The Reluctant Bride Collection

by Megan Bryce

  He nodded. “The story is as old as time itself. I assume your aunt then treats you very poorly.”

  “Oh, no. She, and my uncle, spoil me rotten.”

  “That was my second guess.”

  “They weren’t able to have children, you see. So they didn’t realize that I was a handful.”

  His laugh surprised him. “How could they have missed it?”

  The next week, he got there first and she huffed when she saw him already seated.

  “You are too early. I’ll have to leave the night before to get here before you.”

  “You must have quite the distance to travel. Your sacrifice for the future is impressive.”

  “No one cares more for my future than I do.”

  “You have a fiancé, and an uncle who spoils you rotten. My guess is that there is a line of people who care for your future at least as much as you do.”

  Honora opened her mouth for a scathing retort, and then closed it. Because how could one softly spoken truth make her stomach clench with anger and shame? How could it make her feel ungrateful?

  A long moment passed as they sat in silence and when her emotions were back under control, she said, “My fiancé and my uncle are both fine and wonderful men, but they don’t have that need, that drive, to want more.”

  “And your father?”

  “My father is too busy with his new family. If it was up to him, he would leave my mother’s portion in her majesty’s service for a measly five percent.”

  “Many widows and orphans live on that measly five percent.”

  “I know. I don’t want to be one of them. And perhaps you’re right. There is a line of men who care for my future; they just see it differently than I do.”

  “Ah, well, that is different then. And something I have experience with myself.”

  She remained quiet and met his eyes, and he said off-handedly, “My father.”

  “All fathers, I suspect. Did he want you to go into the military?”

  “No. I did exactly what he wanted.”

  “Since there are few paths for a younger son from a fine family, I think you’ve trained to be a man of the cloth,” she said and his eyebrows flew up in surprise.

  He looked at her. Looked at her and saw her and Honora’s heart raced.

  She said, “Only those who’ve trained for it can invoke guilt, shame, and ingratitude with a single phrase. Only those certain of their place in God’s kingdom can be so condescending and self-righteous. The rest of us muddle along the best we can.”

  “Is this you muddling along?”

  She held up her leaflet. “No. This is me studying.”

  This time it was he who fumed silently in his seat and she didn’t let him get his emotions back under control.

  She said, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “You’ve already decreed it. I doubt anyone dares contradict you.”

  “I have no doubt you would contradict me with great pleasure if you could.”

  “You know, Miss Twiggy. Though I barely met the man, I find I have great sympathy for your poor Mr. Moffat.”

  She said, “Behold, we count them happy which endure, Mr. St. Clair. James 5:11.”

  Three

  George did not stay long after the lecture to argue with Miss Twiggy.

  He kept hearing her confident tone declaring him to be a man of the cloth as if it was written on the lines of his face, the timbre of his voice.

  I have no doubt you would contradict me with great pleasure if you could, and damned if she wasn’t right.

  He was a man of science. Of the future. Not a man forced to believe and parrot what was written down in a book centuries ago.

  And yet, he was.

  Or should have been.

  But he’d returned home from university to find that his sickly twin had been nursed for the last few months by the love of George’s life. That she was, instead of waiting for George, quietly engaged to his brother.

  His father had sat him down. “It is a good match for everyone, George.”

  And George had told his father, shock still making his voice weak, “But I love her. And she loves me. I am sure of it.”

  “Perhaps. But she loves Henry as well. She is a sweet, country girl with no ambition and Henry will stay here, a country gent, and they will have a small, quiet, contented life.”

  George had whispered, “Father.”

  “Go to London,” his father had said. “Enjoy yourself for a little while now that you’re done with school. When the right living becomes available, I’ll send for you.”

  George hadn’t gone. He’d cornered Alice and begged her to run away with him.

  And she’d patted his cheek and looked at George with good, kind eyes. “You will always hold a place in my heart, George. But I love Henry.”

  Then, George had gone after his brother.

  Henry had been born thirty minutes earlier making him the older and George the baby of the family– but it had always been the other way around. Henry had always been weak and sickly, had always been babied and protected. Had always been loved, by everyone.

  George had locked eyes with him. “You knew. You knew I loved her.”

  “I knew.”

  “And you asked for her anyway?”

  “I loved her, too. You just never saw it.”

  George had stayed for the wedding, he didn’t know why. Except maybe he had to see with his own eyes.

  Had to see because he couldn’t simply believe.

  Had stayed, hoping to see regret in either of their eyes, but all he saw was happiness. And a love that should have been his.

  He’d finally left when Alice had started feeling ill in the mornings. Gone to London just like his father had suggested and then had refused every living offered him since.

  Even George agreed that his father had been patient beyond words. Five long years of support until that very afternoon when his banker welcomed him into his office and said, “Your allowance has been cut off.”

  George nodded.

  Good show, Father. Good show.

  George trudged home and when he arrived, Collin was polishing boots.

