A Hasty Betrothal

by Jessica Nelson

  She wanted to ask more questions, but now was obviously not the time. Poor Miles. All of the anger she had felt earlier toward him temporarily melted beneath sympathy for his plight. Whatever would he do? Surely he had funds elsewhere, but for the ones slated for his factories to be stolen...right beneath his nose. He would need to go down to Bow Street, she imagined, and file paperwork regarding the thief.

  “Are you going to hire an investigator?” she asked.

  “Yes, there is much to be done.”

  The withdrawn quality of his voice drew her thoughts back to their argument last night. How distant he had shown himself. His scorn for her desire to read to him. And to ask her for her hand merely because John demanded it...the thought shook her to the very core.

  She could not allow herself to forget that while she was discovering feelings for Miles that were far from convenient, he only saw her as an old family friend. He felt nothing more and had made it quite clear that her only relationship to him could be one of convenience. A joining to benefit them both.

  As they rode in the carriage, as he conducted his business and she returned home to instruct Jenna to pack her bags, she kept the knowledge uppermost in her mind that no matter what she felt for Miles, he would never feel the same.

  Yesterday evening had proved him to be what she’d always thought him: a businessman who dismissed the softer feelings with a casual wave of his oh-so-elegant hand.

  What a pickle she’d gotten herself into.

  Explaining to her parents why she was leaving for Windermar proved a dreadful experience. Once again, her mother subjected her to disapproving frowns while her father stood silently in their ornate, overdressed sitting room. They had not been happy with her marrying Miles in the first place.

  They were even less happy that she planned to help him reorganize his mill.

  “It is the Season, darling,” her mother said. “Certainly he does not expect the help of a lady in such mundane matters. There are operas to be seen, balls to be danced and you have already accepted invitations.”

  “Write them my sincerest apologies,” Elizabeth responded. She had not personally accepted any invitations. Her mother had responded on her behalf. “And send this to John if you would.” She handed them the letter she had quickly composed. She and John had been close once, and she appreciated his concern, but his meddling in her affairs was unacceptable.

  Her parents had no choice but to accept that she was leaving. Miles was her betrothed, after all. Whether or not it was a love match had no bearing on the fact that she planned to be involved with the factory children.

  How he had changed her with his challenges, with his derision of her reclusiveness. How very right he had been to show her that life involved so much more than dreaming. Living demanded action. To be in relationship with others. To see people as more than characters prancing across the pages of her world.

  Perhaps she had been wrong to avoid truly living in order to spare her heart. That was a coward’s way, and she had discovered that she no longer wished to be a shadow in her own life. She no longer liked playing the narrator, the one in the wings observing but not participating.

  She thought of how much she enjoyed reading to the children. How beautiful the light in their eyes when they mastered a new letter. There was so much potential for greatness, for something more than laboring twelve hours a day in a factory, producing meaningless work. There would always be a need for clothing, but how much better for these children to at least have the resources to choose a different way. To see an opportunity and take it rather than being trapped by an ignorance foisted upon them by their superiors.

  Yesterday she had written to Parliament, beseeching them to look into reforms for child labor. She referenced Samuel Greg of Quarry Bank Mill, whom, she had discovered during the course of her research, ran a family-friendly mill and practiced kindness and fairness toward his workers. The man even went so far as to build nice cottages for the workers he imported from other cities. As she had suspected, his mill was doing very well. If he could make a success out of his factory and yet treat his employees in a fair way, then anyone could do so.

  Yes, she was going to change her life, and it was all because of Miles. And yet, as she and Jenna departed for Littleshire in her parents’ carriage, she could not help but think of Miles and how she had hoped for more from their marriage, despite the circumstances.

  Their kiss...it had shown her that her emotions for him were far from the ordinary. Perhaps she could make him fall in love with her? If she was going to change, then perhaps it was best to start with how she approached her relationships. Miles knew her as an old friend. But maybe if he saw her as a woman...then he might change his mind. True love could be hers, after all, and what was more romantic than a marriage of convenience turned into a love match?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Miles could not marry Elizabeth now. No daughter of an earl should marry a man who had just lost half his livelihood. He would still be able to meet the terms of the settlement he’d discussed with her father, but there was more at stake than contractual considerations.

  As he had expected, insurance covered the cost of rebuilding the mill, but the scandal of his steward running off with his funds... Would word spread in London? And how would such a story affect Bitt?

  Not only was there the possibility of scandal, but he still needed to find a way to take care of his employees. They might move on, leaving him fewer workers, if he didn’t. A few of his employees lived in cottages near the mill, cottages he’d been in the process of renovating as they’d fallen into disrepair beneath the previous owner’s administration. Those employees had been imported from other cities.

  If they left...

  He brooded all the way to Littleshire, refusing to stop at Windermar even though he knew Elizabeth must already be there. It had taken him a day after she left to get his affairs in order. He’d contacted his older brother for advice on how to best proceed but he didn’t wish to take money from him.

  A gentleman was not only known for being honorable and owning property, but also for having money. His other factory provided an income, but he had sunk so much of his monies into this one... How had this happened? Why had he not paid closer attention when Elizabeth told him his books were off?

