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A Hasty Betrothal
Jessica Nelson


A Practical ProposalThough Lady Elizabeth Wayland would rather spend her days with her beloved books than an uncaring spouse, scandal forces her to find a match post-haste. To escape the scoundrel who almost ruined her, Elizabeth accepts an unconventional proposal from a childhood friend. But when she finds herself falling for her husband-to-be, will she be able to convince him to return her love?Widowed cotton mill owner Miles Hawthorne vowed to never marry again—until Elizabeth’s reputation is on the line. Their betrothal begins as a simple favour. As he spends more time with his fiance, though, Miles finds that there’s more to her than he ever saw before. And Elizabeth just might be the only woman who can slip into his heart.







A Practical Proposal

Though Lady Elizabeth Wayland would rather spend her days with her beloved books than an uncaring spouse, scandal forces her to find a match posthaste. To escape the scoundrel who almost ruined her, Elizabeth accepts an unconventional proposal from a childhood friend. But when she finds herself falling for her husband-to-be, will she be able to convince him to return her love?

Widowed cotton mill owner Miles Hawthorne vowed to never marry again—until Elizabeth’s reputation is on the line. Their betrothal begins as a simple favor. As he spends more time with his fiancée, though, Miles finds that there’s more to her than he ever saw before. And Elizabeth just might be the only woman who can slip into his heart.


“I see you brought a book.”

There was not the slightest hint that he’d noticed her gawking at him, nor that he even cared. “If it is all the same to you, I’ll be reading through these papers for the bulk of our travel. I trust you can entertain yourself?”

So formal. So distant. Elizabeth nodded slowly, at a loss. Who was this man in front of her? Certainly not the carefree gentleman who’d visited Grandmother and chided Elizabeth’s bibliophilism. Nor was he the mischievous boy who’d yanked her pigtails and dared her to climb Grandmother’s tallest oak.

No, this man across from her, with his long legs encased in shiny Hessian boots and his serious brow fastened to the work before him, was not the Miles she had always known.

A chill started at the base of her toes and rippled upward. Suddenly the prospect of meeting new people appeared far less dangerous than a future spent with a man who had become a complete and utter stranger.


JESSICA NELSON believes romance happens every day and thinks the greatest, most intense romance comes from a God who woos people to Himself with passionate tenderness. When Jessica is not chasing her three beautiful, wild little boys around the living room, she can be found staring into space as she plots her next story, daydreams about raspberry mochas or plans chocolate for dinner.




A Hasty Betrothal

Jessica Nelson







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


But let it be the hidden man of the heart,

in that which is not corruptible, even the

ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,

which is in the sight of God of great price.

—1 Peter 3:4


I first want to dedicate this to my little brother, Hunter Schwirtz. When I started this story, I never would have guessed that you would be gone by its completion. Your struggle and your pain have given me an empathy I lacked. Your bright beauty is missed by so many. We grieve the loss of you.

Thank you to Anita Howard, for being the best, most fantastic POM in the world, and for catching all my echoes. Also, a huge thanks to Ane Ryan-Walker for taking the time to read the story and refine my Regency knowledge.

I also want to give a shout-out to my fantabulous aunts: Laurie Fontaine, Ellen Begin and Rosemary Begin. When I was a visiting child during multiple summers, these ladies indulged my voracious appetite for reading by making sure my world was fully stocked with books. Thank you.

Thank you to Emily Rodmell, my wonderful editor. She truly makes my stories shine.

And finally, to God, who sees us in our deepest sorrows, who comforts us in times of need. We are never alone, because of Him.


Contents

Cover (#ubfdf0b13-d380-502b-999a-a183a6a00034)

Back Cover Text (#u67c83d10-9fba-5f35-9e9a-b4a698110f8a)

Introduction (#uaadfb85f-828b-53a4-90f4-60fbc5fb318c)

About the Author (#u5b7323ec-5c5d-5c8f-b0cb-e53eda2df30c)

Title Page (#ub3397516-4a51-5092-a850-be4c4796802f)

Bible Verse (#uec1ba296-830a-5df0-be0a-8b81df07b589)

Dedication (#uf0edf90f-1457-552a-b130-5dd338e9100c)

Chapter One (#u8436838d-7a59-5850-82ac-c820826de1a6)

Chapter Two (#uae9e8225-80dd-5553-8e5d-125cc7371711)

Chapter Three (#u47617443-cde7-5d25-97e0-716deeef4782)

Chapter Four (#u84cc87e4-94d7-5e53-b56f-5e55529e3876)

Chapter Five (#u716ea69f-646c-5103-9ffc-9aee32bb0587)

Chapter Six (#u58fd15a1-261f-59a7-8d21-08ba7e229ed9)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_660a1d27-6a3b-53e1-ad67-ae18c9d90c72)

Balls were the worst sort of social event.

One month after Lady Elizabeth Wayland’s arrival in London, the Season began full force. She received her voucher to Almack’s, that most-coveted place of stale biscuits and overeager girls in search of a groom.

As in Seasons past, Elizabeth loathed Almack’s on sight.

Tonight’s rout at Lady Charleston’s was bound to be just as detestable, but refusing the invitation would have been a slight too large to justify. Elizabeth’s father, a wealthy earl, and her mother, the daughter of a duke, were well liked by the haut monde. Their pristine reputations kept their calendar full. Her brother, John, was also making a name for himself in political circles.

Quite unlike Elizabeth, who preferred a secluded life at her grandmother’s estate. She’d been caring for the dowager duchess nigh unto fifteen years, ever since she was sent to live at Windermar as a young girl. Her mother and father resided in London for much of the year, but spent the heat of summer rusticating at their own estate in Kent.

Elizabeth adored her grandmother’s spacious home. Located in Cheshire County of Northern England, it was a three day ride to London. Escaping her parents’ abundance of charitable events caused Elizabeth a great feeling of accomplishment. They insisted her looks did not matter, but she could not help but feel that the large birthmark on her face made others uncomfortable.

No, it was far better to remain with her books and her adorable if decidedly eccentric grandmother.

Except each year when the Season rolled around.

Unfortunately, her parents refused to budge on the notion she should marry, despite her pleas. They cited reasons such as decorum, responsibility and her future. But Elizabeth knew that no man would ever want her, except be it for true love. Still, to satisfy her parents’ demands, every year she gathered her pluck and attended soirees, balls and dinner parties. She only went to enough to appease her parents. Once she’d participated in a few select events, they often let her return to the country before the end of the Season.

Frowning now, she picked her way across Lady Charleston’s overly crowded, giggle-saturated ballroom. Nothing was worse than being forced to dance with multiple partners who either stared at the large pinkish blotch covering her right cheekbone in pity or avoided looking at her altogether. Indignation burned through her, little salving the hurt that scraped the surface of her emotions.

She dropped her dance card to the floor, deliberately sliding it away with her slipper. Let someone else dance the night away. She longed to be finished, to return to Windermar and meld back into her normal life routine.

She left the ballroom, certain she remembered a library nearby from Seasons past when she’d made a similar escape. Spotting a familiar door, she sighed with relief and pushed it open.

The welcome scent of leather and paper greeted her. The library. She finally felt as though she could breathe. She inhaled deeply. Her corset stretched with the movement, and her lungs filled with less-congested air. Sweet Jenna had kept the strings loose. Elizabeth made note to give her lady’s maid a gift.

It had been trying indeed, attending dress fittings, fixing her hair, ordering new bonnets. Two fat curls dropped over each of her shoulders, and her pale blue gown had been designed with one goal in mind: to fetch a husband.

As if she planned to do such a thing. She would finagle some reading instead. She doubted her mother would notice her missing. After several minutes of perusal, she selected a book. Bound in cracked leather, the novel looked decrepit and, oh, so very intriguing. She could not recall ever reading this one before. She would merely take a moment, really only a few minutes, to traverse this story before returning to the ballroom. Very gently, with the tip of a finger, she eased to the first page and lost herself in a world far more exciting than the one she presently inhabited.

“Head in a book again, eh?”

At the sound of Miles Hawthorne’s husky voice, she looked up from what was actually a fascinating treatise on African populations. A wayward strand of hair fell across her vision, and she blew it away. Her brother’s friend, and her childhood nemesis, stood in the doorway. His clothing was neatly pressed, his fine black Hessians polished to a spit shine.

She glanced at her own skirts, creased from sitting. Most likely, she looked a fright. “Hawthorne, what a surprise. Have you taken up dancing?” she asked.

Not bothering to wait for his response, she eyed the book in her lap, trying to find the paragraph she’d been reading before his appearance. She traced the letters lovingly, each curve and bend a precious entrance to another world. Ah, there she’d been. The Maasai threw a rungu. She frowned at the page. How utterly painful. But a natural weapon, to be sure. She certainly would not want to have to dodge the aim of one of those warriors.

A crude line drawing on the next page sent her imagination wandering into the wilds of the Sahara. Stumbling over broken pieces of...well, whatever was in the Sahara? Perhaps it was better to imagine dredging through dark dunes of rust-colored sand. The grains scraped the palms of her hand as she stumbled up a hill. Skeletal shrubs snagged her dress. And then a lion appeared, its mighty mane—were there lions in the Sahara? And would she be wearing a dress? It seemed she might wear something more luxurious and strange... More research was required.

This might even be a topic the Society of Scientific Minds would be interested in reading. Her last article on astronomy had been well received by the group.

“Bitt, did you hear me?”

The nickname filtered through her daydreams. Snapping the book closed, she dragged her gaze to meet Miles’s remonstrative glare. “I have repeatedly told you not to call me that horrid name. What are you doing at a ball, anyhow? Do not tell me you are in search of a wife?”

“I will never get married again.” He chuckled lightly, though she had the feeling that his words carried a deep weight. He meant them, certainly.

She did not blame him one whit. She had heard rumors about his tempestuous marriage. She studied him now, wondering why he looked different.

Same lanky frame. Gray eyes, though she’d seen them turn green when he was in a temper, and unfortunately, his tempers happened often. Nothing violent, just long silences and tempestuous looks. She preferred his authenticity to the sticky disingenuousness of the haut monde.

What she actually preferred was isolation.

His eyes held seriousness tonight. Despite his moody temperament, he managed to sport sun-streaked hair as though he spent time outside rather than brooding indoors. The blond strands must be from horse riding. Crooked smile...wait...she paused, eyes narrowed, and then gasped.

“Why, Miles, whatever did you do to your mustache?”

His lips dented at the corners. “It’s been gone for more than two months.” He paused. “I’m wounded, well and truly hurt to the core of my being, that you have just now remarked upon my new style.”

Elizabeth reluctantly put the book she’d been reading back in its place on the shelf.

He did look handsome without the facial hair. More dashing and younger somehow... She put the thought to the side. It was artificial and irrelevant to the moment.

“Tell me, sweet Bitt, why are you hiding in the library? Your grandmother sent me to find you. It’s not seemly for a dowager duchess’s granddaughter to be poring through literature like a bluestocking.” His smile grew more crooked.

“You are a thorn in my side,” she said testily, rankling again over his use of that detested moniker. “It is not your business what I am doing here. I don’t need watching over, and I don’t like your hovering, smelly presence.”

“Why, Bitt...” He pressed a hand to his elegantly tied cravat. “Another insult?”

