The Blacksheep's Arranged Marriage

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “And who’s to blame for that?” Ilsa sighed. “Oh, please, let’s not talk about her, anymore. Let’s talk about the news that you’re going to have a great-grandchild in the spring.”

  “A second great-grandchild,” Archer corrected. “Cal’s adoption will be final by then, as well. I owe you more than I could ever repay, Ilsa. Thank you.”

  “You can credit me all you want with the introductions of possibilities, Archer, but I’m not taking any blame for the Braddock baby boom.”

  Archer chuckled as his gaze found his grandsons, clustered in a casual, comfortable circle with their wives. Adam was laughing at something Peter had said to Bryce and which Katie and Lara seemed to find vastly amusing as well. It was good to see Adam so relaxed, and Archer gave Katie all the credit for her husband’s new easygoing demeanor. She had changed him for the better and that was a good thing. As for her, Katie wore the early glow of motherhood with a sweet excitement and Archer loved that she was barefoot now and still went without shoes as often as possible. He was glad Adam hadn’t curbed her free spirit or changed her mind about the adventure of living, that he had, in fact, learned to share that adventure with her. Adam couldn’t take his eyes off her…or stop smiling. Even when he returned to work—as Archer knew he eventually would—Adam would be a different kind of CEO, a better man at the office and at home.

  Bryce responded to Peter’s quip and brought laughter to the group all over again. Archer was so proud of Bryce, so grateful he had found Lara and Cal and recognized them for the missing pieces he needed in his life. Bryce’s stint as the man in charge of Braddock Industries had been good for him. He’d always had confidence, but now it seemed a settled thing about him. His playboy days were over and he had nothing else to prove to himself or to anyone and that, too, Archer considered a good thing. Bryce had chosen a beautiful wife, who was more than his match in every way, and yet she looked at him as if he’d hung the moon and every one of the stars. Love should be like that, Archer knew from his own experience…and he was humbled and gratified to see his grandsons experiencing it, too.

  And as if that weren’t enough, Archer found immense satisfaction in watching Bryce parent Calvin. He’d worried some that Bryce might follow James’s example and be an uninvolved father. But that wasn’t the case. A four-year-old son seemed to be just what Bryce needed, and he was rising to meet the challenge of fatherhood with an almost unbridled enthusiasm.

  Archer’s attention turned, finally, to Peter, who looked, if not in love, at least happy. Since the ceremony, he had kept Thea close at his side, already confident in his role as her protector. She was quiet, but not unusually so…and when she looked at Peter, her heart was in her eyes. Archer was frankly amazed Peter didn’t seem to notice that his wife was in love with him. But then, this marriage was Peter’s journey and he would come to the truth in his own good time. What he’d make of it was anyone’s guess. There was no way to know what lay ahead for these newlyweds, but Archer felt in his heart Peter had made the right choice. “You know, Ilsa, had anyone asked me a year ago if even one of my grandsons would be married within the year, I’d have had to say a resounding no. You’ve made three remarkable matches and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  “Two remarkable matches,” she said. “I’m not proud of this last one.”

  “You should be. Whatever the outcome of this marriage, Ilsa, it will be a good thing for these two young people. Look at them. I’ve never seen Peter look so proud or Thea so trusting. Don’t doubt yourself, Ilsa. You have a genuine gift when it comes to recognizing the true need of a seeking heart. With Peter, just as with Adam and Bryce, you trusted your intuition. Don’t lose faith in it now. I believe we’ll all come to consider this match as much a success as the other two.”

  Her lips curved in a wry smile. “I hope you’re right, Archer, because the way this has all come about makes me think I’ve lost my touch.”

  “Now that’s not what your charming assistant was telling me just a little while ago. Ainsley says you’re a genius at matchmaking.”

  “Ainsley has a lot to learn…most of it having to do with discretion.”

  He laughed. “She’s delightful and tells me she helped Thea pick out her wedding gown.”

  “She did persuade Thea to go shopping, when I’d quite given up hope of getting her out of the house at all.”

  “If Ainsley is responsible for that choice of gown, then you should give her a raise. Thea looks very nice, indeed.”

