The Bride who Loved_A Marriage of Convenience Regency Romance

by Bianca Bloom

  This offer was very appealing to me. Not only would I be rich, I would be rid of all the complications that Hamilton Bell had brought into my life, particularly with his lovemaking.

  But there was a fatal flaw. “Marriage with that lout would be one thing,” I told him. “But there is another threat to their futures.”

  We were well away from the Taylor estate by this point, but I still looked about me to make sure that we hadn’t been followed.

  “What is that?” my husband asked me, striding ahead with confidence as we approached the very part of the path where I used to meet Adam.

  “On the Isle of Skye, it is quite easy to be alone.”

  He paused. “Indeed, we are already alone.”

  I nodded. “You see? If Flora comes somewhere like this with the boy, I will have little hope of finding her. My only hope is that Regina Taylor will do her part, and I will do mine.”

  Although it would be harder to do my part when I was so accustomed to heading out to the hills myself, mainly for clandestine meetings. As I walked past the brambles where I had often met my lover, my eyes filled with tears. Would Adam even wish to meet me there? He had looked at me with scorn all morning, though I knew that he still desired me – when he thought that his mother wasn’t looking, he had examined by bosom quite closely, in spite of the distance between us.

  For the first time in as many years, I felt truly tortured about the subject of my future. Ever since Gilbert had tired of me, Adam Taylor had appeared rather constantly to work me into a fury of love and passion. But now, not only was Adam himself angry with me, but I had been unfaithful to him with another man, one who did not care for me.

  “Now, there’s no need for that,” said Hamilton, stopping and pulling me off the path, then taking out a handkerchief and handing it to me.

  I scraped at my face with the cloth, willing myself not to cry. “I am not sad,” I informed my husband, handing the handkerchief back. “In fact, I am ever so angry.”

  “And ever so bewitching,” he teased.

  It was not a remark of which I approved, but I could say nothing in response, as he had begun to kiss me.

  I tried to turn away, to continue on down the path, but my husband held my head in his hands – and I had no desire to go.

  We were not quite in the part of the path that was shielded from view. The bushes were not terribly tall. Someone with very good eyesight could easily have seen our faces, and we would have to at least be sitting to be truly safe from any possible prying eyes from other hillsides.

  But soon, they would have seen only my face. Because my husband had fallen to his knees in front of me, burying his head under my skirts as I tried to remain standing.

  The sensation of his mouth on me, warm and confidant, was at first so discomfiting that I could not breathe. My hands were limp at my sides, and my feet felt rooted to the earth.

  I would have objected. What Hamilton Bell was attempting was the stuff of filthy novels, of tarts in dirty little rooms with no recourse. But my body started to tremble, and I grabbed at my husband’s hat, then at his hair.

  Moving away seemed impossible. Never before had my body been so thoroughly captured by another’s. Hamilton was invading me with his tongue, his fingers. My eyes went from scanning the horizon, terrified that someone would somehow divine that we were engaged in this unspeakable act, to squeezing shut in flights of bliss.

  It wasn’t a question of like or dislike. Hamilton had tapped into a pure animal instinct in me, and I had no time to even speak to him about his actions before I shook myself into a frenzy on his fingers, on his mouth.

  And as I did, I sank to the ground, not sure whether I had somehow managed to move myself down without falling or whether my husband had helped me down. But I ended up sitting in his lap, my breath still coming in fits and starts.

  He had his own plans for my warm, glistening body.

  For Lord Hamilton Bell, drawing out his own weapon seemed to be almost an afterthought, something that was only to be begun after my own pleasure was beginning to ebb. I slipped my hand into my mouth and then onto the large shaft. His hand was tight over mine, and rushed me into a fast rhythm, performed with a tight grip. His face, tense before, then seemed clenched in fury, and hardly a moment had passed before he gasped, his hand pointing over toward the bushes so that neither of us would end up covered in the sticky result of his arousal.

