A Hasty Betrothal

by Jessica Nelson

  The duchess released a soft sound that sounded like approval.

  “Thank you, Miles.” She pursed her lips, glancing at her grandmother. “I was told I must dress wisely.”

  “Threatened, you mean?” A faint chuckle escaped him. “I say, Bitt, I’m surprised the tactic worked.”

  “As am I.” She scowled at her grandmother but then sent him a gentle smile that did horrible things to his pulse. “How was your afternoon?”

  “Productive. We’ve ordered more windows and arranged the schedule to allow for more moments of fresh air.”

  “You are renovating the Littleshire Mill?” Lady Windermar took a serving from the plate the servant held out to her. “It has been brought to my attention that new management has improved the place. Your father would be proud.” Her face took on a soft look, startling Miles.

  He took his own portion, uttering a quiet thank-you to the footman who held the platter for him. He had often wondered at his father’s relationship with the duchess. It had been an unlikely friendship, strange because in those days the peerage did not associate with commoners. With them both being widowed, perhaps a feeling of more than affection had sprung up between them.

  The duchess was lost in thought, her lips tilting at the corners. Miles looked to Elizabeth, but she also daydreamed. She had propped her chin on her fists and stared at some point beyond him. How often he had seen her in such a pose, the crystalline quality of her eyes fringed by dark lashes and her lips slightly parted at the beauty of her daydreams.

  The moment did not last long. More food was brought out and they continued eating.

  “I have been researching and believe I may have information that will help you update your mills to acceptable standards,” she said.

  “Elizabeth, are you instructing Mr. Hawthorne on the correct way to run his cotton mill?”

  Her face pinked. “Of course not, Grandmother.”

  “A lady’s job is to—” A mild cough interrupted her words. She pressed her table napkin against her lips. “Oh, my, I do not feel well.”

  At once Elizabeth was out of her seat, going to her grandmother and laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you in need of your heart medication?”

  Miles stood immediately, prepared to help.

  The duchess shook her head. “No, no, I shall be fine. Perhaps I shall take my meal in my room.” She waved a hand, her eyes suspiciously bright. “You two continue your conversation. Elizabeth, be sure to let this whippersnapper know exactly what you expect.”

  The duchess pushed back from her seat, rising firmly, and Miles bit back a smile at the tone of her voice. She did look as though she were choking a bit.

  On a laugh.

  She must be delighted that Elizabeth was betrothed, he realized. After all, hadn’t she been the one to provide the trousseau for Elizabeth’s Season? Or something to that effect? He really did not know what all went into a woman’s fashions.

  Once the duchess had stridden, and not hobbled, out, Elizabeth and he sat back down to their food.

  “That was odd,” Elizabeth remarked.

  “Theatrical,” he responded.

  They shared a grin, and at that moment, Miles felt a release from the tension that had ridden his shoulders since this morning. Perhaps marital happiness was out of reach, but surely contentment could be attained. A companionable friendship, even. Optimistic, he told Elizabeth the rest of his plans for the factory. “And you may be interested in knowing that I saw Becky and she appeared in good spirits.”

  She’d actually been running up and down the hall, not working, but Elizabeth didn’t need to know that particular detail.

  “I am so very happy to hear that. The housekeeper’s son will also rally. He strained his back and bruised his leg in a fall. I ordered him to bed and hired a man from town to temporarily overtake his duties.”

  Miles paused, his fork midair. “You hired?”

  “Why, yes. I run this household, Miles. Did you not know that?”

  “It seems I should have. Who will take care of your grandmother when we are married?”

  Her brow crinkled. “Why, I was planning to.”

  “You will run two households? Three, when we are staying in London?”

  Elizabeth set her fork down. “I am perfectly capable of such a feat, should the need arise, but honestly, I was under the impression that you and I were not going to share a household.”

  “Share is a strong word. We may be in a partnership, but your part of our union is as the lady of the house. You will be expected to do your part.” An uncomfortable tightness invaded his chest once again. Any reprieve he’d felt fled.

  * * *

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together, repressing the urge to wipe the priggish look from Miles’s face. “Really, Miles, there is no need to be quite so dogmatic. I am aware of your plans and how I fit into them. There will be no problems, and I shall accomplish what you have asked of me. You are worrying over nothing.”

  “My dear, I never worry.” Struck by an impish urge, he winked at her. “But it’s important to me that you abide by our agreement. When you are Mrs. Hawthorne, you will be expected to handle all the requirements of housewifery.”

  Bitt blinked, her fork midair. “You sound as though you are worrying. As if you do not trust my abilities.”

  “To be truthful, I had no idea you ran this household. Every time I have ever visited, you have been in the library or wandering the estate with a novel beneath your arm.”

  Elizabeth’s fork clattered on the plate. “I hardly think that you have a right to criticize me when your factories are in such obvious disarray.”

  Too late Miles realized he was upsetting her. Taken aback, he set down his own fork. “Explain yourself, madam.”

  “Certainly, sir.” She emphasized the sir, as if pointing out his lack of title. Or perhaps just his lack. Fingers clenching, he set his jaw.

