by Regina Darcy
The contract bride
Copyright © Regina Darcy 2020
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
For queries, comments or feedback please use the following contact details:
reginadarcy.cleanandwholesomeromance.com
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This story is dedicated to Betty Houghton Sherwood
who turned 86 on the 29th of May 2020. Happy belated birthday!
Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
PREVIEW: FOR THE LOVE OF A SCOUNDREL
PROLOGUE
ONE
Miss Josephina Darling, the eldest daughter of Baron Huntington, wondered crossly whether it was worse to endure the clammy-handed wooing of Mr Thomas Ruckner, the vicar of Huntington Green, or to stave off the amorous intentions of Lord Chester Devon, the Baron of Crincklewood.
After long contemplation, she concluded that the baron was the worst of two evils. His reputation as a lecherous rogue preceded him.
Not only was he old enough to be her father, but he was a man who would offer marriage only because he could not wangle an invitation to her bed outside of matrimony, and because, inevitably, like all men, he needed to sire an heir.
Josephina had heard of at least two married women, a dowager and a wallflower, who had been lured into his bed with sweet promises. In the case of the wallflower, she had ended up shipped off to the countryside, her reputation in tatters.
Josephine had no intention of becoming another one of his conquests, in or out of the bedroom. She knew full well that such a man was not pursuing her hand in marriage because he had become reformed.
She could not tie herself for eternity to a gentleman who lacked character and decency.
Unfortunately for her, being the daughter of an impoverished Baron, who had no heir, tended to attract the less honourable of the gentry, like bees surrounding honey. She found the entire matter detestable and off-putting, but there was little she could do about it except to endure.
As the vicar had not been invited to the Harvest Ball which the Duchess of Groton gave every year, and Lord Devon had, Josephina was actively avoiding the fellow, like the plague.
Fortunately, Lord Devon’s attentions had been diverted when several of his friends from White’s had invited him to join them in the card room, leaving Josephina free for the moment. Fortune had given her a temporary reprieve from his lecherous gaze and his dark disconcerting eyes that practically undressed her where she stood.
The scoundrel.
But her freedom would last only for a moment.
Mrs Widdoes, the appropriately named chaperone who was charged with accompanying Josephina to social occasions, had gone to fetch beverages for them both.
With any luck, Josephina thought unkindly, the overbearing Mrs Widdoes would sample the punch before returning with it and end up in a tipsy stupor which would require them both to leave.
It was unlikely, though; Mrs Widdoes, a short and plump older woman with wisps of white in her otherwise dark hair, brown eyes that saw everything, and a glower that could pin a person to their place, was disinclined to drinking anything but tea. She also favoured the vicar’s suit; thinking, and voicing that opinion, that someone as high-spirited as Miss Darling needed a husband who would temper her flighty nature.
Father, preoccupied with the burden of dowering three daughters with the diminishing income of an estate already mortgaged to the hilt, was of the opinion that she’d better marry before the family was bankrupt.
His advice was to wed whichever of her suitors that could promise a roof over her head. Mother, who had taken to her bed with migraines after Father informed her that he couldn’t possibly afford weddings for all three of his marriageable daughters, was of no help in deciding which one to marry.
Thus, she was left with the somewhat daunting prospect of choosing between two men who she held in no high regard, and who had proven themselves to be more concerned with her rank and physic than her person.
Foolish and lofty as it was, she had hoped to marry a man who would come to regard her with affection and respect, if not love. She knew very well that her parents would dismiss such aspirations, and declare them to be nothing more than fanciful daydreams, leftover from her youth. But she had clung to them into adulthood, hoping that there was a way to see them come to fruition.
Alas, it was not to be so.
No, it was to be a boring vicar or a lecherous baron. Both felt like a prison sentence to her.
Josephina sighed deeply.
Then she spotted Lord Devon emerging from the card room, his cravat hung awkwardly around his neck, his face was flushed, and his dark eyes danced across the room with intent.
What rotten luck!
She looked around frantically. Where could she hide?
Before her, the dancing couples were swirling and bowing in time to the lively dances. They were a flurry of colour and movement, providing her with a barrier as her mind raced to come up with a solution to save her from his wretched company.
But she could see Lord Devon glancing across the floor with renewed purpose, and he would easily spot her, standing there as she was.
She muttered an oath that she’d heard her father use frequently, thankful that Mrs Widdoes wasn’t there to waggle her finger and scold her for behaving unladylike.
Josephina tried to make herself inconspicuous by darting from the ballroom floor using the harvest themed-adornments that the Duchess had placed in profligate profusion throughout the manor as cover. With her heart thudding against her chest, and sweat pooling in the back of her neck, she managed to hide behind a cluster of wheat shocks. She hoped that her tawny hair would blend in with the harvest decorations so that she could not be detected.
“Bad luck, old man,” someone in the alcove was saying. “Falling for a married woman and all that.”