  George watched for a long moment and then sat.

  “Very well, tell me what was in the letters.”

  “Sir?”

  “I know you opened them. Any self-respecting valet would.”

  Collin continued to polish.

  George said, “I assume you knew my funds were to be cut off.”

  Collin sighed. “He did it?”

  George nodded, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “He did it.”

  “All is not lost, sir. He’s found a living for you.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Manchester.”

  George said again, “Oh, God.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  George decided he didn’t need to open his eyes ever again. He felt as if the very marrow had been sucked from his bones.

  “When?”

  “He wants you to come home first.”

  “He would.”

  “I have. . .appropriated. . .some funds for the trip,” Collin said and George nearly smiled.

  “You would.”

  “Shall I begin packing?”

  George said, “Oh, God.”

  Mr. Moffat was finally getting a bit nervous about his fiancé’s continued interest in steam lectures and kept trying to talk her out of going. When that proved impossible, he asked, “Shall I accompany you this week?”

  “No! Of course not. You were bored silly last time.”

  “I worry about you. Flitting about all by yourself.”

  “I have my maid. And really, Mr. Moffat, I go straight to the lecture hall and then straight back. You saw the kind of people steam interests. It is not a fearsome bunch.”

  “But there were hardly any women present. I’m not sure it’s seemly for you to go.”

  Mr. Moffat loved that word and Honora had to duck her face for a mome
nt before answering.

  “What is unseemly about education? And anyway, no one cares that I am a woman. No one has ever bothered me.”

  “What about that man who talked to you?”

  “You mean Mr. St. Clair? There is no need to worry. He is as sour as always; I think it a permanent affliction.”

  Mr. Moffat said astutely, “Nothing goes better with lemons than sugar.”

  Miss Blackstock simpered and tinkled a little laugh. “Mr. Moffat, you are so poetic. But there are many things sugar goes with. Strawberries, cherries. Oh! Shall I make you another tart when I get back from my lecture?”

  She arrived nearly half an hour early for the lecture but before she could enter the hall and make sure she had bested Mr. St. Clair, a youngish boy tugged at her dress with his filthy hands and said, “Miss Twiggy?”

  Honora stopped, preparing herself to fight him off and saying cautiously, “Yes?”

  “Here.” He thrust a folded up piece of paper at her. “The cove said you’d give me something for it.”

  She took it, unfolding it to read the name signed evenly and perfectly legible at the bottom, and her heart thumped.

  She folded it back up quickly and dug in her reticule for a coin.

  “I’m sure the cove gave you something already but thank you for keeping it clean.”

  He snatched the coin out of her hand and ran off, and Honora went inside the lecture hall. She took a leaflet and when she was settled and she couldn’t take one more minute of imagining what George St. Clair could possibly write to her about, she unfolded the letter and placed it inside her leaflet to read surreptitiously.

  One minute later, the excitement had been replaced with something else.

  Not dread. How could she dread Mr. St. Clair leaving? He was nothing to her except an entertaining interlude.

  Not anger. He wasn’t foiling any plan of hers.

  Perhaps disappointment.

  Regret?

  She looked at his even handwriting and knew Mr. St. Clair had felt the same something that she did.

  A single gentleman sending a note to an engaged woman was perilously close to indecent and their relationship, if it could even be called that, did not require him to inform her of his imminent departure from London.

  For good. For ever.

  She stared at the podium. Then down at her leaflet.

  Steam. Trains. The future.

  Her future.

  Honora Kempe got up quietly and left the lecture hall.

  It took two weeks to get rid of Mr. Moffat.

  A few temper tantrums.

  A couple dinners, handmade.

  Honora thought it most likely that her blackened toast and the resulting tantrum when Mr. Moffat could not get his teeth through it had been the final straw but eventually Mr. Moffat could take the thought of his future no longer.

  Honora had sobbed and screamed and hysterically shouted how she was ruined and generally made Mr. Moffat absolutely sure that he was willing to pay any price to get rid of her.

  And when Uncle Hubert stepped in with his quiet voice and calm acceptance, Honora had collapsed onto the sofa and cried into her handkerchief.

  She cried and cried, never hearing the negotiation. Cried for herself, cried for poor Mr. Moffat and the five gentleman who had preceded him. Cried for her aunt and uncle.

  Cried for her mother, gone so long ago.

  Cried for the home she missed.

  Cried knowing this game was all she would ever have.

  Honora cried until she was all cried out.

  She took a few shaky breaths and when she heard nothing, slowly lifted her head to find her uncle alone, his eyes closed. Just here in the room with her.

  Honora’s eyes prickled again and she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry because she wasn’t alone. Wouldn’t cry because her aunt and uncle, for some reason, had taken her in and loved her when no one else would.

  Uncle Hubert asked, “Feeling better?”

  She nodded though he couldn’t see it and patted her sore eyes. “I do so hate Miss Blackstock.”