  “Well?”

  “Your ledgers, sir, have been manipulated. By whom, I dare not say, though you are well aware of my feelings toward Mr. Grealey. Perhaps you should spend less time sporting and socializing and more time in the offices examining your books.”

  Shock rooted Miles to his seat. His mind spun and annoyance built, especially at the way she sat so prim and judgmental in her seat, daring him to be better, to do better. As though he wasn’t enough.

  At that moment, he could only remember Anastasia. Though her words had been different, the feeling behind the accusations had been the same.

  You’re not good enough.

  It echoed through him, loud and resounding, gouging his ego and prompting a flicker of temper to race through his veins.

  “You misjudge me,” he said, forcing the words through gritted teeth.

  “Nay, your misjudgment came first.” But her eyes flickered, and uncertainty dashed across her face.

  “First, if you believe I spend my time socializing and sporting, then you do not know me at all. I am surprised by you, Elizabeth. I expected better.”

  Her eyes flashed. He supposed it was a good thing he sat across the table from her or she might jab him with her fork. Typically, he’d find her temper amusing, but her words had hit their target and the only thing he felt was a raw wound pulsating from her dig.

  “Second,” he continued in a stern voice, “I examine the ledgers once a month, much like clockwork. The entries are precise, and everything is as it should be. Perhaps you should reconfigure your mathematics.”

  “My mathematics are error free.” Her face had taken on a still look that indicated deep anger.

  What right had she to be miffed? He mentally retraced his words and could find no reason for her irritation...oh, except that he’d told her he expected a wife who could handle the household. That could not be the problem. She ha
d no reason to be angry when she was the one who had questioned his abilities. His body was rigid, anger tensing each muscle. This was exactly why he’d avoided the marital state for so many years, when most men rushed into a new marriage after being widowed.

  Women! Difficult creatures and impossible to please.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Elizabeth snapped. “How dare you assume I spend my days in leisure, flitting about like some kind of spoiled butterfly? You have done nothing but ridicule me since we were children. I am tired of the condescension from you. Yes, I read. I adore reading. Books and imagination are far better companions than real people. Why is that so difficult for you to comprehend? But my choice of pleasure does not mean I neglect my duties nor that I am incapable of living life.” She shoved to her feet, a firebrand if he ever saw one. “You can take your condescension and—”

  “Perhaps you should consider your own words.” Miles pushed out of his seat and strode around the table until he was face-to-face with his snarling betrothed. It wasn’t fair that she looked beautiful when angry. He knew of no other who managed such a feat. Even her birthmark, the shape of a heart, he’d often thought, was beautiful because it was a part of Elizabeth. “There is no other woman I would even consider giving my name to, ruination or no. And yet you act as though I am a dumb, unworthy man.”

  Shock crossed her face, paling her skin, widening her eyes. “I never said such a thing.”

  “You implied it,” he said flatly.

  Her lips tightened. She threw her napkin on the table. He hadn’t even seen it balled in her fist. “If I were not in such a predicament, you would be the last man I’d ever marry.”

  She stalked off, leaving Miles to wonder how things had turned so horribly sour so very quickly.

  Chapter Eleven

  Men were dastardly creatures.

  Elizabeth muttered to herself as she awaited a horse to be saddled. After mailing off her article on telescopes and astronomy to the Society of Scientific Minds, she’d spent the rest of the morning writing invitations for a betrothal house party. Grandmother had kindly agreed to allow the party to be held at Windermar one month from now. Though it would be during the height of the Season, she supposed some members of the ton might enjoy a respite from London’s flurry of activities.

  A house party was best, she’d decided, because it gave all the guests time to know one another and relax before the main event, the ball. It also provided Elizabeth the means to work up her nerve toward such an event. Being surrounded by the same people might defuse the nerves that so often plagued her in social settings.

  That was her hope, at least.

  Though many of the names on the list Miles provided had been unknown to her. Business associates, perhaps? That ought to be interesting, mingling the haut ton with people who worked for a living. Perhaps her parents might refuse attendance on such a basis.

  Biting back a smile, Elizabeth acknowledged to herself that if such a thing happened, she would not be disappointed.

  The groom brought the horse to where she waited outside. It was a lovely day for a ride. A cool breeze gusted across the land, riding waves of sunshine and scents of summer flowers. The land sloped in emerald hills all around her and after being cooped up for so many hours in the office, she’d decided that paying a visit to the housekeeper’s son would not be uncalled for.

  “Thank you,” she told the groom. He doffed his cap, and a twinge grabbed hold of her. She should say more. Care more. She set her shoulders back. “What is your name?”

  A look of surprise crossed the young man’s face. He shuffled his feet in the grass. “William, my lady.”

  “William,” she said, tasting the name, determining to remember it. If Miles could remember names, then so could she. Thinking of him brought a gouging hurt to her chest. She mustered a smile for the young man before her. “And the horse’s name?”

  “Silver Lightning, my lady.”

  “A sweet name. Have you been with us long?”

  His head tilted. “I was born here. Sally is my mother.”

