The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity

by Erica Vetsch, Amanda Barratt, Andrea Boeshaar, Mona Hodgson, Melissa Jagears, Maureen Lang, Gabrielle Meyer, Jennifer Uhlarik, Renee Yancy

  “It’s odd,” said Mr. Radclyfe, turning toward her on the bench.

  “What is?” Her pulse quickened under his intent gaze.

  He smiled faintly. “How when I’m with you, I’ve stopped feeling the need to fill the silence.”

  She nodded. “I know.” It was true. “I—” She hesitated. “I feel the same.” She swallowed hard. “And I have never felt that way with anyone else but my father.”

  “That comforts my heart.”

  “May I ask why you need comfort, Mr. Radclyfe? Did you receive some unwelcome news?”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “I suppose I should come out and say it. I’ve asked your father for your hand in marriage. And I think you must know of his stipulation?” He gave her a questioning glance.

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t believe my father would countenance such a demand.” He shrugged. “And I was correct. He has ordered me to return immediately to New York. Or he will disinherit me.”

  Oh no. A sense of loss pierced her, taking her breath away. “What … what will you do?” He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed out at the river. “I don’t know. But I must decide soon.”

  He turned to her and sighed. “What a pair we are. Your father wants you to marry and you don’t care to. I must marry to keep my family home from perishing. Society has expectations for each of us.”

  “I hadn’t thought about what it must be like for you.” She pictured him as having his choice of heiresses. “But I’d like to ask you a question.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Why do you want to marry me? Aside from the obvious, I mean.”

  He didn’t seem the least bit surprised or taken aback by her question, but instead shifted his weight and assumed a thoughtful expression. “Perhaps it’s that you were the only redhead at the ball in apple-green silk.” He smiled.

  She steeled herself not to respond to the way his smile lit up his face. “I’m serious, Mr. Radclyfe.”

  “The freckles,” he said, nodding decisively.

  “Pardon me?” She couldn’t keep the frost out of her voice. Was he being deliberately obtuse?

  “Your freckles.” He leaned closer and raised his hand as if to touch her face then apparently thought better of it and let his hand drop into his lap. “Now that you’ve been out in the sun, the most delicate freckles have appeared all over your face.”

  Anna tightened her lips and stood. “Since you’re not interested in a serious discussion, Mr. Radclyfe, I will take my leave.”

  “Wait.” He got to his feet. “Forgive me. I was trying to be charming. I see I should leave that to DeVille.” He gestured to the bench. “Please.”

  She sat down, her back stiff as she perched on the edge of the seat.

  He sighed. “Now you look ready to make your escape.”

  She tossed her head. “I would think you’d welcome a sincere discussion of marriage, since you’ve made it plain you want to marry me.”

  “I would.”

  “Then answer my original question.”

  “Gladly. I think you’re an interesting and unusual young lady.”

  “There must be other interesting heiresses out there. Girls who actually want to be married.”

  He smiled. “Oh, there are. To be sure.”

  Anna’s spine stiffened. “So you’ve considered others?”

  “I don’t think it’s in my own best interests to answer that question.”

  “Who?”

  “Now, now, Miss MacDougall.” He held up his hands, pretending to ward her off. “It would exhibit extremely poor breeding if I were to”—he paused delicately—“reveal courting secrets.”

  “Very well. Then tell me something about your home.”

  “Gladly.” He stretched his legs out and relaxed. “It’s a magical place, Donalee. In southeastern England. It was built on a gift of land from King Henry in 1412, for service to the crown. Though crumbling into decay now.”

  “Do you have siblings?”

  “Two younger brothers. One in the British army—Ned. And William, at Oxford, studying for the ministry.” He snorted. “My brother Ned should have been born first. He would love to be my father’s heir. ‘To the manor born,’ as they say.”

  “Is he jealous of you?”

  “Oh, very. But we don’t see each other often. Father sees to that.”

  Anna digested this piece of information. How terrible.

  “And your mother?”

  “An aristocratic lady of noble lineage and very proud of it.”

