Once Upon a Wedding Night

by Sophie Jordan

  Chapter 3

  “What else does a woman do when she is increasing?”

  Meredith stood with hands on her hips, surveying the room that had been the Brookshire nursery for generations. She had seen her fair share of births in the managing of Oak Run, but it had not taken long to recognize she knew little about preparing for a baby’s arrival.

  “You are asking me? Dearest, I am quite ignorant when it comes to babies.” Aunt Eleanor looked about the nursery with something akin to unease, running a finger along the edge of the crib as if it were an unpredictable animal that might bite at any moment. “Blessedly so,” she added with a shiver, removing her finger from the crib.

  “You practically raised me,” Meredith pointed out as she sniffed the stale air and moved to open the windows wider.

  “But you were such a precocious child—so well-behaved. Your father did not tolerate bad behavior. I felt like I was dealing with a peer and not a child.”

  Meredith grimaced at the accuracy of her aunt’s assessment. She had not known a carefree, funfilled childhood. The stern visage of her father had squashed any such gaiety. She had been an adult all her life. A solemn, proper adult. Perhaps it was best her father was unaware of the world around him. It saved her from enduring his censure for the perjury she was committing.

  Shaking aside the disturbing thought, she stepped back from the window. “You will grow accustomed to a child about the place.”

  “Yes,” Aunt Eleanor nodded in agreement. “Especially as this baby will be our salvation. Since we are going through such trouble, perhaps you should acquire two babies. One could act as a backup in case something happens to the original?” She took in Meredith’s considering look and hastened to say, “Please, I only jest.”

  “The idea does have merit, Aunt. I shall think on it.” She turned so her aunt could not see her twitching lips as she fought back a smile.

  “No need for twins. One baby shall suit our purposes,” Aunt Eleanor sniffed, exiting the nursery.

  Meredith frowned at her aunt’s departing words. They sounded so mercenary. Although reluctant at first, she had warmed to the notion of having a child. She had every intention of loving this baby—of lavishing on him all the love and attention she herself had never received. With that in mind, she examined the room critically.

  Aired out, drapes drawn, it was quite cheery. She had paid it little heed over the years—for the obvious reasons—but now she felt a small pang of regret at the sight of the newly polished crib. Her babes should have occupied its confines by now. Most women of five and twenty had a string of babes for which to account. Bending, she picked up a small wooden horse sitting on a miniature child’s table. One of the ears was nicked from age. Her fingers curled tightly around its sleigh bottom.

  In that moment, she admitted that the need for security was not her only consideration. She desired a child, and that very desire largely motivated her agreement to her aunt’s scheme. The realization frightened her. It meant her motives were not totally altruistic.

  Digging deep to recover some of her earlier determination, she muttered, “The deed’s done. No going back now.” With a firm nod, she set the little horse back on the table and gave it a gentle push, smiling wistfully as it rolled to and fro.

  “I say, this room looks inviting,” someone said behind her.

  Meredith quickly straightened, her cheeks flaming as she turned to see Mr. Grimley framed in the doorway. She made a quick mental note to cease thinking aloud. The habit could become dangerous now that she possessed secrets.

  The Brookshire family solicitor had arrived yesterday, and Meredith felt great relief that he would be the one to inform Nicholas Caulfield of his changed fortune instead of her.

  “I thought it best to ready things.” She gestured to the room with a sweep of her hand.

  “Yes, my Mary nested before the arrival of every one of our children. They call it maternal instinct.” Mr. Grimley leaned back on his heels and rocked his paunchy frame with a knowing air.

  “Really,” Meredith murmured for lack of anything better to say.

  “I cannot tell you how pleased the old earl would have been to see this nursery occupied again. It was his greatest wish.”

  She suffered a twinge of guilt. Brookshires were probably rolling over in their graves at the prospect of her passing off an orphaned waif as the next earl. She reminded herself that Edmund had every chance to exercise his rights as a husband. Instead, he chose not to. She had to do this. And not just for her. Others depended upon her.

