Married to a Stranger

by Louise Allen

  She averted her eyes from his broad shoulders and long legs and the distracting prospect of physical passion. He was an attractive man. That was not a good reason for making a marriage, especially as he would hardly be entertaining the same feelings of physical attraction for her. A wife was a warm body in a bed who would perform her marital duties and produce children. Apparently she passed muster, even if she did not drive him wild with desire.

  This was as bad as the prospect of marrying Daniel had become, only colder. Sophia reminded herself that Callum was, by business and training, a trader. He was approaching marriage, she supposed, in the same way as any other contract, rationally and with good sense.

  ‘Financially there are problems, are there not?’ he asked.

  She had to be honest about that, never mind how her pride revolted. ‘Yes. There are debts, more than we can cope with any more. I had intended to apply for a post as a governess or perhaps a companion.’

  ‘I expected that,’ Callum said. ‘I had not realised it was quite that bad, however. Be assured that I will take care of all of it.’

  She would get by far the better part of this bargain, for she would bring Callum nothing but herself and she could not pretend that she was much of a bargain. This was the answer to her prayers. Why, then, was every fibre of her being revolting against it? It was an excellent match and any well-bred and delicately brought-up young woman would expect nothing more than what Callum was offering her. Most would snatch at it, deeply grateful to have a second chance.

  But she was not anyone else, she was herself and she ached for a meeting of minds and for companionship and for love. Her heart told her to refuse, politely and firmly and put an end to this humiliation, but her head held her back from an irrevocable decision.

  ‘I must think about it,’ she found herself saying.

  ‘What is there to think about?’ Callum seemed genuinely baffled by her prevarication. ‘Is it your mother? You must have planned for her future when Dan returned. Surely there is a relative who would make a congenial companion for her.’

  ‘Well, yes, Cousin Lettice would be delighted to move here, it was always the intention.’

  He nodded. ‘Excellent.’

  ‘How can you not mind that I was betrothed to your brother?’ She stretched out her hands as if she could somehow reach him through the glass wall of practicality he was erecting between them. ‘Would I not remind you of Daniel?’

  Callum stared at her hands without taking them. ‘I have told you how I feel. I have come through the grief and I do hope I would not be so foolish as to be jealous of your feelings for him,’ he said eventually. ‘If you tell me that you cannot marry me because of those feelings …’ He left the sentence hanging. Her escape route.

  But it would be a lie and the escape would be into deeper debt, misery for herself and Mama, difficulty for Mark. Sophia shook her head. ‘No, it is not that. I know he is … I have accepted that he is gone. It is just that this is so sudden, so unexpected. I need time.’

  ‘Time is not on your side. It is not as though you are a widow who has children already,’ Callum said with such flat practicality that it did not hit her until several seconds later that he was warning her that she was letting her only chance of motherhood slip by. ‘It will help you decide if you saw where you will be living. There is the town house, of course, but there are also two estates to choose from for when we are out of London. We could drive over and see them together and decide which to live in and which house to rent out.’

  ‘Choose?’ Everything was going too fast. ‘But Long Welling was always yours, was it not?’

  ‘It was managed by my father and then by Will. I have been in India, remember, and in London for six months. I have no great attachment to it and both houses are vacant at the moment.’

  The house where she would live with this man. An insidious little voice was murmuring that Callum’s arms would be strong around her body and that he would always stand by her. She could experience physical passion at last. He would give her children. Security. But was it right?

  ‘You need time to think it over,’ he said and she realised he had hat, gloves and whip in his hands. She had been so deep in her thoughts that she had not noticed him move. ‘I will return tomorrow morning. Goodbye, Sophia.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ she said. ‘Callum—’

  ‘Of course, how remiss of me.’ He bent his head and kissed her, firmly but fleetingly, on the mouth. ‘Is that what you wanted?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Sophia stared at Callum, somehow managing not to run her tongue over her lips to taste him. ‘I have no idea what I want. What I ought to want. You have turned my world upside down.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He strode away across the lawn without looking back.

  Sophia gave way to the urge to lick her lips. There was a faint trace of something alien and disturbing overlain with coffee. Excellent? ‘Oh, you stubborn, impossible man! Were you listening to me at all?’

  Chapter Three

  Sophia sat in the front parlour the next morning and tried to work through a muddle of thoughts. There was resentment at the way that Callum simply made assumptions about what was best for her—and the fact that he was doubtless right did not help. There was respect for his sense of duty and loyalty to Daniel and the nagging consciousness that her own duty to her family lay in making a good marriage. This marriage.

  If only they had a little money and she had room to think. Her mind kept running over and over the lack of money like a dog in a turn-spit wheel. Tradesmen had been understanding about the settlement of bills since her father’s death, because of her betrothal to a son of the Hall. But for the past six months they had known that was not going to happen. Nor, unless she married well, would her brother have the influence of a great family behind him to help his career. And if she did not marry Callum, who could she marry?

  The prospects locally were hardly promising—some yeoman farmers much older than herself, the curate, a widower or two, none of whom had shown any particular interest in her. There was no denying that marriage would widen her world very greatly. Mama would be happier if she was well married.

