A Hasty Betrothal

by Jessica Nelson

  Had she said such a thing to her mother? Yes, those words issued from her mouth, daring and bold and perhaps a very big mistake, for Mother drew herself to her full height, a scant inch above Elizabeth’s, and eyed her forcefully.

  “It is time for you to marry. Not only is it what is expected, but your actions have left us no choice in the matter. What of our reputations, Elizabeth? Your brother can not afford to be ill spoken of at this time in his career. A good name is pivotal to his success.”

  “What about Grandmother? Who will take care of her?” The fight was leaving her body, seeping away like morning mist. “And have I no say in who is to court me?”

  “If Lord Wrottesley offers, and we have reason to believe he will, then we shall accept on your behalf. A thanks would not be too much to ask.”

  “I should be thankful that you are forcing me into marriage with a cad?” Her cheeks flamed as she struggled to keep indignation from her voice. “He is the reason I find myself in this dilemma.”

  “Whatever are you talking about?”

  A hot flush of shame spiraled through Elizabeth. “He forced a kiss on me. At Lady Charleston’s ball. Mr. Hawthorne interrupted Lord Wrottesley’s ungentlemanly behavior, but it is because of him that I returned to the ball disheveled.” The admission cost Elizabeth her composure. Her fingers trembled. “Please do not encourage the viscount. He is dishonorable. I wish to marry for love, and love only.”

  Mother’s brows lifted. “I am dismayed. Why would you be alone? That is what a companion is for. To protect you from the likes of overly zealous gentlemen.”

  “He is no gentleman,” Elizabeth said darkly.

  “Regardless, you shall not marry a man of business. Mr. Hawthorne is an unsuitable candidate. Wrottesley is a viscount, heir to an earldom. There is no adequate reason to reject his courtship.” Mother waved a hand, dismissing further argument on the matter. “And what is this talk of love? That has nothing to do with a marital contract. Have you been reading that ridiculous poet again? Byron, is it?”

  “No, I simply long for a love like Jacob and Rachel’s in the Bible. Or perhaps Hermia and Lysander...”

  “Shakespeare? Really, Elizabeth, there is much more to the world than books.”

  And yet books had been her dearest friends. She felt drawn to Hermia from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. A girl kept beneath the thumb of her father. They held even more in common now that Elizabeth’s parents wanted her to marry Lord Wrottesley.

  Only she had no Lysander waiting to rescue her.

  She looked away from her mother, counting the seconds until she could leave this house. Even walking in a park full of people would be more bearable than this wretchedness.

  The thought bolstered her resolve to extricate herself from the perfidy her parents planned. Her chin notched upward. “Will you take away my books just as you are stealing my freedom?”

  “Do not be melodramatic, Elizabeth. It doesn’t suit you.” But a fine blush swept her mother’s cheeks.

  “My lady.” The footman, whose name Elizabeth did not know, entered the room. His gaze skittered away from Elizabeth to land on Venetia. “Lord Wrottesley has arrived to call on Lady Elizabeth. Do you wish to receive him?”

  “Very good, Stockton. Show him to the parlor.”

  Stockton bowed and then left. Once again Elizabeth was reminded of her failure as an earl’s daughter. She should know the servants’ names, but most often she found herself avoiding them. There was that dreadful time during her fifteenth year...

  She sighed. “May I go back to reading?”

  “No.” Her mother studied her. “This is as we hoped, and sooner than we expected. Go upstairs, put on your best dress and then return to meet Lord Wrottesley. I shall welcome him and see that he’s made at home. Do not tarry.” Mother swiped a scornful glance at Elizabeth’s morning gown, a simple cotton dress she’d been wearing for years.

  “I cannot believe that you are actually going to make me see him. After what he did?”

  Mother had the grace to look away from Elizabeth. “It is not uncommon for a man to lack self-control. In the future, keep your lady’s maid or companion nearby. It is your job, as the more refined gender, to keep a man’s base instincts in check.”

