by Regina Darcy
THREE
The Darling sisters were close in age, and the tightly-knit years, combined with their father’s cold demeanour and their mother’s frequent swoons, had made them friends as well as siblings. So it was that when Miss Darling went to her bedroom after arriving home from the ball, her sisters Miss Sylvia Darling, seventeen, and Maria Darling, fifteen, were waiting.
The family’s impoverished situation prevented the hiring of a lady’s maid, and so the younger girls had dressed their sister for the ball and waited up for her to return so that they could help her out of her gown and listen to her tales of the grand event, relayed in hushed yet excited whispers, and with plenty of claps and giggles to fill the bed-chamber.
But when she came into the room, her forehead creased in thought, the girls rushed to her.
“Josephina,” said Sylvia, “you look troubled. Did Lord Devon—”
The sisters knew that Lord Devon’s intentions toward their sister were not honourable. He was a rogue. But he was at least a suitor.
And a rather handsome one in a debauched manner.
“No,” Josephina sat down on the bed. Her sisters sat down beside her, their legs dangling over the side.
“But what is it?” Maria inquired. “You seem quite . . . not yourself.”
“I am not sure who I am,” their eldest sister confessed, and she proceeded to tell them the circumstances by which she had entered into a marriage contract with Joshua Hendrickson, a stranger. She did not disclose to them the conditions which Mr Hendrickson had settled upon her. That was not something she intended to reveal to anyone.
“Oh, Josephina,” her sister Maria breathed in disbelief. “How ever did you dare?”
“I hadn’t much choice. I knew Mrs Widdoes would be coming back and eventually she would find me. She’s a veritable bloodhound if she thinks there’s scandal afoot; I had spotted Lord Devon, and without Mrs Widdoes, odious though she is, I had no protection against his advances . . . and the opportunity simply presented itself,” she finished. “It seemed to unfold, rather like a play. I felt as if I knew the dialogue.”
Yes, she could not help but feel as if it were all fated, as if the two of them had been brought together for the very sole purpose of this contract, time-limited though it was.
Despite a part of her being as ashamed and horrified as her sisters, a strange sort of calm had settled over her, like a warm cup of tea sliding down her throat.
“Still . . . Joshua Hendrickson. He’s very rich, you know,” Maria interjected with a self-satisfied smile.
“How do you know such things?” Sylvia asked with a frowned.
Her younger sister was an endless repository of the gossip of the beau monde, despite having no more social opportunities than either of the older daughters. Yet, Maria seemed to have a talent, an uncanny knack for finding out the most obscure of facts about people, much to the dismay of her two elder sisters.
“I pay attention,” Maria answered. “There’s always talk about, you know. You simply don’t pay attention.”
“You mean you listen at keyholes and engage servants in chatter,” Sylvia retorted.
“Despite his lack of title, Joshua Hendrickson is a very wealthy man, Josephina,” Maria persisted. “You shall live in sumptuous fashion. How fortunate you will be to have a grand house and many servants and a stylish wardrobe.”
Josephina hugged her sister fiercely.
“He has also said that I am to have a generous allowance, and if that is so, and he does not require the household accounts to come out of it, I shall share it with you both so that you will—”
“So that we won’t be obliged to become governesses or spinsters? Oh, Josephina, do you think he will permit it? For I confess, I do not like children much, and I should not enjoy having to tend to them all day,” Sylvia admitted.
“Oh, by then, you shall be an aunt, for Josephina will certainly have a family by the time you would be old enough to go out into the world to make your living,” Maria assured her, excitement colouring her tone.
Josephina did not allow her expression to alter as she listened to optimistic predictions of children being born.
Maria did not know that there would be no children to come from the union because, in the strictest sense of the word, this would not be a real marriage. She did not have the heart to correct her sisters, though, having given them something beautiful and hopeful to look forward. Should things work out to their advantage, they would have a rather bright future.
“Tell us, Josephina, is he as handsome as he is said to be?” Maria asked her eyes pleading for a fairy-tale description.
Handsome.
As Josephina remembered their encounter, she relived the gut-wrenching reactions she had had when her gaze had locked with Joshua Hendrickson’s.
She bit her lower lip.
When she had emerged from the shock of wheat, she had seen a tall gentleman with an air of physical grace which was not diminished by his broad shoulders. No, they only accentuated his lean waist and what could only be described as very manly legs.
He had thick dark hair which was fashionably but not elaborately coiffed. His features were arresting, she thought; a fine, sculpted jawline, a regal nose, and light blue eyes which seemed to her to show kindness, something she would not have expected to see, considering the circumstances.
No, he wasn’t just handsome in the traditional sense; he was breath-taking.
She decided to keep her innermost thoughts to herself though.
“Yes,” she replied. “He is handsome.”
“Oh, then you shall have beautiful children,” Maria clapped her hands. “For you are so beautiful that your children will, of course, be superior in looks to other offspring.”
“Maria, really, you prattle on about matters which are not an appropriate subject for someone of your years,” Sylvia chided her.