  And there was the uncomfortable awareness that she found Callum Chatterton physically attractive. She could not even summon up the will to feel shocked at this, only a conviction that if he actually tried to make love to her she would be stricken with shyness. Duty and a scarce-understood desire said Marry him. Every emotional fibre of her being, coupled to pride, said, No, not when he has no feelings for me and is only offering out of a sense of duty to a man I had not even the constancy to love until death.

  The crunch of gravel under wheels brought her out of her brown study as undecided as when she had drifted into it.

  ‘Mr Chatterton,’ the maid said and closed the door behind Callum. In buckskin breeches, boots and riding coat he should have looked every inch the English country gentleman. Instead he seemed faintly exotic, dangerous even. Perhaps it was the remnants of the tan and the way it made his hazel eyes seem green. Or perhaps it was the sense of focus about him. He was a hunter and she was the prey: all for her own good, of course.

  ‘Good morning, Sophia. I have the curricle—shall we drive? It is a pleasant day and we will be more able to say what we mean, perhaps, if we are free from the risk of interruption,’ he said. ‘I thought you would like to see the two houses.’

  Don’t be missish, she told herself. She was never going to decide whether to marry this man if they met only to have stilted conversations in the parlour.

  ‘Very well. I will just go and fetch my hat.’

  In the hall she said, ‘I am driving out with Mr Chatterton, Lucy. I do not wish to disturb my mother; please tell her where I am if she enquires. I may not be home for luncheon if Mr Chatterton decides to call in at the Hall on the way back.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Langley.’ The maid’s eyes were wide with speculation. ‘I’ll take pains not to disturb her.’

  Oh dear, now she
thinks she is assisting in a love affair. I just wish I did know what this was. Am I wrong to encourage Callum? But I do want to be married, to have children. If the man was someone I could like and respect. If I did not think I was imposing on him to an outrageous extent.

  She was weakening, she could feel it. She could certainly respect Callum Chatterton’s achievements. He was intelligent, hard working and courageous. But could she like him? What was he like under the emotionless carapace that seemed only warmed by disturbing flickers of sensuality? Perhaps he was as cold and hard and logical as this all the time. He admitted to finding it hard to feel for other people now. I think I want him. I certainly need him. But perhaps not as a husband.

  Callum was standing by the curricle when she came down and there was no groom up behind. It really would be rather fast to drive ten miles to Wellingford with him, even in an open carriage.

  ‘Is it not acceptable for you to drive with me like this in the country?’ he asked. Apparently her doubts were clear on her face. ‘It would be in India, if the man is approved by the family. Your mother would approve of me, I believe,’ he added with the first hint of a genuine smile Sophia had seen.

  ‘Yes, she would,’ she agreed, as he helped her up into the seat. ‘Mama would approve of any eligible man who showed an interest in me now, let alone you!’ she added and provoked a small huff of amusement from him. She had been evasive last night when her mother had asked her about Callum’s visit. Mrs Langley had been left, she was guiltily aware, with the impression that he had called briefly to see how Sophia was getting on.

  There was so much she was feeling guilty about. If she could only let go and just do her duty … Callum handed her the reins while he walked round to mount on the other side.

  ‘And, yes, this is a trifle fast, but not so very bad in the country.’ She handed the reins back, taking care not to touch his hands as she did so. She wanted her mind unclouded by the disturbing frisson of physical awareness that brushed her senses when she looked at him—to touch him would be worse. If only she knew what was right.

  ‘It is certain that you will remain in England?’ she asked as Callum looped the reins and turned on to the road to Wellingford.

  ‘I was not certain, when we left India, but now the position in London is confirmed. One of the directors was travelling as supercargo and spoke to me at length about my career and the opportunities with the Company. He survived the wreck and I believe I owe much to his influence in gaining this post.’

  ‘He would not have exerted himself if you did not merit it,’ Sophia said. ‘I am glad you will stay in England. I certainly do not wish to bring up children in the Indian climate; I have heard too many stories of the illnesses they succumb to.’ For a long time she had told herself that was why she had not pressed Daniel about marriage; now she knew it had been an excuse.

  ‘Ah, we are discussing children now?’ Sophia looked sideways and found Callum was smiling. Faintly, it was true. She realised she was staring at his mouth and switched back to looking straight ahead. ‘Should I take that as a promising sign?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ she said, wary that this was going too fast again. ‘I am merely considering all aspects of your proposal.’

  ‘But if you are convinced I am not returning to India you will marry me and if you think I might go back, you will not have me.’

  ‘Callum Chatterton, you are harassing me! I said no such thing and this is not a matter to be bargained over.’

  ‘Very well, let me be clear then. I need an heir; I would like several children, in fact. But I would not expect you to live in India and certainly not bring up a family there.’

  ‘And I would not wish to spend long periods separated from my husband.’

  ‘Flattering,’ he remarked and she jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, suddenly the small girl again.

  ‘I did not mean that!’

  ‘I can assure you, that eventuality is highly unlikely to occur.’ When she did not reply he added, ‘I am prepared to promise you that I will not take a posting in the Far East again without your express approval. You see how convinced I am that you will suit me?’

