The Townsbridge's Series

by Sophie Barnes

  “It will be my responsibility to keep you safe.”

  “Which is all well and good as long as you don’t take me for a fool.”

  He tilted his head in thought. “I would never do that.”

  “You just said you wouldn’t let me put myself in danger. If I were your wife, that was. Which would imply there’s a chance I might choose to risk my life on my own accord with nary a thought to the consequences. If you will forgive me, I would appreciate a little more faith in my judgment skills.”

  His lips twitched. “Of course. My apologies.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he strolled toward a nearby brook where he paused to watch the water tumble over rocks as it flowed toward the larger river to the west. “Last night, you asked me to give you another chance, and I’d like to do so.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Townsbridge.”

  He studied her for a moment, then added, “I also promised you an explanation regarding Miss Granger. Perhaps it is time I gave it.”

  She joined him and, to his surprise, took a seat in the grass. “By all means.”

  Lowering himself to a spot beside her, he picked a purple wildflower and twirled it between his fingers. “Miss Granger’s parents are tenants of ours. A couple of years ago, Mrs. Granger suffered a seizure and lost much movement in her right side. Life has been difficult for the Grangers since then. Mr. Granger turned to drink and gambling, which caused him to neglect his work on the farm. I paid the family countless visits and tried to advise Mr. Granger on how to improve upon his situation. He’d always nod and agree and make endless promises to do better, but nothing much ever came of it.

  “Then about six months ago, I met with a friend of mine at one of the local taverns. We spoke of investment opportunities and I mentioned a factory that promised to revolutionize weaving by using a steam engine. I never realized Mr. Granger was there or that he overheard me, but he went and spent all his savings on purchasing shares in that company.”

  “I’m guessing it didn’t do as well as you had predicted?”

  “No. The technology wasn’t fully developed, and the bloody engine exploded, destroying most of the building. It’s a damn miracle no one was killed, but Mr. Granger’s money was lost.”

  “How awful.” Miss Hollyoak shook her head. “What about your own investment?”

  George puffed out a breath. “That’s the thing of it. I was only airing information I’d gathered. Had Mr. Granger stayed to listen, he would have heard my friend recommend great caution. According to him, the owner of the factory was rumored to cut corners and had been under investigation on numerous occasions regarding the manner in which he treated his workers. I heeded my friend’s advice and put my funds elsewhere.”

  “While Mr. Granger lost everything.”

  “He has since fled his home, leaving behind his sickly wife and his two children. Miss Granger is only sixteen years of age, but she is determined to keep the farm running, so I’ve gone there myself on numerous occasions to help out.” He’d been sore for days in the beginning. Now, his body craved the physical work, though his father vehemently disapproved.

  “You work the fields yourself?” She stared at him in amazement.

  George handed her the purple flower. “As I said, you shouldn’t be too quick to judge a person. There could be more to them than you think.”

  “What about the child?”

  “Miss Granger has a ten-year-old brother. She’s doing her best to see him through school.”

  Miss Hollyoak blinked. Contrition filled her eyes next. “I fear I’ve misjudged you most grievously, Mr. Townsbridge. I’m truly sorry for the assumptions I’ve made. Can you forgive me?”

  “I suppose I can try,” he told her with a mischievous lilt to lighten the mood. “If you can forgive me for expecting you to be insufferably arrogant.”

  Her eyes widened. “There’s nothing remotely arrogant about me.”

  “So I’ve discovered, but when my father first mentioned you to me, he described you as prim and proper, perfectly turned out, accomplished, the sort of lady who kept the very best company and never did one thing wrong. Needless to say, I imagined you as a porcelain doll who never stepped off her pedestal for fear of soiling the soles of her shoes.”

  “What a horrid notion.”

  “I know.” They sat for a moment in silence while the sun warmed their skin. Eventually George looked at her and said, “I’m glad you told me you liked to muck about in the dirt while searching for worms and the like.”

  “Even though it wasn’t true?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

  “The veracity doesn’t really matter. What’s relevant is that it gave us the means by which to bond in an interesting and unique way.”

  “I really enjoyed our time together by the lake,” she confessed. “So much so, I’m almost tempted to take up the hobby I invented in order to chase you away.”

  “Instead, you achieved the opposite.”

  “I did?”

  Too mesmerized by her sparkling eyes, George could only nod. He reached for a stray lock of hair and tucked it behind her ear. Unable to resist the pull, he allowed his hand to linger against the smoothness of her cheek. When she leaned into his touch, quickening the beat of his heart, he no longer had a choice. He simply had to kiss her.

  Chapter 4

  Margaret’s pulse leapt the moment Mr. Townsbridge’s lips met hers. It was as if the universe shifted to let the stars align in the way they were always meant to. She sucked in a breath as his mouth moved over hers, not in desperation or frenzy, but in a caress so tender it filled her heart to overflowing.

  She leaned in to meet him more fully, to impart her own growing fondness. How blind she’d been and oh, how she’d misjudged him because of it. This wasn’t the sort of man she ought to run from, but rather the sort whose attention she should be lucky to gain. Even if he’d had lovers in the past, the important part was that he’d not coerced or tricked them with false promises.