Truth be told, he smelled quite nice, but she’d rather be gored with an elephant tusk than admit such a thing to him. The boy who used to pull her hair, steal her books and then lose her spot in them.

“Mr. Hawthorne, stop the pretense. Tell Grandmother I shall return shortly.”

“And if she asks why you did not come with me?”

She sighed heavily. “Very well, if you insist on being difficult.” She stood, brushing out her skirts as best she could, knowing the rest of the evening would prove to be a great bore. Nevertheless, duty must be fulfilled. Perhaps she might claim a megrim... It would certainly not be unexpected.

Miles held out his arm as she neared. “I know that look. Plotting escape, are you?”

“Not I.” She felt his gaze upon her. “Do stop staring,” she murmured, taking his arm and allowing him to escort her back to the ballroom.

“You really should not be wandering alone, especially at a crush this size.”

“Please, Miles, not now.” He was right, of course. She risked her family’s reputation, but staying in that horridly stuffy ballroom had proved unbearable. Besides, she was older than many here. Nothing untoward would happen.

“Shouldn’t you be entertaining a bridegroom by now?” Miles asked.

She rolled her eyes. He acted as though he were her guardian rather than an old family friend. Oh, how she despised his pristine, well-kept appearance! The cravat that was always tied just so and the unblemished features he’d been born with. It was not his fault that he knew nothing of her struggles, of her insecurities.

But to mention her lack of prospects...how utterly uncouth of him. The audacity of his comment rendered her speechless for a moment. This was why she preferred never to see Miles. His blunt ways and teasing smile bothered her to no end. Then there was the unfortunate incident he’d witnessed her fifteenth year... Yes, she avoided him whenever possible.

But most importantly, he possessed the greatest fault of all: the man never opened a book.

That thought uppermost, she leveled a lofty look at him, the one she reserved for ill-trained butlers and staring housemaids. “I will marry for love or not at all.”

“Why, Elizabeth? Love can come with time.” They paused in the doorway of the ballroom, his eyes searching her face. “Don’t you wish to have a family, your own home?”

“Not with someone who does not love me.” She broke their shared gaze, searching the room for her mother. Why wouldn’t Miles just leave? His questions poked tender scars from years ago.

“Haven’t you had several Seasons now?” He continued speaking as though he had no notion of how his words affected her. And maybe he didn’t, for she was well versed in decorum.

A lady did not show her emotions in public places.

“Perhaps I shall start a rumor that you are a heart crusher,” he said.

“Tittle-tattle, all of it,” she responded quietly. She’d experienced many Seasons—though it was no wonder he strove to remember. She was worse than a wallflower. This time of the year was always terrible, but she managed to muddle through. Oh, why didn’t he leave? She had little patience for Miles and his irreverent ruminations. “Go away.”

“You are filled with sharp words today, sweeting.” Before she realized what he intended, he drew her to an alcove to their right, which held a small bench situated behind a potted plant. He released her arm and, gratefully, she sat.

From this vantage point, she could watch the dancing without being noticed. “It is this time of year. I suppose I am irritated with my parents. They are always trying to marry me off.”

Elizabeth dropped her chin into her hands and surveyed the attendees. They chatted and swirled, preened and giggled. The gentlemen wore starched cravats, crisp breeches and such serious expressions one might think the world would end if they didn’t snag a bride. Or rather, a fortune.

“What are you brooding about?” Miles settled beside her, his cologne intoxicating.

“Avariciousness.”

He made a sound akin to a laugh. She scowled at him. “It’s not funny—it’s ludicrous. What do these people hope to become? To dream about? The latest French fashions?”

“Very judgmental, my lady.”

“I’m in a foul mood.” She focused on the people milling about. “My parents refuse to see reason.”

“This is regarding your marital prospects?”

“The lack thereof.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw his hands lift, palms up. “You’re an heiress. Surely you’ve had offers.”

She sniffed. “When I marry, it shall be for love. If I marry. No one shall force me into the cage and if my brother’s career suffers, if my parents’ reputations hold the tiniest smear of disgrace simply due to my hermitude, I care not a whit.”

“Harsh words, my lady.” He leaned forward, mimicking her bent posture. “Marriage can be rewarding. It is not all doom and gloom. If you choose wisely, you will spend the rest of your days residing on a country estate. Why, you might even be allowed to move your bed into the library. Then you may cozy up to your books without interruption and never be parted from them again.”

“You are silly, Mr. Hawthorne.” She scrunched her face at him, realizing that an unacceptable giggle gurgled within. She tamped it down. Firmly. “This is no time for laughter. Do you see those dowagers and my mother watching me? They are assessing my value. Planning, no doubt, for my sale to the highest bidder.”

“Come now, Bitt, that is hardly fair.”

She straightened, suddenly annoyed. “You are not a woman. You do not know what it is like to be picked apart and looked over, only to be found wanting.” Her eyes stung, and she blinked. Oh, rats. Why did this happen when she talked to him? Perhaps because he knew about Luke. He knew what had happened so long ago. “What are you doing here, anyway? This is hardly the place for a widower who has vowed to never marry again.”

As she faced him, she caught the grimace crossing his face. Was that regret in his eyes? Guilt barreled through her. “My brother told me of your commitment to work.”

“I acquired a new factory near your grandmother’s estate, actually. I don’t have time to cater to a wife.” His eyes were dark, stormy, as though a mood had come upon him.

If she was honest with herself, she’d always enjoyed looking at Miles. Almost in the way one admired a violent sunset splashing across the horizon. When she was around him, she felt freer somehow.

As if she too were a myriad of colors spilling into the sea.

“If you are not here for a wife, then you must be here for some other nefarious purpose.” She squinted at him, allowing a bit of mockery in her smile. “Tell me truthfully: Did John send you here to spy on me?”

“Your brother is too busy for meddling.”

“Do not be vague with me, Mr. Hawthorne.”

“Despite my lack of title, I also received an invitation. Does that surprise you?”

“As you are a gentleman, it is not surprising at all.” She stood, suddenly tired of their banter, of the constant irritation that had plagued her from the moment she’d arrived in London. Nay, before that. “I’m in need of fresh air. Do not follow me. If you see Grandmother, please tell her I took a turn in the gardens.”

“Without a companion?”

“Perhaps I shall conveniently snag one on the way out,” she said crossly. She really should keep a companion near her at all times, but what she wanted most was to be alone. Who would bother a wallflower, anyhow?

Miles chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. She steeled herself against any feelings of friendliness toward him.

“You laugh, yet you have never known the restrictions of womanhood.”

“If you mean spending your days reading, shopping and talking, you’re correct. I have never known such freedoms.”

“You mock me!”

“Nay, but I beg you to consider the benefits of your station in life. Most have not the comforts you enjoy on a daily basis.”

“I know that,” she said hotly. Who did Miles think he was? Always needling her, acting as though she was some spoiled, ungrateful wretch. “Would you have me sacrifice myself to the cold system of our society? A system that prefers breeding over character, purse over heart? I think not, Miles. Now, if you would be so kind as to bid me adieu...” She trailed off, for Lord Wrottesley headed toward her, a disconcertingly aggressive look to his gaze. “I really must leave now. Lord Wrottesley has called on me twice since we arrived in London. I do not wish to speak with him.”

“Who is he?”

“A fortune hunter.” Without wasting another moment in useless conversation, she twisted to the right, desiring to dodge several patrons, but she caught her reflection in the large mirrors that gilded the ballroom: a pale wisp of an heiress, the strawberry birthmark covering her right cheekbone, glaring out from the whiteness of her skin.

Averting her eyes from the sight, she charged toward a set of French doors she’d seen earlier.

The exit promised solitude. A rest from the noise of congestion, the odor of too much perfume that clogged her windpipe. She dared not glance back to see if Wrottesley followed her.

She prayed he did not. When he had called last Wednesday, it had been the most stifling thirty minutes of her existence.

Grandmother insisted God heard prayers from every soul, and Elizabeth dearly hoped the duchess was right.

The doors shuddered beneath the force of Elizabeth’s exit, but the damp earth welcomed her slippers a bit too readily. She sank deeply into the ground and, in her haste, almost fell. Catching her balance, she hurried forward to the garden walk, ignoring the sucking sound her slippers made in the mud. They would be ruined, but she owned at least twenty more.

The scent of rain clung to the air. Lighted lanterns cast eerie shadows upon the path ahead, but the stones promised dryness for her feet and where they led, she would follow. Lord and Lady Charleston’s back lawn was a lovely respite, the gardens a comfortable touch for guests. Though situated in London, they’d made good use of their small plot of land.

Oh, for quiet from this dreadful press of a ball. Vaguely it entered her mind that she risked her reputation by entering the gardens alone. Surely a brief rest could not hurt, though. She would return shortly. She reached the stone walkway and heaved a sigh of relief, for her toes squished and the sad, sodden state of her slippers reminded her of her future. Equally dark and muddy.

She should pray. Grandmother exhorted her to do so. Glancing up at the night sky, she saw that the moon hid behind clouds, painting them shades of dark blue and gray. Lord, please guide me tonight. Give me wisdom for I am beset by worries.

She picked her way down the path, passing a couple sharing sweet whispers on a bench. The lanterns guided her feet to a ribbon-festooned gazebo sitting on the edge of what looked to be a pond. Out here, beyond the maddening noise of festivities, she finally felt she could draw a breath. The air was sweet, humid. Crickets welcomed her, their song harmonious and gracious.

She stepped into the gazebo, and it was as though a weight lifted from her shoulders. The half-circle bench beckoned her to sit and wait out the night. Perhaps a half hour, and then she could beg off the event by claiming malaise. A megrim, perhaps, or blisters from too much dancing. Sinking onto the bench, she watched the shimmering reflection of the now-unveiled moon on the water.

Blessed peace descended. It was only her and the night and God’s watchful eye. He had answered her prayer and for that, she thanked Him. She sat for some time, her heartbeat lulled into synchrony with her breaths. She propped her arms on the edge of the gazebo, laying her head down, knowing she smashed the curls Jenna had worked so hard on and hoping her maid would forgive her the transgression.

She did not wish to think of marriage nor her parents. She wanted only to rest here and pretend that their desire to marry her off could be circumvented.

In the midst of her thoughts and the swirling anxiety that never seemed to quit, a twig snapped, cracking the silence.

Her head lifted, her pulse ratcheted. “Who’s there?”

More scuffling, another twig snapping and suddenly she realized just how secluded she was. Perhaps no one went missing at balls, but plenty had been ruined. She stiffened as a shadow fell across the entrance of the gazebo.

“Alone, my lady?”


Chapter Two (#ulink_b0a1ee10-c78c-539c-b83a-7eaaa13cbcf1)

Perhaps Miles ought to follow Bitt. He sipped his punch while eyeing the dandies who stood a few feet away, laughing within a circle of young misses.

Who was this Wrottesley Bitt spoke of? If he was related to the earl who lived near Windermar...no wonder Elizabeth did not like him. They were a slatternly bunch who were facing a mountain of debt, if he recalled correctly.

Elizabeth’s happiness was important to Miles. He hoped her parents allowed her to choose her marital partner. She was kind and naive. He did not want to see her married for her inheritance. Her husband had to pass muster. A Season carried all sorts of disasters of which she knew nothing. Within that time frame, Elizabeth’s future could be decided forever.

