To Be Seduced (8 page)

Bethany stared into her tankard of ale, torn between amusement and indignation at Richard’s glib interpretation of his actions.

“I think it must be an elopement, Jeremiah.” Mistress Barker offered the mince pies. “Deborah Dallison was determined to gain Ilkston as a son-in-law.” A few more wrinkles creased her forehead. “I never liked him.”

“Certainly he always struck me as a most self-important young man.” Her husband helped himself to a pie then addressed the girl. “The main point, however, is that you must have spent a night unattended during the journey to town.” He pierced her with a stern look. “I trust you are visiting us to introduce your husband.”

She took a deep breath. “No.” Before her host and hostess could protest, she hurried on. “Lord Harcourt expressed his—honorable—intentions to me in Stanworth. I asked him to bring me to London in hopes that you would marry us, sir.”

“Ah.” The older man set his tankard aside. “You have committed a serious act of disobedience against your mother, Bethany. I cannot overlook that.” He frowned until his wife patted his hand. “On the other hand, Eliza and I often wondered if Mr. Ilkston was a compatible match for you. Further, there is the matter of spending a night alone without an attendant. Most reprehensible.”

Bethany leaned forward in her chair, concerned at his hesitation. After some consideration, the minister requested an interview alone with Lord Harcourt.

Richard came to attention with an alarmed expression and glared at her accusingly. She returned it with a wide-eyed shake of her head to signify that she had not expected this development. A soft choking noise interrupted this silent exchange.

They turned their heads to observe Mistress Barker’s shoulders shaking while she regarded the hands clasped in her lap. Mr. Barker drained his tankard and blandly complimented his wife on her ale, but his eyes twinkled suspiciously.

“Come, Bethany. We shall take the dishes back to the kitchen, and then I must show you over the house.” His wife stood to collect the plates, handing the remaining pies to Bethany before gently but firmly shooing her out of the room. Her husband requested that she leave the pitcher behind.

Making sure the door shut firmly behind the ladies, Mr. Barker affably poured out another cider for himself and Richard. The younger man accepted with thanks. His host nodded in a kindly manner. “So. Are you very much in debt?”

Richard nearly dropped his tankard as the minister regarded him. “No need to look so surprised. Here you are, a lord, and the Dallisons no more than gentry. You’d never consider marriage outside your own order without a pressing cause. As Bethany is a great heiress, it stands to reason you want her money.”

The aristocrat made a quick retort. “I assure you that my intentions toward Mistress Dallison have always been honorable.”

“That is the only way to get her money, isn’t it?” Mr. Barker’s pointed comment stopped Richard full spate. “I don’t suppose that makes you any worse than the fellow Bethany’s mother chose.”

“She did agree to the marriage of her own free will.” Richard looked the old man in the eye. “Ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Mr. Barker stared into the distance. Richard had to strain to hear his quiet voice. “I’ve known that girl since she was a child. Her father, a most Christian man, died when she was scarce four years old. Her mother is suspicious of even the most innocent pleasures, and chose a man of similar temperament for Bethany to marry.” The balding minister shook his head. “Mr. Ilkston is a proper match, but hardly a suitable one.”

He regarded Richard over his steepled fingers. “A title would be grand attainment for Bethany Dallison of Stanworth. But I must ask: What price will she have to pay for it, my lord? Will she suffer contempt for her lower birth while you spend her family’s money?”

Richard drew himself up to his near six-foot height and looked down at the little minister coldly. “I beg your pardon, but it is not my intention to misuse my wife.”

He paced away before turning back, narrowing his eyes. “She will be presented to His Majesty after our marriage, and appear on my arm in polite society. The rest of the time she shall live on my family estate. I have no desire to curtail her enjoyment of any respectable amusement available to women of her station. Certainly I shall insist that she be treated with the honor due her position as Lady Harcourt and, God willing, as the mother of my heir.”

“All well and good, my boy.” Mr. Barker sipped his ale again, unperturbed. “But how will she be treated at the hands of her husband?”

Richard stared at him. The memory of his father, lying in a mire of his own blood, rose before him, along with the promise he’d made to give the dying man peace in his last minutes of life. He had already failed Father twice. The Dallison fortune held the key to keeping the rest of his oath.

“No gentleman insults his own wife.” A curt answer, but after searching his face intently, the clergyman nodded.

“In that case, I shall be pleased to join you in matrimony.”

Bethany looked over her shoulder at the closed study doors before Mistress Barker nudged her back toward the kitchen. There, the capable Jane relieved them of their burdens and her hostess escorted her out.

“You can see all there is from the doorway. And I’d hate to have you ruin such a lovely dress if something spilled. I think Mr. Barker raised his eyebrows at the shade, but ’tis vastly becoming.” She prattled on as she led Bethany around the house.