  “She does, doesn’t she?” Ilsa’s voice picked up hope. “Maybe you’re right, Archer. Whatever happens between her and Peter, she, at least, is better off now than she was just last week.”

  “I choose to think Peter is, too, despite all of our worries that he was making a big mistake.”

  “All right, Dad.” James walked up to hand Archer a small snifter of brandy, his evening allotment. “You’ve monopolized Ilsa long enough. Give the rest of us a chance to talk to her.”

  “It’s not my fault if you’re too slow to get her attention.” He tilted the glass and watched the brandy swirl, knowing the anticipation of the drink was half of the enjoyment. “We’ve been discussing Ilsa’s success as a matchmaker, James. Perhaps you should consider hiring her to locate a suitable match for you.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement, Dad.”

  “Your call, of course, James, but Ilsa does have a stellar list of success stories.”

  “Two of them in this very room. I know, Dad, and I happen to agree with you. Ilsa is…quite amazing.”

  “Three successes,” Ilsa said, making it somehow, a challenge…and there was a certain look in her gray eyes, a hint of heightened color in her cheeks, a soft note of flirtation in her voice, possibilities in the tilt of her smile.

  Archer masked his pleasure by taking a sip of the brandy. Well, well. So he wasn’t such a bad matchmaker, himself. With a satisfied sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and sent a thought winging heavenward. Three down, Janey. One to go.

  “I THOUGHT YOU might like this room.” Peter opened the door and flipped the light switch, which turned on both bedside lamps. The bedroom filled with a warm golden glow, looking more inviting by night than it did even during the daytime. “I asked our housekeeper, Ruth, to have it redecorated for you, but I picked out the wallpaper and accessories.” He felt uncertain, as if she might not like what he’d chosen, as if the rose and gold patterned drapes and bedding might offend her in some way. “It’s not your attic at Grace Place, but maybe it will feel a little like home.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice so soft it was barely a whisper.

  This was even more awkward than he’d imagined. But he had no idea what he was supposed to say to his wife on their wedding night. It had all seemed gallant and romantic until now, a simple solution to all of Thea’s problems, but suddenly he was face-to-face with all the things this marriage wasn’t going to be. “I thought you’d prefer a little extra privacy, so this suite is about as far from the family section as it gets here at Braddock Hall.”

  He could have bitten his tongue in two for saying it that way, as if she didn’t belong in the south ell with the family, as if he wanted her bedroom as far from his as possible. But she merely nodded and said a faint, “It’s very nice, thank you.”

  “I asked Ruth to put fresh flowers out every day for you.” He indicated the vases of fresh flowers from Archer’s greenhouse, the artful arrangements of daisies, roses and fragrant orchids. “Grandfather is very proud of his greenhouses. If you ask, I’m sure he’ll give you a tour. And if you prefer a certain flower or a…a particular color, all you have to do is ask. I put all the art supplies I could find in Sea Change right there beside the secretary.” He indicated the antique writing desk, the basket on the floor next to it. “There’re sketch pads and charcoals, pastels and pencils, paints of all kinds, brushes, too. I thought you might want to sketch while you’re here. But if you need something else—special brushes or a s
pecial kind of canvas or anything—tell Abbott and he’ll order it for you.” Peter knew he was talking too much, too fast, that he was nervous for reasons he couldn’t quite define. Maybe it was the reality of what he—what they—had just done. Married. They were married. He was married to Theadosia Berenson. Braddock. Thea Braddock. And she was married to him.

  “I thought it would be better not to take a honeymoon trip,” he went on as if it was a logical explanation to make on his wedding night. “Everyone pretty well knows the circumstances. In the family, I mean. Everyone in the family is aware that we…that the wedding…” He was making a hash of this. And all he’d meant to do was make Thea feel comfortable and easy in her new surroundings. “I have to be in the office this week. There’s a project that can’t be put off, and I’ll be going to Boston every day. I’ll come home in the evenings though. Every evening, so don’t worry that you’ll have to face the family alone.”

  She looked at him then, her eyes startlingly big and richly brown without the distraction of the big, black glasses. “I’m not worried, Peter,” she said. “I understand.”