She wanted a marriage of love, she had said.

Well, she deserved one, if there was such a thing. She deserved something like he’d had, once upon a time.

A frown tugged at his lips.

He took another swig of punch to hide his mood from the group with which he stood. The ladies chatted with the gentlemen. One particularly forward lady kept sidling curious glances his way. Prospecting for a future husband.

She did not realize that he was infinitely far from husband material.

Miles’s displeasure deepened. Bowing, he pushed away from the wall and decided to find Elizabeth. She shouldn’t be without a companion.

“Miles Hawthorne.” Elizabeth’s grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Windermar, rapped his shoulder, effectively halting his pursuit.

He bowed. “Your Grace.”

She nodded to him, then turned to the couple on her left. “Venetia and Adolphus, you remember young Miles? And, Miles, certainly you have been introduced to Bitt’s father, Lord Dunlop?”

“A pleasure,” he said, bowing yet again in their direction. He had met them briefly during various stages of his childhood. Like most parents of the ton, they did not overly concern themselves with their offspring until the children came of an age to be married off or taught the family duties. As a result, they’d paid little attention to whom their son played with. Now that he was grown up, however, perhaps they were surprised that the friendship between an earl’s son and a factory owner’s son had survived the years.

Surprised and disapproving.

Lady Dunlop sniffed, and he detected condescension from Bitt’s mother. No doubt due to his being a man of business. For some, the ultimate black mark in the ton. Hiding a wry grin, he turned to the other man beside Bitt’s parents. His shock of white hair framed a narrow face and deeply set brown eyes. He looked familiar.

The duchess gestured to him. “This is Mr. Hawthorne. He owns a factory in Littleshire. His father and I were great friends.”

“Lord Wrottesley.” The earl held out his hand.

“A pleasure,” said Miles, hiding his surprise. So this was Wrottesley’s father. Standing with her family... Did they not know of his debts? The man did possess a reputable lineage and a well-respected title. Though the family had come into hard times, possibly due to a streak of gambling that ran through their bloodlines, a well-matched marriage could fill their coffers once again.

Elizabeth’s future was becoming alarmingly clear. Did John know of his parents’ machinations? Surely he wouldn’t approve such a match for his little sister.

“I would not expect to see someone such as yourself at a ball. Are you looking for a wife?” Lady Dunlop fluttered her fan while waiting for Miles to answer.

“Not at all. Lord Charleston and I are business acquaintances,” said Miles.

Her nose wrinkled at the word business as though it might contaminate her reputation.

Hiding his smile, he gave her a curt nod. “A pleasure.”

Turning to the dowager duchess, he offered her a warmer smile. She responded by putting her quizzing glass to her eye. “Now that you’ve bought the Littleshire Mill, I expect to see you more often. It is between our estates, is it not?”

“I’d hardly call my plot of land an estate,” he said.

“It’s your home.” She waved her glass through the air. “What it is called is neither here nor there. Now, did you find that bookish granddaughter of mine?”

“She went out to the gardens,” he murmured. “I was just on my way to fetch her.”

“Very good. A ball is no place for a lady to wander off alone. And well she knows it.” The duchess sniffed, her powdered cheeks wiggling.

“She will return shortly.” Miles excused himself and continued his search for Wrottesley, but the man had disappeared. He threaded his way twice around the room before concluding that his quarry had meandered into the gardens.

Where Elizabeth had claimed she’d go.

He stepped outside, the humid air clinging to him like a tightly tied silk cravat. The recent spring shower served to muck his boots and hinder his walk through the grass to a stony path at the edge of the lawn. He believed there to be a pond nearby. If Bitt had gone there alone, she’d been unwise, for a young lady should always be chaperoned. She was testing her limits, he supposed, and he could not blame her for it.

He had never known her to shirk duty or behave unwisely in the past.

Wrottesley’s disappearance worried him, though. He strode along the path, his boots clipping the stones impatiently. The chirping of crickets and the full moon created urgency rather than calm. Bitt shouldn’t be out here alone. She ought to know better.

He came to the end of the stone pathway, but there was nowhere to sit here and no sign of Bitt, only a quiet pond adorned with lily pads and the reflection of the moon. He turned, scanning the landscape until he caught sight of a gazebo on the other side of the pond. Movement rippled the shadows around it, and then a high-pitched gasp interrupted the steady song of the crickets.

He bolted forward, pushing through the plants lining the walkway and finding another stone path that lead to the gazebo. His pulse thrummed in hot beats through him, his body strained to reach the sound of that anguished cry. It couldn’t be Bitt, he told himself as he ran down the path, but instinct told him it was her, and that she needed him.

He finally cleared the path and emerged in front of the gazebo. One quick glance told him everything he needed to know. A man’s hands dug into Bitt’s arms. She was kicking his shins.

He pounded up the stairs and yanked him away from Bitt. The man fell away easily, stumbling backward and plopping onto the bench. Miles advanced, his vision hazy and his knuckles aching to connect with the coward’s face.

“Miles, no.”

Elizabeth’s tugging on his shirtsleeve broke his concentration. Her face looked unbearably white in the shadows of the gazebo, her eyes huge and shiny.

“All is well. Leave Lord Wrottesley be.”

Miles dragged in a ragged breath, willing his body to calm so that he might deal with this situation. Not daring to move too far from Wrottesley in case the man attempted to leave, he cast a careful eye over Bitt’s visage. She appeared unharmed, but everything was askew from her hair to her dress. One sleeve appeared to be torn, though he couldn’t be sure.

Scowling, he crossed his arms in front of him. “All does not appear well. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, and her hand dropped from his sleeve. “Lord Wrottesley was under a mistaken assumption.”

The strength of her words roused Wrottesley from his lethargy on the bench. He lunged upward, face contorting. “Now see here, I only came to check on her, but she attacked my person.”

Miles squinted. Upon closer look, he did spot an outrageously long scratch along the man’s cheek. A sound from Bitt prompted him to look at her. She did not bother hiding her disdain.

“You well deserved what I gave you.” After delivering that arch reply, she glanced at Miles. “Mr. Hawthorne, I would much appreciate your escort to the house, as Lord Wrottesley seems incapable of gentlemanly behavior.”

Wrottesley shot them a withering look. “You will regret your actions tonight, Elizabeth.”

“I did not give you leave to call me by my Christian name.” Her chin notched up in a way that filled Miles with pride, despite the urge still barreling through him to smash Wrottesley’s face to pieces.

He sneered at Miles. “And you...we will see what is to become of you.” The man pushed past Miles and disappeared down the pathway.

Exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Miles took Bitt’s hand and pressed it between his. Her cold skin filled him with concern. “Are you sure you do not need to sit, my lady? Perhaps find your composure?”

“I’m quite composed. Just take me to my mother, please. I feel the press of a megrim and wish to leave at once.”

“As you will, madam.” He tucked her arm beneath his, only too aware of her small stature. If he had not come outside, there was no telling what Wrottesley might have done to her.

The dread pooling in his gut did not dissipate, even when they neared the house. Before entering, he pulled Bitt to the side and faced her. The familiar lines of her features struck him tonight in a different way. He had the strangest desire to run his thumb along the line of her lips, to press his cheek to hers and feel the sweet warmth of her skin. She stared up at him, eyes wide and trusting. For all her bluster, for the many times he knew he’d upset her, they shared a childhood closeness. He needed to be sure of her safety.

Needed to make certain she was not terrified.

“Whatever is the matter with you, Miles?” She pulled her arm away. “I’m perfectly well.”

“Lord Wrottesley’s actions... I must know—did the man compromise you?”

Even in the darkness, he could see the flush upon her cheeks. “He forced a kiss, but that was all.”

Miles restrained a growl. “It will not happen again. I shall make sure of that.”

“And so shall I. A foolish thing for me to wander alone. I realize that now, but you must not worry for me.” Her gaze softened. “Truly, I appreciate your presence and hope your rescue shall sufficiently satisfy your need to protect me.”

“Your hair is mussed.”

She patted the unruly strands. “It cannot be helped. Thank you again, Miles, and while I feel I should be miffed at you for following me... I cannot help but be grateful you appeared. It was something out of a story, perhaps, and surprisingly expedient.”

The soft light from candles shining from the windows flickered across her features. If she had a husband, this would not have happened. “Very well, if you are not harmed...”

“I truly am not.” Her pretty mouth curved upward. Her hair spilled in wisps from its confines, brushing her high cheekbones. The strands were darker than he remembered. The last time he’d seen Elizabeth was several weeks ago and her hair had been put up. Between childhood and adulthood, the color had deepened to a pretty auburn. Perhaps it became so dark from never venturing outside. She had skin the color of cream and often complained about the sunlight, but he knew her appearance bothered her.

More so than she’d ever admit.

He shifted on his feet, remembering an episode when she was fifteen and he’d been visiting John at Windermar. He’d heard crying in the stables one evening, the quiet kind of weeping designed to mask deep distress. Not one to ignore someone in need, he listened carefully and finally pinpointed the source of the sound coming from behind a bale of hay. He walked over, unexpectedly finding Elizabeth, who covered her mouth in a desperate bid to hold in her sobs. Even now he remembered the pain that had lanced through his chest at the sight of her tears, and the frustration he’d felt when she refused to divulge the reason for her weeping.

Discomfited, he retreated, but he determined to find the cause of her pain. The information came quickly enough from a foolishly loquacious groom who lost both his job and several teeth on the same day. The lad had broken Elizabeth’s heart. Told her he could never love a woman who looked as she did.

Miles had never divulged that he knew what had happened. He would do anything to never see her cry again.

“Enjoy the rest of the ball, for I shall be doing my utmost to leave immediately.” She offered him a saucy wink. Taken aback, he followed her into the ballroom but stayed near the wall, watching as she tracked through the crowd to find her mother. People turned to look at her. Then they looked at him.

Rather odd.

He pushed away from the wall, passing a familiar face as he headed for the doors. “Good eve, Lady Swanson.”

The countess did not glance at him, but gave him her back. A cut direct. The first he’d ever received. How very strange. Surely there could be no rumors already. He tried to remember exactly how disheveled Bitt looked, and how quickly he’d entered the ballroom after her. Casting the countess a befuddled look, he continued to the door, where he gave instructions for the bringing of his rig.

Lord, watch over Elizabeth. God could certainly do a better job than Miles. As for Wrottesley, Miles planned to take care of him.

* * *

Elizabeth rose late the next morning, almost missing the array of food on the sideboard. She meandered by the eggs and finally decided on a generous helping of porridge coated with sugar and fresh cream. Her stomach rumbled. Last night’s dramatics seemed a distant dream, slightly disturbing yet infinitely less important than the demands of her belly. She inhaled the rich scent of sausage as if she had not eaten the very same thing yesterday.

There were a great many toils associated with being an heiress, but having an abundance of food was not one of them. Pushing the events of the previous evening to the back of her mind, she forked two sausages onto her plate and decided to scoop up eggs, as well. Thus fortified, she found a seat at the little table where she’d placed a gem of a book she’d checked out from Hookham’s Circulating Library. The novel promised the wonder of an adventure.

The Arabian Nights.