They ended in a small chamber upstairs in the south corner. Sunlight cast shadows of the diamond windowpanes on the darkly gleaming walnut furniture. Bethany exclaimed over Mistress Barker’s latest needlework project, a set of curtains worked in amethyst, dark green, and rose on linen.

“Thank you, dear. My daughter comes by often each week and we work on it together. It’s a joy being so close to her and the grandchildren.” She cocked her head at Bethany. “Now, tell me where you met such a handsome young man.”

Bethany floundered before telling the good woman that she met Richard while visiting Gloriana at their aunt’s home. After a few more questions, the older woman brought up her greatest concern.

Coughing delicately, she said, “You were brought up as a virtuous girl, but his lordship does have a great deal of, well, personal charm. It would take great strength of mind to resist him if he should try coaxing a young lady into misbehaving. Although forgiveness could be readily granted a female he intends to marry.”

Bethany stood up and went to the windows. She doubted she fooled Mistress Barker one whit, but she could not bear for her to see her burning cheeks. “Lord Harcourt has behaved in a manner expected of one in his station.” She did not dare let the truth of her own behavior come out.

She heard the rustling of a skirt behind her. “My dear child, if Lord Harcourt compels you in any way to wed him, you are welcome to take shelter with us.”

“No!” Her reply escaped before she thought. “It may be a sin against my mother, but I find Lord Harcourt a far more attractive prospect than Mr. Ilkston. Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “That is, I mean to say…”

“There, there, I quite understand.”

Bethany doubted that the saintly woman did, but chose not to enlighten her. Forcing a smile as Mistress Barker patted her hand sympathetically, she allowed herself to be guided out of the room and down the stairs.

Two days later, Bethany paced the same upper chamber waiting to be summoned to her wedding. The Barkers had insisted that she remain with them instead of returning to Richard’s rooms. She had agreed for the sake of her unraveling morals, but remembered the stab of regret she felt at the realization that she would not see him till the point of their nuptials.

Richard had rejected the idea out of hand until she asked to speak to him in private. While the minister and his wife would not leave them alone together, he agreed to absent himself while Mistress Barker stayed on the far side of the downstairs parlour. In a whispered confrontation, her betrothed accused the good couple of planning to spirit her away despite Mr. Barker’s agreement to perform the ceremony.

She had shaken her head then, assuring him that the old man would not have agreed to perform the ceremony if he objected to the union. His long fingers grasped her chin until she looked into his eyes. “Unless you asked them to help you escape.”

The touch made her heart pound so that she could barely reply. “I have no reason to do so. I shall have a title and an estate, remember? And you promised to present me to the King.” When his thumb brushed her lips, she swallowed.

“I recall making no promise. Besides, I may have to reconsider.” His eyelids dropped, as did his voice. “His majesty has a weakness for beautiful women.” He leaned into her for a kiss, only to stop when Mistress Barker loudly cleared her throat from the chair where she sat stitching.

They stepped apart, Bethany unaware that she echoed his exasperated sigh. Unnoticed by their chaperone, he slid his other hand down to clasp hers. She returned the warm pressure without thinking.

“Dusk is falling, my lord. You should be on your way. ’Tis not safe on the streets after dark.” The older woman rolled up her needlework and rose to her feet. Her brisk manner made very clear that she was more concerned for Bethany’s safety than Richard’s.

She had not seen him since, although he sent messages through the offices of Lane, who had taken on the role of an unlikely Cupid.

He had arrived the following day laden with a few parcels for Bethany that had arrived at Richard’s lodgings. Recognizing her clothing purchases at once, she had eagerly borne them upstairs for inspection, followed by her hostess. The good woman enjoyed opening the parcels quite as much as she did, confiding to Bethany that she liked bright colors. She had smiled in relief at avoiding a lecture on the evils of personal display.

This pleasant diversion came to an end when Lane brought word that Lord Harcourt had obtained a special license that very day and desired the wedding to take place the following afternoon. Faced with the inevitable consequence of her decision, she had paled, but agreed to the arrangements in a steady voice.

Now she restlessly prowled the chamber waiting for Mistress Barker to fetch her to the parlour, where the ceremony would take place. Earlier, she had helped Bethany into her wedding clothes. The choices had been limited to the dresses delivered from the draper’s, as both women rejected the green velvet out of hand on the grounds that she had already worn it.

In the end, Bethany selected a dress of apricot twill that displayed her fair skin and bright hair to advantage. Even though her hostess had insisted on a whisk for modesty, it still became her more than anything else she had ever worn. A small cap perched on the crown of her head over her neatly brushed and coiled hair, letting the afternoon sunlight shine across it.