  We hardly looked at each other as we stumbled to our feet, straightening our clothes and using small handkerchiefs to try and clean ourselves of the evidence.

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t make that mistake again,” I told him, once we were finally clean enough to continue down the path.

  “You sound as if you didn’t enjoy it,” he said, offering his arm.

  “I only thought that you had sworn off women,” I said, trying to smile, but quite perplexed in my heart. “You seem to be changing your mind.”

  “I had,” he said. “But I haven’t the strength to swear them off entirely, not when I have one who is beautiful and wild beside me. I only have the strength to swear off love.”

  Love was, in fact, always something that both my previous husbands had sworn rather constantly. In my first marriage, my husband told me constantly how he loved me, then described his reasons for loving me with such passion that I could barely stand to listen to such coarse language. My second husband always blushed when he spoke of love, but he seemed to think that reminding me of his appropriate yet delicate feelings was one of his primary duties as a husband.

  And after all that, I had ended up with a husband who not only said that he did not love me, but that he would never love me. And yet, felled by his charms, I had now turned to him twice in an hour of lust and loneliness.

  Removing my arm from his, I kept my eyes on the path. There was no need to have physical contact with the man ever again. What we had done could be brushed off, and as soon as Adam was financially secure the marriage could be annulled. Why had I been thinking of some other arrangement? It was unfathomable. And I must take care not to ruin the very careful plans that I had created.

  34

  When we got back to the house, I had very little time to think of the future of my marriage, because I had to think of Flora’s own future.

  Fran was sitting on Flora’s bed, reading. Flora herself was lying on the bed, fully dressed, a book beside her. My lips curled into a smile as I recognized Esther’s style of discipline, well known to my older daughters – one stayed near one’s bed, perhaps, but one was to be dressed and reading.

  I had taken Grace away from the kitchen, where she had gone to beg for treats for her ponies. Flora and Fran moved aside quite naturally, without thinking, and Grace snuggled in between the two of them.

  “I have an announcement to make,” I told the three. “Flora, I have spoken to the Taylors. This coming month, all your visits with young Peter are to be chaperoned. If both families agree, we will make your engagement official in the middle of July.”

  Flora sat up with a cry, then fairly flew to me. “Oh, thank you mama! I am so happy.”

  Though she was taller than I, Flora rested her head on my shoulder as she embraced me, her whole being fairly glowing, infusing me with a little bit of guilt for my overall unwillingness to go along with the match.

  Fran raised her eyebrows. “I imagine the Taylors would agree. After all, they hardly have two pieces of silver to rub together. It’s a pretty enough match for them, a girl of good family and riches besides.”

  I sighed.

  “And, of course, of great beauty,” Fran added, noticing Flora’s glare.

  My smile was taut. Releasing Flora from my arms, I regarded Fran and Grace.

  “I hope that the two of you will learn from this,” I said. “Though things may end well for Flora, when one of you forms a serious attachment, your visits are to be chaperoned from the very first.”

  Finally, Fran smiled. “That can wait, mama. After all, I must
first establish myself as an actress.”

  The thought of Flora on a stage horrified me, as usual. And I was too cross with her to pay too much attention to what my youngest daughter was saying.

  “First papa died,” Grace was murmuring, counting off the family events on her fingers. “And then you married. And now Flora will marry.”

  Fran threw an arm around her sister. “Chin up, Gracie,” she said. “I’m not going to get sick, and I’m not going to marry.”

  “But you’re going away,” said the little girl, looking up at her sister with a plaintive look, and even Fran did not have a perfect response.

  “Grace,” I said, “Perhaps if all goes well, you may keep one of the ponies this year.”

  I could not have chosen a worse remark. Grace looked at me as if she were about to scream, then seemed to think the better of it and simply rushed out the door.

  “She’s probably just gone to choose the pony that she wants to keep, mummy,” said Flora, suddenly all smiles since her lovelorn wishes had been granted. “I shouldn’t worry.”