  He could not expect her to marry him now. Not with this situation brewing. There was no telling who knew of Shapely’s perfidy. No one would look down on her for begging off the marriage once the ton got wind of things. Certainly he could track Shapely and recover the funds, but how long would that take? A year at best, and he’d have to find a trustworthy person to chase the man down.

  Best to take the insurance money, rebuild within six to eight weeks and move on. He might have to let a few servants go, though he’d keep Powell.

  When he reached Littleshire three days later, the full implication of everything he’d lost thundered down on him. The silence of the mill struck him. The heavy skies drew the silhouette of his burnt-to-a-crisp factory in sharp lines and blackened angles. Behind the hollowed-out factory flowed the river. A bitter smell tinged every breath he took. Employees huddled nearby. Their children asked questions, but he had no answers.

  He would meet with them all tomorrow, he told them.

  Tomorrow...and still no word from Grealey. Where was the man?

  If Elizabeth still wanted to marry him, her massive inheritance could set things to rights. But he could not ask that of her. He had not proposed marriage for her money.

  This problem that had set him back considerably could possibly be the best solution for her dilemma. While crying off the marriage might cause her a smidge of social distress, considering his circumstances, no one in the snobbish beau monde would blame her for backing out. He doubted any harm would come to her family’s reputation.

  In fact, she could reti
re to the countryside without a whisper of ruination to her name.

  He didn’t feel cheered, but he supposed it was the dreadfulness of everything weighing him down. His earlier prayers seemed inconsequential. It was as though God had not heard him at all.

  He returned to the small inn. He had decided to stay there rather than at Windermar or his other estate, both for convenience’s sake and because he had an irrational urge to avoid Elizabeth at all costs.

  He asked to speak to the owner, a wizened man of questionable age.

  “Have you seen Mr. Grealey?” He dove right into it. No sense in beating around the bush.

  “Grealey?” The inn owner squinted up at him. “That old curmudgeon left a few nights ago. Took one of the best horses from the livery, too.”

  “Stole it?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “Thank you.” The situation only grew more dark and twisted. Miles spun on his heel, retiring to his room. Did this mean both ledgers were gone? He had assumed one burned in the fire but now he could only conclude that Grealey had been fixing the books with the help of Shapely. And now there was nothing to examine. Had they been intending thievery all along? Perhaps they had set the fire to distract from their getaway. Or when the fire occurred, they took it as an opportunity to make good their escape with his money.

  Groaning, he pressed his forehead into his hands.

  A knock sounded on his door. A letter slid beneath the rough-hewn wood. After fetching his spectacles, he read the contents with trepidation.

  The Dowager Duchess of Windermar requested that he dine with them tonight and stay as her guest. Miles let out a short laugh. He wanted to decline, but the wording suggested that the invitation was more in line with a command.

  Considering Elizabeth’s grandmother’s place in the world, he could ill afford to offend her. She was also a kind lady whose feelings he would not hurt for the world. He remembered her from childhood, faint wisps of memories here and there, a haughty presence who always snuck him and John candy. He seemed to recall her laughing with his grandfather, as well. They had been good friends, despite the great divide in their social status.

  Elizabeth’s grandmother had married a duke, after all.

  How did the dowager duchess feel about their betrothal? She had encouraged him the last time he’d stayed to forge a bond with Elizabeth, to go out and speak with her. Look at how that had finally turned out. With him almost kissing her and compromising the peace he’d worked so hard for since Anastasia died.

  Sighing, he called for his carriage. The sooner he allowed Bitt to break things off with him, the sooner he could return to the comfortable life he’d been enjoying before Wrottesley’s bad behavior and John’s insistence that he fix the situation. Well, he had done so. His debt had been fulfilled.

  The ride to Windermar chilled him. A dank wind had picked up and the sky had darkened, turning the evening ride into an uncomfortable portent of the night to come. His carriage ambled up the long, curving drive to where Windermar sat, shrouded by heavy clouds. The sloping lawn boasted thick oaks barely visible in the mist.

  He felt a strange foreboding, as though tonight the path of his life would be oddly altered. It was an altogether too serious feeling, quite unlike his usual self. With this heaviness weighing on him, he could not even imagine striding into Cook’s kitchen to snag a tart. He had lost all hunger, he realized, and found the discovery most depressing.

  Had he been looking forward to companionship? To having a wife once again? Surely not... But the disappointment spiraling through him at even the tiniest thought of saying goodbye to Bitt told him otherwise.

  When the carriage pulled up to the grand entrance, worthy of any duke’s widow, he alighted. The butler had the door open before he could even knock. After refreshing himself in the room a housemaid led him to, he followed the girl down to the dining room.

  Only Her Grace awaited him. The Duchess eyed him through her quizzing glass when he entered the room, and did he detect disapproval? He met her look with an inclined head as salutation.

  “Your Grace,” he said, bowing. “Thank you for the invitation, though it was quite unnecessary.”

  “Nonsense,” she responded in the crisp tone he knew too well. “You are Elizabeth’s betrothed. Of course you shall stay here.”