Unable to stand her own restlessness any longer, she sat down and folded her hands in her lap. Her life had changed drastically in five days. She would become Lady Harcourt in a matter of hours. Wife to a man who tolerated her for her money. That at least was no different, she reflected grimly, then corrected herself. Mr. Ilkston tolerated her. Richard at least found her physically pleasing. She refused to think about her body’s heated response to his touch.

Only one piece of business remained for her to deal with. She licked her lips, hoping she guessed Richard’s poverty correctly.

The door opened to admit Mistress Barker, dressed in her most formal black and best cobweb lace. She kissed Bethany’s cheek, asking if she was ready.

Completely overtaken by nerves, she managed a brief nod. Sympathetically squeezing her hand, the old woman took Bethany’s arm and led her down to the closed door to the parlour. There she twitched a fold into a more becoming fall and smoothed a slightly loose strand of hair into place. She stood back with an air of approval.

“You look lovely, dear.” Her keen eyes examined Bethany’s face. “Are you quite sure you don’t want to change your mind?”

She jerked her head “No.” Her only alternative was returning to her mother’s house, and she shuddered to think of the reception awaiting her.

Satisfied, the other woman opened the parlour door with a flourish and escorted her inside.

In accordance with their beliefs, only the wedding party and witnesses awaited her. Richard looked over at her from his place at Mr. Barker’s side, ill at ease. He had dressed with great care in a buff brocade coat and trousers over polished boots. Thin bands of lace adorned his cravat and the shirtsleeves exposed by his buttoned-back cuffs. His fair hair lay in neat waves on his shoulders.

Such grandeur looked out of place next to the minister’s severe black. She supposed this wedding differed from his expectations considerably. She had heard of the elaborate wedding ceremonies of the traditional church, with the bride and groom surrounded by friends and relatives.

Mother said feasting, dancing, and other licentious behavior followed them, but Bethany thought it sounded most agreeable. Aside from herself, Richard, and the Barkers, only Mr. Armitage attended them, along with his clerk. That man, a mousy little fellow, contemplated the street outside the window with disinterest.

She took her place beside Richard. The minister began by asking if there were any impediments to the marriage.

“Yes.” Bethany’s heart pounded, but she forced her voice to remain calm as she spoke. Richard whipped his head around to gape at her. Mr. Armitage uttered a startled exclamation while his clerk turned from the window with a curious expression. Mr. Barker cleared his throat.

“Please tell us what that impediment might be.” He spoke calmly despite his raised eyebrows.

“There is no settlement.” Bethany waited for her words to sink in. Richard’s eyebrows snapped together and he scowled at her. The clerk brightened at the disruption while the banker babbled.

“Dear child, under the circumstances, a settlement prior to the ceremony is simply not feasible. It can take weeks, and it is imperative that you marry now to protect your good name! As well as account for any”—he coughed delicately and glanced at her slim waist—“unforeseen circumstances.”

The clerk beamed at them as if in gratitude for such an unexpected diversion but quickly stopped at Mistress Barker’s outraged mutterings.

“Mr. Armitage is correct, Bethany. Normally a signed contract would be a prerequisite to the marriage.” Mr. Barker fixed a look of mild reproof on her. “In your case, however, that is a luxury.”

Her heart sank. She had hoped he at least might support her. Hoping her fear did not show, she took a deep breath. “No settlement, no marriage.”

Varying degrees of shock registered on the faces around her. After a moment of silence, both the banker and the minister explained why the ceremony must proceed without the usual financial arrangements.

On her left, Mr. Armitage pointed out that no one was present who could negotiate on her behalf. On her right, Mr. Barker reiterated that her precarious moral standing made it imperative for her to marry Richard at once.

She looked past them to her groom. He stood frozen in place, incredulity warring with anger in his features. Guilt for deceiving him washed over her until she recalled the lists of gambling debts and unpaid bills.

“My mother does not need to negotiate for me if Lord Harcourt signs an agreement with you, Mr. Armitage.”

“Oh?” Richard spoke for the first time since her announcement, his voice soft but his eyes glittering dangerously.

“I want ten thousand pounds signed into a trust in my name only, to be directed by me and administered by Mr. Armitage.” She turned to the stunned banker. “If the most recent statements sent to my mother are accurate, that will leave another ten thousand pounds in Lord Harcourt’s possession when we are married, would it not?”

The man stammered that she had indeed read the statements correctly.

Looking at Richard’s reddening face, she continued, “You said you thought my fortune more than enough to meet your needs when you believed it to be fifteen thousand, sir. Will ten thousand still suffice?”

In response, he grabbed at her so quickly that she scurried to place a chair between them. “You—lying—
jade
!”