  Fran took up her book again. “Grace is heartbroken, of course,” she said, rather casually. “The family that she has always known shall be lost. She won’t be easily comforted, not even with the present of a pony.”

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” I said, leaving the room as Flora looked at herself in the mirror, no doubt picturing herself in fine wedding clothes, and Fran sank deeper into the pillows.

  “The family that Grace has known is not lost,” I said to both of them, though it was clear that neither was listening. “The two of you may marry and leave, in your own time, but I’m not going anywhere.”

  35

  Strictly speaking, in fact, what I had told the twins wasn’t true. I was going somewhere that morning. I had to get on with things, and so I went to an appointment with Mr. Simmons, one of our tenant farmers. He had been having a bit of trouble finding help, and I wanted him to meet one of the more established farmers, a Mr. Vines. The latter had no shortage of laborers, as the same out-of-towners returned year after year, knowing that he was more fair than most and could offer a good deal of work during the harvest.

  By the time I got back to the house, I had nearly forgotten about Grace’s outburst. My mind was on other matters, chiefly the very great problem of trying to vary ones crops and livestock in a rather unforgiving landscape. Perhaps I should check the almanac again, I was thinking, and then I might at least have a better idea of what to expect in the harvest season and winter to come.

  But then, sitting down to tea, I realized that a place had been laid for Grace, but she was not there to fill it.

  Esther sounded concerned, which only worried me more. “She wore that black dress she hates,” said Esther. “It doesn’t fit well, but she wouldn’t let me touch it.”

  “But Esther,” I insisted, “You always do what you like with the girls’ clothes.”

  Indeed, Flora was always made to wear much more modest clothing than she might of preferred, and Fran was forced to dress in delicate fabrics and gay colors. Esther ruled the roost, and they knew better than to try and fight her authority. Grace generally didn’t mind anything that Esther did with her garments, so I hadn’t thought to worry excessively over her.

  Esther, master of all my daughters’ clothes, was shaking her head. “I didn’t like to, not today. She was in a mood, if you’d call it that, and I could tell that any adjustments I made would only be met with cheek, or worse.”

  Grace had always seemed so much calmer than her sisters, less volatile and sensible, and so this news worried me greatly. “We must look, then!”

  Instead of reassuring me, Esther seemed more than ready to raise the alarm. “That’s certain. The fog will be coming in, and we may well have rain.”

  After rushing to the stables and back, I found no sign of Grace, and I was forced to re-enter the dining room having failed at my important errand.

  “Haven’t any of you seen Grace?” I asked. “She’s gone off, and I have no idea where.”

  Flora, radiant with the happiness of her upcoming marriage, shook her head. Fran looked smugly down at her empty plate. Of the family, only my husband appeared worried.

  “Why would Grace run off so abruptly?” asked Hamilton. “It seems out of character.”

  My little actress had apparently been waiting for her moment.

  “Flora is to be married,” said Fran, “And I am going to be an actress, and mum is married, and Gilbert died. So poor little Gracie was rather unhappy about all that.”

  “Frances, please,” I said, gritting my teeth. “One of us must leave for the path behind the estate at once.”

  Esther stepped in. “We should go together, and quickly. I’ll get Winters and Florrie, they can bring the dogs and the other men.”

  As usual, Esther’s words were enough to make me panic. She was so rarely wrong that I knew I had to set great store by her plans.

  Hamilton, meanwhile, was still determined to hear Fran out. “So Grace was upset?”

  “Yes,” said Fran, just as I said “We must go.”

  “We must know where we are going,” said Hamilton. “Marion, you and I can take the village. The twins will be quite safe with a party from the house, won’t they?”

  “Yes,” I said, but I was in no mood to abandon my Grace in the hills. “But I think we should also stay. She may have gone over to the summer meadows.”