  Clenching her jaw, Elizabeth rose, grabbed her book and went to her room. Jenna dressed her speedily.

  Elizabeth’s nerves coiled. A great wall of anxiousness descended upon the anger she felt with her mother. The utter betrayal. As she slunk to the parlor, she realized her palms were damp and her jaw sore. She rolled her shoulders back but the movement did not ease the kink winding up her neck.

  Odious Wrottesley. She prayed he came to apologize for kissing her. For putting his hands upon her person in an unacceptable manner. Couldn’t he find some other heiress to annoy? A quick rap of her knuckles and the parlor door swung open. It had not stuck closed as she’d hoped it would.

  Lord Wrottesley looked up as she entered. Mother was not in the room. The scratch upon his cheek had rather disappointingly faded. Elizabeth suppressed her chagrin at not leaving her mark in a more permanent way. An elaborate cravat decorated his shirt. True dandy fashion. His smooth cheeks and empty eyes reminded her of a book without words. Or perhaps a gossip rag. Yes, full of lies and cruelty. Though his lips tilted in a facsimile of a smile, she detected triumph. Her nerves flamed and for the briefest moment, she was tempted to begin carrying smelling salts.

  Oh, to be able to faint at the slightest upset. It was truly disheartening that Grandmother had not passed down the condition.

  Pushing the thought aside, she curtsied. Lord Wrottesley performed his requisite bow.

  “You are looking much better than you did the night of the ball.” He eyed her carefully, as though examining her for evidence that his actions then had greatly affected her.

  She kept her features placid. “My headache has subsided.”

  Was that dissatisfaction crossing his features? She dearly hoped so. He clasped his hands and walked toward the fireplace, face tilted to study the portraits on the wall. “I will come straight to the point of why I am here.”

  “Please do,” she said.

  His form stiffened, but he did not look at her. “Yesterday morning’s gossip rags were distressing, to say the least. To think I have called on someone capable of such misbehavior.”

  “You caused it by manhandling me.”

  “Ah, so you also recognized yourself in the column.” He turned to her and now she was certain of his disdain and his gloating. “There is a way to solve this, to keep your family’s name intact and preserve your future. I have spoken with your father in the past and have been patiently waiting, but I will not wait forever. Now seems the time to right the unlikely situation which has presented itself.”

  Knots twisted in her stomach. She could only stand immobile, heart pattering in uneven beats against her ribs, fingers clenching her skirts... She could not marry this man. Could not. He repulsed her in every way.

  Memories from the ball crowded her mind. His sour breath upon her face, his fingers digging into her skin and his laugh... He had found it funny to frighten her, to catch her unawares.

  She wanted to speak but found that her lips had numbed, her tongue had swollen. He advanced. He put his hands on her shoulders and, because of their difference in size, she felt even more threatened. Her pulse galloped within her skin.

  “Ah, Lord Wrottesley.” Mother’s voice sounded behind her and Elizabeth thought she really, truly might faint from relief.

  He removed his hands and moved forward to greet her mother, kissing the top of her presented hand.

  “Good to see you, Wrottesley.” Father emerged in her periphery, shaking hands with the dreadful viscount. “I see Elizabeth has made it down. Have you two discussed...anything?”

  “I wa
s just getting to that.” Lord Wrottesley flashed his supercilious smile and Elizabeth battled the urge to run as far as she could. “I would be honored if Lady Elizabeth would accept my proposal of marriage. In light of what’s being said, now is the best time to put rumors to rest and I am prepared to offer her the security of my title and hand.”

  “Daughter?” Father peered at her.

  She swallowed. Though her parents were in many ways strangers to her, there resided a deep need to make them proud. To show them that she was not just a deformed castoff who brought shame, but a productive member of the family. Could she marry for that alone?

  Her dire predicament struck her fully as the three stared at her expectantly. Waiting.