It was a classic she had not yet explored, but passing the Season by delving into it seemed a pleasurable way to avoid the haute ton. She opened the book, relishing the thick texture of the page and the sweet smell of leather binding that rose to greet her. The endearing scent almost surpassed her desire to eat, but her stomach quickly rebelled against such an inane thought. She managed to hold the book open with one hand and fork food into her mouth with the other.

She was deep in a riveting scene between the merchant and his wife, who were arguing over his laughter, for he’d heard animals talking, when the morning’s gossip rags were slapped over the words of her book.

Startled, she dropped her fork on the plate. She looked up. Mother stood above her, cheeks scarlet and lips pressed tightly together. A most unnerving sight. Elizabeth pressed her napkin against her mouth. Unlike Grandmother, her mother did not give in to fits of emotion. The obvious anger in her eyes torqued a nervous clench in Elizabeth’s belly.

She preferred avoiding conversation with her parents. Four years ago, during her first come out, she overheard them expressing their embarrassment at her visage to callers. It was a conversation that, at the oddest times, repeated in her mind like an unceasing headache. Old, familiar pain palpated within. She tightened her posture and looked her mother in the face.

As usual, Mother’s eyes skittered to an invisible speck upon Elizabeth’s shoulder. Far be it that she must see the shameful birthmark upon her daughter’s face.

She wet her lips. “Good morn, Mother.”

“Read the gossip.”

Elizabeth’s gaze fell to the paper lying atop her book. The front page headline filled her with dread: Heiress Returns Disheveled.

The writer did not name her, but it became obvious as the story progressed that it was about her, Lady Elizabeth Wayland. An heiress returned from Lady Charleston’s gardens disheveled, hair almost undone, followed by a notable factory owner. The writer then speculated that a rendezvous had occurred... Elizabeth tore her eyes away, appetite dead.

Worry raced through her in uneven clops, like a startled horse galloping without restraint.

“You understand how close you are to being ruined, do you not?” Mother slid into the chair opposite Elizabeth. “If this becomes fodder for the gossips, it will damage John’s position in the House, his career aspirations and our family’s reputation. This is disgraceful.” Mother took a shaky breath and Elizabeth wondered how she could breathe at all when a steel vise had tightened around her own ribs, making inhaling almost impossible.

She did not want to marry, but that did not mean she wished to be ruined. Not to mention the damage she might cause to her family’s reputation, sullying all that they’d worked for... She squeezed her eyes tight and tried hard to think.

“Are you sure it is me they refer to? There is no mention of—” the words hurt to emit, but she forced them out “—my birthmark.”

“There will be. Soon enough.”

Elizabeth winced at the defeat lacing Mother’s answer.

Venetia rubbed her brow. “I must ask—are the rumors true? Was there a dalliance with a man last night? Who could it be? Is that why you claimed a headache and practically forced me to bring you home early?”

Elizabeth pushed her plate away. “Dalliances are the furthest thing from my mind. Trust me, I want nothing more than to return to Windermar and take care of Grandmother. This Season is a farce. I’m an heiress, not a fatted calf.”

“Elizabeth.” A sharp edge tipped her mother’s tone. “Every young woman deserves a home of her own, children and a stable future. Accept your responsibility as the daughter of an earl, the granddaughter of a duke. We will have to decide what to do with this.” She tentatively tapped the edge of the paper as though it were a hot plate. “Your father must be told at once.”

Her lids fluttered as if the colossal import of the situation weighed upon her. “Have you perhaps considered Lord Wrottesley? He has expressed interest in you.”

Elizabeth flinched. “He is the last person I’d ever marry. Besides, he is a fortune hunter.”

“You do not know that.”

“I suspect it.”

Mother sighed in a way that suggested Elizabeth was a great drain on her energy. “You cannot afford to be picky now. I shall speak to your father. Perhaps we can arrange terms.”

Elizabeth swallowed back a retort, for she knew no way of escaping the rumors that had forced her into this situation.

Despite her brave words to Miles, she found that deep within, she truly could not subject her family to such a scandal. A betrothal might put the gossip to rest, but could she put aside her own happiness for the sake of her family? Every fiber of her being shouted no. Martyrdom lacked appeal. Especially with Lord Wrottesley.

Who else would want to marry her, anyway? A reclusive heiress with an unsightly birthmark?

She was going to have to give up her dreams of love because of one foolish action. After returning from the gardens, she’d entered the ballroom, gone straight to her mother and they’d left immediately.

Who would have spread such tittle-tattle about her? Perhaps a man out for revenge? A man who had discovered a way to put his greedy hands on her money?

Wrottesley.

She shuddered. Had he succeeded in ruining her?


Chapter Three (#ulink_08398376-ae82-5545-8cd6-0c2e8a35f41a)

Wrottesley was not home.

Annoyed beyond reason, Miles rode back to his house with the urge to box the cad itching his knuckles. When he arrived home, he saw John’s carriage.

He had barely gotten in the door when John appeared in his hall. “I suppose you’ve heard the news?”

Miles handed his coat to his valet. “News?”

“Regarding Elizabeth.” Her brother pivoted, disappearing into Miles’s study.

Biting back exasperation, he followed John. This was not how he’d intended his morning to go. He hadn’t intended to tell John of Wrottesley’s perfidy against Bitt either, but since he was here, perhaps he already knew.

Did he want Miles’s assistance? He rubbed his palms together, anticipating the moment Wrottesley learned the consequences of assaulting Elizabeth. He entered the study. As he made his way inside, his mahogany desk greeted him like an old friend, staid and reliable in the familiar room. He’d inherited this office from his late father. Sighing, he sank into the plush chair accompanying the desk.

John watched him steadily from his own perch on a less comfortable chaise at the side of the room.

“What’s this about Bitt?”

His old friend leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Expression serious. “She has been compromised. But I suppose you know that already.”

Miles felt his brows lift. “She has been in London only a month. What happened?” His mind raced. Last night, the cut direct he’d received, Elizabeth’s disheveled state...still, that should not be enough to get tongues wagging so quickly.

Unless someone started the gossip. Someone intent on making her look bad.

“It’s in all the papers. Not her name, specifically, but it might only take a few days for the ton to realize who this heiress is, and once that happens, she will be ruined. She was seen in the company of a factory owner.” John’s mouth tightened. “You were at that ball last night.”

“What are you saying?” Miles asked flatly. But he knew. How foolish he had been.

“No one knows that I am whatever man was described in the papers. And you say her name is not mentioned? There is no reason for you to be here, John. You’re distraught. Give it a day or so. The gossip will die down.” Though they had been good friends since childhood, they rarely saw each other now that John stayed busy with his estates and his work with the House of Lords.

“I am here to demand honor for my sister.”

“You believe I dishonored her?” Miles straightened in his seat. Shock curled through him. “I would never treat her in such a way.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” John’s laugh was dry. “But according to that article, the ton believes you have.”

“My name is not mentioned. I fail to understand how Elizabeth’s predicament is my concern.” And yet, even as Miles spoke, he realized that he did indeed see the part he had played. For if she really was on the verge of ruination, then his actions last night had partially caused the problem. He should have insisted she straighten herself. Or perhaps he should have returned to the ballroom by a different way.

It had been so long since he’d attended a ball or paid any attention to society’s strictures. Not since Anastasia...and he would not have gone last night if it were not for the personal invitation.

John dragged in a deep sigh. “I have come to insist you marry Elizabeth, should the need arise.”

Panic, sharp and visceral, sliced through Miles.

“Politics have turned you daft,” he said in a casual tone, hiding the terror rushing through him. He knew he owed John a great deal. He had been a bastion of support for Miles years ago when Anastasia died. As the powerful son of an earl, John had made sure the circumstances of Anastasia’s death were kept quiet and out of the gossip rags.

But he could never marry again. He simply could not.

“I know that your marriage was less than ideal,” John continued. “I would not demand this of you if I did not think it necessary.” He shoved a hand through hair a shade lighter than Bitt’s. “There is a chance the gossip shall pass. I have not spoken to my sister as of yet, but from what I’ve garnered, there is little to support the accusations.”

“Speak to Elizabeth. It could be that she will happily retire to Windermar with the dowager duchess.”

“Grandmother left for her estate this morning. She doesn’t stay in London long. I can’t imagine the uproar that would occur if she heard of this. Things are not so simple as you imply. There are other factors to consider.”

“Your reputation?” he asked drily.

“Yes, my reputation.” John narrowed his eyes. “I’ve worked hard for the latest bills that have passed the House. There is so much to accomplish and something like this...well, it tarnishes credibility. My parents come from a pristine lineage. Impeccable bloodlines. This is something that would drag our name through the muck for years to come.”

Miles studied his friend. He cared little for reputations or the idle gossip of the ton, but would Elizabeth be able to live with disparaging her family? Would they ever let her forget what her lapse in judgment had caused?

Not that he truly blamed her for her nighttime excursion. Wrottesley was the culprit, and the urge to soundly thrash him still ran through Miles. Revealing how Elizabeth left the ballroom and went outside alone would be indiscreet, though. And what would it accomplish to tell the full story? Then John would demand honor from Wrottesley, and Miles absolutely would never allow her to be joined to such a man.

He owed John, though. His friend had shielded Miles and Anastasia’s family from gossip. He had used his influence to hide the truth of Anastasia’s death. Miles swallowed hard, hating what was to come, and yet knowing it to be necessary.

Mouth dry, he said, “I shall speak to Elizabeth. I make no promises.”

John left quickly after that. Miles called for his rig. The sooner he spoke to her, the sooner he could rid himself of this terrible sense of duty.

Marriage.

The very word turned him squeamish.

He was shown into the Dunlops’ residence with little fanfare. He found Elizabeth in the library, surveying a shelf of books. He acknowledged that her lustrous hair and unique eye color were not so difficult to gaze upon. Her lips were delicately shaped and rosebud pink. John’s demand echoed in his mind.

Miles enjoyed Bitt’s company. Felt a measure of affection for her.

Perhaps a marriage of convenience was not so preposterous, after all.

But he greatly hoped she rejected the notion. For all he knew, she had an admirer in the wings, waiting to rescue her.

“Good morning, Bitt.”

She heaved a sigh much too big for her tiny frame. “Miles Hawthorne. You are up early today.”

“I went to take care of Wrottesley.”

“And?” She turned to him, eyes questioning, wary.

“He was not home.” He cleared his throat. “Another matter has been brought to my attention.”

“I daresay it has to do with this morning’s gossip?”

“John came to see me.”

“He is overly worried about many things. It shall blow over. This talk of ruination—” she fluttered her fingers as though waving off a bothersome bug “—is nothing. I have no desire to be married. Surely, being a widower, you understand.”

Miles blinked, gathering his wits, trying to rein in his reeling thoughts. It was a smidge hard with Bitt staring up at him so wide-eyed and upset. She’d always had enormous and expressive eyes. Such a pale blue they were almost crystalline.

Unfortunately, he doubted any suitors ever saw Elizabeth’s eyes as, more often than not, she kept her face trapped in novels.

“What I don’t understand,” he said slowly, “is your flippancy. You are not worried?”

“Certainly I’m a tad concerned. This gossip will bring out desperate fortune hunters.” She planted her hand on a shapely hip. “It is paramount I find a way to fix this. I will find a way. I must.” A trace of panic edged her words. “No man shall want me for myself, Miles, and you know that is the truth.”

