Vows to Save Her Reputation

by Christine Merrill

  Perhaps it was simply because she was young and pretty, but he wanted to be the one who could help this girl. He could imagine her waking, her golden lashes fluttering and the puzzled look on her face turning to relief as he explained that he had rescued her. Then, he would assure her that everything would be right from this point on, for both of them.

  He shook his head, rejecting the misguided idea that a happy future would come, just because he wished for it. Then, he reached behind him and opened the window that communicated with the driver and urged the groom on the seat to go faster, so they might arrive home before he had any more foolish ideas.

  Chapter Two

  Emma awoke with an ache in her head and a sense of dread that began before she had even opened her eyes. Something was very wrong. The smells, the feel, the sounds and everything else about where she was lying were unfamiliar. Try as she might to uncover it, she had no recollection of how she had come to be wherever it was she had ended up.

  She struggled to think. She had been reading a most enjoyable novel by Ann of Swansea. It had engrossed her to such a degree that she’d been unable to put it down, even as she went out for the walk to escape from her mother’s hectoring. It was why she had not been paying attention when she had moved to the side of the road to let a carriage pass. She would have been better served to have watched the ground, which had seemed to give way beneath one foot, leaving the other on solid purchase.

  She rolled her left ankle experimentally and winced. She doubted it was broken. But the rabbit hole, or whatever it was she had stepped in, had given it a good wrenching that would make it impossible to walk without help for several days.

  She opened her eyes and raised her head as best as she was able to see the offending extremity propped on a pillow and efficiently bandaged to reduce the swelling. Then she felt up and down her body and found an assortment of fresh bruises, and the surprising and somewhat worrisome knowledge that she was attired in nothing but a shift, in the bed of a stranger.

  She raised herself up on her elbows, then dropped back into the pillows again, waiting for the pain in her skull to subside. It was clear that the fall that had caused the sprain had ended with her head against a rock. She could feel a knot on her forehead that was tender to the touch.

  It was just as well she could not see it. It was probably ugly. When she got home, she would get a strong scolding for ending her chances this season by rendering herself too hideous for men to consider and unable to dance due to her own clumsiness. It was just as well she was not there yet, for it meant her mother could not see her smiling over what should have been heartbreaking misfortune. With luck, she would be able to convince her father that she needed several weeks of recuperation in the country, alone with a stack of Minerva novels.

  ‘Are you awake, miss?’ A maid popped her head in the doorway. ‘The doctor will be so relieved.’

  ‘A doctor was called?’ Now she sat up, despite the pain. ‘That was hardly necessary over a few bruises.’

  ‘Sir Robert insisted,’ the maid said.

  ‘Sir Robert Gascoyne?’ she said, slinking back into the pile of pillows, her good mood forgotten. Mother would be overjoyed that she had found a way to force herself into the house of the recluse. But for herself, she was mortified.

  ‘He has been worried as well,’ the maid assured her.

  ‘And I suppose my parents have been summoned,’ she said, trying not to sigh.

  ‘We did not know who they were for the longest time,’ the maid said.

  ‘Longest time? How long have I been here?’ she said, confused.

  ‘For two days.’ This was said in a hushed tone that implied it was the most exciting thing to happen in ages. ‘The doctor said it was best not to try to wake you to ask, but we could find nothing to tell us who you were. Sir Robert sent men to the village to discover whether any ladies were missing. But it was not until this morning...’

  ‘My parents did not miss me?’ she said, surprised.

  ‘They have just arrived and are speaking with the master,’ the maid assured her.

  That did not explain why they had not been looking for her yesterday. But Emma had a horrible feeling that she knew. ‘I certainly hope they are bringing me a clean gown,’ she said, looking down at her shift. ‘This is rather improper.’

  ‘We tried, but there was nothing to be done for the one you were wearing,’ the maid replied with a sad shake of her head. ‘And there was nothing in this house that would fit you.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, used to the inconvenience her height inflicted.

  ‘When Sir Robert carried you into the house, your gown was hanging off you in tatters,’ the maid said, fluffing the pillow behind her head. ‘And he swept up the stairs with you and set you down on the bed as if you weighed no more than a feather.’

  It was a romantic exaggeration. It had to be. ‘Has Sir Robert been to see me since?’ she said hesitantly, trying not to imagine the poor man struggling under her weight. ‘Perhaps you could summon him. I would like to apologise for imposing on him in this way.’

  At this, the maid giggled. ‘It was him what imposed on you, miss, running you off the road as he did.’

  ‘He was driving the carriage?’ she questioned.

  ‘There had been an earlier accident,’ the maid replied, as if that made any sense at all. ‘But he was most worried about you.’

  ‘That is very kind of him,’ she replied, wondering if the gentleman himself might be able to shed any light on what had happened. ‘Will I be allowed to meet my rescuer?’ she repeated. ‘I wish to thank him.’

  ‘He says it would not be proper, what with you being in a bedchamber and all,’ the maid said. ‘But I am sure you can write him, after you have gone home.’

  ‘Of course,’ Emma answered weakly, wondering how big a failure she was at husband hunting that she could not manage to meet a man even while staying in his house.

