though if it hadn’t been for the scandal, I doubt he’d have offered for me. Aside from wealth, I’m hardly the sort of wife a rising politician would choose.’

  ‘Why not?’ Pru replied. ‘You are lovely, intelligent and far more knowledgeable about what is going on in the country—and the world at large—than most of the women in society!’

  ‘Thank you, loyal twin. But we both know I am also impatient with fools, far too apt to say whatever I’m thinking, and...and far too restless to remain in England. Though I won’t make Giff much of a wife, he is probably the best husband for me—if I must have a husband. He’s willing to let me travel, so I don’t expect we’ll spend a great deal of time together after the wedding. In fact,’ she ended, brightening at the prospect, ‘once I can work out the details of an entourage large enough to satisfy him about my safety, I can drag out of Papa the sort of objects and artefacts he wishes to acquire next and head off in search of them!’

  Pru’s smile dimmed. ‘Oh. About that. I... I haven’t yet told you what Johnnie means to do, now that he will be leaving the army.’

  ‘And what will that be?’ Lady Vraux asked. ‘Use some of your dowry to buy you that horse farm in the country?’

  ‘No. His aunt, Lady Woodlings, and some other backers have invested their funds in a trading company he will own and manage. Using the extensive contacts he’s developed after his years in India, he plans to travel there and throughout the Orient and the Magreb, acquiring weapons, objets d’art and artefacts to sell to collectors like Papa. He planned to query Papa today about what he’d like him to look for.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I intend to accompany him on his travels.’

  While Temper sat frozen, trying to mask her shock and dismay, Lady Vraux laughed and clapped her hands. ‘My little Prudence, who has always wanted to settle in some quiet English backwater, will travel the world? How wonderful!’

  Prudence gave Temper a searching look, to which Temper hoped she returned a convincing smile. ‘Amazing! How oddly our destinies have changed. You, the girl who never thought to leave England’s shores, setting off with an adventurer, while I...marry a politician tied to London and Parliament.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Temper,’ Pru said softly. ‘You’ll still be able to travel, won’t you? If you want to.’

  ‘Of course I shall travel! Our match is a simple marriage of convenience—not a grand passion, like yours.’


  Her mother reached over to touch her hand. ‘I would wish a grand passion for you, too, my darling.’

  ‘Oh, Mama, you know me. All the passion I possess is a quick temper,’ she replied, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her belly. She’d planned now for years on exploring to fill her father’s treasure chests. What would be her purpose now? And where would she go?

  ‘You can always travel with us,’ Pru offered.

  Temper laughed. ‘Not even the most charming and tolerant of gentlemen would be amenable to dragging his new sister-in-law along on his honeymoon! Never fear, I shall come up with...alternate plans. Now, shall we switch to the most important topic? What we shall all wear to the wedding!’

  Though her mother gave her another searching glance, Temper was easily able to distract Prudence, whose thoughts never wandered far from her Johnnie, into a lengthy discussion of which styles, colours and fabrics would make her look most beautiful when he claimed her as his bride.

  While distracting herself from her misgivings over what, exactly, her own future was going to be.

  * * *

  Less than a week later, Temper stood beside her sister outside the formal drawing room at Vraux House, where the clergyman, the two bridegrooms and a small company of guests awaited them.

  To the surprise of both sisters, their father had announced he would not only attend the nuptials, he intended to give the girls away. And to their amazement, as he met them outside the parlour, immaculately dressed in the formal dress coat he rarely wore, he looked both of them in the eye, murmured, ‘As beautiful as your mama’, and kissed each of them on the cheek.

  If she hadn’t already been so nervous about what she’d committed herself to do that she was scarcely aware of anything else, Temper might have fainted from the shock.

  ‘You do look beautiful,’ Pru murmured.

  ‘We both do,’ Temper replied, desperately anxious to get through the next few minutes, when she would be the focus of all eyes and must play the happy bride.

  She was hoping her sister’s obvious glow of joy, as shimmering as the golden gown she wore, would attract most of the guests’ attention. Her own gown, in a style that matched her sister’s, with its low, off-the-shoulder neckline, full, gathered sleeves and tiny waist, was in a turquoise-blue silk Mama said matched her eyes.

  Then her father gave the footman a nod, he opened the door and they walked into the parlour.

  Catching the besotted glance of giddy delight that passed between Pru and Johnnie as she approached her bridegroom, Temper felt a stab of pure envy. Such bliss, such perfect contentment—and such promise of sensual fulfilment—would never be hers.

  But at least she need not fear her bridegroom and could enter this marriage assured that Giff would abide by the terms they’d set. Even if the reality of a marriage of convenience hadn’t turned out to be nearly as simple and straightforward as she’d blithely assumed when she’d first suggested one to Giff—was it only a few weeks ago?

  In the interim, that inescapable, edgy attraction between them had intensified. She didn’t worry that Giff would try to trick or force her into abandoning the restrictions of the marriage blanc she’d insisted upon.

  But would she?

  She sneaked a glance at him now, so tall, solemn—and handsome—as he stood beside the priest. Despite her nervousness, a ripple of desire eddied in her belly as she recalled the tenderness with which he’d kissed her after she’d accepted his proposal.

  As the swirl of heated sensation rushed through her at the velvet-soft touch of his lips brushing hers, she’d had to force herself to remain immobile...lest she press herself against his heat and hardness, or pull his head down to extend the kiss.