  “I...” She faltered beneath their gazes. Her mind raced. “I thank you, Lord Wrottesley, for your generous offer. It is with regret that I must decline it.”

  “But we will be ruined!” Mother’s sharp exclamation was cut off by her hand to her mouth.

  Father’s brows furrowed. “There is no room for scandal in this family, Elizabeth.”

  “I know that and I would never cause you such pain. The truth is...” She gulped deeply, knowing her next words would change the course of her life forever. “The truth is that I am betrothed to another.”

  Chapter Five

  “Lady Elizabeth to see you, sir.” Powell announced the news quietly, but the words punched Miles out of his deep study of contracts and into the present. He blinked at his valet.

  “Lady Elizabeth Wayland?”

  “The very one. She has requested your presence immediately.” Powell paused, his serious features perplexed. “She claims the matter to be most urgent, and if I may say so, she appears rather...winded.”

  “Thank you. Tell her I will be there shortly.” Miles pushed his chair out, gut twisting. He could not forget yesterday morning’s ride. What had he been thinking? Offering marriage? He must have temporarily gone insane. Thankfully, she’d refused. He’d done his part, as he’d scribbled in a quick note to John when he returned home.

  Should Elizabeth need to marry, there would be plenty of willing suitors. His gut twisted at the thought of Elizabeth in a loveless relationship, but he pushed the feeling aside.

  He well knew how love brought pain. He frowned. He did not wish to see Elizabeth today, but he could think of no reason for her to be at his house, alone, except for some unexpected predicament.

  Had she changed her mind? Panic shot through him. He prayed not.

  He found her pacing his library, hands wringing and dress fluttering with the force of her walk. Her hair escaped in disorganized ringlets around her cheeks, and when he entered her gaze flew to his.

  “Miles,” she breathed.

  He hardened himself against the relief so clearly etched on her face. Perhaps his pride still rankled from her cold dismissal. “Lady Elizabeth, won’t you have a seat?”

  Surprise fluttered across her face. Perhaps she’d expected a less formal greeting.

  “I cannot sit. Something dreadful has happened. My hand is being forced, you see, and I said what I had to but now... I’m truly at my wit’s end. I know not what to do. I pray you forgive me.”

  He did not move from his position in the doorway. What was happening here? Fingering his cravat, he gave her a questioning look. “Surely things are not so terrible.”

  “Oh, but they are.” She stooped and plucked a paper from the chair. Marching to him, she held it in front of his face. The words blurred without his spectacles, which he’d left at his desk.

  “What is it?” he said irritably.

  “That article. They are referencing me.” She lowered the morning rag. “It’s still the gossip this morning, though there is no more mention of a factory owner. There is simply the implication that I...” Her face blanched. “Behaved inappropriately. They do not go so far as to write something to my complete ruination, but a betrothal is the only option to fix this, for if it continues as a topic of conversation, or widespread rumor, then I could very well be ruined and throw my family into the worst sort of scandal.”

  “Did you not say you cared ‘not a whit’ about your family’s standing?”

  Elizabeth wrinkled her face. “Empty words. I wish I had not uttered them.” She drew a deep breath, looking down at his feet. “Lord Wrottesley has offered marriage, and my parents would have me accept.”

  Miles’s spine went rigid. He held up a hand, stopping her midspeech. “The same man who so cruelly mauled you and caused this fiasco?”

  Bitt flushed. “Do not repeat this, please, but I believe he may be the one behind the rumors. They are too expedient. I cannot marry him, Miles. I dare not.”

  “After what he did to you? Do your parents know?”

  Her blush deepened. “I told Mother, but she feels I brought his behavior upon myself. I will say that he was a gentleman in the library, in the presence of my parents. I told him I could not marry him. That I was not at liberty to do so.”

  “At the risk of ruining your family?”

  “Not quite.” Her eyes, a startling crystal blue, shone in the morning light streaming through his library windows. “I know you believe me spoiled and selfish and that I care nothing for my family’s standing, but you are mistaken.”