“I did not think you so vain.” Miles spoke slowly, knowing his words would incite her. Better to face her irritation than to hear that panicked note in her voice. “Assuming no man will want you based on your appearance is presumptuous.”

She whipped a hand acrobatically through the air. “Presumptuous? Vain? How dare you criticize me when the woman you married was always called a diamond of the first water. I may have been in the schoolroom, but Anastasia’s attributes were often remarked upon in my family. One could hardly travel through London without hearing of her beauty.”

Miles’s jaw clenched. “Anastasia’s looks had nothing to do with our marriage.”

“Nothing?” Her hand fell and she gave him a glare that turned his stomach queasy. It was as though she saw through to his inner depths and found him wanting. Her accusation was a slap to his conscience.

“I fell in love with Anastasia because of her laugh,” he said tightly. It was true. She’d giggled infectiously during their courtship and loved to tease. If only he’d known that her heights of happiness were often followed by depths of sadness he had no power to rouse her from.

Bitt’s head bent, as though she regretted her harsh words. “I recall her laugh and it was quite lovely. I apologize for my impetuous words. Of course you loved her for more than her beauty. It was unkind of me to suggest otherwise. Perhaps my own insecurities have blinded me to what a man desires in a wife.”

“Any man would be fortunate to have you as his bride.” Miles tapped his fingers against his thigh. “This situation you find yourself in... John and I are concerned.”

“He is overprotective. He need not worry though, because I have no intention of marrying anyone, and if my parents try to force me into it, I shall simply run away.”

Miles did his best not to scoff. “That would hardly solve anything. Besides, how would you support yourself?”

“I have been saving money for several years. If the need arises, I shall use that to find a post somewhere. A companion position, I suppose.” Perhaps she saw the doubt on his face, for her brows furrowed.

“No legitimate family will hire a ruined woman.”

“I am not ruined yet. Gossip has a way of trickling off. I simply must wait for a juicier tittle-tattle to occur.”

Miles could not stop incredulity from barreling through him. Perhaps the reaction showed, for Bitt scowled deeply.

He returned her look with a glower of his own. “You hate attending society events, you shun the outdoors and you deny an audience to anyone who is not family because of a mere birthmark. I do not believe for one second that you will become a companion or a governess. Marriage is a position every lady of gentle breeding has been groomed for since birth. Will you really subject your family to great reputational harm rather than marry?”

A dark flush suffused her cheeks, creeping around the large birthmark that covered the right side of her face and coloring the rest of her fair skin an angry scarlet.

She gave him an arch look, completely belying every notion he’d ever entertained about her timidity. “Unless it be for love, I shall never marry. No matter the consequences.”

* * *

“Even at the expense of your family?” Miles asked.

Elizabeth winced. Tearing her gaze from the books, she looked at him. She’d spent all morning in this library, hoping and praying the gossip would die down. And then he appeared, reminding her of the entire predicament.

It was unfair how handsome he looked when she found him so bothersome. His crisp waist jacket lay becomingly over dark breeches that were paired with shiny Hessians. She didn’t know why, but suddenly the lack of his dreadful mustache struck her anew. A little shiver coursed through her at his appearance.

From his full lips to the dimple in his cheek, formerly hidden by the mustache... She shook away the awareness that rippled through her at his changed looks. This was Miles. Childhood nemesis and annoying man who most unfortunately turned out to be her hero last night.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

He returned her look, unblinking. She patted her hair, certain it must be in place. Jenna had been dressing it for years. Why else did he stare at her so? Was he terribly disappointed in her?

“Since you are here, I feel I must thank you for rescuing me,” she said to fill the silence.

“By all means, do not force your thanks.”

Did she hear mockery in those words? “It is not forced at all. I am sincerely thankful you arrived when you did. Wrottesley was out of line, and I believe he also partook of too much punch. You will see—the gossip will die down, and my family will be fine.”

She prayed it to be so, for she did not truly wish for their reputations to be harmed because of her. If the rumors affected only herself, she would have been happy to live at Windermar for the rest of her days.

But this could affect her family for years to come.

Marriage.

Bah! She likened the institution to a velvet cage. An image from the tribal book she’d read filled her mind. The young women carried baskets on their heads. Of all things! Every culture had its societal expectations and dictates, she supposed.

A footman appeared in the doorway. “My lady, Lord Wrottesley is here to call on you.”

She suddenly felt faint. She had no desire to see the man. Words refused to form. Miles’s gaze was on her. She blinked.

“I had hoped to take the lady for a ride in Hyde Park,” he said, never removing his eyes from her.

She nodded faintly, catching her breath. “Yes, that would be lovely. Please tell him I am indisposed, or out.” She waved a hand dismissively. Thank goodness Mother had gone out shopping or else she would not have allowed Elizabeth to go with Miles.

The footman disappeared.

Miles held out his arm. “A ride, then?”

Suddenly the thought of fresh air and sunshine seemed smart, indeed. She took his arm, noticing how much taller he stood than she. His arm felt exceedingly strong.

Which was neither here nor there, she told herself firmly.

It did not take long to leave.

Miles helped her into his rig. His fingers lingered on her knuckles, and she sent him a sharp look. Did he realize the small impropriety? Still feeling warm, she withdrew her hand and found her seat. Once they were settled, and Jenna had handed in her bonnet and taken her own seat, they were off.

“Hyde Park is beautiful this time of year,” Elizabeth said inanely.

“We’ve never taken a turn by ourselves, have we?” Sunlight lit the chiseled planes of his profile.

She glanced at her lap, fiddling with the ribbons of her bonnet.

“You do not need a cap to hide your face, Bitt.”

“It is for shade, sir.”

“I see.” His tone suggested he thought otherwise.

She cared not a whit what his tone said, though her hands were clammy.

They left the tree-lined road as Miles turned the rig into Hyde Park. Sunlight bloomed immediately upon their faces, warm and inviting in the still-cool spring air.

She situated the bonnet upon her head, but as she pulled the ribbons forward, Miles touched her hand.

“Allow me, my lady.” His eyes darkened. Some tempestuous emotion spiraled through them, though Elizabeth had no idea why. She dropped her hands to her lap.

Miles parked the rig to the side of the pathway. Setting the reins on his lap, he pulled the ribbons of her bonnet gently, tying them neatly beneath her chin, the skin of his knuckles the briefest whisper of a caress against her skin.

“I had wondered...” He paused, his face only inches from hers, his gaze earnest. “If you might consider a betrothal.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_6b79c451-0358-5f94-a9d2-111cd16a402c)

Elizabeth stiffened. The bonnet hid most of her face but the sudden frown turning her pretty lips downward remained visible. “I shall not be marrying Lord Wrottesley, no matter what occurred last night. I do hope my parents have not sent you to persuade me otherwise.”

Miles wanted to take her hand, but the knowledge that they were riding in a public place and bound to encounter peers stayed him. He tapped his fingers against his knee instead, debating the best way to phrase his question.

Perhaps a simple business proposition?

That might be best, as it most described the purpose of the proposal. He picked up the reins, guiding the horses back onto the path.

“Nay, Bitt, your parents know nothing of my actions. The thing is...” He gathered his courage, which seemed to have deserted him. “I have come to see if you would consider a betrothal to me.”

Her mouth rounded. Miles took a curve in Rotten Row, passing an early rider he did not recognize. He felt compelled to fill the silence of Bitt’s shock, to assure her of his honorable intentions. And perhaps to convince himself that such an offer was in both of their best interests. Hard to imagine; nevertheless, he felt honor bound to offer.

“John came to my house this morning. He is concerned.”

“Yes, yes, you told me he saw the papers.”

Miles’s mouth tightened. “He worries for your family’s reputation.”

“He should have expressed his worries to me.” She pulled out a fan and began waving it vigorously against her face. “I truly feel that the gossip shall pass. After all, the column was quite vague, merely mentioning an heiress. That could be a number of people, including debutantes. It is known that I shall inherit, of course, but the amount has been kept quiet to discourage fortune hunters.”

“Do you speak of an inheritance or a dowry?”

“Both, really. My grandmother has settled a dowry upon me, but I am also to receive an inheritance from my grandfather. It was in his will. We were very close. He made me feel loved for myself, and in fact, it was he who introduced me to the wonder of novels.” Her eyes briefly closed as though she remembered a sweetness Miles himself had never known.

His own experiences with reading encompassed contracts, bills and legal papers. He took a quiet moment to study her. She sat to his right and the birthmark did not extend to the left side of her face. Her high cheekbones hinted at aristocracy, at a regal breeding that did not enrich his own blood.

“Your grandfather sounds like a wonderful man.”

“His life was too short.” Elizabeth opened her eyes, training their brightness upon him. “Tell me, Miles—why propose to me? I had believed you to be firmly settled in your widowerhood.”

He dragged in a breath. “It is true. Marriage is the last thing I want. But you are an old friend, Bitt, and I do not wish to see you ruined. A betrothal seems a smart proposition. The article did mention a factory owner. Not only will the rumors subside and your reputation remain pristine, but you will be able to continue with the life you have known. With me, you might reside in the manner to which you’re accustomed. We are comfortable together, having known each other since childhood. I wished to discuss the idea with you before going to your parents.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, you make marriage sound cold and heartless, a calculated business decision rather than a joining of hearts.” She edged away from him.

The morning sun felt unbearably hot. He tugged at his cravat. “Because that is what it would be, Elizabeth. A proposition.” He cleared his throat. “Do not mistake me. I do not want to ever marry again, but should the rumors increase, I want you to know that I am here to assist you by whatever means necessary. I do have a few requests, of course. Requests that would assure me you could be a suitable partner.”

“Such as?”

“If forced to marry, I would want a wife who is not a ninny, one who might keep my home warm but not interfere with my social and political activities, promising a beneficial arrangement. You would have the protection of my name and the comfort of my acceptance.”

“Forced to marry? And this is what you think I want?” The high pitch of her voice indicated that he’d upset her, but he could not fathom how or why. “I have not been ruined yet, sir, and if I were, it is doubtful I would accept such a proposal. Even from an old friend. How very distasteful.”

“It’s practical, Bitt. We get along well enough.”

“That is an exaggeration if I’ve ever heard one.”

His cravat grew tighter by the second. His head pounded. “You are a woman of excellent taste, refined but timid, one whose biddable nature would do well in housewifery. If it is acceptable to you, I would ask your parents for your hand in marriage—”

She reared back. “Have you lost your senses, Miles? We have nothing in common. Nothing at all. And I shall never marry unless for love. The matter is as simple as that. There is nothing that could induce me to marry you. Nothing at all.”

“Not even scandal?”

Her face flushed but she did not respond.

He shifted on the seat, wondering if Bitt’s lady’s maid had heard her exclamation. “Your vehemence is unnecessary, my lady. A simple no will do. This is not my idea of fun. I simply thought to help.”

Beneath the brim of her hat, her eyes flashed. “If I have wounded your ego or offended your pride, I do apologize, but for you to take me on this ride and hold out marriage as some kind of business offering...it is uncomfortable, Miles. What would Anastasia think of such a proposal?”

“Anastasia is gone,” he bit out, “and has no place in this conversation.”

Elizabeth’s arms crossed her middle. He would like to imagine she was sorry for her harsh words, but he began to think he’d assigned to Elizabeth a heart that perhaps she did not truly possess. All for the better that she found marriage as abhorrent as he did. Her family could deal with her. He was done.