  “I say, I almost forgot why I came up here.” The solicitor chuckled, shaking his head. “Your brother-in-law just arrived. The butler showed him to the drawing room, and I volunteered to fetch you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. So soon? Now the farce would truly begin.

  “Now, my lady, do not fret so.” Mr. Grimley took her arm and led her from the nursery. “He is an amiable sort, if perhaps a little…fierce.”

  Looking sharply at the solicitor, she swallowed past her suddenly dry throat as they descended the stairs. Fierce? Vikings were fierce. Pirates were fierce. What did he mean?

  “I am sure your news may serve as a surprise, but he will take it like a gentleman. I know it is hard to believe, but he was not eager to accept the title. I would not be surprised if he viewed this as deliverance of sorts.”

  Grimley was correct. She did find that hard to believe. Why would Nicholas Caulfield not want the property, wealth, and prestige that went with becoming the Earl of Brookshire?

  Aunt Eleanor was already in the drawing room serving tea on Meredith’s favorite Wedgwood. Nervous, Meredith delayed looking at the man in question, allowing Grimley to seat her on the settee beside her aunt. She took an inordinate amount of time arranging her skirts before lifting her gaze, then exhaled a great lungful of air.

  The man standing across from her, towering like an oak over the unmistakably feminine furnishings, could not be Edmund’s brother. This swarthy man with dark hair and matching eyes was no pasty-faced Englishman. His tanned skin stretched over high cheekbones and a square jaw, reminiscent of the Spanish pirate in that gothic novel she had secretly read and reread as a girl.

  He bowed as Grimley made the introductions. “Lady Brookshire,” he murmured, his voice a gravelly rumble that did strange things to her already churning stomach.

  His finely tailored jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders. She was acutely conscious of his maleness, of his attractiveness, and—as Grimley’s introduction penetrated—of her own mounting horror. This dazzling display of manhood was Nicholas Caulfield? Her nostrils flared, catching the faint scent of clean woods and saddle leather as he took her fingers in greeting. She stared at the dark hair of his bent head and wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. He gave her a cursory glance before releasing her hand and submitting to Grimley’s inane conversation.

  She choked back her dismay and stared, mentally listing all the reasons why this man could not be Nicholas Caulfield. For one, his eyes were not the Brookshire blue. Edmund’s small, vapid blue eyes were nowhere in evidence. How had this man sprung from the Brookshire family tree? Nicholas Caulfield’s eyes gleamed dark mahogany. He was, she realized in shock, the most delicious man she’d ever clapped eyes upon. A hot flush warmed her cheeks. Mortification filled her at the vulgarity of her thoughts.

  Collect yourself, she silently commanded, trying to pay attention to the conversation at hand. His attention trained on Grimley, he was thankfully unaware of her intense regard.

  Aunt Eleanor, however, was wholly aware of her ill-mannered gawking and raised a brow in silent inquiry. Sternly, Meredith forced herself to focus on Grimley’s words.

  “You came directly from London, Lord Brookshire?” Grimley inquired. “Hope the wet roads did not spoil your trip.”

  Stifling her flinch at Grimley’s application of the Brookshire title, she calmed herself with the reminder that it was only temporary.

  “No
t at all. I traveled by horseback and made good time.”

  “Really? Such a distance, my lord?” Grimley’s eyes widened, impressed. “You must be quite the horseman.”

  “I prefer to ride over taking conveyances.” Nicholas Caulfield’s eyes settled on her, giving her more than a preliminary glance this time as he assessed her from head to toe. Something hard and relentless glittered in his eyes, convincing her she had been right to agree to her aunt’s scheme. He looked ruthless, the type to kick all of them out on their ears.

  The barest of smiles graced his lips. It was a practiced smile, the type bestowed on countless women. A small secretive smile to let her know he knew his effect on her as an attractive male. Arrogant man. To disguise her discomfiture, she lifted her chin and refocused her attention on the boring solicitor.