“I don’t see why I mayn’t refer to my future nieces and nephews,” was Maria’s lofty reply.
Despite herself, Josephina had no choice but to laugh at her sister’s manners.
But the distraction lasted for only a moment. There was much to think about and consider, for if Mr Hendrickson followed through with his intention, by tomorrow, she would be an affianced woman with a wedding in the offing.
She only wanted to go to bed and be alone so that she could mull over the turn of events which had transpired. But she could not deprive her sisters of answers to their curious questions.
“You mean that Mrs Widdoes is to be Mr Hendrickson’s emissary to Father?” Sylvia said in dismay. “Oh, Josephina, there is no telling what she might say.”
Josephina thought back to the exchange between Mrs Widdoes and Mr Hendrickson.
“I do not think there is anything to fear on that score,” she said. “He knows the Archbishop, you see, and you know what a devoted parishioner Mrs Widdoes is.”
“But Father . . .” Sylvia’s voice faded.
Father was difficult.
His disappointment at siring three daughters and no sons had translated itself into a bitter and cold method of parenting, one in which he was alert to any transgression or failing in his daughters, and aware of no accomplishments.
Often, when they were younger, the sisters had gone to bed in tears, clutching one another, wishing their father could see past their real and imagined flaws, past the responsibility that they were, and simply love them as they were.
Their mother was not without affection for her daughters, but the years of bearing the blame for her failure to deliver a son and heir had taught her that it was easier to be an invalid than an unsatisfactory wife.
Over time, the Darling daughters had become one another’s chief allies and supporters as a result.
“I am sure that Mr Hendrickson will manage Father,” Josephina said finally. “Father does not care whom I marry, he has made that clear, as long as I do marry someone who does not object to my lack of a substantial dowry. I do not think he will obj
ect.”
Despite her bravado, Josephina was uneasy the next morning when the maid came to her to tell her that her father wished to speak with her in his study immediately.
As Josephina, suffering from a restless night in which sleep had been fleeting, was already up and dressed, the hour did not trouble her. But as she knocked upon the study door, she noticed that the palms of her hands were sweaty and that her heartbeat with such intensity, she feared she might lose consciousness right then and there.
“Enter.”
Josephina set her shoulders back as if she were ready to face a lion and opened the door.
Her father was standing at his desk, waiting for her to approach.
“You may sit,” he said, pointing to the chair at the side of the desk.
He sat down after she did and fixed her with an appraising look.
“Mrs Widdoes tells me that a wealthy member of the Hendrickson’s wants to marry you.”
She swallowed.
“Yes,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“What’s that? Have you lost your tongue? Not coming down with an ague, are you? I hope I am not about to marry off a daughter only to have her fall ill and be unable to wed.”
“No, Father,” she said in a stronger voice. “I am well.”
“Mrs Widdoes says that I should expect this Hendrickson this morning. I’ll speak to you first. What exactly happened last night? Mrs Widdoes was scant on the details.”
“I . . . met Joshua Hendrickson,” Josephina said, loath to provide too many details lest her father grill Mr Hendrickson when he came and have to run the risk of their stories not matching.
“That part was clear,” he replied with a frown. “And he simply proposed to you? That’s unheard of,” her father continued.
“From what I’ve heard at White’s, the Hendricksons are an exceedingly wealthy family. Why should one of them want to marry you?”
His words, though ringing of facts and truth, stung.
His surprise that a daughter of his could attract the attention of such a man merely through good breeding and intelligence made her taste bile in the back of her throat, and the bitter sting of disappointment.
Josephina’s hazel eyes met her father’s gaze.
“Perhaps,” she said defiantly, “because I have not much of a dowry, and he does not require one.”
Her father stared, sensing the rebellion in her words but not sure of how to respond. He spoke so little to his daughters that he had no notion of their characters. But he was their father, of that he was certain, and that gave him leave to decide their fates according to his will.
“I shall accept his offer, naturally,” he went on. “I shall press for an early marriage. No point in waiting, and the sooner you marry, the sooner I can take the rest of the family back to Huntington Green and save myself the expense of a prolonged stay here.
As to the wedding, it must be simple. There’s no money for a grand event.
If Hendrickson has relatives in town, I suppose he may invite parents and siblings, but no more. Your mother and sisters will be here, of course.”
Josephina stared at him unblinking.
“That is all. Mrs Wafford shall prepare a wedding luncheon, but it will be simple fare, mind you. Don’t expect that merely because you are marrying a wealthy man that I shall encumber myself with French cookery and wines. Whatever is in the cellar will do for wine, and Mrs Wafford shall manage with beef. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Good . . .” Lord Huntington looked down at his desk, dismissive and curt, with no warm words of congratulations or interest in whether or not his daughter was happy with her well-to-do match.
Josephina swallowed down her disappointment. She supposed she should not have been surprised.
“Three daughters to dower . . . it can’t be done. Not on my income,” he continued muttering to himself. He suddenly looked up.
