Vows to Save Her Reputation

by Christine Merrill

  But Sir Robert was none of those things. If he had such a beautiful home, he could not be too very poor. He was also young and strapping. If he had attempted to take advantage of her at any time during the last two days, her only regret was that she had not been awake to enjoy it. The thought made her wish she was holding a fan and could flutter it as a diversion while she catalogued his virtues. Instead, all she could do was stare.

  His hair was an unruly chestnut and looked as if it wanted trimming. There was a matching stubble forming on the hollows of his perfect cheekbones that hinted he did not bother with a razor when guests were not expected.

  His dress confirmed her suspicion of carelessness, for though his clothes were immaculate with a well-tailored coat and crisp white linen, one of the shiny buttons on his sleeve was loose, falling noticeably out of line with its fellows. It seemed that his valet had gone through the motions of brushing and pressing and lost interest before he’d finished the job.

  It made Emma wonder what other corners she might find that had been cut, should she take a proper inventory of the staff and their work. Clearly, the man was in need of a wife, if only to civilise his habits and organise his household.

  But the problems with his grooming were almost a relief, since they were the only things keeping him from an unattainable perfection. His eyes were the green of China jade, clear and alert. His brow was furrowed, but wide and intelligent. His shadowed cheekbones were high and his nose straight and aristocratic.

  But most exciting of all, he was tall. He stood at least a head above her last suitor and, even if she were standing, to look him in the eye she would have to raise her chin. Not much, of course, but it had been so long since she’d done it for anyone that her neck cracked with the effort. It did not exactly make her feel small, but looking up at this man was a delicious taste of how other girls must feel all the time.

  This interview would be easier if he was not so very pretty. Then, perhaps, she could remind herself how ludicrous the situation was. They could both laugh at the idea of marriage, just as she had planned to in the first place. He could go back to his study and she could go home and this meeting would be nothing more than an unpleasant memory.

  But now that she had seen him, she wanted to sit here, staring at him, listening to the sound of his voice, which was deep and soothing, like the booming of a distant storm just as one was drifting off. If she could hear him speak a few hours before bed each night, she was sure that she would sleep better for it.

  Perhaps he could recite verse. There was something about the louche knot in his cravat that made her think of a dissolute poet. But she doubted that he was truly dissipated. There was no sign of excess in his face or frame.

  He looked sad, rather than unhealthy. He just needed someone to cheer him up. He was too sombre. And she was known in her very small circle of friends as having an excellent sense of humour.

  Then she realised that she was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at him as he talked, but not hearing a word of what he was saying. She had missed the introductions entirely. And if the proposal had been wonderful, terrible or non-existent, she had not heard a word of it.

  She doubted that it was the stuff of dreams, for she did not think that a man who had been forced into offering would be up to climbing the stairs and wooing her as if there were anything normal about this situation.

  He had stopped talking and she had not even noticed. Now, his expression was one of barely contained annoyance, as he waited for her answer.

  ‘Yes?’ she said, unable to keep the question from her voice. Then, she remembered that she had meant to say no. She was not as foolish as to believe in love at first sight. But neither could she deny that it had taken one look at him for her good judgement to fly out the window.

  Perhaps it was good that she had a bump on her head. She would rather he think that the way she was behaving might have something to do with damage to the brain than normal stupidity. It might not be too late to retract her acceptance, claiming headache and confusion. But she could not seem to get her mouth to form any words at all.

  ‘Very well then,’ he said, when it was apparent to everyone in the room that she was not going to say anything more. ‘I will arrange for the special licence and call for you at your parents’ home in one week’s time. I trust you will be sufficiently healed by then to visit the vicar.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, wishing that she could flip back through the conversation, like the pages in a book, and start it again. Then she might at least manage to be clever and to leave him with a better impression of herself.

  Instead, she was passive and silent as she was helped into a chair that the servants carried down the stairs and out of the door to her parents’ waiting carriage.

  * * *

  Conscience was a malleable thing, but it had an annoying habit of springing back to its original position without warning. Robert almost succeeded in remaining silent for the entire week. But at six days—one before his impromptu wedding—he surrendered to the nagging voice in his head that insisted it was unfair to marry any woman without giving her some idea of what her future with him might be.

  She had said yes, another voice argued. That one word was all that was required. Any further negotiation was done with parents, not the young women.

  But then he remembered that she had given that consent with a tone of surprise that hinted at the same confusion he had felt when considering the prospect of marriage. Her father had promised him that she understood and agreed with the plan. But the poor thing had still been dazed by her injury when he’d made his proposal, barely in her right mind enough to make an answer.

  He had taken advantage of the fact and withheld information. The knowledge raised an unease that grew with each passing minute, plaguing him to tell her, lest the secret drive him mad. There was no way that he could go through a ceremony without setting things straight between them.