  “I must confess that I did not expect to see you here, Grimley,” Caulfield said mildly, shifting his gaze from her. “I thought we had concluded our business for the present time.”

  Aunt Eleanor and Meredith exchanged uneasy glances. The moment had come. Their lie would now be revealed to the one it most affected. Anxiety knotted her stomach. Mr. Grimley glanced her way as if trying to gauge how to break the news.

  “Yes. Well. I received a most interesting post from Lady Brookshire. Good news, actually.” Grimley’s voice faded, as though he doubted his own words.

  Caulfield narrowed his eyes speculatively on her, obviously expecting her to elaborate.

  “I—” Meredith’s voice came out a croak. Swallowing, she tried again, forcing herself to speak firmly and in no mincing terms. “I have recently learned that I am with child, Mr. Caulfield.” Heat flooded her face. Never, in all her days, had she imagined herself speaking of such a delicate matter to a veritable stranger.

  His dark eyes didn’t so much as blink. The only disruption to his cold reserve was a slight ticking in his jaw, and what that signified she could only guess. Those deep brown eyes probed her until the silence grew strained. She wanted to look away, afraid he would decipher the truth in her face, but his penetrating gaze held her hostage. Why did he not speak?

  Meredith wrenched her eyes away from his and shifted restlessly on the settee. Hopefully, he would credit her discomfort to the fact that such delicate subjects were not typically for discussion among strangers. Even estranged relatives.

  Finally, he spoke. And with such calm that he truly appeared unbothered by his change in fortune. “Grimley, I expect you’re here to explain where this places us? Obviously, the prospect of a child changes everything.”

  “Quite an unprecedented situation we have here. I must say my colleagues and I found it most intriguing.” Grimley chuckled at the situation. She wanted to strike the fool. Caulfield certainly found such a situation lacking amusement.

  “After consulting with others, the situation stands with Nicholas Caulfield as the present Earl of Brookshire, with all rights to the estate, monies, and titles thereof….”

  Stiffening in reproach and shock, Meredith crossed her arms. Surely this was a mistake. Grimley had led her to believe Caulfield would not stand to inherit…so what rubbish was this? Had Caulfield’s presence intimidated the solicitor?

  Caulfield had not missed her altered stance and had the audacity to wink at her. Her mouth thinned at the impertinence.

  Grimley continued, “In the event Lady Brookshire delivers a son, the title will revert to the child, held in trust by Lady Brookshire until he reaches his majority. If the child is female, there have been no provisions made, just as there was no jointure provided for you, my lady.” Grimley cleared his throat, obviously ill at ease with the topic of her potential destitution. “A terrible oversight of the late earl, but the law must be followed accordingly.”

  Blast the law. She gave a slight nod and smiled tightly, wishing she could tell Mr. Grimley exactly what she thought about British law.

  “If the baby is female, I will provide for both the child and Lady Brookshire,” Caulfield intoned.

  Meredith gaped in disbelief.

  Aunt Eleanor’s eyes, equally shocked, met hers over the tea service.

  Could they have been wrong about him? He would assume responsibility? As simple as that? She took another look at his hard features. Impossible. More than likely he wished to appear magnanimous in front of Grimley and did not mean a word he uttered. Even if he did, how long would his generosity extend? A year? Ten years? What would become of her if something befell him and he died? Once again she would be left scrabbling for her livelihood.

  “Splendid! I was hoping you would make such a gesture, my lord.” Grimley beamed. Leaning forward, he grasped both his knees. “These matters are not always dealt with so amicably. It truly speaks to the manners and breeding of the aristocracy.”

  “Don’t rush to include me in the ranks of the aristocracy,” Caulfied said dryly.

  Feeling slightly sick at the possibility of defrauding a truly honorable gentleman, Meredith pressed a hand over her queasy belly. She wanted to hate him, needed him to be a greedy, villainous man, undeserving of the inheritance. For the sake of her conscience, he had to be.