She sounded strained as she said, “I am merely pointing out that I want to marry only for love. Rumors abound in the ton. Let the gossip run its course. My parents and John shall be fine. They shall not suffer for my actions.”

“And if the rumors don’t subside?”

“I cannot marry someone who feels forced into the deed.”

“You are being naive, Elizabeth.” He felt unruly inside, unsettled by her unexpected irritation, her complete lack of faith in his husbandly virtues. Not that he had faith in them himself. This was all for the best, he told himself. He turned the horses for Bitt’s home.

“Better to hope for the best than settle for the worst,” she said.

“Indeed,” he muttered. The worst meaning him, of course. “It was merely an idea to keep you from ruin, but since you feel it unnecessary, then we shall not discuss this again.”

“I do so appreciate your putting aside your distaste for marriage in order to help me, but fear not. All shall be fine.” The hopeful lilt of her tone did not comfort him.

John could still pressure them into marrying, citing honor, but at least Miles had offered before the request became a demand. He had fulfilled his obligation, but where he should have felt relief, he merely felt a deep emptiness, a wrenching certainty that things had not turned out how they were supposed to.

Elizabeth wished to face life on her own terms. He could understand such a goal, and yet, watching her proud posture as they rode back, he could not shake the nagging feeling that this Season was bound to interfere with his life in a most uncomfortable way.

* * *

Life did not unfold as Elizabeth hoped. Neither did the rumors abate.

She was sitting in the library the following day, congratulating herself on her newest find from Hookham’s Library, when her mother blasted into the room.

Or so it felt.

Mother snatched the book from Elizabeth’s hands, prompting a startled gasp and immediate irritation. She straightened, eyeing her mother carefully. The older woman paced the library. The calm she usually carefully exuded was gone, replaced by a tenseness that permeated the room and ruined any vestige of comfort Elizabeth had felt.

“Is something the matter, Mother?” She played with the lace on her dress, dreading the answer.

Mother swung around, slapping the book down on the nearby desk. “As a matter of fact, Elizabeth, there is. I was denied a voucher to Almack’s today. Denied. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was? To be told my family does not have the prestige to enter? We have never been denied entrance. Never.”

Elizabeth’s hopes imploded. “Was a reason provided?”

“I know what the reason is. You are still in the gossips’ line of fire. There is only one way to remedy this.” Elizabeth did not miss the imperceptible tightening of her mother’s lips.

The coiffing of Venetia’s hair must have taken her lady’s maid at least an hour to fix. She wore her favorite emeralds, as well, handed down to all the wives in Father’s family. His affluent earldom more than made up for Mother’s step down from being the daughter of a duke.

She quietly waited for the woman who birthed her to speak. There had been a time Elizabeth longed to know the mother whom she resembled so closely, but that desire no longer existed. Not for many years, not since the evening she’d overheard a conversation that revealed her parents’ true feelings toward her.

“Your father and I are in agreement that Lord Wrottesley might be willing to marry you.”

Venetia’s eyes, the same shade of ice blue as Elizabeth’s, implored her to listen.

“He is a viscount who has already shown an interest in you. There is no reason to believe that has changed.” Her mother paused, but not in a dramatic way. No, Mother did not put on airs. Her calmness quite made Elizabeth want to stomp a foot. “If Lord Wrottesley offers for your hand, your father and I are prepared to accept the proposal.”

Elizabeth gasped. She’d suspected her parents’ plans, but for mother to speak them in such a way, with such finality... She clenched her skirts, readying to retort, but Mother held up a hand.

“This Season, to my utter dismay, is proving more disastrous than your first one. An intervention is in order. Due to your unique situation, finding a husband is nigh impossible. Thankfully, Lord Wrottesley is in need of funds to bolster his estate, and you are in need of a husband to provide for your future and save you from ruin. This is a solution that will prevent further harm to the family’s reputation.” Mother bent her head, looking at Elizabeth in a not unkind way. “We worry about what will become of you, our only daughter.”

How was it possible to wear such an air of concern while shattering Elizabeth’s world into a million unalterable pieces? A looking glass dropped to the floor could not be more broken than she felt at this moment. Her skin tingled, from temper or hurt, she was not sure. Her mother’s insinuations bristled every ounce of pride Elizabeth contained.

“The reason I have no suitors,” she said in a tight, emotionless voice, “is due to a lack of desire for them. Should I want a man to secure my future, there are plenty of impoverished earls to choose from. There is no reason for you and Father to concern yourself with me.”

Had she said such a thing to her mother? Yes, those words issued from her mouth, daring and bold and perhaps a very big mistake, for Mother drew herself to her full height, a scant inch above Elizabeth’s, and eyed her forcefully.

“It is time for you to marry. Not only is it what is expected, but your actions have left us no choice in the matter. What of our reputations, Elizabeth? Your brother can not afford to be ill spoken of at this time in his career. A good name is pivotal to his success.”

“What about Grandmother? Who will take care of her?” The fight was leaving her body, seeping away like morning mist. “And have I no say in who is to court me?”

“If Lord Wrottesley offers, and we have reason to believe he will, then we shall accept on your behalf. A thanks would not be too much to ask.”

“I should be thankful that you are forcing me into marriage with a cad?” Her cheeks flamed as she struggled to keep indignation from her voice. “He is the reason I find myself in this dilemma.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

A hot flush of shame spiraled through Elizabeth. “He forced a kiss on me. At Lady Charleston’s ball. Mr. Hawthorne interrupted Lord Wrottesley’s ungentlemanly behavior, but it is because of him that I returned to the ball disheveled.” The admission cost Elizabeth her composure. Her fingers trembled. “Please do not encourage the viscount. He is dishonorable. I wish to marry for love, and love only.”

Mother’s brows lifted. “I am dismayed. Why would you be alone? That is what a companion is for. To protect you from the likes of overly zealous gentlemen.”

“He is no gentleman,” Elizabeth said darkly.

“Regardless, you shall not marry a man of business. Mr. Hawthorne is an unsuitable candidate. Wrottesley is a viscount, heir to an earldom. There is no adequate reason to reject his courtship.” Mother waved a hand, dismissing further argument on the matter. “And what is this talk of love? That has nothing to do with a marital contract. Have you been reading that ridiculous poet again? Byron, is it?”

“No, I simply long for a love like Jacob and Rachel’s in the Bible. Or perhaps Hermia and Lysander...”

“Shakespeare? Really, Elizabeth, there is much more to the world than books.”

And yet books had been her dearest friends. She felt drawn to Hermia from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. A girl kept beneath the thumb of her father. They held even more in common now that Elizabeth’s parents wanted her to marry Lord Wrottesley.

Only she had no Lysander waiting to rescue her.

She looked away from her mother, counting the seconds until she could leave this house. Even walking in a park full of people would be more bearable than this wretchedness.

The thought bolstered her resolve to extricate herself from the perfidy her parents planned. Her chin notched upward. “Will you take away my books just as you are stealing my freedom?”

“Do not be melodramatic, Elizabeth. It doesn’t suit you.” But a fine blush swept her mother’s cheeks.

“My lady.” The footman, whose name Elizabeth did not know, entered the room. His gaze skittered away from Elizabeth to land on Venetia. “Lord Wrottesley has arrived to call on Lady Elizabeth. Do you wish to receive him?”

“Very good, Stockton. Show him to the parlor.”

Stockton bowed and then left. Once again Elizabeth was reminded of her failure as an earl’s daughter. She should know the servants’ names, but most often she found herself avoiding them. There was that dreadful time during her fifteenth year...

She sighed. “May I go back to reading?”

“No.” Her mother studied her. “This is as we hoped, and sooner than we expected. Go upstairs, put on your best dress and then return to meet Lord Wrottesley. I shall welcome him and see that he’s made at home. Do not tarry.” Mother swiped a scornful glance at Elizabeth’s morning gown, a simple cotton dress she’d been wearing for years.

“I cannot believe that you are actually going to make me see him. After what he did?”

Mother had the grace to look away from Elizabeth. “It is not uncommon for a man to lack self-control. In the future, keep your lady’s maid or companion nearby. It is your job, as the more refined gender, to keep a man’s base instincts in check.”

Clenching her jaw, Elizabeth rose, grabbed her book and went to her room. Jenna dressed her speedily.

Elizabeth’s nerves coiled. A great wall of anxiousness descended upon the anger she felt with her mother. The utter betrayal. As she slunk to the parlor, she realized her palms were damp and her jaw sore. She rolled her shoulders back but the movement did not ease the kink winding up her neck.

Odious Wrottesley. She prayed he came to apologize for kissing her. For putting his hands upon her person in an unacceptable manner. Couldn’t he find some other heiress to annoy? A quick rap of her knuckles and the parlor door swung open. It had not stuck closed as she’d hoped it would.

Lord Wrottesley looked up as she entered. Mother was not in the room. The scratch upon his cheek had rather disappointingly faded. Elizabeth suppressed her chagrin at not leaving her mark in a more permanent way. An elaborate cravat decorated his shirt. True dandy fashion. His smooth cheeks and empty eyes reminded her of a book without words. Or perhaps a gossip rag. Yes, full of lies and cruelty. Though his lips tilted in a facsimile of a smile, she detected triumph. Her nerves flamed and for the briefest moment, she was tempted to begin carrying smelling salts.

Oh, to be able to faint at the slightest upset. It was truly disheartening that Grandmother had not passed down the condition.

Pushing the thought aside, she curtsied. Lord Wrottesley performed his requisite bow.

“You are looking much better than you did the night of the ball.” He eyed her carefully, as though examining her for evidence that his actions then had greatly affected her.

She kept her features placid. “My headache has subsided.”

Was that dissatisfaction crossing his features? She dearly hoped so. He clasped his hands and walked toward the fireplace, face tilted to study the portraits on the wall. “I will come straight to the point of why I am here.”

“Please do,” she said.

His form stiffened, but he did not look at her. “Yesterday morning’s gossip rags were distressing, to say the least. To think I have called on someone capable of such misbehavior.”

“You caused it by manhandling me.”

“Ah, so you also recognized yourself in the column.” He turned to her and now she was certain of his disdain and his gloating. “There is a way to solve this, to keep your family’s name intact and preserve your future. I have spoken with your father in the past and have been patiently waiting, but I will not wait forever. Now seems the time to right the unlikely situation which has presented itself.”

Knots twisted in her stomach. She could only stand immobile, heart pattering in uneven beats against her ribs, fingers clenching her skirts... She could not marry this man. Could not. He repulsed her in every way.

Memories from the ball crowded her mind. His sour breath upon her face, his fingers digging into her skin and his laugh... He had found it funny to frighten her, to catch her unawares.

She wanted to speak but found that her lips had numbed, her tongue had swollen. He advanced. He put his hands on her shoulders and, because of their difference in size, she felt even more threatened. Her pulse galloped within her skin.

“Ah, Lord Wrottesley.” Mother’s voice sounded behind her and Elizabeth thought she really, truly might faint from relief.

He removed his hands and moved forward to greet her mother, kissing the top of her presented hand.

“Good to see you, Wrottesley.” Father emerged in her periphery, shaking hands with the dreadful viscount. “I see Elizabeth has made it down. Have you two discussed...anything?”

