Marriage to a Mister (A Daughters of Regency #1) (5 page)

Julian nodded and walked out the door. Marriage. It was supposed to be such a happy occasion for a young woman, but he felt as if he'd cheated her out of something great. A greatness only a man and woman truly in love, a love requited, could ever achieve.

EVERY GIRL'S DREAM

She watched her father leave and a shaky breath she hadn't even known she was holding left her. Marriage, she was to be married to Edward. Her mind boggled.

She shook her head, and moved across the room to stand before a gilded mirror, one she chose on a shopping excursion two years prior when her father asked her to remake the rooms. She stared, her eyes focusing and unfocusing, her own blue eyes staring back at her.
What would he think
? she wondered. Did he know? Would he care?

She suddenly had a great fear of seeing him again at the ball that evening but pushed it away. It had been seven years since they had parted, and even though she would marry his brother, that didn't mean she would see him tonight.
 

 
"He won't come," she told herself. "He never does."

She reached up to touch her reflection and thought of him, what once was a nasty habit she had tried so hard to break now came all too easily.

She remembered their past as if it was only a moment ago. Especially the moments she made him laugh – Evan having a surly disposition even then – made those moments even more precious to her. And though sometimes they would quarrel, they always would forgive one another.

She remembered a particular time Evan had promised to teach her to play cricket, then she could join in and play with the town children as he did. He had sworn her to secrecy as he knew they would both be reprimanded if found out, and predictably someone had, and that someone was Edward. Evan was furious and reacted as he always did.

Edward had scolded Evan gently for his tantrum of blaming Fleur for revealing their secret and Evan, hurt at his brother's disappointment in him, had left them standing there.

She still to this day could remember how rigid his back was as he ran from them. She had wanted to cry, to call out to him, but Edward had comforted her, asking her if Evan ever stayed mad at her for long. And he was right, by that night Evan was with her again, laughing, as they read each other silly lyrics from songs they had found in the music room.
 

Fleur heard the clock chime and looked over at the time, knowing she should leave to receive Lord Ravenbrook. At that moment it was so very clear how different the two brothers were. One gentle but firm, the other impatient and coarse. She shook her head and gazed at her reflection one last time, pushing her hair around, postponing the inevitable.

Could she marry Edward and be happy? He was very amiable and unquestioningly handsome, but could she live with him as his wife for the rest of her life? He would treat her well, she knew, he always had, but was contentment and polite affection enough to ensure they could have a lifetime together?

She blew a puff of air out at herself and firmly slapped her cheeks. "Of course you can marry him, you silly girl," she said to herself. "He's every girl's dream."

She walked through the door toward Edward, but it was the lonely image of Evan as he ran away from her that day that held her thoughts.

"He's just not your dream," she whispered to herself and closed the door.

***

Edward sat in the duke's library with his father, wondering what he had gotten himself into. He was accosted by his mother at an hour that could not be held as decent for any unmarried gentleman during the season, and his mother had revealed a shocking plan.

It was all absolutely ridiculous, and absolutely necessary.

So there he sat, on time and waiting. The viscount hated to wait.

His father occasionally snuck glances his way, trying to calculate his mood, and it was starting to chafe his nerves. After all, the old codger had nothing to be nervous over, he wasn't the one who had to affiance himself to a woman he hadn't seen since her childhood, save for a few glances and nods across a crowded ballroom.
 

He remembered her as a child — a short but gangly thing with dark hair and the lightest, piercing blue eyes. He tried to remember the last time he saw her in his home at Blackburn Hall. It was Christmastime, he recalled, and they hadn't come to stay with them since. And although he didn't fully understand why, he had his suspicions, and they revolved around his brother.

Now his father had sealed his fate and hers with a night of drunken tomfoolery. It wasn't that he was opposed to marriage — he knew well enough that he was approaching one-and-thirty and would have to marry and set up his nursery. And though there wasn't anyone he was particularly attached to, he, the same as any man, would like the opportunity to choose his own bride, his own fate.
 

He knew that was no longer an option, so he would do his duty and marry the Duke of Norfield's daughter as required of him, and perhaps his mother might let him sleep until a decent hour after this affair was all said and done.

His nerves rankled once more when his father twitched and knocked into his elbow.

"Father, why do you look as if you're the one who will be proposing marriage? You watch me as if I'm about to run. I've already agreed to marry the lady, and I've no real objections, save for those any man has about being married."
 

Charles snorted. "It's only that Norfield didn't exactly have time to speak about all the arrangements to Lady Fleur."
 

Edward turned to his father. "What do you mean? Since when do fathers speak about marital contracts with their daughters? Besides, Norfield has been your closest friend for years. I don't see why such matters can't be attended to later, under the circumstances."

"What I mean by saying she has not been made aware of the arrangements is that she hasn't been made aware at all, of any of it," he explained, while having the good grace to appear apologetic. "Norfield is with her right now, explaining —"

Edward rose halfway from his chair. "What! You can't be serious?"
 

"Shush, Edward, not so loud." Charles grabbed at his son's shoulder, trying to quiet his outburst.

"Not so loud?" Edward barked, then lowered his voice to an angry whisper. "Are you seriously suggesting to me that I'm here to ask a lady to marry me that has no prior idea that I was to arrive until this very moment? What have you been doing all morning?"

"What did you expect us to do? Reverse time? I spoke to Norfield about it as soon as I arrived and then he left to speak to his daughter."

"She must be completely astonished."

"I know it was not well planned," Charles explained lamely.

Edward stared at his father - no, more like glared. "Not well planned?"

Charles hummed and looked Edward over once more. "Edward, are you sure you are alright? It must have been a shock to you as well."

Edward ripped the spectacles from his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I wish they hadn't taken my cane at the door. I'd wallop you with it."