  “I have dependents, you should know. My aunt and my ailing father,” she blurted out, then held her breath, waiting to see a flicker of doubt cross his face, waiting to hear him recant or simply refuse to extend his support to her relations.

  Unfortunately, he did not sprout the horns and forked tail she desired. At least not yet. Instead, he replied with total equanimity, “That should not be a problem.”

  Meredith scowled. He and Edmund shared the same blood. The wretch in him would surface yet. “And there are certain members of the household staff—certain, um, colorful individuals—you may not wish to keep on. I feel responsible for them as well.” Lifting her chin, she figured that statement would certainly rattle him.

  “The rather imposing butler, I presume?”

  “Yes, Nels’s scar does tend to make some visitors squeamish,” she allowed.

  “An interesting choice for a butler, I should think.”

  “I feel he has just the right air of self-importance for the position.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her description of the former pugilist. “Yes, no unwanted guests would scurry past him.”

  “Indeed,” she primly responded.

  “Should I decide to dismiss any of the staff, they may have the option of continuing on in your household, provided they do work, of course. I will not support the indolent. And I would not have them take advantage of your generosity.”

  Her fists curled at her sides. As if she needed him telling her how to run a household. She had managed without a man these last years.

  “Be assured, I am an excellent judge of character.” Except for Edmund, a small voice in her head reminded. But that was long ago, when she had been a naïve girl. Dreams of love no longer clogged her vision.

  “Then all is settled?” Grimley asked. “For now at least?”

  How she wished she could warn Caulfield not to get too comfortable with his temporary power over her. Yet she couldn’t very well inform him that she was guaranteed to deliver a son. Instead, she said, “You are too generous, my lord. Might I inquire of your plans for the interim?”

  “I should like to stay here a fortnight—speak with the steward and see that the estate runs smoothly while in my possession, however short-lived that may be. You should not worry over its management in your delicate condition.”

  Grimley bobbed his head in agreement. “Splendid, every gentleman should take his responsibilities so gravely.”

  It took all her will not to pound both men over the head. Delicate condition, hah! What did men think was so delicate about childbirth? More than likely Caulfield wanted her out of the way so he could manage her life and her household to his heart’s content. He was probably one of those men who had to control everything within his sphere. The gall. To think he needed to oversee matters for her when she had managed the estate for years without any man d
irecting her.

  Forcing a smile, she said, “As you wish. But I think you’ll find things well in hand. I’ve managed Oak Run in my husband’s frequent absences.”

  “But not too frequent?” He inclined his dark head toward her middle.

  Her cheeks burned. Heavens. Was he suspicious or simply bold with his words? Either way, she quickly defended—perhaps too quickly, “I last saw my husband in Bath. My aunt and I stayed a fortnight there shortly before he…expired.” She had worked over the details. It seemed wise, especially considering that she had not seen Edmund in three years, when he last brought a hunting party to Oak Run. Fortunately, she and her aunt had been in Bath at that time to corroborate the story. It was highly unlikely that anyone could contradict that Edmund had visited her at least once while she was there. “Edmund did not care for the country. He left the management of Oak Run to me.”

  “Oak Run does not have a steward, my lord,” Aunt Eleanor chimed, blinking owlishly over the rim of her teacup. “My niece handles all estate matters, and quite ably. Edmund had every confidence in her,” she fibbed, making it appear that Meredith and Edmund enjoyed an agreeable relationship.

  “Yes,” Meredith added. “I would not want to prevail upon your time. You undoubtedly wish to return to London.”

  “Just the same, I should like to stay for a while.”

  Stung by his rebuff, she tried for a demure air. “Of course, I did not wish to imply you were not welcome to do so. This is your home too.” She rose to her feet. “Would you like to see your room and settle in before dinner?”

  Before he could respond, the drawing room door burst open and her father strode into the room. They all froze in a surprised tableau. With his white hair wild about his head, her father looked fresh out of the asylum. The blood pounded in her temples and she braced herself, instantly recognizing he was having one of his bad days.