  He felt even worse, if that were possible. “I really do have to work, Thea. If we could have planned the wedding for later, I could have arranged time off for a honeymoon, but I’m the lead architect on this Boston project and I have to be there to oversee it at this stage.”

  “I understand,” she repeated, standing just inside the doorway, still in the lustrous pearl of a wedding gown, although it seemed a little rumpled now. The sprigs of white she’d worn in her hair were gone. He didn’t know what had happened to them. He’d noticed on previous occasions that when she was nervous—as she apparently often was whenever he was around—she tucked and pulled and fidgeted with her hair, so maybe she’d pulled the baby’s breath out a little at a time. Or the sprigs had fallen out on their own. Her hair was coming down from its upswept styling, too, a straggle here and there, the top part slightly askew. She clutched Ally close against her, scratching the calico absently behind the ears. “I never expected a honeymoon trip, Peter. I know this isn’t a…a real marriage.”

  And there, in a nutshell, Thea had summed up all the ways this marriage was wrong. He’d thought he was justified in doing this, still felt in his heart it was the right thing to have done, the only way he could have rescued Thea from her grandmother. But if he’d only taken her from a lonely attic at Grace Place and placed her in a lonely bedroom at Braddock Hall, then what had he really accomplished? She was still an outsider, still a wallflower, blending into the background, not feeling she had a right to claim anyone’s attention. Not even her husband’s.

  “Please, Peter,” she said, misunderstanding his sudden stricken silence. “You don’t have to look so apologetic. This bedroom is very nice. The cats and I will be happy here, I’m sure.”

  His mouth went dry with remorse, partly because she thought a bedroom was all she had a right to expect out of this marriage, partly because until this moment, he’d thought so, too. “We should have talked this through,” he said. “This is not how I meant for it to be.”

  “Oh, Peter.” She moved to the bed and let Ally down to wander the floral print of the comforter. “I like the wallpaper and the bedding and…and the whole room. Really.” Her hand trailed across the comforter, her fingertips investigating the texture of it. “Even if you’d asked me, I’m sure I couldn’t have chosen anything I’d like more.”

  “I’m not talking about the way the room’s decorated, Thea, although I shouldn’t have presumed to make that decision for you, either. I meant, I should have talked to you about getting married and living here and whether you wanted to be…alone.”

  Her hand stilled, the fabric bunching slightly beneath the sudden tension in her fingers. “I…” Her voice trailed off, but then she raised her head and lifted her chin as she met his gaze. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Peter. And don’t offer me something you’re not willing to give.”

  He knew a grin was totally inappropriate, but couldn’t hold his back. To see Thea so resolute, to hear the faint, but definite trace of determination in her voice surprised and pleased him. And what could she possibly ask for that he wouldn’t be willing to give? “If you want me to stay and keep you company, Thea, all you have to do is say so. We can play cards or you can show me how to sketch or we’ll teach Ally to chase a ball or do tricks or something. There’s no reason for you to be alone tonight if you don’t want to be.”

  Her eyes narrowed on his face, but he saw the way her hand trembled before she gathered a fistful of comforter into a tight ball within her palm. He saw, too, a hard swallow convulse in her throat, and he was sorry he’d given in to the impulse to smile.

  “I don’t want to be alone, Peter, but…”

  “Fine,” he said, wanting her to know she could ask him anything, trust him with her feelings. “I’ll stay and we’ll—”

  “But…” She interrupted his reassurance, made his heart beat a little faster with the sudden fearful fire in her dark eyes. “If you stay, we’re not playing cards or playing with the cat or…or anything like that.” Her voice quivered and she paused to swallow again. “Peter, I…I want a…a wedding night.”

  Any hint of a smile faded quickly from his lips and, while his first impulse was to run like hell, it was instantly followed by the realization that wild horses couldn’t have dragged him out of there. A wedding night. She couldn’t have meant…But what else could she mean? And did she have any idea what she was asking? How could she know, virginal and innocent as she was? And what was wrong with him that his body’s instant reaction had been the yes of desire and not a resounding no? And how was he going to refuse without crushing this first defiant glimmer of self-determination? “Thea,” he began, cautious not to sound condescending or overly moralistic. “You can’t mean that.”

