The Contract Bride (Runaway Regency Brides Book 6)

by Regina Darcy

  “Fortuitous,” he repeated, giving her a smile that had her pulse racing for some reason. “If you’re proposing marriage, the very least you can do is tell me your name.”

  TWO

  Dear Beloved,

  Yet again I am penning you a letter that you will never behold.

  Letting you go has proven harder said than done.

  Would that I could pull out this wretched heart that will not cease to torment me.

  I’m going under, and this time I fear there’s no one to save me.

  This useless rage against what cannot be undone consumes me.

  This all or nothing really found a way to drive me crazy, my dear Tabitha.

  I need somebody to heal my broken heart.

  Somebody to have and to hold.

  The emptiness you have left behind torments me like no other.

  How much longer will I be able to conceal my torment, beloved?

  My heart rages at the injustice of it.

  Joshua A Hendrickson

  Mrs Widdoes was not at all pleased to see her charge emerging from an alcove in the company of a young gentleman. Her frigid gaze enveloped Josephina in an icy grey stare, her entire frame bustling with disapproval as she adjusted the shawl around her shoulders with more force than necessary, her smile giving way to a scowl.

  “Miss Darling!” she exclaimed, keeping her voice low so that her indictment would not be overheard. “Whatever are you doing there? I shudder to think at what your reputation might suffer if your little escaped has been witnessed. And you, sir,” she went on, the stare no less glacial, “you have no business putting a young girl’s reputation at risk in such a cavalier manner.”

  “Oh, please, Mrs Widdoes, don’t scold and don’t tell Father—” Josephina began to plead.

  “I shall certainly tell your father,” Mrs Widdoes declared, “and he shall see that you marry Mr Ruckner without delay. If he’ll still have you,” she added darkly, her eyes narrowing as her gaze swung between the two of them, scathing judgement dripping from every word, and every stare.

  “You are fortunate that the vicar is much too high-minded to pay attention to London tittle-tattle.”

  “He never leaves Huntington Village,” Josephina said, crossly. “He couldn’t possibly hear any London tittle-tattle.”

  The chaperone’s lips thinned. “As a man of God he sets his sights on higher matters.”

  “I wonder, then, why his sights seem so often to be set upon the bodice of my frock,” Josephina muttered. Her eyes widening at her own admission, especially as she watched Mrs Widdoes’s face turn red at her statement. A slight tremor went through the older woman, who looked as if she were minutes away from having a fit of the vapours.

  “Miss Darling! We shall leave this minute.”

  Mr Hendrickson, whose lips were twitching as though he were striving manfully to block a smile from escaping, intervened.

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs Widdoes,” he said calmly. “You are quite right to upbraid me for failing to take Miss Darling’s reputation into account. I’m afraid that I was overcome by the . . . moment. You see, Miss Josephine Darling has just done me the honour of consenting to be my wife and—”

  “Josephina,” muttered the newly affianced young woman.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Josephina flashed a smile at Mrs Widdoes.

  “He always calls me Josephine,” she said by way of explanation.

  “It’s an endearment.”

  “What do you mean, she has consented to marry you! She is only nineteen, and she certainly cannot enter into a marriage contract without her father’s permission.”

  Mrs Widdoes drew herself up to her full height and examined Mr Hendrickson closely, as if she could figure out all of his secrets then and there. To his credit, he did not flinch under her direct stare, even when she continued to look bewildered.

  “I completely agree, and I am going to meet with his lordship tomorrow if he will agree to see me and allow me to present my suit.”

  “I—but what of the vicar?” Mrs Widdoes demanded, looking both unnerved and peeved at the same time.

  Josephina’s smile was radiant.

  “Why don’t you marry him, Mrs Widdoes? You admire him so much, and he does seem to prefer to be admired. I am afraid that I have been unable to manage it.”

  “That is because you are a foolish and frivolous girl—” Mrs Widdoes began.