  He’d pointed out the distinction between a bachelor and a rake and in doing so, he’d assured her he wasn’t the sort of man who would ruin a maiden. And while she only had his word on this, she’d come to realize she trusted him. He’d opened up to her and in so doing, he’d given her a second chance to form an opinion.

  “I could easily kiss you all day,” he murmured while resting his forehead against hers. “You taste like the sweetest confection.”

  She smiled. “I’ve never been this close to anyone before.”

  “This was your first kiss?”

  “Yes, and it was perfect.”

  He kissed her again, this time with an added degree of certainty, conveying without the need for words how deeply her comment affected him. She answered by looping one arm around his neck and kissing him back, honing her skill by mirroring him. It was a conversation of sorts: I like you, I like you too, I’m sorry I wronged you, don’t be - I understand.

  “Is it strange to wish we could do this forever?” she whispered against his cheek while he held her close.

  A chuckle rumbled through him, instilling in her a peculiar sense of belonging. “No. I’m just glad to discover I’m not the only one who feels that way.”

  His honesty and the vulnerability it reflected were humbling. It was time for her to be honest too, so she leaned back a little - just enough to meet his gaze. “I’m beginning to think you and I might suit much better than I’d expected. But I want to be certain. I do not want to rush into marriage and find out I was wrong. So if you agree, I’d like to propose a courtship for a minimum of three months.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Three months?”

  “If we still get along at the end of that period and neither of us has lost interest, then we can contemplate marriage.”

  “Can the three months include the banns?”

  “No. It would be three months followed by a discussion, a proposal, the banns, and finally the wedding.”

  He puffed out a breath. “You make it sound so unrom
antic, but I suppose I can see the benefit. Of course, there’s also a downside to waiting.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Mischief swirled in the depth of his gaze. He pressed a swift kiss to her mouth. “You’ll figure that out on our wedding night, Margaret. May I call you Margaret? Miss Hollyoak feels all wrong after our recent intimacy.”

  “Of course.” Good lord, she could scarcely think straight. He’d muddled her brain with his comment regarding the wedding night and the suggestion that there was a lot for her to look forward to.

  “And you must call me George from now on. Agreed?” When she nodded, he kissed her again, then helped her rise. “How many children would you like to have?”

  “What?” she squeaked while heat scorched her face.

  He grinned. “I believe it’s one of those things we probably ought to agree on.”

  “Oh. Um… To be honest, I’ve never really given it much thought, though I suppose you’re right.”

  “Personally, I’d like to have several. At least three.”

  “What if they’re all girls?”

  “Then we’d have to have five, since I do need an heir and a spare.”

  “I think I’d feel the same about girls.”

  He knit his brow. “How do you mean?”

  “I’d like to have at least one and since she would no doubt be lonely with only brothers for company, we probably ought to have two.”

  “Then we agree on at least two boys and two girls?”

  “I suppose so,” Margaret said.

  “And what about raising them? I only ask because I think I’d like to take more of an interest in my children than my own parents did.” When she glanced at him, he explained, “As much as I loved my governess, I don’t think I should have felt a stronger attachment to her than I’ve ever felt toward my father or mother. Do you?”

  “No. If we are putting children into the world, then they’re our responsibility, not someone else’s. So while I do think nannies and governesses might be helpful, we mustn’t allow them to replace us.”

  “Then we are of like minds, for which I am much relieved.” He offered his arm to escort her back to the horses. As they went, Margaret pondered the progress they’d made with each other this morning. It was nothing short of remarkable, considering what her position had been only two days prior. Now rather than wishing her stay at Roxley Manor would soon be over so she could leave, she dreaded her coming departure and the separation it would cause.

  Two weeks. That was how long it had been since George had last seen Margaret. During the remainder of her stay at Roxley Manor, they’d picnicked with their parents, enjoyed several chaperoned walks, and played a few games of shuttlecock and pall mall, which had provided him with an interesting insight to her competitive streak. He smiled at the memory. They’d also managed to take an additional unchaperoned ride back to the brook. The privacy had allowed him to steal more kisses and bask in her wonderful company without the threat of reprimand or repercussion.

  He missed that.

  He missed her. More than he would have expected.

  But he was back in London now and would see her again soon.

  After taking a quick bath to clean up after his travels, he dressed and departed Roxley House. The walk to Margaret’s home wasn’t long and having spent the last four days in a saddle, he rather relished the experience. Not the air though. He sniffed and immediately scrunched his nose while turning toward Cavendish Square.

  “Please wait here while I see if Miss Hollyoak is at home,” the butler informed George when he arrived.

  George fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course she was at home. If she weren’t, the butler would have said so without second thought. He straightened the sleeves of his jacket and glanced around the foyer. If he wasn’t mistaken, that looked like an El Greco painting on the wall. The style was so unique even he, with his limited knowledge of art, was able to recognize it.