“She was not married when I fell for her,” responded another man, who sounded as though he might be uttering his words through gritted teeth.
“She was a widow.”
“Even worse luck, then, to fall for a woman whose husband returns from the dead,” replied the first gentleman. Rather worse for wear because of whatever beverage he had been ingesting, he followed his statement up with a giggle.
Josephina frowned. Men ought not to giggle.
The vicar was prone to giggling.
It was a most unmanly habit and one which irked her exceedingly.
“You can’t pine forever,” the giggling man went on.
“I am not pining,” came the terse response.
“No? Can’t think where I heard that you’re entirely heartbroken over this,” the gentleman went on persistently. “Someone at White’s, no doubt. Bets being taken, you know . . . ”
Josephina realised that if the gentlemen emerged and saw her hiding, they would think that she had been eavesdropping. She had no wish to be accused of such a vulgar habit, intentional, or otherwise, but she had no choice in the matter. Far better to endure their displeasure than the company of Lord Devon.
She sensed that the talkative gentleman failed to understa
nd how his topic of discussion might not be one which the other gentleman wished to pursue. Although the sharpness of the aggrieved gentleman’s tone was enough for even Josephina, who had little experience dealing with men, to realise his discomfort.
Briefly, she pitied the man who was being subjected to such cruel scrutiny. While she strained to blend in with her surroundings, she searched through her mind to try and find a name or a face to match the miserable man standing only a few feet away. But her mind drew a blank.
As she had only come up to London for the end of the season because Father hadn’t enough money to rent a house for all of the months, she was not acquainted with the gossip of the ton. She knew that bets at White’s often were extravagant and absurd. It sounded as though the young gentlemen of the club were entertaining themselves riotously with speculation about this unfortunate circumstance.
“I assure you Jeffreys that I will not die of a broken heart. As a matter of fact, I am in the process of contracting a marriage.”
“You are? To whom?”
“The lady’s father and I are still agreeing on terms,” came the reluctant reply.
“Not a love match, then,” the other man, Jeffreys, observed.
“Is there such a thing?”
There was no mistaking the bitterness in the speaker’s tone.
“Oh, one hears things, you know,” Jeffreys said as if the concept of romantic attachment were a tale he had been told. “Hendrickson, old chap, first you were set on the Randstand widow, now you’re already getting engaged. Barely weeks after your disastrous liaison?”
“As I said, Jeffreys,” the man referred to as Hendrickson replied in a sardonic tone, “we are at the stage of discussing terms.”
“And if Papa doesn’t agree?”
“There are other women.”
“I must say, Hendrickson, you’ve certainly come through this all right then. Glad I am to hear it. I shall place a bet at White’s now that I know the truth. I’ll be sure to win.”
The voices were closer now; they were emerging from the alcove.
Josephina’s heart slammed against her chest as panic settled in the pit of her belly. She tried to submerge herself within the sheaves of wheat so that she would not be seen, horrified at the prospect of being caught in such an un-ladylike position.
She very nearly succeeded, except that as the men rounded the corner, one of them caught his foot on the trailing hem of her gown and lunged forward. The other man halted and peered into the wheat.
Everything in Josephina went completely and utterly still.
The man had brilliant blue eyes, short dark hair and a chiselled jaw that would surely make any woman swoon in delight.
Their gaze locked.
It felt like an eternity went by.
“I say, what the devil. . . what’s that frock doing, growing out of that wheat stalk?”
Josephina snapped out of her trance.
Heat infused her cheeks as she realised she was making a fool of herself.
She recognised the annoyed voice as belonging to the man called Jeffreys.
“I . . .” Mr Hendrickson started saying as he peered towards her location with interest.
Josephina emerged from her hiding place.
For a split second Hendrickson let his gaze roam over her. The heat that was left in the wake of his perusal made her breathless.
What in heavens?!
Josephina’s fingers clenched the pale fabric of the hem of her skirt.
She took a deep breath.
Whatever she had just felt was of no consequence. Right now she needed to play her part. Before she could chicken out or change her mind about her hastily contrived idea, she plunged ahead.
“My darling,” she exclaimed, fluttering her long eyelashes. “I wanted to surprise you with the glad news! Father has given his consent!”
Thankful that she had managed to overhear enough to use to her advantage, Josephina kept her eyes fixed on Hendrickson, a plea written in the depths of her nut-brown eyes. The unnerving sensation she had experienced earlier swept over her. She forced her lips to curve into a wide smile.
Mr Hendrickson was taken aback, confusion momentarily written across his face. He quickly schooled his feature and gave her a penetrative glance instead.
“His consent?” he repeated in cool tones.
“Yes,” Josephina said, speaking rapidly.
Please play along.
“I know there were some points of issue between the two of you, but now he has come to his senses and agrees with your proposals. Isn’t that splendid?”