She swallowed at the snarled accusation. Her hands clenched the back of the chair to help keep her shaking knees from buckling during his tirade.

“You deceived me from the first, didn’t you!” His fury forced the other men into silence as he paced back and forth. “The only reason you agreed to marry me was to get hold of that money.”

The utter unjustness of his remark brought her back to her senses. “And why not? You did the same!”

“At least I was honest about my intentions and reasons. My God, to think I was prepared to put you in my mother’s place.”

An alarmed Dr. Barker intervened. “Do I understand that you are withdrawing your offer of marriage after ruining this young lady?”

Bethany spoke up before Richard could reply. “Indeed, my lord, have you found another accessible heiress?”

His mouth snapped shut. Shaking with anger, he ground out, “No. I have not, madam. So it would appear that I am stuck fast with you.” With an obvious effort he moderated his voice as he addressed the minister.

“It would appear, sir, that we shall have to delay this event until the contract can be drawn up.”

“I could do it.” The clerk spoke for the first time. Everyone in the room turned to the little man, whose earlier boredom had given way to delighted animation. “Give me but paper, quill, and ink, and I shall have it completed directly.”

“Very well!” Richard and Bethany spoke at once, and then looked daggers at each other.

Mr. Barker, demonstrating as much wrath as one of his tranquil disposition could, entered the lists.

“This is most untoward, and I cannot approve of it.” Despite this statement, the indignant bridal couple urged the clerk to finish his work.

Just over twenty minutes later, he handed it to Richard. He furiously scribbled his name at the bottom and tossed it on the table in front of Bethany. “Are you satisfied, madam?”

Her heart hammering, Bethany carefully read the document twice through. In plain English it meant that upon her marriage she would have the sole use of half of her father’s money. She nodded.

“Very well, then.” White-faced, tight-lipped, her groom gestured for her to come stand in front of Mr. Barker. “Marry us.”

The divine crossed his arms. “I could not possibly join together in matrimony two persons in your state of inflamed passions.”

Richard threw up his hands. “I’m not like to attain a more tranquil state of mind if you refuse me, sir. You agreed to perform the ceremony.”

“Aye, you did.” Bethany spoke up firmly at his side. “And I consent to the marriage willingly.”

After further insistence Mr. Barker conducted the ceremony, albeit in tones of stern reproof. For their part, the bride and groom exchanged vows with an air of distinct hostility and the following homily sounded more like a scold to two squabbling children. Finally, the old man snapped that Richard and Bethany were husband and wife.

Mr. Armitage wiped his face with a kerchief and exhaled in relief. Mistress Barker nervously invited him to join them for the early supper she had ordered, but he hastily declined, citing a need to return to his bank.

Only the drab little clerk wished the newly married couple well with any enthusiasm, pumping my lord’s hand. “Most amusing wedding I’ve ever seen, sir! My felicitations to you and your lovely bride.” He left them with a bow. “Edmund Leafley, at your service. If I can ever be of assistance to either of you, do not hesitate to ask.” He departed with his master, chortling under his breath. “Never saw anything half so good at the theater.”

After sharing a meal of Jane’s excellent roast chicken, Richard arose from the table. His temper appeared outwardly restored, but his eyes hardened when they rested on his bride. “’Tis dusk, and past time we returned to our lodgings.”

Bethany’s heart quailed at his curt manner. Her relief at gaining a modicum of security and independence within her marriage had dwindled with Mistress Barker’s toast to “Lady Harcourt” at the start of the meal.

It evaporated completely when he bundled her into her cloak and out of the house, grasping her elbow as he strode through the shadowy streets. A winter night’s breeze blew up, chilling her outside as well as in.

Richard barely noticed the cold. He walked mechanically, pulling the girl along beside him. No, not the girl. His wife. His lovely, deceitful wife. His temper flared again, even as the logical part of his mind whispered that he might have done the same, had he been in her shoes. He pushed the traitorous idea back, dwelling on the thought that this simple girl from the country had made a fool of him.

They had reached paved streets by now. She stumbled on a loose cobblestone and he instinctively steadied her. His jaw clenched at her muted thanks. The wench had used him so cold-bloodedly. Refusing to look at her, he strode on. She would pay. Oh, how she would pay.

Truth to tell, he hardly felt like a married man after the short ceremony. A few sentences and a lecture, he reflected, ’twas nothing more. No blessing, no ceremony, not even a ring for the bride’s finger. Barker had rejected that idea completely, informing him that even the plainest band smacked of idolatry.

He frowned. That would have to change. He refused to present his wife at Charles’s lax court without making it clear that she was not available for dalliances. She might have her own income, but she was his wife and he’d be damned if he’d tolerate any other man trying to tilt a lance at her.