  ‘Or you can meet him in a few minutes, after you are properly dressed,’ her mother said from the doorway. Then she pushed past the maid and into the room, coming to the bed to take Emma’s hands and inspect her critically. ‘I have a fresh gown for you and some hair ribbons. But I suppose there is nothing to be done about the bruises.’

  As expected, she had disappointed, yet again. ‘My ankle is twisted, as well. But the rest of me does not feel so very bad, from the inside.’ That was a lie. The pounding from the bump on her head made her want to crawl back under the covers and hide. Or was it just the presence of her mother? Surely Emma’s stomach had not been in knots a few moments ago. Nor had her hands felt like trembling.

  ‘You fall down often enough to know your own mind on the subject of personal injury,’ her mother said with a resigned sigh. ‘But this time we need you to rise up quickly and make a proper impression on the man who saved your life.’

  ‘It is good that he was there to notice me stumble,’ Emma replied, marshalling her courage. ‘From what I understand, you and father misplaced me.’

  ‘Do not be ridiculous. One of our footmen was a mile down the road and saw you being taken into Sir Robert’s carriage. He was too far away to help, but he informed us of what had happened, immediately. We knew you were safe all along,’ her mother admitted, showing no sign of real guilt that she had done nothing with the knowledge.

  ‘Then why did you leave me here?’

  ‘Once we understood where he had taken you, we decided it would be better to wait until morning to see about claiming you.’ Then, her mother gave a sly smile. ‘Because of the unfortunate delay, your father is speaking with Sir Robert, even as I am speaking to you.’

  There was a confusing significance to her tone, and Emma wondered what it was that she was missing about the exchange. It seemed there was a new plan in place and once again she was at the centre of it. But for the life of her, she could not guess what it migh
t be. ‘Why don’t we all speak to Sir Robert?’ she suggested in a warning tone. ‘I should like to thank him for the care he has given to me. It was most kind of him to extend compassion to a stranger. But I would not want him to get the impression that we are seeking an advantage over him.’ She needed to show him the respect that he deserved so that he did not regret that he had helped her at all. Her father, with his exceptionally blunt nature, was likely to leave him thinking that the neighbours were both nosy and rude.

  ‘He was very kind to take care of you. Yet, unwise,’ her mother said with a sad nod that had not a hint of sincerity in it. ‘You resided here for two days with no chaperon.’

  ‘I have not needed one,’ she insisted. ‘I was unconscious the whole time and have not got into any trouble at all.’

  ‘The bruises will heal, but your reputation never shall,’ her mother reminded her, with a heavy sigh but a twinkle in her eye. ‘And, as your father is conveying to Sir Robert, there is only one way to make things right.’

  Emma tried and failed to think what it might be. One hardly expected the fellow to apologise for not leaving an injured woman in a ditch. Then the fog in her head cleared for a moment and she remembered she was speaking to the woman who had written that infernal list. ‘You are not speaking of marriage, are you?’ She forced a laugh and prayed that her mother would join her in it.

  Instead, her statement was greeted with an enthusiastic nod.

  ‘Is that why father is speaking to Sir Robert?’ she said, alarmed.

  ‘He would not accept any of our other invitations,’ her mother reminded her. ‘Nor would he come out of his house to be met in a normal way.’

  But that did not mean he deserved to be forced into marriage with the first stranger who fell at his feet. ‘You and Father must stop this nonsense this instant.’ Emma did her best to bolt out of bed, only to have the pain in her ankle remind her that it was impossible. It was only with a show of fortitude on her part that the endeavour ended in her flopping back on the bed and not landing in a heap on the floor.

  ‘Do not be silly, darling,’ her mother soothed, helping her to sit up. ‘Leave the men to settle things between them and you will be married before you know it.’

  ‘That is the last thing I was hoping,’ she said, struggling upright with the support of a bedpost. She held out a hand. ‘Give me my gown and a hairbrush. Once I am dressed, we will go downstairs and apologise for the imposition. Then we shall go home and never speak of this again.’

  * * *

  In the study below, Robert was beginning to wonder if he was the one who had received a head wound and not the unfortunate girl in the bed above stairs. It appeared his poor luck was holding true as ever. What had started as a simple act of charity had resulted in more trouble than he could ever have imagined.

  Of course, that charity would not have been necessary if he hadn’t run the girl down. If they’d never met, she’d have avoided injury altogether. Perhaps he did owe her something. But surely not the marriage her father seemed to be hinting at.

  ‘You must admit that there is no other way,’ the man said in an annoyingly reasonable voice.

  ‘I damn well won’t,’ Robert snapped. ‘She has been in the house but two days.’

  ‘Two days,’ the other intoned, as if it were six months in a hareem. ‘Would it not have made more sense to take her to the inn to lessen the risk to her honour?’

  ‘I would have risked her health instead,’ Robert said, cursing the nonsensical rules placed on the young ladies of the country and his own faulty logic in choosing home over a more public place to house her.

  ‘Her health will heal. But a good reputation, once lost, cannot be regained,’ her father bemoaned.

  ‘She was perfectly safe here,’ Robert countered. ‘I have not so much as crossed the threshold to her room.’