  “And your parents—have they a happy marriage?”

  “I suppose it depends on the definition of happy. They respect each other. My mother bore my father three sons. But their paths seldom cross now. My mother lives in London, while my father stays on the estate.”

  Similar to Nora’s unhappy situation, closeted away on the moors while her husband amused himself elsewhere. “Perhaps most marriages are destined to be so.”

  “No!” Mr. Radclyfe sprang to his feet. “I refuse to believe that. And you must not fall prey to that pernicious idea, either, Miss MacDougall. I believe with all my heart it can be different. When I marry”—he fixed her with an intent look that stabbed through her—“though I must marry for money, in the end it must be for love.” He clenched his jaw. “I need you to understand that.”

  Anna’s head reeled. Awkwardly, she stood up, avoiding his gaze. “I must go.”

  “Have I frightened you? You didn’t realize I could be so passionate?”

  Her eyes widened at his use of that word.

  “Tell me,” he begged. “Let us at least have honesty, if nothing else.” He motioned to the bench. “Please, don’t go.”

  What a queer turn this afternoon had taken. A benign picnic on the lawn had transformed into this, this—what were they doing? But she sat down anyway. New thoughts tumbled through her brain like water surging in a flooded creek.

  “What are you thinking?” He leaned toward her. “Tell me.”

  She inhaled and then breathed out slowly. “This conversation—it isn’t appropriate.” She paused. “Young women and their suitors don’t generally discuss—” She hesitated, groping for words.

  “What they want out of a marriage. Is that it?”

  She opened and closed her mouth several times then settled for nodding her head.

  “I know it isn’t conventional. But it’s our lives we’re speaking of. Our lives—which other people are making plans for. Isn’t that true?”

  She found her voice. “Yes. I haven’t considered what it must be like to have to find a rich wife because your father orders it. And expects it.”

  He nodded.

  “However, a man may come and go as he pleases, whereas a young woman must first obey her father and then her husband. Her only business is to marry well. And produce sons.”

  “And I can see you resent this. But, Miss MacDougal, can’t you see I have expectations placed on me?”

  “I can. But perhaps you should release them.”

  He lowered his head and frowned. “It that what you have done? Released your expectations?”

  Anna hesitated. “I don’t know anymore.”

  Mr. Radclyfe came and sat next to her. “Your father told me … of your difficult experience a year ago.”

  Anna gasped. “He didn’t!”

  “He wanted me to know what I was up against. And all I can say is I am so sorry that happened to you.” His fingers twitched in his lap. “Miss MacDougall, I know wealth doesn’t guarantee happiness.”

  Anna thought of Nora. “No.”

  Mr. Radclyfe pressed on. “I’ve seen it in my own family. Although my family’s income is much reduced now, I remember when the estate was fruitful. But my mother was never happy.”

  “But you have more choices than I.”

  He shook his head violently. “No, Miss MacDougall!” He scraped a hand over his face and stood, his shoulders sagging. “How can I make you see?” He clenc
hed his fists at his sides, his body shaking with emotion. “The only choice I have is whether or not to love the woman I marry. Now, good afternoon.”

  Chapter 8

  Mr. Radclyfe disappeared into the shrubbery lining the path. Anna got to her feet to run after him, but her heart beat so erratically she felt nauseous. What would she say anyway?

  She gathered her skirts in one hand and descended the stairs to the riverbank. The stairs cut from the rock were worn and crumbling, but the handrail her father had installed a few years ago made it safer. As a little girl, she had spent hours here, searching for fossils and arrowheads. Pine trees grew along the bank, bent and stunted by the continual wind along the river. She climbed onto a rock, heedless of her dress. And then she prayed. Bowed her head and acknowledged her heavenly Father as Lord of her life. She didn’t know what to do, but He did. She made the conscious decision to trust Him and allow Him to lead her.

  Her heart lightened, she hurried to the house, but Mr. Radclyfe had disappeared. She laughed at herself, realizing she was looking for him. How the tables had turned. He wasn’t anywhere in the house, either, because she checked the library and the drawing room.