“I daresay you’ll want a new dress.”
“No, Father,” Josephina replied quietly. “I shall have dresses when I am married. But I should like new frocks for my sisters. They have had to make do with my cast-offs and I should not like to see the family embarrassed in front of the Hendricksons on my wedding day.”
“Your sisters—very well. There is merit in what you say. You’ve had new garments for your season. They have not. Very well. Mrs Widdoes will take them to the dressmakers for something to wear for your wedding day. Something simple, see that they understand. I’ll not be turned into a beggar for a dress.”
“No, Father,” she replied in a tone which gave away none of her excitement.
New dresses for Sylvia and Maria! How delighted they would be at the news.
Lord Huntington leaned closer.
“See here, Josephina, that you do right as a wife.”
His dark eyes were serious, the threat in his tone clear, tinged with years of bitter disappointment and regret, and tainted with the image of his own wife’s failure.
“Father, I shall endeavour to do my very best—”
“Give him a son. Don’t inflict him with the fate that I have had to bear all these years, with only daughters.”
Josephina tried and succeeded in not shedding a tear at the lack of love he expressed. Soon she will have secured a future not only for herself but also for her sisters. Nothing would take away the joy of that accomplishment.
“It’s a woman’s job to bear a son. Don’t fail in this.”
Without another look at his daughter, Lord Huntington dismissed her with a wave of his hand and went back to examining his ledger.
FOUR
Although Joshua Hendrickson awoke the morning after the Harvest Ball with a sense that he had done something irrevocable that night, he could not at first recall what it was. Then clarity returned, and he stared up at the canopy of his bed in consternation. A fetching young girl had proposed marriage to him in jest, and he had accepted.
It was unfathomable, and yet, it was so.
It was for him, now, to go to her father and pronounce himself a suitor to Miss Josephina Darling and request permission to marry her.
He raked his hand through his hair.
There was no need to let the morning go to waste.
He summoned Sloan.
“Sloan, what would you say if I were to bring home a wife?”
“Today, sir?” asked the unflappable valet as he lathered his master’s face with shaving soap.
“Not quite, but soon, I think. Yes, soon. I go today to ask her father’s permission, and so I must present myself as a suitable husband.”
“I think there will be no question of your suitability, sir.”
Joshua was silent.
Last night had been most unexpected. He thought again of the way the young lady had suddenly emerged from behind a shock of wheat and proceeded to behave as if they knew each other well.
She had been so convincing that Jeffreys had been entirely fooled by the exchange. Or, more likely, Joshua though cynically, the man had been captivated by the lovely tawny ringlets and the entrancing hazel eyes.
Jeffreys was susceptible to beauty; there was no denying it.
But he was not.
And therein lay the riddle.
Joshua frowned.
He was not a vain man. He was, however, quite cognisant that a man of his financial means was considered prime husband-material by London debutantes and their mothers.
Marriage was an economic union among the upper classes. Therefore Joshua Hendrickson’s lack of aristocratic title was not an impediment to matrimony with a pedigreed young lady whose noble family might find itself in an unfortunate situation of lacking funds.
Miss Darling was one such lady, though she did not behave in such a manner. From his brief exchange with her, it had been evident that she preferred to be in charge of her own fate, even if it meant sentencing herself to a different way of life.
Joshua himself had been impervious to su
ch matrimonial snares since he had become old enough to find himself an object of matchmaking.
When he had found his heart captured by the Viscountess Randstand, there had been no thought of money; she was in charge of her husband’s estate, and Joshua was wealthy. It had been an attraction of the heart, not incomes.
Miss Darling was not a wealthy heiress.
She had been candid, rather disarmingly so, about her lack of financial prospects. After she had apologised for her importunate proposal, she had bared her soul to Joshua, who had found himself at first bewildered and then amused by the young lady.
Such an innocent ought to have better marital fodder than the dissolute Lord Devon or the unpalatable vicar who were vying for her hand or her charms.
In spite of her desperate need for a suitor, she had still given Joshua every opportunity to disentangle himself from the artless snare she had trapped him in.
She had conducted herself with grace and humility in spite of her predicament, well aware that it was Joshua who was doing her a great service, and not the other way around.
But in her action, Joshua had seen a way out of his dilemma. His pride smarted from the bets placed at White’s and the jocular reaction to the news that his beloved’s husband had, as the wags put it, risen from the dead. It was one thing to be unlucky in love; it was quite another to be an object of ridicule.
It was not Tabitha’s fault, of course, and he did not blame her. But his indignation was not assuaged by the fact that she was blameless.
A marriage of convenience for a distinct duration would salve his wounded ego and help the young lady out of her predicament. It was a simple solution, if not precisely an orthodox one.
When the butler admitted him to Lord Huntington’s study, Joshua was entirely at ease. He was not a hesitant youth mired in trepidation, nor was he an ardent swain set to beard the father in his den.
He was Joshua Hendrickson, of the Essex Hendricksons, come to ask for Miss Josephina Darling’s hand in marriage.