  Each time he touched her, arousing those volatile sensations, she was tempted to let down her guard and allow him to take her into a deeper intimacy—an intimacy she wasn’t at all sure she could tolerate. Each time, once away from his disturbing presence, when she thought about allowing attraction to progress towards its natural end, the cold revulsion she kept locked away threatened to break through. No, she didn’t dare risk it.

  Then she was at Giff’s side, his warm hand covering her cold one, sending another of those sensual shocks through her. The soft air, heated by the amassed candles and guest-filled room, wafted to her the scent of shaving soap and virile male.

  She tried to ignore it, needing to muster all her scattered wits to focus on making the correct answers to the questions being posed by the priest, lest the guests notice how completely panic-stricken she was beneath an outward mask of calm. Or realise what a shocking contrast the two couples presented—one ecstatic, the other coolly reserved.

  In another few minutes, she would become what she’d never expected to be—a wife. And now, too late, she wasn’t at all sure that had been a wise idea.

  * * *

  Standing before the priest and the assembled guests, Giff envied his prospective new brother-in-law the sense of eager anticipation about his upcoming nuptials he’d displayed since the moment they’d been introduced at the welcome dinner at Vraux House a week ago.

  Gazing now at the man’s expression, his delight in the bride he was about to acquire patently obvious, Giff felt, like a cold rock in his stomach, the contrast between Trethwell’s exuberant happiness and his own misgivings—which he could only hope he’d buried deep enough to conceal.

  He’d tried to respond with appropriate enthusiasm when Trethwell had congratulated him at that dinner on winning the hand of Pru’s sister. ‘They are astoundingly similar, at least in looks,’ he’d said. ‘My Prudence is a bit softer and sweeter. Your Temperance, she tells me, is a firebrand!’ Giving him a wink, he added, ‘I hope you’ve been conserving your strength. If the twins are alike in every way, you’re going to need every bit of your endurance for the honeymoon.’

  He’d need to conserve his strength for the honeymoon, all right, he thought, suppressing a sigh. Enough strength to keep desire under tight control, once the beautiful woman now standing beside him, repeating the ancient words of the wedding ceremony, belonged to him completely, his to take with the full permission of the law and the church.

  Just not with hers.

  Before he knew it, the vows were completed, the clergyman put away his prayer book and led the two couples off to an anteroom to sign the parish register.

  He was married now. To Temperance Lattimar. The beguiling, bewitching, exasperating, unpredictable woman he desired, respected and never, except in some quickly repressed erotic daydream, ever expected to wed.

  Once out of sight of the assembled guests, the smile she’d fixed on her face faltered, giving him a glimpse of anxiety, confusion—and surely it wasn’t fear he read there!

  His own misgivings instantly submerged by concern for her, once they’d affixed their signatures—Temper writing in a firm, quiet hand despite the turmoil he’d glimpsed in her eyes—he caught her arm, retaining her before she could follow the others back into the parlour.

  ‘Let’s take a moment before we rejoin the assembly,’ he murmured.

  She exhaled a shaky breath. ‘Yes, let’s. I need to...muster my composure.’

  Tenderness, laced with a bit of amusement, tempered his concern. ‘Temperance Lattimar, discomposed? I would never have believed it.’

  ‘Well, I’ve never been married before, either,’ she snapped back with more of her usual zest.

  He lifted her chin so she had to look into her eyes. ‘I may be your...husband now—and it takes me aback to say the word, too—but I’m still Giff, the man you’ve known since you pitched a rock at my head when you were six. You can still count on me to watch out for you. You can trust me to keep my promises.’

  She stared into his eyes for a long moment before nodding. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘But can I trust myself?’

  Before Giff could wonder what she meant by that e
nigmatic utterance, Overton entered the anteroom. ‘Mr Newell, a rider has just arrived with an urgent message for you. I’ve allowed him into the parlour with the guests, so he might deliver it immediately.’

  ‘Of course. Temperance?’

  As she took his arm to walk back to the parlour, Giff wondered what could have prompted someone to dispatch a rider to him with an urgent message. Not from Parliament—a runner on foot would have been sufficient for that. So it must be from Fensworth. Sent with speed and urgency, it couldn’t be good news.

  Though all his family had been in good health last he heard from them, disease could strike—and kill—with speed and suddenness. Setting his lips in a grim line, Giff approached the mud-spattered rider.

  ‘You have a message for me?’

  Engaged in gulping down a glass of punch, the dispatch rider choked to a stop. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, holding out the folded paper.

  Breaking the seal, Giff scanned the document. The noise of the room, the conversation of the guests, even the concerned presence of Temper beside him, faded into the background as he read it through a second time.

  ‘What is it, Giff?’ Gregory asked, coming over to halt beside him. ‘You’ve gone as white as that parchment!’

  Giff looked up at his friend, the news so unbelievable, he still couldn’t take it in. ‘There’s been an accident. My father and Robert have put every penny they could scrounge into building more steam engines to drain water from the lowest areas around the fens. Two—No,’ he corrected, looking at the date on the letter, ‘three days ago, Robert was driving them in his gig to inspect the latest project when one of the carriage wheels caught in the mud under the standing water from the previous day’s rains. The horse panicked and bolted. The gig slammed through the railing at the top of a wooden bridge and went over, ending upside down in the stream below. Trapping Father and Robert.’ He swallowed hard. ‘They drowned. Both of them.’

  ‘Oh, Giff, I’m so sorry,’ Temper murmured, pressing his hand.