"Here, use mine," said the earl, handing over a dark wood cane.

Edward smiled, relaxing back into the chair. "It's alright, Father. I'd have to marry soon as it is. At least I'm acquainted with Lady Fleur. And it's not as if you haven't made it painfully clear that you hoped we would suit. After all, you and Mother barely knew one another when you married, and you turned out just fine."

"Your mother and I, that was a different time. We may have had a quick engagement, but we loved each other and have since before we were married. Perhaps we were lucky in that way, but I cannot stress the importance of caring for your wife, Edward."

"Of course I care for her. I've known her since she was born."

"That's not what I meant."

Edward sighed. "I know what you meant. Does it make you feel better for me to say I look on her and Lady Julia as sisters? That I have never once considered her as a woman, the way a man should? I used to carry her around when she was just a babe, for goodness sake. How would you feel?"

"Wretched. I do feel wretched. I suppose it is strange for you, perhaps Evan would have been a better choice, however ..."
 

"We both know the duke would never abide it, and Evan seems to be off hiding in that hole he calls a townhouse again. You know Mother has written to him and insisted he attend tonight's ball, seeing as it's the last and we've not seen him for weeks, but he refused as usual."

Charles grunted in agreement. "Perhaps it is fortuitous that he will not be there, considering the circumstances. I have every confidence that after a fashion Evan will come to regard Lady Fleur with the love of a brother."

Edward doubted that, but he didn't need to point out the truth for his father to know he was lying to himself. "I almost wish he would come, that he would grow a spine and have the power to stop this madness."

"We both know that will not happen, Edward, he has caused too much harm," the earl said. Looking away from his son, his mouth a grim line, he heard the jangle of the knob.

Julian stepped inside, looking like he had been kicked by a runaway mare.

"Well, what did she say?" Charles asked. "It cannot be good news, you look a fright."

"Everything is well," he answered. "She said she will receive you in the drawing room, Ravenbrook. Craigs is waiting to show you the way."

The viscount stood, nodding to his future father-in-law as he solemnly made his way through the threshold, looking very much a man going to his own funeral. The fathers shared a look, both secretly hoping Edward and Fleur would have more sense than they when it came time to secure their own children's happiness.

***

Fleur sat alone in the drawing room, wondering what to do with her hands. Should she fold them in her lap to keep her from picking at the embroidery of her dress? Should she ring the bell pull for tea? Should she use them to strangle her beloved father's neck for putting her in this position?

Fleur knew she would be married into an aristocratic match one day. She even wanted to be. She wanted a family and a husband to care for, but she had expected some warning, and she most assuredly didn't expect that day to be today.
 

She had imagined herself being content, located in the country on her husband's estate with children of her own to love. She wasn't so ignorant as to expect a love match — those thoughts had long ago left her when her first two seasons crushed her idealistic expectations of love and devotion.

Influence and connections, that was the love of the
ton
.

Still, she knew her father had been patient, giving her four seasons in which to spread her wings. Yet none of those men interested her. They were all too self-important or dependent on society, which in turn annoyed or intimidated her.

She only wanted a quiet life, a quiet, content life where she could be companions with her husband and have real involvement with her children without the interference of others.

You would settle for Edward
, she thought, the shaming words finding her heart her before she could push them away.
 

She tried to remember how Edward had greeted her when she last crossed his path at a recent engagement, but she could not, could not recall his face nor his manner. She was sure they had not even conversed.

Now she was waiting, dreading the conversation that loomed before her, the knock on the door that would change her future. These were the last moments she would spend being Lady Fleur Osborne. Now, she would be fiancée to Edward Woolf, or rather, Viscount Ravenbrook. At least she would be Lady Ravenbrook instead of Mrs. Woolf. The bashful Fleur Osborne having a name like Woolf? Really, it was laughable.

Not that being a Woolf had ever crossed her mind before,
she thought, scolding herself instantly for the lie.

The small smile she had been able to conjure abruptly fell as the memories she had been trying to lock away came rushing towards her. She remembered the last time she and Evan truly spent time together, the time that began all of her hopes and dreams of them being together always.

They had walked the path to the pond that morning, Evan pausing to pick up small stones, handing them to her one by one as she held them for him to skip on the water later. It was something they had done many times before, to the point it had almost become routine. A small moment of peace that she looked forward to, but that day she was distracted.

Evan was to leave for his first year of university the next morning, and even though she had seen him off to Eton every year before, it had seemed so much bigger that time, much more frightening to her. She could not abandon her feelings of dread that he would see a whole new world open to him, that he would not miss their moments at Blackburn Hall, not want to return to her. And when she told him of her feelings, he turned to her without hesitation, taking her hand within his own as declared he would always return.

The moment had been her undoing — it was the day she realized she never wanted to be parted from him. The warmth of his hand on her own was familiar, yet it was almost as if she could
feel
his declaration as tangible as her own desperation. It seemed to awaken every dormant sense that he was not only her childhood friend, but a man full grown.

Unable to embrace her own feelings she had removed her hand from his own, dropping the stones with sudden movement. The sound of the falling rocks woke them both out of their stupor and he had walked her back to the house, departing the following morning.

For days she tried to persuade herself not to worry, for weeks she repeated his words in her mind, her own secret mantra. She held his promise close to her heart, and she was finally convinced he would honor it, and he had.

Evan returned to Blackburn Hall that winter, though altered, his manner affecting and cautious. It was then everything had started to go wrong.

Fleur wiped quickly at her eyes when she heard a small knock on the door, followed by Craigs bringing in the familiar tray with the small card that held the name of her soon-to-be betrothed. She stood to steady herself, as if to feel she was evening the battle ground, and took a deep calming breath.