  “Mrs Widdoes, may we not agree that my fiancée is spirited and leave it at that. As a girl of nineteen years, she would not be expected to equal the accrued wisdom of your years,” Mr Hendrickson interjected in soothing tones.

  “I suppose we shall have to do so,” Mrs Widdoes muttered. “Very well. But I shall acquaint your father with the circumstances of this evening—”

  “Mrs Widdoes,” Mr Hendrickson intervened. “I assume that you will not do anything to prejudice his lordship against me. I should tell you that I am a Christian gentleman of means and that I neither expect nor require a dowry from my intended wife. She and I understand each other perfectly well, don’t we, Miss Darling?”

  A faint shadow seemed to pass over Josephina’s animated features.

  “Yes,” she said soberly. “We understand each other perfectly well.”

  “No dowry—but—who are you?” Mrs Widdoes spurted.

  “My name is Joshua Hendrickson,” he said. “You may have heard of my family.”

  “Hendrickson!” Mrs Widdoes repeated the name with a curious mix of awe and distrust. “Yes, I have heard of your family. I believe you are benefactors of the theatre.”

  “We have had that honour.”

  “The theatre is a godless institution,” she said. “Actors and actresses are known for their dissolute habits and lack of morals.”

  “I am sorry that you disapprove of the theatre,” he replied. “I was speaking to the Archbishop just last week, and he was particularly complimentary about a production of The School for Scandal which he attended. He mentioned a particular fondness for Sheridan’s works, as have I.”

  “The Archbishop?” Mrs Widdoes repeated weakly, unsure of how to respond to this incredible revelation.

  “Himself,” Mr Hendrickson said. “If her ladyship’s family does not share your aversion to the theatre, perhaps they might enjoy attending a play in the future. I am sorry that you will not avail yourself of the opportunity. I should otherwise be delighted to procure you a seat.”

  “Mrs Widdoes is staunch in her antipathy to the theatre,” Josephina interjected with a twinkle in her eyes. “She has said many a time that plays are immoral.”

  “Oh, but if it is a play that the Archbishop finds acceptable, I am sure that I would not object,” Mrs Widdoes refuted. “After all, who is more spiritually endowed than he?”

  “Excellent! We shall see what we can do about finding some suitable entertainment for you to attend. And now, if I may, I shall see you ladies home in my carriage.”

  As they would otherwise have had to wait for a rented carriage to come for them, both chaperone and charge were willing to accept this offer.

  The carriage was sumptuously upholstered inside with cushioned seats which mitigated the bumpiness of the roads. Joshua talked easily of general matters on the ride and when the driver stopped at the destination he had been given, he stepped out of the carriage to assist the ladies.

  “I shall call tomorrow morning,” he said as he walked up the stairs to the rented London house where the Darling family was staying for their abridged London season.

  “Miss Darling . . . you will not forget my proposal?”

  “No, Mr Hendrickson,” she answered. “I will not forget.”

  He offered her a deep bow and a meaningful smile.

  A bright light highlighted the flecks of grey in his sea-blue eyes. For a few moments, Josephina stared, forgetting the circumstances that had brought them together before Mrs Widdoes puttered next to her, and made a big show of announcing their arrival
.

  Josephina sighed and gave Mr Hendrickson a quick curtsy before she hurried off after her chaperone. She cast one last look over her shoulder at the enigmatic stranger who seemed to be the answer to her prayers before he drew himself up to his full height and turned to his carriage, disappearing like a spectre into the night.

  The butler, who had been hired for their stay, opened the door to let the ladies in.

  ***

  On the way to his Mayfair house, Joshua considered the extraordinary turn of events which had taken place. He scarcely noticed the brilliant canopy of light which the moon bestowed upon the night; his thoughts were entirely captured elsewhere.

  Once in his house, he dismissed Sloan, his valet, and said that he would ready himself for bed.

  “Very good, sir,” Sloan replied hesitantly.