  Mortimer stood at the door of the great dining room, as footmen carried out the walnut table in pieces, followed by the heavy upholstered chairs. The Oriental rug had already been rolled up. She’d completely forgotten a ball had been planned for tonight. Two days ago she had reviewed the supper menu with Mrs. Ludley, chosen the dinnerware pattern and the silver service. Perhaps at the ball tonight she could let Mr. Radclyfe know that she wasn’t nearly as unwilling as he thought.

  Rob dressed for the ball in the requisite white tie and tails. After leaving Miss MacDougall, a very long walk at a rapid pace had dissipated his anger and frustration, and he arrived at the house in time to freshen up and change.

  He shouldn’t have lost his temper with her. Ungentlemanly, to say the least. Tomorrow he would take his leave and return to the city, although he didn’t have the heart for it. Miss MacDougall had his heart.

  He glanced in the mirror. Perhaps he should send his regrets. Plead some indisposition. Then he thought of Philip MacDougall. The irascible Scot wouldn’t go gently, like a dog with his tail between his legs. The old man would fight for what he wanted. Rob nodded.

  So would he.

  He received his first shock of the evening when he caught a glimpse of Miss MacDougall. In apple-green silk. She took his breath away all over again. It was difficult not to stare, even when DeVille jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

  “Leave off, Radclyfe—she isn’t something to eat,” he whispered.

  Rob hastily rearranged his face, but not until he caught Philip MacDougall grinning at him.

  When the guests had been properly received, Mr. MacDougall opened the dancing with his daughter. At an informal country ball, the ladies did not have cards to fill. As soon as Miss MacDougall and her father finished their dance, several young men immediately besieged her for the next one. Rob decided to keep his distance and see what happened. He asked the countess to dance, and several of the older married ladies.

  He’d returned his last dance partner to her husband and paused near the supper table, where two portly dowagers had their heads together.

  “I’ve heard Miss MacDougall was a trifle eccentric, but moss?” Mrs. Vanderfelder tsked under her breath.

  Rob’s ears perked up, and he glanced at the two matrons.

  Mrs. Goulet adjusted the pince-nez on her nose and pursed her plump lips as she stared at the main centerpiece. “Very unorthodox. And whatever is that on the top?”

  Intrigued, Rob turned and stepped closer. As a rule he seldom noticed china patterns and floral arrangements, but this was definitely different. No flowers. Just moss. Every glorious shade of emerald the forest had to offer adorned the supper table. White violets were tucked among the moss in the central epergne. And there on the top—

  Rob broke into a grin. A beautiful dragonfly fairy, with a slender body of gold and diamonds, glimmering opals on gossamer wings of spun-gold threads, cunningly pointed ears, and a delicately modeled face.

  He searched the room for Miss MacDougall and found her, standing alone and watching him. Quickly he made his way to her, not caring that several guests turned to stare after him.

  He smiled at her. “So, I’m forgiven for my outburst this afternoon?”

  She nodded as the musicians launched into a waltz.

  “May I have the honor of a dance?”

  “You may.”

  He took her in his arms, reveling at the feel of her gloved hand in his. He wanted every dance for the rest of his life to be with her.

  Anna woke early the next morning, though they had been up very late the night before. It was as if her heart had awakened her, skipping along with merry jumps and hops at the unconscious thought of Mr. Radclyfe.

  An oppressive heaviness filled the air, in contrast with her light heart, and thunder rumbled in the distance. But nothing could dampen her spirits. Let it rain all day if it wanted to. She was in love!

  A soft knock sounded at her door. Anna went to answer it and found Nora, wrapped in a Japanese dressing gown, with a gloomy look on her face as she entered the bedroom.

  Anna repressed a sigh and closed the door. “Nora, I don’t want to argue about Mr. Radclyfe. He’s not Peter. Rob loves the Lord, wants to do right by whomever he marries, and he’s honest.”

  Nora scowled. “Rob? You’re on a first name basis with him now?”