  “No,” said Hamilton, and he put a hand on mine. “Please. I truly think we will find her there.”

  36

  We were already in the coach when I asked Hamilton Bell what he meant. “Why did you say we would find Grace in the village?”

  I hoped that he might say that he had seen her go in that direction, or that he had heard her say something about her plans, but it turned out that his reasoning was much more rooted in instinct than it was in fact.

  He pushed a hand through his hair as he looked out of the window of the coach. “Well, I lost my whole family, you know. I think that she will seek the company of people she has known her life.”

  I nearly yelled to the groom, but I was so sick with fury that I could only spit words out at my husband, lacking the volume required in order to shout. “There is no such person in the village,” I insisted.

  “Hasn’t she ever been in with any of the staff to do the shopping?” he pressed.

  “She’s not allowed.”

  “Or to visit a friend of your family?” he asked, leaning closer to me and quite nearly tempting me into hitting him.

  “The reverend is our only friend. And he comes to visit us, not the reverse,” I insisted.

  The clattering hoofs were still taking us to the village, but the skies opened up and a heavy rain began to come down.

  “I don’t know that we’ll be able to get home, ma’am,” called Harry, the groom, from his seat.

  “Drive on, Harry!” I nearly screamed. Then I turned to my husband.

  “If you have kept me from finding my daughter, yours will be an early grave.”

  I was in perfect earnest when I said it, and at first I thought that he turned pale because of my threat. But instead, his eyes widened and he whispered to me.

  “Where is your husband buried?”

  Hearing that he was serious, I said quickly, “In the cemetery over by East Inlet, with all the other fishermen.”

  His face was spread over with confusion, and he said, “I mean my cousin. Lord Bell.”

  I realized that he was speaking of my second husband, not my first. “In the churchyard, of course.”

  Hamilton took a great breath. “Harry, take us to the church!”

  By the time we got there, I was convinced that Hamilton Bell might have been quite right about Grace’s destination.

  Screaming to him to go for the vicar, I stumbled blindly about the courtyard in the mud. Sure enough, there was a little figure hunched down by a tree, across from her father’s grave.

  �
�Grace,” I said, crying, looking into her pale face and her eyes, which were sad and scared. “Grace, why didn’t you come home?”

  I gave her so many kisses that I was surprised she didn’t pull away. Only the arrival of the reverend and Hamilton pulled me out of my relieved stupor and convinced me to come inside.

  Hamilton could hardly keep me from clinging to him as he carried Grace into the rectory, laying her out on the couch and grabbing a rug to throw over her.

  “Reverend,” he said, “A blanket, if you please.”

  “Of course,” he said, moving more quickly than I had ever seen. He returned with blankets and what seemed to be an enormous nightgown. My own clothes stuck to my skin, as did Hamilton’s, but I thought only of Grace. Keeping her body under the rug, I peeled off her clothing and underthings, putting her in the nightgown and wrapping her up in all of the blankets.

  Hamilton hung Grace’s clothes by the fire, then moved the couch closer to the heat with the Reverend Manley, the latter turning red with the effort.

  It was as if I were moving in water – slowly, and not very elegantly. But I felt that I could not cry, for if I let one more tear slip down, I would simply unravel. And with me, my whole family. Hamilton had been helpful, but I was Grace’s mother.

  “My dear,” said Rev. Manley, “You should come to the kitchen for some tea. Indeed, if you’ll pardon my saying so, you look very ill.”

  I shivered with the cold and damp, even in the relatively warm room, but I shook my head.

  “Nonsense,” I said. “I’ll stay right here until the doctor comes.”

  And after those words, I slipped into darkness.

  37

  When I awoke, it was in an unfamiliar room.

  “Where is Grace,” I croaked, as soon as I could speak.

  Gwen, one of the nurses from the village, moved over to the side of my bed. “Your daughter is in the next room, Lady Bell. She’s being well looked after. Could I offer you some tea, or a spot of broth?”