  Joshua noticed the strange look on Sloan’s face and smiled. Sloan was invaluable and seemed to care more for him than anything else. The sudden cheer Joshua found himself in must have thrown the poor man off. After all, he hadn’t been this happy since —

  The memory immediately dampened his mood.

  He thought of Viscountess Randstand, the blonde-haired beauty who had stolen his heart. The memory filled him with equal parts grief and an ache that could bring a grown man to his knees. It permeated the entirety of his being. The undeniable knowledge that she was lost to him forever.

  Yes, he knew it was foolish to pine after her, to yearn for her still when she would never be his, but he could not seem to help himself.

  Not even Miss Darling, charming and lovely as she was, an unexpected diversion to be sure, could turn his thoughts away from the Viscountess. The woman had gotten under his skin quite effortlessly.

  He didn’t speak of it, that love which had blossomed between himself and the widowed Viscountess Randstand. A love which had soured when it turned out she wasn’t widowed after all.

  Her husband, who had been declared dead by the courts after a lengthy absence from England, had turned up, unexpectedly alive.

  He’d been abducted and shipped to the colonies against his will by someone who had been plotting against the Prince Regent.

  It was all very mysterious, but one fact was plain: her ladyship wasn’t a widow, and the romance between her and Joshua was over.

  The reunited couple had somehow resolved their differences. The Viscountess was once again a wife, and Joshua was unrequited in love, the dark cloud of heartbreak and rejection hanging over his head.

  He knew quite well that she could not turn her back on her husband, not for him or anyone else. Not only would they both have been shunned out of polite society, but he felt certain she would never have forgiven herself for such a betrayal.

  After all, true as her feelings for Joshua had been, the Viscount had not done anything wrong. Despite how much she tried to dissemble, he had seen the love of a wife for her husband shine in her eyes. To turn her back on that, on the life she had built with her spouse, fraught with unhappiness as it was towards the end, would’ve been unfathomable, especially because of the son they shared together.

  In the end, it was her son, and her vows, sacred promises made in the sight of God and her congregation, that kept the Viscountess from choosing Joshua, in spite of the sincerity of their feelings for one another.

  “Good night, then, sir,” Sloan said, snapping Joshua out of his daydream.

  He grimaced inclined his head and watched as the valet departed.

  Joshua undressed, put his clothes away and donned his dressing gown, but did not go to bed. His mind raced and stumbled as it tried to make sense of the night, and of the mess that had become his life since the night he had clapped eyes on the forlorn Viscountess.

  She had been an angelic vision with her hair the colour of the sun, and her creamy white skin that glistened underneath the moonlight. Even in grief, she was undeniable, and he had found himself drawn to her.

  He had been unable to turn away even as his friends warned him against it, the voice of his conscience screaming at him to stop, to bestow his praise and attention on a young woman who did not know the sting and bitterness of love.

  But he had not listened.

  Oh, Tabitha.

  His darling Tabitha.

  What a fool he had been to let his emotions carry the day.

  With a heavy heart, he sat in front of the fire, appreciating its warmth as he stared into the vivid flames.

  Shades of orange and red danced and flickered, casting long shadows across the walls and leaving him with a strange dreamlike sense.

  What an astonishing night!

  It had not begun so.

  As soon as his name was announced upon entry to the ballroom, he had felt the suffocating curiosity of the other guests. But he had kept his face impassive as he greeted the people he knew, and he knew everyone. Except, it seemed, the little minx who had been hiding behind the stocks of wheat. The one who was now the object of his curiosity, and not far from his thoughts since he delivered her to her doorstep along with the ghastly woman who had accompanied her as a chaperone.

  Miss Josephina Darling.

  No, he could not claim that he had heard of her nor her family. But, in spite of the incident that had led to their little agreement, she seemed a well-behaved, intelligent and spirited young lady, one who was unafraid of taking matters into her own hands.