  “Bitt.” A lump rose to his throat. “I do not think those things of you.”

  She smiled, but it was halfhearted and sent a pang through him. “Nonsense. You said as much the other day. My concern for my family is precisely the reason I am here this morn.”

  He waited, knowing her well enough to trust that she’d circle to her purpose at her own leisure.

  “I was hoping your proposal still stands,” she said.

  Miles couldn’t control the shock that pierced him.

  Bitt walked to him and placed a hand on his sleeve. “When Lord Wrottesley arrived today, I knew I would do anything to avoid being joined to that odious toad. So I told him we were betrothed.”

  Shocked by her words, he wrenched away from her and glanced out the study door. There were no servants to be seen. “You were adamant you’d never marry me. Yet now, in a moment of desperation, you have changed your mind?” A curious hurt resided in his chest. From whence it came, he knew not, but nevertheless it was there, a heavy pressure beneath his sternum that turned his stomach sour.

  Why did he care? He did not want marriage.

  Bitt winced. “My hasty words hurt you. I see that now. It is simply that I never thought to find myself in this predicament. I felt that I would never marry in order to appease my family’s need for good standing, but now that the moment has come and I have seen the pain I would cause, I cannot bear to be the author of such scandal.”

  Miles walked to the window and peered outside. His view faced the street. A carriage pulled to the curb. He recognized the crest as Dunlop’s. “Your parents have arrived.”

  Bitt’s silence weighed on him. He knew she wanted him to renew his offer, to ignore her earlier rejection of him and pretend that they could move forward. They very well could marry. He knew that. He also knew he would fail her, just as he had Anastasia. Then again, a marriage of convenience was different than what he and his deceased wife had shared. Their relationship had begun with him already mired in the pit of love.

  Or infatuation.

  Whatever it had been, once married, reality had set in for both of them. Perhaps he needn’t worry about that with Bitt. Swiveling, he took in her unkempt hair, her begging eyes and nervous fingers. He remembered her laughter in childhood, followed by somber silences. And that day he’d heard her sobbing...

  If he married her, she’d have his protection. No one would dare mock her or make her feel ugly. But she’d told him that she only wanted to marry for love. And that was the one thing he could not give her.

  “Miles
.” Her voice caught, the tang of guilt residing in her broken syllables. “There is something else you should know.”

  He regarded her carefully. Quiet, unobtrusive Bitt. When had she grown into such a stubborn creature? “Yes?”

  Her fingers knotted in the folds of her dress. “I did not only tell Wrottesley I’m betrothed to you. My parents believe it, as well.”

  “You lied.” His jaw hardened. Every tendon in his neck tightened. This explained her sudden appearance at his door. She’d dug a hole and expected him to rescue her from its trap.

  “No, I have simply changed my mind. I hoped your offer might still stand. I—I promise to be a good wife, Miles. If you will only understand that I did not know the repercussions when I rejected your kind offer. Although I hoped to marry for love, that is no longer an option.”

  Mouth dry, he said, “Anastasia was unhappy married to me.”

  So much so that she took her own life. But he could not utter that terrible truth. Could hardly bear to remember the depths of misery she’d endured in their relationship. Marrying for love, as he’d learned, was a foolhardy reason for what essentially amounted to a contract.

  “I do not know the truth of your words,” Bitt said quietly, “but I would rather be unhappy with you, a man who sees past my visage and cares for my soul, than unhappy with one who would empty my pocketbook and treat me with cruelty.” The sounds of her parents’ arrival in the hall filtered to them. She lowered her eyes, knotting her fingers. “They shall be in here in a moment and if you can find it within yourself to marry me, then I will proudly take your name.”

  Miles studied her. Surely she lied to herself, whether or not she knew it, but he owed John a great deal, and if he married Bitt, his debt would be paid. No doubt her parents would demand he marry her, as well. Especially since she’d rejected Wrottesley. He blamed her not at all for such a decision.