by Susana Ellis
Preston could scarcely believe his luck. Her scheme was improbable, of course. Yet…it was perfect. He didn’t want a wife. She didn’t want a husband. Their marriage could be in name only, and they could live their lives apart quite happily. If she was being truthful, that is, and this wasn’t some elaborate mantrap.
“Tell me more.”
Chapter Four
Angelo’s Fencing Academy
Bond Street, London
A week later
“Word is, you are paying court to the Hardcastle chit.” The comment came from Preston’s friend George as they changed into street clothes following their sparring match.
Preston’s jaw clenched. While he found squiring Miss Hardcastle around Town quite enjoyable, he hadn’t yet come to a decision about entering into a marriage with her, convenient or not.
“Stuff it, George. I met the girl last week and we danced at the Bellners’ ball.”
They’d danced twice together, and he’d been included in a visit to the British Museum with the Hardcastle family, but hopefully George hadn’t heard that.
“Why so testy, old man? She’s a lovely girl, and quite amiable too, even when she turns down your proposal, which she has done to every suitor who has ventured to attempt it.”
Preston swallowed a smile as he considered that the lady in question had all but proposed to him.
“You, George? I hadn’t thought you were thinking of going for a leg-shackle for a very long time.”
George snorted. “Don’t be daft. Hines and Willoughby offered for her. Fredericks was so cut-up about her rejection, he bought a commission and joined the troops on the Peninsula.”
Preston whistled. “She turned down all of them? Hines I can see because he’s an idiot, but Willoughby? And Fredericks?”
George reached toward the waistcoat held out for him by the attendant. “And more besides. Word is she’s a bluestocking, a follower of that Wollestonecraft woman.” George shrugged the garment over his shoulders then clapped a hand on Preston’s shoulder. “Not a comfortable wife, as I see it. If you were looking for a wife.” He finished buttoning his waistcoat and turned to look directly at Preston. “You aren’t, are you?”
Preston tugged at his jacket. “Don’t be ridiculous,” his answer lacked conviction.
His friend stopped suddenly and stared at him incredulously. “The devil of it! You are! I cannot believe it! Preston Warrington stung by Cupid’s arrow and madly in love with one of the few women in town who doesn’t want a husband.”
Preston pursed his lips. “You are a nitwit, George. Now be out of my way before I decide to damage that pretty face of yours.”
Leaving his vexatious companion behind, Preston donned his hat and strode out of the building.
Leicester Square
London
Later that afternoon
“The provincial bonnet, I think,” said Norton, as she plucked a box from the wardrobe. “The cinnamon color goes well with your eyes.”
This was true. The pretty blues and pinks gave Cornelia a sickly appearance, but certain browns and greens brought out the vibrance in her olive complexion. She’d never minded the resemblance to her beautiful, exotic mother until the infamous day she’d discovered the reason she possessed no hint of her father’s English traits. The day she’d given up all hope of a marriage and children.
“It will do.” Cornelia rose from the dressing table. “Now bring me the pelisse and I’ll be away. Mr. Warrington is due at any moment.”
“Yes, miss. Although, they say it deepens a man’s feelings to keep him waiting for a spell.”
“So they say,” Cornelia said with a distinct lack of excitement as she strode toward the door. Mr. Warrington was the sort of gentleman she might have considered spending her life with if…things were different.
Cornelia tried to hide her somber mood when Mr. Warrington arrived and helped her up into the curricle he’d brought.
“My brother’s,” he explained. “William keeps it in Town for Joanna and the girls.”
“How very convenient. Do they come to Town often?”
“For the Season, when Joanna is not expecting. And perhaps at other times, for shopping and so on. I have been abroad throughout most of their marriage, so I can’t say for certain.”
“And she’s expecting now. I suppose they are hoping for a son this time.”
“Indeed. We are all hoping for a son. The girls are delightful, but Warrington needs an heir.”
Something in his voice alerted her to a possible complication. “You are the current heir. Are you certain you do not need an heir yourself? Because if so…perhaps we should not proceed with this marriage.”
“Not at all. If this child is another girl, well, Joanna is a good breeder. William is the responsible one who keeps the family line safe. The last thing I need is a family of my own to weigh me down.” He angled his head toward her and stared into her eyes. “But you, though. Is there a chance you might someday wish for children of your own? Most women do.”
Cornelia swallowed. Of course, she wished for children. Perhaps even with this charming man. If things were different, that is.
“I am not most women,” she said curtly. “You needn’t worry that I shall change my mind and plague you to alter our bargain. Oh, there is Lady Sefton with her daughter, Georgiana.” Cornelia made eye contact with Lady Sefton. “Good afternoon, ladies. Is it not a lovely day?”
The afternoon progressed without further reference to children or heirs, but Cornelia’s heart weighed heavy with the knowledge that circumstances precluded her from making a real marriage with the strikingly handsome man on the seat beside her. What a pity to be a wife in name only while her husband traveled the world and took his pleasures where he would.