“I was just getting to that.” Lord Wrottesley flashed his supercilious smile and Elizabeth battled the urge to run as far as she could. “I would be honored if Lady Elizabeth would accept my proposal of marriage. In light of what’s being said, now is the best time to put rumors to rest and I am prepared to offer her the security of my title and hand.”

“Daughter?” Father peered at her.

She swallowed. Though her parents were in many ways strangers to her, there resided a deep need to make them proud. To show them that she was not just a deformed castoff who brought shame, but a productive member of the family. Could she marry for that alone?

Her dire predicament struck her fully as the three stared at her expectantly. Waiting.

“I...” She faltered beneath their gazes. Her mind raced. “I thank you, Lord Wrottesley, for your generous offer. It is with regret that I must decline it.”

“But we will be ruined!” Mother’s sharp exclamation was cut off by her hand to her mouth.

Father’s brows furrowed. “There is no room for scandal in this family, Elizabeth.”

“I know that and I would never cause you such pain. The truth is...” She gulped deeply, knowing her next words would change the course of her life forever. “The truth is that I am betrothed to another.”


Chapter Five (#ulink_9d3a702d-2f1c-5b8f-933c-f3bfc8d8251e)

“Lady Elizabeth to see you, sir.” Powell announced the news quietly, but the words punched Miles out of his deep study of contracts and into the present. He blinked at his valet.

“Lady Elizabeth Wayland?”

“The very one. She has requested your presence immediately.” Powell paused, his serious features perplexed. “She claims the matter to be most urgent, and if I may say so, she appears rather...winded.”

“Thank you. Tell her I will be there shortly.” Miles pushed his chair out, gut twisting. He could not forget yesterday morning’s ride. What had he been thinking? Offering marriage? He must have temporarily gone insane. Thankfully, she’d refused. He’d done his part, as he’d scribbled in a quick note to John when he returned home.

Should Elizabeth need to marry, there would be plenty of willing suitors. His gut twisted at the thought of Elizabeth in a loveless relationship, but he pushed the feeling aside.

He well knew how love brought pain. He frowned. He did not wish to see Elizabeth today, but he could think of no reason for her to be at his house, alone, except for some unexpected predicament.

Had she changed her mind? Panic shot through him. He prayed not.

He found her pacing his library, hands wringing and dress fluttering with the force of her walk. Her hair escaped in disorganized ringlets around her cheeks, and when he entered her gaze flew to his.

“Miles,” she breathed.

He hardened himself against the relief so clearly etched on her face. Perhaps his pride still rankled from her cold dismissal. “Lady Elizabeth, won’t you have a seat?”

Surprise fluttered across her face. Perhaps she’d expected a less formal greeting.

“I cannot sit. Something dreadful has happened. My hand is being forced, you see, and I said what I had to but now... I’m truly at my wit’s end. I know not what to do. I pray you forgive me.”

He did not move from his position in the doorway. What was happening here? Fingering his cravat, he gave her a questioning look. “Surely things are not so terrible.”

“Oh, but they are.” She stooped and plucked a paper from the chair. Marching to him, she held it in front of his face. The words blurred without his spectacles, which he’d left at his desk.

“What is it?” he said irritably.

“That article. They are referencing me.” She lowered the morning rag. “It’s still the gossip this morning, though there is no more mention of a factory owner. There is simply the implication that I...” Her face blanched. “Behaved inappropriately. They do not go so far as to write something to my complete ruination, but a betrothal is the only option to fix this, for if it continues as a topic of conversation, or widespread rumor, then I could very well be ruined and throw my family into the worst sort of scandal.”

“Did you not say you cared ‘not a whit’ about your family’s standing?”

Elizabeth wrinkled her face. “Empty words. I wish I had not uttered them.” She drew a deep breath, looking down at his feet. “Lord Wrottesley has offered marriage, and my parents would have me accept.”

Miles’s spine went rigid. He held up a hand, stopping her midspeech. “The same man who so cruelly mauled you and caused this fiasco?”

Bitt flushed. “Do not repeat this, please, but I believe he may be the one behind the rumors. They are too expedient. I cannot marry him, Miles. I dare not.”

“After what he did to you? Do your parents know?”

Her blush deepened. “I told Mother, but she feels I brought his behavior upon myself. I will say that he was a gentleman in the library, in the presence of my parents. I told him I could not marry him. That I was not at liberty to do so.”

“At the risk of ruining your family?”

“Not quite.” Her eyes, a startling crystal blue, shone in the morning light streaming through his library windows. “I know you believe me spoiled and selfish and that I care nothing for my family’s standing, but you are mistaken.”

“Bitt.” A lump rose to his throat. “I do not think those things of you.”

She smiled, but it was halfhearted and sent a pang through him. “Nonsense. You said as much the other day. My concern for my family is precisely the reason I am here this morn.”

He waited, knowing her well enough to trust that she’d circle to her purpose at her own leisure.

“I was hoping your proposal still stands,” she said.

Miles couldn’t control the shock that pierced him.

Bitt walked to him and placed a hand on his sleeve. “When Lord Wrottesley arrived today, I knew I would do anything to avoid being joined to that odious toad. So I told him we were betrothed.”

Shocked by her words, he wrenched away from her and glanced out the study door. There were no servants to be seen. “You were adamant you’d never marry me. Yet now, in a moment of desperation, you have changed your mind?” A curious hurt resided in his chest. From whence it came, he knew not, but nevertheless it was there, a heavy pressure beneath his sternum that turned his stomach sour.

Why did he care? He did not want marriage.

Bitt winced. “My hasty words hurt you. I see that now. It is simply that I never thought to find myself in this predicament. I felt that I would never marry in order to appease my family’s need for good standing, but now that the moment has come and I have seen the pain I would cause, I cannot bear to be the author of such scandal.”

Miles walked to the window and peered outside. His view faced the street. A carriage pulled to the curb. He recognized the crest as Dunlop’s. “Your parents have arrived.”

Bitt’s silence weighed on him. He knew she wanted him to renew his offer, to ignore her earlier rejection of him and pretend that they could move forward. They very well could marry. He knew that. He also knew he would fail her, just as he had Anastasia. Then again, a marriage of convenience was different than what he and his deceased wife had shared. Their relationship had begun with him already mired in the pit of love.

Or infatuation.

Whatever it had been, once married, reality had set in for both of them. Perhaps he needn’t worry about that with Bitt. Swiveling, he took in her unkempt hair, her begging eyes and nervous fingers. He remembered her laughter in childhood, followed by somber silences. And that day he’d heard her sobbing...

If he married her, she’d have his protection. No one would dare mock her or make her feel ugly. But she’d told him that she only wanted to marry for love. And that was the one thing he could not give her.

“Miles.” Her voice caught, the tang of guilt residing in her broken syllables. “There is something else you should know.”

He regarded her carefully. Quiet, unobtrusive Bitt. When had she grown into such a stubborn creature? “Yes?”

Her fingers knotted in the folds of her dress. “I did not only tell Wrottesley I’m betrothed to you. My parents believe it, as well.”

“You lied.” His jaw hardened. Every tendon in his neck tightened. This explained her sudden appearance at his door. She’d dug a hole and expected him to rescue her from its trap.

“No, I have simply changed my mind. I hoped your offer might still stand. I—I promise to be a good wife, Miles. If you will only understand that I did not know the repercussions when I rejected your kind offer. Although I hoped to marry for love, that is no longer an option.”

Mouth dry, he said, “Anastasia was unhappy married to me.”

So much so that she took her own life. But he could not utter that terrible truth. Could hardly bear to remember the depths of misery she’d endured in their relationship. Marrying for love, as he’d learned, was a foolhardy reason for what essentially amounted to a contract.

“I do not know the truth of your words,” Bitt said quietly, “but I would rather be unhappy with you, a man who sees past my visage and cares for my soul, than unhappy with one who would empty my pocketbook and treat me with cruelty.” The sounds of her parents’ arrival in the hall filtered to them. She lowered her eyes, knotting her fingers. “They shall be in here in a moment and if you can find it within yourself to marry me, then I will proudly take your name.”

Miles studied her. Surely she lied to herself, whether or not she knew it, but he owed John a great deal, and if he married Bitt, his debt would be paid. No doubt her parents would demand he marry her, as well. Especially since she’d rejected Wrottesley. He blamed her not at all for such a decision.

He could not forget his own part in her situation either. Had he pressured her to take a companion with her, Wrottesley would have not found her vulnerable. What a mess he’d gotten himself into. John was right. There was only one acceptable solution to this situation.

He expelled an uneven breath. “It will be a marriage of convenience. A business contract. No more or less.”

“I understand. I take that to mean that...well...that there will be no wedding kiss?”

He understood her question. He remained silent at the hesitant inquiry. By offering her a marriage of convenience, he would save her reputation and yet steal her chance for the intimate love of a husband and wife. Let alone the experience of a first kiss.

“Forgive me,” she rushed on, before he could respond. “I will not ask such assurances from you. It is enough that my family shall remain in good standing.”

He nodded slowly. “If you recall, I mentioned certain stipulations. I need to be certain that you can be moderately happy married to me.”

Miles did not care for the strain on Bitt’s face, but it had occurred to him that if their marriage was to have any success, he should test their compatibility. Make certain she could fulfill the duties of a gentleman’s wife. Nothing strenuous, just enough to set his mind at ease. After all, he was about to be shackled for life. Not his idea of a happy ending, but he could not leave his childhood friend in distress.

He waited for her to respond, every muscle tight and clenched.

Footsteps pounded down the hall. Bitt’s parents appeared in the doorway. Her father’s face wore somber lines as he advanced into the office. “Is it true, Hawthorne? Are you set to marry my daughter?”

Bitt looked at him, a mix of fear and desperation plastered on her features. She gave him a slow nod, and he knew that she had accepted his terms without even knowing them.

A stiff foreboding crawled down Miles’s spine. He bowed crisply. “Forgive me, Lord Dunlop. I meant to speak with you sooner. If you will allow so, I shall marry your daughter.”

* * *

“Why, Miles, this is positively insulting.” Elizabeth scanned the paper he handed to her. Ensconced in his barouche, they were to discuss the “business” of marriage while taking a trip to Gunter’s for ices.

It was all very tedious and though she did enjoy sweets, she’d much rather be curled up on her bed with a good book than sitting in this rig, looking at a list of tasks she must accomplish in order to be considered suitable for marriage. How like Miles to create a list. So very methodical. She found the entire business humbling, for he was changing his life to accommodate her. She worked hard to squelch the irritation throbbing within.

“You agreed to this arrangement,” he said, his voice unusually hard.

Wincing, Elizabeth dipped her head in concession. “Quite right. I did. Though may I remind you that I was under a great deal of pressure at the time? Is this truly necessary? A house party? To celebrate our betrothal? That is farcical.”

“You and I will have a marriage of convenience. Nothing more.”

A pang hit Elizabeth square in the ribs. Indigestion, no doubt, brought on by the stress of her future being destroyed. She peered at the paper more closely, attempting to decipher his scrawl whilst acknowledging the terrible fact that due to her own irresponsible actions, she had given up her dreams of true love forever. A surreal realization, to be sure.