  She lowered her gaze, bending her head like a chastised child. But she didn’t refute her words, or offer him a graceful way to reject her. She just said, so softly he had to strain to hear her, “I do mean it, Peter. I do.”

  Holy Heaven, what did he do now? “Thea, I never meant for you to think I’d take advantage of your situation, that I’d try to take advantage of you.” But he had taken advantage, he realized. Just by pushing for this marriage, just by asking her to view him as her hero. “If I gave you the idea that I expected…” He fumbled for words. “I don’t want you to think I expected you to…to offer yourself to me.”

  “This isn’t about you, Peter. I know that…sex…has never entered your mind.” A wisp of fleeting humor touched her lips and vanished. “Well, not in connection with me, anyway.”

  If it had never crossed his mind before, it was there now. And in his body, a stirring, a need to prove it. But he couldn’t. She did not know what she was asking. “Thea, sex…well, it complicates things. And you should save yourself for, for…” Even as he said the words, though, even before she looked up at him and voiced his thoughts aloud, he understood.

  “Save myself for what, Peter? The right husband? For another wedding night?” Her face was pale and earnest in the soft lamplight. “That isn’t likely to happen for me, Peter. You know that as well as I do.”

  He opened his mouth to say it wasn’t true, but she stopped him.

  “Please don’t offer some meaningless platitude about how it could happen, how I should be more optimistic and not give up hope of meeting Mr. Right. There was never much hope of that happening.” She glanced away, looked resolutely back, despite the blush which cast her cheeks in a rosy embarrassment. “And I do know what I’m asking, Peter. I know you, I know everyone thinks I’m a virgin, but I’m…not.”

  Surprise hit him like a fist to the stomach, and spread outward in a confusing blend of disbelief and betrayal. And the oddest feeling of relief.

  “I know you probably can’t imagine that I, that any man would…” Her chin came up again, negating any protest he might try to make. “But I went to college, you know. I had…experiences.”
>
  “I’m glad to hear it,” Peter said because what else the hell could he say?

  “You are?” The flicker of confidence washed away as quickly as it had come and her hands twisted nervously. “It wasn’t anything to write home about.” She pulled at her lower lip with her teeth. “It was actually pretty awful. I mean, he was nice enough. At first. But then later…afterward, I found out it was a…a fraternity rite of passage. Or something like that.”

  Peter’s fists clenched as his confusing feelings sharpened into anger. “Hazing?”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes, I think so.”

  He had heard about dogfights, the so-called game of seducing the least attractive woman to be found and then comparing notes with other, equally insensitive, ignorant louts. He hadn’t known it had reached the campuses of New England, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. There were boys growing up in his stepfather’s brutish image all over the world. But that one of them had harmed Thea’s fragile heart seemed grossly unfair to him and brought back a sense of outrage and fury so deep its pain was almost cleansing. “If it would help, I’d track him down and beat him to a pulp for you.”

  “I know you would, Peter,” she said softly. “But I should have done that for myself. I could have reported him. I could have reported the whole fraternity, but he was from another state, a different college and I was…ashamed. I mean, I should have known better than to trust him. I should have known a good-looking, nice guy wouldn’t want me for real.”

  “He was not a nice guy, Thea.”

  Her sigh rushed out on waves of regret. “Listen, forget what I said. I shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t have put you in such an awkward position.” She sagged onto the bed, her hands falling limply into her lap, defeated. “Please, just go. I’ll be all right. Ally is pretty good company.”

  This was probably the wrong thing to do and it probably would only make matters worse for her. But Peter could not leave her thinking no man could ever desire her. Because it wasn’t true. He desired her. His body had been quickening with that realization ever since this afternoon’s kiss. Thea wasn’t his type. He wasn’t in love with her. But as surprising as it seemed, he was attracted to her. Probably, on some unconscious level, it was rooted in his new role as her protector, her rescuer. But that didn’t change the fact that he wanted, more than anything, to show her what making love could, what it should be like.