But alas, it was the way of the world, was it not? Even in the best marriages, men weren’t always faithful to their wives. It was far more important that she could trust him not to be cruel to her. Of course, the unspoken threat of her father’s vengeance against anyone who mistreated her would probably make any man think twice about doing so, but the admiral would be an ocean away.
As her husband would be, throughout their marriage. Independence. As a married woman, I shall be free to do as I please, and that’s all I really want. Isn’t it?
Chapter Five
Leicester Square
London
Two weeks later
Cornelia held her breath when her mother’s eyes widened.
“You plan to marry…Friday next?” Her mother stumbled backward and would have fallen had the admiral not supported her. His eyes narrowed on Cornelia.
“Yes, sir, if it’s agreeable to you.” Preston, smiled into Cornelia’s eyes as he clasped her hands. “We don’t see any reason to delay our nuptials.”
Cornelia smiled back.
He is good at this. If I didn’t know better, I would believe he was serious.
She fluttered her eyelashes and flushed charmingly, both skills perfected during her years of social purgatory.
“We thought it best, Papa, so that Maman will be able to accompany you to Canada. She will have so much to do to prepare for a trip of such long duration.”
Léonie’s head fell forward. “Oh my, yes. How can I possibly do it all in such a short time? And put a wedding together too?” She turned glowing eyes to her husband. “We must begin immediately. You will wear your dress uniform; you always look so dashing. I will need a new gown, bien sûr, and Cornelia, the bride… Oh, my Cornelia is going to be a bride. But I am certain it will be too late to reserve St. George’s. Darling, I hope you will not be too disappointed, since both your brother and sister were married there.”
Cornelia exchanged a knowing look with her father. This was her mother at her finest. There wouldn’t be a moment’s peace until the day of her parents’ departure, but the woman they both loved would be deliriously happy and that was worth a week of frenetic preparations.
Preston cleared his thr
oat. “If it is all the same to you, Admiral and Mrs. Hardcastle, Cornelia and I would like to be married in Cheshire. At St. Andrew’s Parish Church, where my parents were married. I know it’s a tradition for the marriage to be celebrated at the bride’s parish church—”
“—but Preston’s sister-in-law, the viscountess, is with child and confined to the country, and we decided it was important for her to be present,” finished Cornelia.
Her mother’s shoulders drooped. “Not many guests will be willing to travel so far.”
Cornelia hurried to her mother’s side and hugged her. “We wish only for a small wedding, Maman. Family only. Neither of us would enjoy so lavish an affair as George and Suzanne’s weddings.”
Her mother slapped a hand to her temple. “George and Suzanne, I must contact them immediately. I do hope they will have time to make sufficient arrangements for the children. No, I hope they will bring them, because who knows when I will see them next…” She faced the admiral. “Cornelius, I’m going to Canada.”
He led her to a chair. “You are indeed, my love.” He winked at Cornelia. “Send for champagne, will you, my dear? We’d best celebrate now before your mother has time to begin organizing our lives.”
* * *
Warrington, Cheshire
Five days later
“You are to be married in two days—here?” William leaned against the divan cushion where he sat beside Joanna and locked gazes with Preston. Preston remained relaxed in his chair. “What’s the blasted rush?” William demanded. “The gel can’t be pregnant…”
“William,” Joanna cut in. “Apologize to your brother immediately.”
Preston smiled at his sister-in-law. His appreciation of her character grew with every interaction. William was a lucky bloke to have found her. Cornelia Hardcastle was another such feisty lady. He began to think he wouldn’t mind having her for a wife. If he wanted a real wife, that is. Or, if she wanted a real husband. But she didn’t. And he didn’t. They were in perfect accord.
“Sorry, man,” William said. “It’s just that…you were so opposed to marriage. I have never known you to change your mind so quickly.”
Preston shrugged. “This matchmaker must have uncanny intuition. We knew that first night in Vauxhall that we were made for each other. We made the social rounds for a few weeks to confirm it.”
Walker, the butler, entered, a tray with three full champagne glasses in hand. Joanna took a glass, then William, then Preston.
Preston faced the couple. “We make an attractive couple, dance divinely together, and find ballrooms exceedingly tedious. Will you not make a toast to our future felicity?”
William shrugged, but lifted his glass and said, “Best wishes.”
When they’d drunk, then set their glasses down, William crossed his arms and studied Preston’s face. “What about the banns?”
Preston leaned back in his chair. “Special license. The admiral knows the bishop, and the Hardcastles are to sail in barely a month, so…”
“And the vicar? Have you spoken with him yet?”
Preston waved a hand. “Done.”
“Where will you live after the wedding? Surely Cornelia will need time to redecorate,” Joanna said, beginning to show signs of what Preston called “bridal mania.” Every lady of his acquaintance suffered from it at one time or another. Except for Cornelia. She had been nothing but calm and collected since the first night at Vauxhall. Well, theirs wasn’t to be a real marriage. Perhaps that explained her composure.