  Approaching footsteps caused him to turn. And frown. He studied Shrewsberry as he entered the foyer. The earl’s expression showed hints of irritation, until he spotted George. “Townsbridge, what an excellent surprise.”

  George wasn’t sure why it would be. The two had never been friends. In fact, George couldn’t recall the last time they’d spoken. Determined to be polite, he gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Good to see you. It’s been a while.”

  “Too long, I’d say.” Shrewsberry tilted his head. “I hope you’re not here on account of Miss Hollyoak.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well…” Shrewsberry chuckled. “I’ve been courting her for a while now. It won’t be long before we reach an understanding. No sense in letting you suffer rejection. Only fair to warn you, I say.”

  George stared at the earl for a lengthy moment while all sorts of contradicting thoughts tumbled through his brain. Deciding not to reveal the contents of his heart, he finally shook his head. “As much as I appreciate your consideration, I’m here for a different reason.”

  The butler returned before George had finished speaking. “Your hat and gloves, Lord Shrewsbury.”

  Shrewsbury thanked the butler with a tight smile, then looked at George. “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, what with the Season and all.”

  “Undoubtedly,” George murmured.

  Shrewsbury left and the butler addressed George. “Miss Hollyoak is ready to see you, sir. This way please.”

  George followed the man with every intention of figuring out what was going on. He certainly wouldn’t take Shrewsbury at his word without speaking to Margaret first.

  When he entered the parlor she was standing by the window, looking out at the greenery beyond. She turned when the butler announced George, and the light filling her eyes immediately squashed all potential concern.

  She was his. Not Shrewsbury’s or anyone else’s.

  “Thank you, Rossling. If you could please ask one of the maids to bring a fresh pot of tea, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Of course, miss.”

  The butler departed, a pause followed, and then Margaret rushed into George’s arms. “I’ve missed you terribly, you know.”

  He kissed her while playing close attention to every sound. As soon as he heard the approaching footsteps, he stepped back. “Shall we sit?”

  “Oh. Of course.” Margaret gave him a sly smile while the maid who’d just entered replaced the tray on the table in front of the settee with a new one and departed. Once seated, Margaret poured a cup for each of them.

  “I met Shrewsberry when I arrived,” George said. He picked up one of the biscuits Margaret offered and took a bite. “Apparently, he believes he’s courting you.”

  Margaret sighed and rolled her eyes. “He’s impossible to deal with - hasn’t left me alone since he learned I was back in Town. Papa did have a word with him last week, but Shrewsberry is relentless. He keeps on showing up. I just informed him myself that I do not want to invite his attentions.”

  George chuckled. “As I recall, he was your preferred candidate for husband not too long ago.”

  “But then I met you.”

  “Ah, I see. My charm and good looks were such, no other man could compare.”

  She gave him a pensive look. “Do you know, that’s actually fairly accurate.”

  “Are you trying to make me forget that you didn’t care for me in the least to begin with?”

  “I made a mistake. Can we please move past it?”

  “Certainly.”

  A crease appeared on her brow. “You’re not the only person I’ve misjudged lately. As it turns out, I was so delighted by Shrewsberry’s title, his impeccable manner, that blinding smile of his, and his perfect comportment, I failed to realize we don’t have anything in common. But it was jarringly obvious when I returned from my visit with you. The man has no opinion on anything. When I asked him if he liked to ride, he asked me if I did, and when I told him I did, he said if that were the case then he did as well. I
t was as if he was trying to win me over with endless agreeability, only it frustrated me to no end. I want a partner I can spar with, exchange different views with, not one who will always tell me I’m right.”

  “Knowing Shrewsberry as I do, I’m fairly certain this manner of his would change the moment you were his wife.”

  “Are you saying he’s pretending to be the man he believes I want for the sake of trapping me into marriage?” Margaret looked appalled.

  George could not fault her. “The earl is as cunning as they come, Margaret. In fact, if ever there was a rake for you to beware of, Shrewsberry is the man.”

  “But he… he seems so nice.”

  “And I didn’t, I suppose?”

  “You appeared to be precisely the sort of roguish scoundrel who’d happily lead an unsuspecting woman into dark corners, whereas he comes across as something of a fop.”

  “He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, my dear, while I am quite the opposite.”

  “A sheep in wolf’s clothing?” Humor pulled at her lips and brightened her eyes.

  He shrugged. “If you like.”

  “I do. Very much.” She held his gaze. “You needn’t concern yourself with Shrewsberry, by the way. I hope you realize that.”

  “Of course.” He finished his biscuit and washed it down with some tea. “Though it would be easy to rid him of any possible misconceptions if you were to say…announce your engagement to me?”

  “We have an agreement, you and I,” Margaret said, though she sounded as if she had to remind herself of the fact. “Three months.”

  “Two and a half now by my estimation.”

  “Quite right,” she agreed. “I trust you’ve not tired of me yet?”

  “I’ll never tire of you,” he assured her, “and I would happily marry you tomorrow if you were willing. But I do see the sense in your suggestion.”

  “Good. Because it has occurred to me that there’s much we still don’t know about each other. For instance, do you play a musical instrument?”