  In all his years of socialising with polite society, he had never imagined he would meet such a young lady, in possession of both passion, and courage. There was no denying that she intrigued him.

  Nineteen.

  Old enough to marry, certainly, but still young.

  He was eight-and-twenty.

  She would be old enough to resume her life once the terms of the marriage proposal he had in mind were fulfilled.

  A contract bride.

  He swirled the whisky he had just poured himself.

  A marriage already pre-determined to end in divorce. That is all he had to offer. He was flat out of love and luck, and he wanted to have nothing to do with both.

  All he wanted to do now was save face, and for that to happen, perception was everything.

  He sipped his whiskey.

  Yes, she would be able to resume her life very swiftly afterwards. She would perhaps be better served if she left England for a time after the marriage was ended. By then, she would be two-and-twenty and perhaps more amenable to the opportunities which would be hers as a wealthy, divorced woman.

  She had seemed puzzled by his offer.

  “Why should you wish to marry if you only intend on ending the marriage?” she’d asked plainly after he had presented his proposal to her.

  “That is my business,” he’d said, not unkindly, but firmly. There were doors which would remain shut in this marriage. “You will be recognised as my wife, and we shall live as any other affluent young couple in society. We shall entertain and accept invitations, and you will have the means to do so. I shall give you a generous allowance. The terms will be drawn up in a contract.”

  “A contract!” she had repeated. “That sounds very legal.”

  “So I intend it to be. After three years, we will regrettably come to a parting of the ways. I shall arrange some sort of cause which will allow you to be the injured party.”

  “You mean an indecent liaison?” she had deduced, aghast. “In flagrante delicto?”

  He had almost smiled at her innocence. But yes, he had told her, it would be necessary for him to be caught in flagrante delicto so that her reputation would not be soiled by divorce.

  Still, divorced women were an object of scandal in hypocritical London; she would need to leave the country for a time. He would ensure that she would live comfortably during her exile. Italy, he thought, might be to her liking. France was a possibility too, now that the war was over and won. The choice would be hers; the expense would be his.

  He was prepared to be generous, he explained to her.

  What he had not explained to
her was how much he needed her.

  He needed to have the semblance of his life returned to him, and the most effective way of doing that was to marry; to have his home turned into a centre of societal engagement; to seem to have brushed off the summer attraction to the Viscountess Randstand and to laugh about the circumstances which had brought her husband back from the dead. That this would distract the gossip mongers and permit him to save face was an added bonus.

  After a lengthy and rather tedious discussion, during which Miss Darling seemed unready, or unwilling, to believe her stroke of good luck, Joshua had continued to explain the benefits of such a marriage.

  In the end, it was the sound of Lord Devon’s voice somewhere in the background inquiring as to her whereabouts that had sealed the deal.

  She had experienced a delicate shudder, her face contorting into dislike, and had given her consent, her bright brown eyes regarding him intently.

  He took no pleasure in admitting to himself, or his future wife that the marriage was all a contract, meant to be mutually beneficial in the public eye, but he did believe that fate had brought them together for a reason. And he intended for them both to benefit from such an arrangement.

  After all, why should they not?

  Miss Darling as a woman in charge of her own fate, and Joshua as a man who was not bested and betrayed by his own heart, and his own lack of reasoning. He could not have planned it better had he sought Josephina out himself.

  A charade of marriage was infinitely better than this public image of himself as a man duped by death, believed to be driven to the point of self-destruction because of his lost love.

  It had the makings of a stage comedy, Joshua thought wearily. Perhaps in the hands of a skilled playwright, it would have been an amusing scenario.

  He saw no humour in it. But that was as it should be, because he foresaw no love in this marriage, either.

  But as he prepared himself for bed, he could not help but wonder if the sliver of excitement that ran through him was because of tomorrow’s encounter with Miss Darling or just that the marriage proposal was a new adventure that would provide him with divertissement a plenty in the next couple of years.