“We’ll honeymoon in Brighton”—where he hoped to gain Prinny’s support for his upcoming East Indies business scheme—”and set up housekeeping in the Hardcastles’ townhouse, once they’ve gone. They are expected to remain in Canada for at least two years, perhaps longer.”
“Hmm.” William tilted his head to the side as he considered Preston’s responses. “I suppose Lord Liverpool was happy to hear of your upcoming nuptials. Has he offered you a position in the Home Office yet?”
Preston shifted uneasily. He wasn’t ready to admit that he had no intention of taking a position with the Home Office, that he planned to set sail for India within a month of the Hardcastles’ departure. If William found out—and told the Hardcastles—his perfect arrangement with Cornelia would be in the suds.
“Er, not yet.” He straightened his spine and gave his best imitation of an eager bridegroom. “I thought it best to wait until after the honeymoon. You understand, surely.”
William glanced at his wife, who flushed charmingly. “I do.”
He rose and clapped Preston’s shoulder. “I don’t know how you managed it, Brother, but you seem to have found the perfect wife. My congratulations.”
Preston beamed. He had, hadn’t he? Cornelia was just the sort of wife he could tolerate. Perhaps there was something in this matchmaker business after all.
* * *
Warrington, Cheshire
St. Andrew’s Church
Two days later
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this Congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”
As the vicar read the marriage service, Cornelia clutched her small bouquet of easter daisies, cream roses, and pink dianthus, wishing desperately for the service to end. Guilt had built during the week-long flurry of modiste appointments, obligatory social calls, and packing for her honeymoon. Somehow, she hadn’t expected to feel so remorseful about lying to her friends and family about her marriage to Preston.
Feigning excitement and flushing when teased about her whirlwind romance had grown tedious, especially when her mother and sister had presented her with a peach-colored silk nightgown that revealed more of her body than it concealed. Even worse, she had come to the realization that the lies would have to continue…forever. If her family ever discovered the truth—well, she wouldn’t be able to bear their disappointment. Then there was her sin of omission to Preston.
The instant she’d entered the church and glimpsed the figure of Christ on the cross, she’d become horribly aware that today she would be lying to God, as well to the vicar and the family members in the pews.
“I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it.”
That did it. She would go straight to hell for her lies and deceptions, but it was too late to retreat. Her whole purpose in concocting the scheme was to give her loved ones what they wanted, after all. It just so happened that their arrangement would make Preston’s family happy, as well. Surely, their heavenly Father would take that into consideration at the dreadful day of judgment.
She stole a glance at Preston, standing beside her, tall and handsome in his finely-cut black jacket and fashionable top hat. As if sensing her movement, he turned his head slightly and winked at her. Cornelia flushed, but took a deep breath and returned her attention to the vicar. If Preston could go through with the marriage, so could she, although she suspected he’d had far more experience deceiving people. In a real marriage, that could be a problem, but since the two of them were to live apart, it didn’t seem important.
As the service neared the end, the sniffle of her mother’s joyful tears gave her a sense of peace and calm. All that remained was a wedding breakfast at Warrington Hall, then she and Preston—her husband—would leave for Brighton, where they would honeymoon until it was time to accompany her parents to their ship in Portsmouth. She would return to London and her life would continue as usual, albeit as Mrs. Warrington, and Preston would depart for India, as planned. A perfect solution, really. She could do this.
* * *
Preston stood still as a stone as the vicar said, “Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her,
honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” Preston lied. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. He would care for her. Would he forsake all others for her? Would she?
He hadn’t expected to feel a twinge of conscience for his deception. After all, his work in espionage had involved one deception after another, and some of them had led to dire consequences for the people he’d deceived. But that had been in a time of war, and those people had plotted against his country. He’d managed to keep himself emotionally aloof.
But those people hadn’t been his own family. Or honorable men who had served Britain faithfully and well for many decades. Eventually, they would know his marriage to be a sham, and they would be hurt and disappointed. He wouldn’t be there to witness it, of course, as he planned to be thousands of miles away, doing what he was born to do.
But Cornelia would.
Preston broke from his thoughts and realized the vicar had gone quiet. What happened? Then he realized he was expected to repeat the vows, and said, “I, Preston Alexander Warrington, take thee, Cornelia Elizabeth Hardcastle, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
The vicar cited the vows Cornelia was to repeat, then waited. Cornelia repeated her vows in a strong and confident voice, and Preston wondered once more why such a lovely, intelligent woman would have such an aversion to marriage that she would wish to entangle herself in such a pretense.
Then he glimpsed the tear sliding down her cheek. Good God, the last thing he expected from her was tears. She’d been so calm, so dispassionate and resilient throughout their brief courtship. She hadn’t shown a chink in her armor until now. He was reminded that this was a real woman he was vowing to care for till the end of his days, not simply a fake wife to be used and tossed away.