  If she was decided, there should be no harm to the contract in speaking to her before it was carried out. But if she was having doubts, she deserved the right to be well informed on her future and set free, should she wish. So, he saddled a horse and rode out to unburden his soul.

  The home that Harris had rented was a newish manor house, probably well designed and full of the sorts of modern improvements that his own servants would have appreciated, had he been able to afford renovations. Wanting after such things was what had driven him to agree to Harris’s offer of a dowried daughter. He did not precisely regret it, now. He simply wished that finances had not been such a big part of his motive for choosing a wife.

  His future father-in-law had come by his money from honest labour. That was a path denied a gentleman, who was expected to keep his hands unsullied by work even if it meant empty pockets. But pushing a girl to marry him and solve his problems seemed less honourable rather than more so.

  When he presented himself at the front door and announced his desire to speak to his fiancée in private, Mrs Harris declared it improper. Her husband simply found it odd. The deal was done. What was the point of discussing it afterwards?

  ‘If we are going to be husband and wife in less than a day, what harm can it do to an honour you claim I have already besmirched?’ Robert said with some impatience.

  At this, they relented and he was shown to a receiving room, where, a short time later, Miss Harris appeared. He could still see the shadow of a bruise on her temple from where she had fallen and there was a cautiousness to her step as if her ankle was still feeling weak. Other than that, she seemed a quite ordinary young lady, much like others he had admired before choosing his last wife. Her height was impressive, of course. But it made him think of saplings and their ability to weather storms that might snap reeds.

  Still, it was unfair to plant this particular tree in a place of danger without a word of warning to her.

  ‘Sir Robert,’ she sai
d softly. ‘You wished to speak with me?’ She dropped an unsteady curtsy, then rose again, as quickly as she was able, clasping her hands together as if she was not quite sure what to do with them.

  ‘Miss Harris,’ he replied, bowing. ‘I felt that it was important that we talked, before the ceremony, so that you might be aware of certain things that we did not have the opportunity to discuss, before the proposal.’

  ‘The circumstances were abrupt,’ she agreed. The words held a note of censure, but her nervous smile did not falter and the tone did not vary from the same polite alto she had used with him before.

  ‘Your father made it clear to me that honour required a quick decision,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I suspect mine would have survived,’ she said in an offhand manner. ‘When a large settlement is involved, virtue can be strained to cover infractions far greater than a fall in a neighbour’s ditch.’

  So, she was aware of the power of money. How could she not be? And that meant she must know why he was marrying her. He felt another wave of shame at what he was going to tell her next.

  ‘Despite what you and your family believe, there are limits to what can be bought,’ he said, not bothering to be gentle.

  ‘And you are about to tell me what they are,’ she said. It was good to know that, should she choose to accept him, his new wife was no fool.

  ‘First, there are things you must know about me and my family, things that I did not tell you when I proposed,’ he said. ‘You could not possibly make an informed decision tomorrow, if I did not tell you of the truth today.’

  ‘An informed decision,’ she repeated with a smile. ‘Marriage is quite different for men than it is for women, and there is the proof. Ladies are told to leave the thinking to their parents, Sir Robert, and to never trust their own minds in a matter as important as who they should wed. But if you have things you must tell me, then go to it.’

  ‘The family you are about to join has been cursed with generations of bad luck. Once we are married, you will no doubt receive your share of it.’

  To this, she said nothing, simply raising a doubtful eyebrow. She did not believe him. He hoped she would not learn the truth by bitter experience, as he had.

  ‘When the Gascoynes are involved, crops fail, cattle take sick and businesses founder. The women die in childbed and the men die young for a host of reasons. My grandfather was killed in a carriage accident and my father by suicide after losing most of the family fortune at the gaming tables.’

  ‘Many families have such stories,’ she said, unimpressed.

  ‘I have just lost the rest of my money in a sound investment that would have profited greatly had any other man made it,’ he said.

  ‘It was why you needed the settlement,’ she said.

  ‘When your father suggested marriage, it seemed like a reasonable way forward.’

  She nodded in agreement. ‘I was not expecting a love match, if that was what you were thinking.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he agreed, hurriedly, then continued. ‘But as I mentioned before, there is one way that the curse falls more heavily on the women of the family than the men. A Gascoyne bride has not survived childbirth in five generations. I can show you the records in my family bible. It has been one hundred and fifty years, at least, since the wife of a Gascoyne has lived to raise her child.’

  ‘And yet, you have a brother,’ she said.

  ‘A half-brother,’ he replied. ‘My mother died, as did his. The only mothering we received was from our father’s third wife, who had no children of her own and no real interest in the pair of us.’

  ‘An unfortunate coincidence,’ she replied. Apparently, she was a rationalist.

  ‘Yet I do not want to see a similar coincidence carried out again, in my lifetime,’ he said. ‘I have lost one wife already, and a child as well. I have no desire to risk such a loss again.’