  ‘Why, thank you, sir,’ Sophia muttered and caught sight of that elusive smile again. But would you suit me? Does that really matter?

  ‘Here is the turning to Wellingford village.’

  ‘And Daniel’s estate,’ Sophia said, pulling herself together. This is where she would have lived if she had married Daniel.

  ‘Yes. It is years since I’ve been there. I have no idea why Grandmama left this one to Dan and the other to me. She used to reside here and Great-Aunt Dorothea had Long Welling. There have been tenants in until recently, so they should both be in good repair, but as for decoration, I have no idea.’

  ‘Paint and fabrics are easily dealt with. The question is, which feels best to you.’ But her heart was beating a little faster at the prospect. A home of her own, finally. I am deciding on marrying a man, not a house, she reminded herself. There were any number of changes one could make to a house, but not to a grown man, not one as single-minded and stubborn as Callum Chatterton. But she must stop thinking about this as a marriage of love, or even affection. This would be a marriage of convenience with most of the convenience on her side. It would be up to her to accommodate herself to him, not the other way around.

  ‘There.’ Callum reined in the pair at the crest of a small hill. The valley opened up before them, green and lush; the fields were interspersed with coppices and a larger beech wood crowned the opposite hill. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the village and on the slope directly across from them sat a neat brick house.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It looks smug,’ Sophia said instantly, startled out of her reverie by the force of her reaction. ‘So symmetrical and tidy.’ Two windows either side of the front door, five on the floor above, five peeking out from the roof behind the parapet. The drive swept round at the front in a perfect circle with a central flower bed. Service buildings flanked the house in carefully balanced order on either side. It was like a doll’s house or a child’s drawing.

  ‘And that is wrong?’ Callum was studying it with his head on one side. ‘Everything looks so different after India, I am still not used to it. Except the Hall, of course—that just feels like home.’

  ‘Shall we look at this one inside?’

  ‘Isn’t that rather shocking?’ Callum kept his face perfectly straight, but she guessed he was teasing her.

  ‘I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb,’ she said. ‘Driving around in the curricle is rather fast, going into an empty house alone with a man is shocking. But I have come this far; I may as well give you my opinion on the inside as well if you think it would help you make a decision about the house. Your house.’

  Callum moved the horses into a walk again and they wended their way down the hill, along the village street where they were much stared at, and up the opposite slope to the gates.

  Close to, the air of immaculate formality was reduced somewhat by a rather ragged garden, a drive in need of weeding and dull window glass. Callum drove round to the deserted stables, tied up the pair and offered her his arm as they walked back to the front door. ‘The last tenants left two months ago,’ he said. ‘Will did not re-let because he knew I’d want a free choice.’

  ‘This feels like intruding,’ Sophia said with a shiver as they stood in the front hall. ‘I half-expect someone to appear and demand to know what we are doing.’

  ‘Yes.’ Callum threw open the doors on either side. ‘Odd, is it not? When Grandmama lived here it always seemed a friendly enough place. The rooms are well proportioned and the view good.’

  Sophia followed him. ‘I suppose we should look at the kitchens and servants’ quarters.’

  Those proved to be perfectly satisfactory. Callum did not, to her relief, suggest they look at the bedrooms. ‘It is a very good house,’ Sophia said as they returned to the front door.

&
nbsp; ‘And you do not like it.’

  ‘It is not for me to say,’ she responded, earning a sideways look from those penetrating hazel eyes. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Not much. It is … dull. I cannot imagine us living here.’

  ‘What are houses in India like?’ Sophia asked, steering the conversation away from marriage as they went back to the stables.

  ‘The Europeans live in single-storied houses called bungalows, with a wide and shady veranda around the sides. You spend a lot of time out on the veranda. When I was holding court I would sit there and the petitioners would assemble in the courtyard in front. In the evening that is where we would all sit and talk and drink.

  ‘There are wide windows covered with slatted shutters to let in the breeze, and each room has a big fan in the ceiling that is moved by the punkah-wahllah, a man who sits outside in the passageway and pulls the string with his toe. The bathroom has a door to the outside so the water carrier can come and fill up the tanks and take away the waste. The kitchens are separate because of the heat and the risk of fire. Servants are very cheap so one becomes lazy easily,’ he added.

  ‘How?’ Sophia asked. Callum, she thought, would not take to a life of indolence. Now, recovered physically from his ordeal, he gave her the sense of suppressed energy. Or perhaps it was simply impatience with her indecision.

  ‘Oh, you could be carried everywhere if you wanted. You reach out for your glass and someone puts it into your hand. You forget something and a bearer scurries off to get it the moment you frown, apologising as though it was his fault and not yours. Some of the mem-sahibs—the European wives—had constant battles with their cooks, wanting them to make English dishes. If you get used to Indian food it is much easier.’

  ‘Would you want Indian food in England?’ she asked, seized with trepidation at the thought of explaining dishes she did not understand to a temperamental English cook or, worse, a French one. Stop thinking like that! It is not my problem. Not yet.

  ‘I could always employ an Indian cook, I suppose,’ he said.