  “No. I just … think of him that way.” Anna pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to have to defend the fact that she had fallen in love with Mr. Radclyfe.

  “How can you know? Peter was sweet, too. In the beginning.” Nora’s lips twisted. “And as soon as he had my money, everything changed.” She snapped her fingers and Anna jumped. “Like that. I’d give anything to be single again. Like you.”

  Anna shook her head. “You’re wrong about Mr. Radclyfe.”

  “You need to think longer. And harder.” Nora went to stand at the balcony railing, gazing toward the Catskills. Then she turned to face Anna. “I wish I could make you see how difficult it has been. Shunted off to the country. Left alone for weeks. The snobbery of the English, and the way they make me feel as if I’m less than human for being an American. I’m an outsider, never to be allowed into the light. As you will be—when Radclyfe tires of you and your American ways. You will be alone. So alone.”

  “Nora, I understand you’re trying to protect me. But you’re wrong. Mr. Radclyfe is not Peter.” She lifted her chin. “And when I marry him, I know it won’t be the same.”

  Nora gasped. “Then you’ve decided?”

  “I’m going to tell him today I accept his proposal.”

  Nora’s hand went to her throat, and her body sagged. She dropped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. “Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “No.” She lifted a haggard face. “I didn’t plan on telling you this. I thought I could persuade you …” Her voice drifted off.

  “Tell me what?” Anna tried to suppress the waves of panic that rose into her throat.

  Nora smiled sadly. “He’s not a good man, Anna. In London, there was a young woman …” She shook her head. “I … there’s no easy way to say this. There was a child. He abandoned her and the mother.”

  Anna choked. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true.” She sighed. “Brace yourself. There’s more.”

  Anna stumbled to her feet. Black spots glittered at the corners of her vision, and she held her hands up. “No,” she said in a strangled voice, “don’t say anything else.”

  “I’m sorry, Anna.” Quietly, Nora left the room.

  Anna slumped against the wall, sliding down into a heap. The giddy warmness that had embraced her since last night’s ball dissipated like a coal plucked from the fire and left to die in a corner.

  She felt as if she had turned to ice. “It can’t be,” she murmured.
“Not again.” She turned her face to the wall and wept.

  Chapter 9

  The baron and Mr. Radclyfe were at breakfast when she came down.

  “Good morning,” said Mr. Radclyfe, rising to his feet. Her heart sank at the eager look in his eyes, and she averted her face to hide her swollen eyes.

  She kept her expression neutral and poured herself some tea. Mr. Radclyfe moved to assist her with her chair, and she winced at the familiar scent of bergamot from his linen.

  “Yes,” said DeVille, “good morning. Quite a jolly time last night.”

  “Yes,” she said, fiddling with the sugar spoon. Through the french doors, black thunderheads towered above the Catskills in the distance. “I’m afraid you may have to change your plans to go riding today. A thunderstorm is coming, and you wouldn’t want to be caught out in it.”

  “Certainly not,” said Mr. Radclyfe. “What do you propose we do instead?”

  “I’ve ordered the archery targets set out at the southern edge of the estate. I thought we could shoot.”

  “You know I love a challenge, Miss MacDougall,” said Mr. Radclyfe lightly.

  Anna swallowed. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “What is it, Miss MacDougall? Are you not feeling well?”

  She pressed her handkerchief to her mouth as the sour taste of bile rose in her throat. “I … It’s the heat. Please excuse me.”

  She rose from her chair, and Mr. Radclyfe again jumped to assist her. Nora walked in as Anna hurried out of the room. The urge to run flooded her and she left the house, running as fast as she could, until a stabbing pain in her side stopped her and she sagged against a pine tree, gasping for breath. She had run all the way to the cliff path.

  “Miss MacDougal!”

  Oh no. Mr. Radclyfe had followed her. She couldn’t face him.

  “Why won’t you speak to me? What’s happened?”

  Anna shook her head and waved him away, stricken at the beseeching look on his face.

  He put his hand on her arm and turned her to face him. “Last night …” He searched her face. “You gave me hope. Made me believe you felt something for me.”