  “She is indeed very volatile,” he said and Honora’s laugh was wet and watery.

  She wiped her nose on her soaked handkerchief and pushed herself into a more upright position.

  “I believe it would do us all good to take a little break, Honora. Be ourselves for a while. With Mr. Moffat’s donations, we have enough for a small cottage in the country. Enough for bread and cheese and the occasional joint of meat.”

  They had enough. Just enough. The word reminded her every time of what had been stolen from her and she said, “Letitia.”

  Uncle Hubert opened his eyes. “Still?”

  “Still. I know where we’re going next, uncle. I’ve found our Earl of Ferrers.”

  George St. Clair walked home.

  The coach from the rail station had dropped him and Collin off at the village inn and despite Collin’s wish to stop at the tap room for a refreshing and fortifying drink, George had merely picked up a bag in one hand and a side of his travel trunk in the other and waited.

  Collin grabbed the other side sullenly and muttered, “The lord’s son slinking home with his bags in his hand.”

  “The prodigal son. Everyone will enjoy the story.”

  “I want it to be known that I am not slinking home. I am merely following my employer.”

  “You’re not going home at all. You’ll be staying with me at the hall.”

  Collin blew out a breath. “Downstairs. And my sister up.”

  “That is awkward. Would you prefer to stay with your brother?”

  Collin made a rude gesture and George laughed. “Funny how going home always brings out the child in each of us.”

  “Hilarious.”

  “I am sorry, Collin. I’m afraid I only thought how awkward this would be for me.”

  “You’re a lord’s son, sir. Selfishness is expected.”

  “You would think a lord’s son could have trained his valet better.”

  “It is a complicated situation. But I will blame it all on Alice. Complicated awkwardness is unavoidable when someone marries above their station. I think your father was right to push Alice toward marrying Henry instead of you.”

  George stopped, his hand tightening around the handle of the trunk, and Collin stopped beside him to quietly say, “Henry was always going to stay here. Her low parentage only makes it awkward for us, for family. But when you take your living, when you start moving up the church hierarchy as your father has always planned for you to do? Her birth and station would have been awkward for everyone.”

  “I should tell my father to take his living and his plans and give them to someone who wants them.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “It does not seem likely.”

  Collin sniffed. “Manchester, then. And will you need a valet when you take your position or should I find my way back to London before I run into my brother?”

  “Collin, who else is going to mouth off while dressing me if not you?”

  “You have a point, sir. Now, should we go meet our nieces and nephew?”

  Collin started walking again without waiting for a reply and George followed wordlessly, thinking selfish thoughts like any lord’s son would do.

  They had only just been welcomed inside when Alice came running, and when she saw her brother, her eyes filled with tears and she covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Oh, Collin. You became a man. You’ve been gone too long!”

  She hugged him, squeezing tight, then fussed with his suit and his hair.

  Collin blushed bright red and he hissed, “Alice! I’m working!”

  She laughed and swatted at him and she turned to George. “You too, brother. You have been gone too long.”

  Lord St. Clair came out from a room, saying, “I agree. Too long.”

  Collin tried to get out of line of sight of the viscount, unsuccessfully since Alice was still clinging to his arm, and
George had to give his father credit. He welcomed Collin warmly, told Alice to take her brother in to the sitting room so she could visit with him, and turned to greet his son.

  George nodded at Collin to go and then stared back at his father who said, “Glad you could come.”

  As if I had a choice, George thought.

  And, I’m not.

  But he’d only just accused Collin of being childish now that they were home so he said, “Yes. It has been a long time.”

  “Let’s go into the library. Henry is resting right now and you can say hello to the children when they come down to say goodnight. I think Alice and her brother will be busy for quite a while, which leaves us to discuss your new position. I confess when I heard how close it was to home, I jumped on it. I wish all my sons could stay near at hand and close enough to visit more often than every five years.”

  George said, “Hard to do when one son is stationed in Africa.”

  “He’s a good writer, though,” Lord St. Clair said to the son who wasn’t. “Been promoted to Major. Moving up.”

  His father sighed as he sat, satisfied with his second eldest son’s progress. “And you’ve seen Alice. Already recovered from the newest; I expect there will be many more.”

  “The child is. . .healthy?”

  Lord St. Clair nodded proudly. “Healthy and strong. Her lungs! You’ll hear her.”

  George couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “It’s all falling into line for you, isn’t it, Father.”

  “I have always said that your mother gave me four sons for a reason. One, for my heir. Two, for the military. Three, for the church. And four, to stay at home and bless me with a multitude of grandchildren.”

  “It is lucky for you that three of your sons followed your plan to fruition.”

  “The fourth one will as well.”

  The fourth one said, “Why? Why would I?”

  “What else are you going to do?”

  George sunk into his seat and closed his eyes.

  His father said softly, “I know you wanted her, son. But you didn’t need her, not like Henry. Her health when Henry has none. His relations when hers are lacking.”