  Sally? She had no idea who he meant. Managing a tight smile and completely convinced of her absolute lack of skills in social etiquette, she thanked him. He helped her onto Silver Lightning and then hooked the basket of goodies she’d brought onto the back of the saddle.

  It was a relief to canter off toward the housekeeper’s house on the estate, to feel the warm sun on her hands and the breeze playing with her riding habit. It was a new one, straight from Paris, she supposed, since her grandmother had done the ordering. All in preparation of a Season, to find a husband.

  And all she’d managed to accomplish thus far was an almost ruination and the discovery that after fifteen years at Windermar, she knew no one.

  What kind of person paid no attention to others? Perhaps Miles was right about her, after all?

  Last night had been terrible. She’d gone to bed upset and agitated. She’d tossed and turned, the look on Miles’s face at dinner plaguing her all night long. His words, oh, how they stung! And he’d had the audacity to accuse her of calling him dumb.

  Just the memory brought a betraying sting to her eyelids. She blinked hard. Never mind Miles and his wretched opinions. He’d always been this way. Challenging her and making her feel as though she couldn’t measure up.

  She frowned. Perhaps that wasn’t completely true. It was because of Miles that she’d climbed her first tree. A harrowing experience, to be sure, and it ended with him scurrying up to rescue her from a branch. But...he’d had confidence in her. He’d encouraged her to try something new.

  And there was the time a village child stole her book and tossed it into a creek. She clearly remembered bawling in her grandmother’s sitting room, wrapped in a warm blanket and unable to sip her hot chocolate. And then Miles pranced into the study with her book. He was sopping wet, of course, and in the beginnings of autumn it was no small feat to jump into a creek just to fetch a novel.

  The memory drained her ire.

  Last night must have been an anomaly in their relationship. Though it was true that they did not always see eye to eye, he was as familiar and dear to her as a beloved novel. One whose ending she could not always guess, but did that not make for the most exciting stories?

  As though her thoughts summoned him, she heard a call on the horizon and looked over to see Miles riding toward her. As he neared, a hitch drew her breath short.

  She had no idea what he would say. An apology lay precariously on the tip of her tongue, but every ounce of her being resisted being the first one to apologize. Pride, she knew, yet it kept her back rigid as Miles drew his horse alongside her.

  A playful smile edged his well-shaped lips, and the sunlight caused his eyes to twinkle. He tipped his head toward her. “My lady, how lovely your pursed mouth appears this morn.”

  * * *

  Miles read the annoyance on Bitt’s features as easily as he read contracts.

  “It takes a certain kind of man to appreciate irritation,” she snipped. Facing forward, she nudged her horse to keep moving. Miles easily kept up.

  “Where are you off to this morning?” he asked.

  The large basket behind her suggested a picnic but he found it hard to believe she’d be eating outside. Her riding habit fit her form well. She looked every inch a duchess’s granddaughter. Once again he wondered why he thought a betrothal was a good idea. Last night had proved many things. Remembering scorched his good mood.

  “I’m visiting the housekeeper’s son.”

  “Annie’s son?”

  She tossed him a disgruntled look, hardly discernible beneath the decorated hat she wore. And ruffles. Ruffles everywhere. “How can you see past all those trimmings?” he asked.

  “How do you remember every person’s name?”

  “I pay a
ttention,” he said drily.

  He wasn’t sure how it was possible for her back to stiffen further beneath the smooth fabric of her habit, but he was certain it did. He brought his mare closer to hers.

  “Really, Miles.” She shot him a scowl, but he read the hesitation in her eyes.

  “I’d like to join you,” he said simply. “I’m not happy with how our conversation ended last night, and a ride together leaves room for more discussion.”

  “There is nothing to discuss. You have kindly agreed to marry me to save my family from bearing the consequences of my corrupt ways. I will do my utmost to honor your name.” Her formal tone echoed the duchess, causing another unwilling smile to form.

  He did not recall her being so prickly, so difficult, in years past. Last night’s barbs irritated but today, riding in the spring air, the scent of leather and horse perfuming their ride, he could only think of how he enjoyed her feisty words. They added spice to a bland day.

  “Thank you for pointing out any errors in the ledgers,” he said. “Even though I pride myself on my mathematical skills, I have been reexamining the ledger per your advice but have yet to find your changes.”

  “I did not write in your book, Miles. I wrote on a separate paper. Also, it is not the addition that is erroneous. It is the prices of products. The amounts. Although there may have been one or two mathematical errors.”

  “I misunderstood you, then. For I thought the math was off.”

  “It is the prices, Miles. But perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I was looking for deception where there is none.”

  “I shall look into it,” he said with finality. It might require more research, but he would get to the bottom of it. Even if only to set her mind at rest. Slow clouds crept across the sky, reminding him that they’d best hurry before they were caught in a rain shower.

  “It looks like rain,” Elizabeth said, echoing his thoughts. She studied the sky, her profile arched upward, the line of her petite nose quite lovely. “The cottage is only a bit farther.”

  “Are we agreed that our squabbling should cease?” asked Miles.