  ‘You do not want children,’ she said, clearly shocked at the idea.

  ‘Not if I am destined to lose them or you in trying for them,’ he said.

  ‘And you are here to give me the chance to refuse the marriage, based on a decision that could change, later.’

  ‘It will not,’ he insisted. ‘I am adamant. Just as I planned, before I met you, I will not father a child on you or any other woman. My estate will go to my brother, should he survive me, which he likely will.’

  ‘Because of your luck,’ she said.

  ‘Gascoynes die young,’ he said again. In response to the words, his heart hammered in his chest, as if threatening to end him before he could walk down the aisle. He forced himself to ignore it, keeping his face neutral so as not to frighten his fiancée with his suffering.

  She was just as silent, as she considered his words. Then she said, ‘Thank you for making me aware of your plans in the matter. Much can happen between now and the end of our lives, however short or long that time may be. And I could not guarantee you children, even if you wanted them. That said, I see no reason why we cannot continue tomorrow and marry as we meant to do.’

  What had he been expecting her to say? He analysed his own heart on the matter and could not decide if it was relief or dread he was feeling at the prospect of tomorrow’s ceremony. But it was apparent that she was not going to cry off. And it did not really matter what he wanted. As a gentleman, it was too late for him to change his mind. ‘Very well, then,’ he said, at last. ‘We will be married, just as we planned.’

  ‘As we planned,’ she agreed, with a slight smile that said his warnings had been useless. He suspected she had not believed a word of what he had said to her and still assumed their lives together would be normal. It would be left to bitter experience to teach her, just as it had him.

  * * *

  Robert was not sure what sort of wedding Emma Harris had imagined for herself, but the next day’s ceremony could not have been it.

  On speaking with her mother, it seemed that that woman had hoped for a grand ceremony at St George’s in London.

  He had made it clear, as gently as possible, that when one was orchestrating a quick wedding after a reputation-saving proposal, one did not call attention to the fact with pomp and ceremony. When reason seemed to have no effect, he reminded her that the London church was booked for months in advance and nuptials there would mean waiting until the social season was over.

  The thought of delaying any benefits that the marriage might entail was enough to convince Mrs Harris of the need for a simple ceremony at the village church.

  If the bride had an opinion, one way or the other, he did not know it. She had made it clear that she left the details of this arrangement to her parents. Perhaps she was as great a social climber as her mother appeared to be, but she was smart enough not to press for more than she could reasonably achieve.

  Maybe she never spoke up for herself in the ordering of her own life and was timid by nature. Or perhaps it was the accident that had rendered her so docile. She had seemed sharp enough when he had spoken to her, last night. It would be just his luck if he had caused a problem far more severe than any slight to her reputation. No man wanted a wife that would argue each decision he made. But though they claimed to want a bride who was easily led, neither did they want one with diminished intellectual capacity. If he had ruined her chances at marrying another with that bump on the head, he owed her the protection of his name.

  Whatever her problems, he was doing the right thing by marrying her. In exchange, her father would provide the money that would allow her to live in comfort and he would be able to recover from the debacle of the tin mine investment. He would not go as far as to call the end result of the accident fortuitous. But it was not as bad as it could have been, considering. They were both still alive. And, if he kept his distance from her after their marriage, she would remain so.

  Today, she was there, waiting for him at the church, in a blue-sil
k gown with deep scallops of lace. A veil was hiding the yellowing bruise on her temple and she held a man’s walking stick in one hand to ease the weight on her twisted ankle. Despite those accommodations, she was a pretty bride, albeit a tall one. He had got a sense of her height when she had come to meet him the previous evening, but he had never stood close beside her. As she turned to face him, she met his gaze with only the barest lift of her chin.

  ‘Miss Harris,’ he said, removing his hat and bowing.

  ‘Sir Robert.’ She made the mistake of attempting a curtsy, only to pitch forward as she tripped over her own feet.

  Her mother let out a hiss of disapproval at her stumble, as though Emma was being deliberately annoying. He could see the girl readying an apology, even as she attempted to catch her balance.

  Without thinking, Robert grabbed for her, stepping in to let her collapse against him instead of falling. It was surprisingly pleasant to feel the weight of her in his arms and, for a moment, he regretted that there was not some actual affection between them.

  She looked at him with confused eyes which were both huge and a brilliant blue, then muttered, ‘I am so sorry’, as she tried to pull herself upright again.

  ‘It is all right,’ he assured her, adding a gentle smile so as not to alarm her further. ‘Let us go and see the vicar, shall we?’ Then he tucked the hand that was not clutching the stick into the crook of his arm and led her into the church.

  As if he sensed that the circumstances for it were unusual, the vicar kept the ceremony short and did not waste his breath on a sermon about the responsibilities of the married couple. It was just as well, since Robert had no intention of obeying the biblical instructions to be fruitful.