  ‘But who would know that?’ Mr Harris said patiently.

  ‘My servants,’ he insisted.

  ‘Who would lie for their master, if you asked them to,’ Harris said.

  ‘The doctor.’

  ‘Also in your employ,’ Harris answered. ‘And he is widely known as a drinker.’

  ‘He is?’ Robert said, surprised. The man had been in attendance at his late wife’s childbed, though he did not think he could blame the physician for what had resulted then.

  ‘But you, Sir Robert?’ the stranger continued. ‘The people of the town do not know enough to vouch for your character, since they never see you outside of this house, nor are any allowed inside.’

  ‘Because I am not running a roadside inn. I prefer solitude to company,’ he replied. It sounded petulant, but his real reasons sounded even worse.

  ‘But such behaviour has done nothing to scotch the rumours that have spread over the area about the things that must occur in this house if you are so eager to hide from them.’ Harris added a tsk and a regretful shake of the head.

  ‘Nothing goes on here,’ he snapped again. He could hardly afford the sort of debauchery that idle minds could imagine, but it was also true that he had done nothing to replace those wild rumours with truth.

  ‘And it is not as if there will not be a substantial settlement made upon you, after the wedding,’ the father of this complete stranger replied to him.

  Against all that he wished to feel, Robert’s spirit lifted in hope. He had known that marrying well was a possible solution to his financial problems. He had always rejected it because he could not imagine himself married again. Nor did he want to risk the life of an innocent woman by subjecting her to the sort of ill fortune that would invariably fall upon her, should she become his wife.

  But that care had been for women not already trapped by fate and all but thrown into his path. It was beginning to appear that it was already too late for Emma Harris to escape a permanent association with him. The least he could do was minimise the immediate damage he had done. That it would benefit him as well might be the first fortunate coincidence of his life.

  ‘How big a settlement, precisely?’ he said, feeling his gut churn at the commonness of such a question.

  ‘I run a successful group of stocking factories in the north,’ the fellow said. ‘The young lady upstairs is worth easily twenty thousand a year to the man who marries her. Since she has no brother, she will be worth considerably more than that on my death.’

  For a moment, distaste was replaced with a flash of avarice. Then, common sense returned to remind him that it might as well have been a sentence of murder to wed the girl, so likely was she to die in childbed, just as his last wife had and generations of Gascoyne women before her.

  There is an easy enough way to avoid children, said an equally sensible voice. You have but to avoid her bed.

  Since they had never spoken, he doubted that she was pining to lie with him and he certainly held no carnal feelings when he thought of her.

  Not many, at least. She was pretty, of course. But he was a man of reason, capable of resisting the temptations of the flesh, if he put his mind to it. And what her father was suggesting was more of a business transaction than a marriage.

  ‘Will your daughter agree with this?’ he said, still surprised by the suddenness of this offer. ‘She has not yet seen me, much less talked to me.’

  ‘Her mother is speaking with her now,’ her father said with a nod. ‘By the time you go to her with your offer, it will already be arranged.’

  Arranged. He liked the word for it was a good way to describe the sort of marriage they would have. It would be an arrangement. He would be a respectful, if unaffectionate, husband and his title would open doors to her that she could never have breached on her own. His offer, if he made it, would be generosity itself and would give her a future far nicer than she might have as the wife of a cit.

  ‘Let me call for brandy and you can tell me more,’ Robert said, hoping the drink woul
d wash away the feeling that he was trading himself, body, soul and title, to a stranger.

  Chapter Three

  A short while later, Emma Harris was still bruised and broken. But she was also combed and primped and, according to her mother, ready to meet the man she was to marry.

  She felt rather like the sleeping princess in the fairy tale who had woken not just to a handsome prince but a readymade family, complete with twins and no say in the matter at all.

  She’d never seen anything particularly romantic about that story, since it was clear that the prince in it had taken advantage of a helpless woman. If that was the best that romance had to offer, Emma would have just as soon stayed asleep.

  To the best of her knowledge, Sir Robert Gascoyne had been a perfect gentleman to her in the time she’d spent in his house. But the man must be a halfwit if he was willing to be talked into an offer without talking to her first.

  Or perhaps he was only a fortune hunter. Despite her reluctance to marry, the prospect of meeting one of those was rather exciting. Though the family money was prodigious, thus far it had not been enough to persuade the gentleman she’d met to overlook her gracelessness and come up to scratch.

  But none of that mattered now. If Sir Robert was unwilling to put a stop to the nonsense that her parents had arranged, then she would have to do it for him. If and when an offer came, she had but to give him a polite no and thank him for his care of her. It was the sensible thing to do.

  Then the bedroom door opened and her father and her host entered. And she decided that good sense did not matter so very much, when one was presented with a man who looked like Sir Robert Gascoyne.

  Dear God, but he was beautiful, miles above the horrid choices that her family had suggested thus far. They had proven to care more about the titles of the gentlemen they chose for her than whether there was any suitability between the parties involved. It meant that she had been picking through the cast-offs of the social season: men who were old, ugly and poor, and no more interested in her than she was in them.