“Instead of writing what you want from me in overwrought detail, you could have simply told me.” She handed the paper to him, thankful her fingers did not tremble. She had not slept well last night, strange dreams troubling her sleep. “Am I to understand that you ask only three things of me?”

“That is correct.” He steepled his fingers, his face dark and brooding. “Are you certain you can do what I’ve asked?”

“I said that I would.” She drew an unsteady breath. Miles had been backed into a corner. He had done an honorable deed, one she should be thankful for. It was her duty to make this as painless for him as possible. “Visiting your new factory shan’t be an issue, I’m sure. But planning a betrothal ball is a bit excessive. And I confess I fail to see why I should visit Vauxhall Gardens with you, as well. These are odd and unlikely requests. They will not make me a better wife.” The very thought filled her with dread. Her shoulders slumped. She could never measure up to Anastasia.

How could a homely caterpillar ever compare to a fragile, colorful butterfly?

He held up a hand. “Familiarity with my business and associating with others in social settings is something you may be called upon to do. If you can’t handle these situations gracefully, it is better to know now, before we are bound for life.”

Elizabeth didn’t dare look at Miles. When he’d picked her up this morning, she’d felt the darkness of his demeanor. He was in a mood, to be sure, and it did not reassure her of their upcoming nuptials. It was no surprise that marrying her brought him great irritation. If she had any other option, she would not have accepted his reluctant proposal.

The thought sparked her temper. “If marrying me is such a daunting task, why did you ever ask in the first place? I did not compel you to act the honor-bound gentleman.” She dared not go so far as to offer to back out of the nuptials.

“I am still asking myself the same question.”

His words sliced her. She was truly in a mess of her own making. Oh, why had a walk outside seemed like a good idea? That dreadful viscount had ruined everything.

She swallowed hard, summoning the reserve she’d been taught to carry, the fortitude to face unpleasant situations with grace and regal bearing. “You’re avoiding answering me, but the truth is that your response no longer has any bearing on the situation we find ourselves in. There are three things you ask of me. I shall do them regardless of how I feel. And if I do these tasks, you will marry me and not break our betrothal?”

“Yes,” he said.

She found the courage to look at him. His eyes were unreadable, his jaw set in a stubborn line. It reminded her of the time he took the punishment for breaking cook’s favorite bowl when he and John were fighting over the last bit of dough. John had let him take the punishment, too, which she’d deemed quite dishonorable at the time.

Miles would go through with marrying her, no matter how unpalatable he found the union. It was in his nature to fix situations and help others. She lifted her chin and met his troubled gaze.

“This is not ideal for me either. I am giving up the possibility for true love. At least pretend that we are on somewhat good terms. I shall not bother you overly much, Miles. After these first few months, we may go our separate ways.”

His brows lowered and if possible, his glower deepened. “Trust me, madam, I shall not forget that you are only marrying me out of desperation.”

The barouche jolted to a stop just in time, for Elizabeth did not know how to respond. She had assumed he found marriage to her a cumbersome burden, but it almost seemed as though her first rejection had tainted his view of her. But how could that be? He was as resistant to marriage as she, though for quite different reasons.

Befuddled by his response, she waited for the barouche door to be opened. She took the footman’s hand and descended. No matter. They had chosen their course, and there could be no turning back.

She glanced around her. People crowded Gunter’s. It was April, after all. The start of a fabulous Season, and everyone who was anyone knew that ices on a warm day were a perfect opportunity to see and be seen.

She braced herself for the stares and conversation, taking the parasol Miles so kindly handed to her. He had managed to wipe the moodiness from his face and looked the perfect gentleman with his chiseled features and neatly tied cravat. She half expected her skirts to be mussed, but no, as she glanced down, she saw that the silks were in perfect arrangement about her slippered feet.

The purpose of their visit to Gunter’s was twofold. To discuss what Miles expected of her and then let all those who had read that unfortunate gossip see that Mr. Hawthorne was far more to her than an illicit liaison during an overcrowded ball.

Her parents wasted no time in informing her that it was her duty to spread the word that she was betrothed, even if only by action. They were quite unhappy with her betrothal to a man of business but since she’d rejected Wrottesley, they had little choice in the matter. Unless they wanted to bring scandal on the family, her marriage to Miles was the only possible solution.

Mother had refused to speak to her this morning.

Wincing, she forced herself to take in her surroundings. Her windpipe shrank.

Well-dressed ladies milled about the emerald grasses of the park, some carrying their own parasols, others wearing broad-brimmed bonnets. Gentlemen strolled beside them, using stylish canes and carrying ices. Servants darted back and forth, and even the waiters looked pristine in their uniforms as they brought treats to those who’d rather sit in curricles.

Clouds provided the perfect shade for those who chose to walk the paths designed for couples and families. Not everyone wanted to be cloistered on such a lovely spring day. Elizabeth clutched her parasol closer, battling the urge to turn her head at an angle. Why had she agreed to this?

The overwhelming sense of inferiority and failure that accompanied public appearances pounded through her. A duke’s granddaughter should be poised and, if not beautiful, then regal. She supposed she should be thankful she had not been sent to a country house to live out her days, free of the stares of those who had never experienced mottled, discolored skin. She supposed she should be thankful...and yet she was not. How often she wished to live in solitude, with only the company of unseeing books.

This morning’s escape from her parents’ disapproval had seemed a smart choice, but now she wasn’t so sure. Panic edged her throat, circling her thoughts like a vulture feeding upon her sanity.

Pressure on her arm caused her to glance over to see Miles offering her a tender look. “All will be well, dear Bitt. Hold your head up and show these people how the granddaughter of a duke behaves.”

She nodded stiffly. He was right, of course. His confidence bolstered her as she gripped his arm and let him lead her to a pretty little bench situated on the side of the hill. He left her there to get ices, and when he returned, he settled beside her and handed her one.

The treat was as delicious as she remembered. Almost enough to take her mind off the curious glances they received. At last one woman meandered over. Elizabeth knew she should recognize the striking blonde, who was dressed in an outfit that must be eminently fashionable, covered in ruffles and lace and shrieking wealth.

Her lady’s maid followed behind, eyes averted. Oh, yes, certainly a woman Elizabeth should know. A sense of failure threatened to take hold.

“Lady Elizabeth, how good to see you out. And with a suitor, no less.” The woman’s eyebrows twitched, and Elizabeth thought she saw a frown in her smile. She waited, presumably for Elizabeth to introduce them.

Miles had stood in the lady’s presence. Elizabeth forced herself upward, racking her mind for the lady’s name. For something. Anything. But a name failed to form.

“Lady Englewood, is it not?” Miles offered her a crisp bow, to which the lady held out her hand for his perfunctory kiss upon her silken glove. He straightened, offering Elizabeth a twinkling smirk. “We met the other evening, I recall.”

“Ah, yes. Mr. Hawthorne. Lord Wrottesley mentioned you in passing, and I do believe you were a part of our little group at Lady Charleston’s. Such a fashionable woman.” The lady turned her sharp words to Elizabeth, who wavered beneath her peer’s scrutiny. “It is good to see you in the fair weather, my dear. Your parents have expressed concern for your health, citing it as the reason you’ve been in the country for so long. Though I do remember you coming out last year, did you not?”

“I have been out for several years now,” Elizabeth said carefully. And now to play her parents’ plan to perfection. “Mr. Hawthorne has graciously extended me an offer of marriage, and so we are celebrating with ices. There will be invitations going out for a celebratory ball. An event you will not want to miss. It’s sure to be a crush of the most gigantic proportions.”

Miles made a noise that sounded like a cough. She quickly patted him on his nicely muscled arm. “My affianced is quite excited to meet my parents’ circle of friends.”

“Is that so?” Lady Englewood’s nose thrust upward and Elizabeth could almost imagine a quizzing glass stuck to her eyeball. “We shall most eagerly await the invitation.” She gave them one last look, her gaze lingering upon the right side of Elizabeth’s face, as though perhaps wondering how any man could possibly want such a marred human being.

Miles was not any man though, as annoying as he could be. Suddenly Elizabeth felt happy to be out with him. They shared a conspiratorial smile as they returned to their seats and watched the loose-lipped lady spread the word that the heiress had found a gentleman.

And for a moment, as Elizabeth tasted the tartness in her ice and inhaled the aroma of Miles’s cologne, she quite felt that all was right with the world, and that perhaps life would not be as horrible as she anticipated.


Chapter Six (#ulink_a99ab15c-b7db-5892-9946-e6cc7fc70e93)

Miles had certainly wasted no time in making Elizabeth’s life miserable.

She scowled at herself in the mirror.

“Be calm, my lady.” Jenna came up behind her. She touched Elizabeth’s hair, which she’d put up earlier that morning. “You look lovely and shall enjoy yourself.”

“Now that I’m betrothed, you won’t need to go with us everywhere.”

“Quite fortuitous for me.” A shy smirk edged Jenna’s lips in the mirror’s reflection. “I have several duties to complete before I meet you at Windermar.” Jenna would be leaving the next morning for the estate. “Your pink chiffon is in need of an update. I was thinking roses and silk stitching.”

Elizabeth waved a hand, her gaze straying to her birthmark. In the glare of morning, the rippled redness appeared remarkably noticeable. “I despise that dress. Destroy it.”

Jenna laughed. “Nonsense. I know of several lower maids who are in want of a fancy dress. Why, Betsy is marrying in two months. She could use the material for something quite lovely.”

A twinge pinged Elizabeth, but not enough to take her attention from the face staring back at her. “Just get rid of the dress. Is there no other way to disguise this...?”

“I purchased a new powder but hesitate to try it on a day you’re going out with Mr. Hawthorne, on the chance you have a negative reaction. You have such sensitive skin, my lady.”

Elizabeth frowned, tracing the outline of her birthmark. The edges scraped her fingertips, the texture quite different than the rest of her skin. Indeed, if it were not for this infernal marking, she might have quite beautiful skin. Naturally creamy and pale, with cheeks that blushed easily and required no rouge. Her lips also were often full colored, requiring none of the dreadful lip antics she’d seen other ladies resort to.

Jenna put a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder as if to comfort her. “We will try the powder tomorrow. Will that do?”

“After so many years, one would think we could find a way to hide my blemish.” Elizabeth pushed up from her seat and faced Jenna. “You have been a most excellent lady’s maid. Give that dress to Betsy, finish whatever duties await you and then take the afternoon off.”

“Really, my lady?”

“Of course. You are leaving for Windermar in the morning?”

“I had planned to.”

“Grandmother can spare a maid to help me when I arrive.” Elizabeth forced a smile to hide the dread curling inside as the time to visit Miles’s factory drew near. His arrival was imminent. Their trip would be an all-week affair, as the factory was located in Cheshire County, near her grandmother’s estate.

After Miles informed her of their upcoming factory visit, she’d written to Grandmother, procuring permission to stay for several days. Elizabeth was looking forward to returning home. She had procured a telescope several months ago but had not been able to use it nearly as much as she’d hoped.

“Thank you, my lady.” Jenna curtsied and left the room. Reluctantly, Elizabeth followed. As she trudged downstairs, she heard Miles’s voice coming from her father’s study. The sound of his husky, deep tones sent an odd shiver through her.

Nerves, of course. For being forced into a factory tour, surrounded by strange staring people... She shuddered but then squared her shoulders. A small price to pay for what Miles had given up to keep her from ruin.




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