She gave him a long look.
“Quite,” he said, studying her with raised eyebrows, intrigue written all over his face.
“So this is the lovely lady with whom you have found solace,” Jeffreys said. “Pleased to meet you—”
“The pleasure is mine, sir,” she said swiftly. “We shall look forward to welcoming you to our home once we are married.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. But say, you wouldn’t mind doing me a bit of favour, would you? Hold off on announcing it for a day or so,” he wheedled. “The ton is convinced that Joshua here has lost his heart over that Randstand business and that there’s nothing for it but for him to end his life or leave the country until he’s quite himself again.”
“Oh, there will be no need for that,” Josephina assured him, “although we shall be happy to delay the announcement for a time, shan’t we, dearest?”
Mr Hendrickson’s eyebrows continued to rise, intrigue giving way to suspicion.
A part of her wanted to save herself, and this stranger from her impulsive behaviour, but she knew it was too late. There was nothing to do but press forward and hope Hendrickson had as much to lose as she did and would not expose her.
“As long as you wish,” he said blandly.
“Not too long,” she interjected, settling her hand on the man’s arm. “Only long enough for Mr Jeffreys here to gain the advantage among the other bettors,” she continued, her eyes begging him not to expose her charade.
“You’re quite sporting,” Jeffreys said enthusiastically. “You’ll have Hendrickson over his broken heart in no time.”
“Sir, surely no-one can doubt that I am quite comely,” she replied with what she hoped was an enchanting smile. Jeffreys nodded in agreement.
“But remember,” Josephina cautioned, placing her finger in front of her lips. “Not a word of it until you read the announcement in the newspaper. There are still a few minor details to settle, and Father will be vexed if word gets out before he has all the minutiae arranged.”
“Oh, quite, quite. Well, Joshua, I leave you to your wooing. I take it you won’t be joining us in the card room? I’ve got to get back; Devon was just in there, and he was having a run of luck. Most unusual for him. He says it’s because of a lovely young filly he’s of a mind to—”
“You’d best get back to your cards, sir,” Josephina urged, cringing at the idea of how rest of the sentence would sound. “Before . . . before . . . ”
But she didn’t need to prod him. Jeffreys was already on his way.
When they were alone at the entrance to the alcove, Josephina turned to face the man she had wheedled into her deceptive ploy.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, shamefaced. “I don’t know what came over me. I heard your friend talking and I didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping, so I came up with what seemed to be a suitable distraction, only . . .”
“Do you make a practice of springing out from shocks of wheat to propose marriage to men you don’t know?” he asked deceptively calm.
There was a faint smile on his lips, softening the hard glint in his eyes.
Josephina’s heart skipped a beat.
As her gaze locked on his lips, she noticed that his lips weren’t wobbly like the vicar’s who was forever trying to find an excuse to kiss her hand. Nor were they reminiscent of glue like Lord Devon’s, who spent as much time as possi
ble trying to kiss her, although his interest did not reside in applying his lips to her hand.
Mr Hendrickson’s lips looked as though they had been very used to smiling, but had lost the habit.
“Oh, no, sir, I assure you. I - well, you see, it’s rather a muddle. I must marry, but I don’t wish to marry the suitors who want to marry me. Or . . . I’m not actually sure that Lord Devon intends marriage at all—”
“Devon? You wouldn’t be the, er, the—”
She nodded her face clouded with misery.
“The filly that your friend mentioned. I am afraid so.”
Nervously she moistened her dry lips.
“It’s very awkward, you see. I was invited to this ball and I came, although we really can’t afford to be in London and we’re going back home to Huntington Green right away, almost as soon as tomorrow, practically. Lord Devon has been . . . attentive. But I don’t think he wants marriage. He’s not the sort, is he? And the vicar, well, he may be all that I can hope to attract, what with Father having no money for much in the way of a dowry, but I really don’t think I could manage that, you see, the vicar is . . .does not have the kind of qualities that I could cherish in a husband.”
“Cherish,” Mr Hendrickson repeated with a raised eyebrow. “Is that your requirement then, for matrimony?”
“I haven’t any requirements,” Josephina confessed glumly. “Girls without dowries can’t have requirements, can they?” At his raised eyebrow, she raced on, “Mr Hendrickson, I apologise for my rash behaviour. I am rather desperate, you see, and there you were . . . it was quite fortuitous.”
The lady in her was appalled at her behaviour, having divulged her entire life story to a man she had only known for all of ten seconds.
But she could not seem to help herself, going on and on as she did. Something about the kindness and patience with which he listened made her feel at ease, something she had missed too much of late.
Besides, Mr Hendrickson did not strike her as the sort to call her out, not out of cruelty at least. Granted, she had allowed him to have the upper hand with his friend, but at the end of the day, it was she who was at a disadvantage, and entirely at his mercy.