  He took the seat next to her, where a plate had been set out for him, he presumed. Though a grown man, when she gave him that look, he felt once more like the boy she’d reprimanded for climbing her cherry trees. “It is very kind of you.”

  “Have you resolved matters, young man?”

  “Not to my satisfaction, but I shall, as time passes.”

  “Harrumph.” The disapproving noise followed the lowering of her quizzing glass. He wondered if she truly needed the eyepiece or merely used it as a means of intimidation.

  Not that she intimidated him. He eyed the empty space across from him. “Is Elizabeth indisposed?”

  The duchess waved a ring-laden hand, which caught the candlelight and flashed colors across the white linen cloth. “Late again, no doubt finishing a novel. She shall be down shortly, I’m sure. But let us discuss this unfortunate fire. However shall you recoup? My granddaughter does not deserve to be saddled with a man riddled in debt.”

  He gave her a cool look. “Insurance shall cover the costs of rebuilding, and there is no reason any debt shall be incurred.” Obviously Elizabeth had not told her grandmother about the thievery. If she had, Her Grace would be much more stern toward him. He was certain of that.

  “That is good to know.” The duchess shifted her gaze behind him. “Ah, Elizabeth, so happy you decided to join us.”

  Miles rose, and as he took in Elizabeth’s state, the strangest panic knotted his gut and traveled through his legs until every muscle in his body seemed bunched and tight. She wore her hair loose. The shining auburn strands spilled over her shoulders, which were covered by a silky, iridescent green dress that flowed over her figure in graceful waves. She offered him a shy smile, her eyes wide and fathomless. Her lips were rosebud pink, and she held a dainty fan with slender fingers.

  She glided into the room, finding her seat. An uncomfortable lump stuck in his throat. He had seen Elizabeth look lovely before, but tonight there was something different about her. An unnamed sparkle or look...he could not pinpoint the difference but nonetheless, one existed.

  He sat after she sank into her seat, wanting his gaze to leave hers, but lacking the willpower to pull it away. Whatever she had changed on herself tonight, it was extremely distracting.

  The servants brought in the courses, and the duchess kept up a steady discourse on the quality of elderberries and tarts in general. Miles barely heard. This might be the last time he set eyes on Elizabeth. Breaking a betrothal was serious, indeed. Though circumstances might soften the blow, there would be a small reaction from the ton.

  Then again, with it being the height of the Season and engagement announcements popping up every day and scandals constantly whispered about in over-filled drawing rooms, their separation may not even be noted. But at least she’d be free, and for a smaller price than if Wrottesley had been allowed to ruin her.

  The man had moved on to another heiress, he’d heard. Poor gel.

  His eyes met Elizabeth’s. Her lips tipped at the corners, her head tilted ever so slightly... Was she flirting with him? Elizabeth and coquetry? Doubtful.

  And yet, throughout the meal, she sent him sidelong glances. When he caught them, she blushed. During the course of the conversation, she insisted on giggling and pulling his name into the conversation. She boasted on his accomplishments at the factory, the quality of his work, how quickly he had arranged to rebuild.

  The duchess, in turn, shared more stories of his father.

  Not the most comfortable dinner conversation, Miles thought,
but he wisely said nothing. At the least, it was somewhat entertaining. Elizabeth rested her chin on her knuckles as Lady Windermar recounted his father’s numerous faux pas when entering society.

  “He knew nothing, absolutely nothing, of how a gentleman should speak and act. I took him under my wing, so to speak,” she said. A reminiscent glint glittered in her eyes. “I turned him into a good deed and no one gave the barest hint of disapproval. He had saved my life, you see.”

  “He saved your life? How very romantic.” Elizabeth bestowed one of her odd smiles on Miles before returning her attention to her grandmother. “You have never shared this story. I thought he was simply a neighbor.”

  “Well, he was, once upon a time.” The dowager took on a faraway look. “Once when I was a child, I wandered off our property. Too far. I could not find my way home. He found me and brought me back. A hoity-toity little girl dressed in silks and ribbons, crying my eyes out. Nanny, bless her soul, had fallen asleep, and when she awoke, I was nowhere to be found. My parents released her, of course. I went through several nannies, you see, for I had a spark of mischievousness that has not been passed down to my daughter. Perhaps my grandchild, though...” She gave Elizabeth a deliberate look, as though daring her to break the mold she’d caged herself within.

  Miles hid his smile behind a linen.

  “It is there, though. Mark my words.” The duchess waggled her finger precariously close to Elizabeth’s face.

  “What is?” The rapture on her face had turned to something akin to being hunted.

  “The backbone, my girl, that pushes a person into the world to do great things. The spark that prompts a quiet woman to take risks with a—” at that, she sniffed “—debatable gentleman.” She pushed her plate to the side. “I’m tired and feeling the beginnings of a megrim. Go take a walk in the garden. I wish a vase of roses on my nightstand, and Jane never picks them the way I’d like.”

  They all stood as the duchess took her leave.

  A stroll in the garden... He had hoped to speak to Elizabeth in the study, to ascertain her willingness to break their betrothal before formally retracting the contract.