Wicked (30 page)

“Where would he get an idea like that?”

“How would I know? But he was afraid you might elope with me and refuse to give him what he’s craved forever.”

Her scowl deepened, her confusion growing. Mr. Oswald yearned for a child, an heir, but in order for him to obtain his heart’s desire, Rose would have to be increasing.

“How are you feeling, Rose?” James inquired.

“Fine.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your cousin spent several days traveling with you.”

“What’s your point?”

“He claims you suffered dizzy spells the whole trip.”

“So…?”

“I’m not an expert on female bodily conditions, but I am aware that one of the first signs to appear when a woman is carrying a child is for said woman to be constantly overcome by dizziness.”

“I’ve just been tired,” she insisted, a horrid inkling creeping over her.

It was more than the vertigo. Her breasts ached, she was frequently nauseous—especially in the mornings—and she felt different, as if she possessed a new and exciting secret.

“Tired? Really?” he smirked. “Is that what you presume is happening?”

“Yes. I’m exhausted by you and Mr. Oswald. Who wouldn’t be worn down by what I’ve endured?”

“Who wouldn’t indeed?”

She glared up at him, hating his smug expression, his handsome face.

She’d loved him so much that there had been days she couldn’t breathe with being so happy. She’d pinned her hopes on him, had staked her future, had ruined herself with the foolish belief they’d be together forever.

All of that jumbled sentiment was still roiling her, and she kept trying to convince herself that time was the cure she required, yet she hadn’t been granted any
time.
She’d barely left Summerfield, and he was already here, destroying her equanimity, stirring up every raw, bald emotion that had to remain buried.

The dizziness he’d mentioned raised its ugly head. It always came on so suddenly. She swayed to one side, then the other, and he clasped her arm and eased her down into the chair.

“You claim you don’t need anything from me, Rose, but there seems to be one thing you need very, very much.”

“What is that?”

“A husband.” He grinned. “I’m available.”

She gasped. “You think I’m having a baby?”

“No, I think
we
are having a baby. You and me, Rose”—he gestured from her to himself—“having a baby.”

“You said it couldn’t occur from only doing it once!”

“No, I said it didn’t usually occur. I didn’t say it couldn’t.”

She gaped at him, wishing the floor would open and swallow her whole. What on Earth was she to do now? Her plight had been bad enough when she was simply penniless and unemployed. With a baby on the way, her problems would grow and grow until they became insurmountable.

“I should have made Mr. Drake leave that pistol.” She shook her head with disgust, as tears flooded her eyes.

“Oh, Rose, don’t cry.”

“I will if I want to.”

“You’re not playing fair. You know I can’t bear to see you sad.”

“Then go away. I didn’t invite you here.”

“No, you didn’t, but how could I stay away?”

He was standing much too close, their feet entwined, the tips of his boots slipped under the hem of her skirt.

She didn’t understand why he’d journeyed so far just to speak with her, didn’t understand what he sought or why he’d come. He wasn’t a chivalrous person, had no desire to be leg-shackled, and it was ridiculous to suppose he’d wed her merely because she was in a jam and he was the culprit.

She simply needed to be alone, needed to ponder and plan and accept her situation. Her woe was visible. Why didn’t he have mercy on her and depart?

“Back at Summerfield,” he said, “I asked you a question.”

She could hardly remember that last, revolting night. Was that to when he referred?

“What question?”

“I asked you to marry me.”

“And I said
no
.”

“Well, I’m asking again.”

“Please don’t.”

“Why shouldn’t I? In case it hasn’t dawned on you, you’re having a baby, and you have to wed. Right away, Rose. There’s no time for dithering.”

“But…you don’t want to ever marry, and you most especially don’t want to marry me. You told me so over and over.”

“Can’t a fellow change his mind?”

“Not you. If you tried, I wouldn’t believe you. You insisted you were poor and hadn’t the funds to support a wife.”

“What if I was wrong?”

She was still seated, and he was still standing. She stared up at him, and his expression was warm and affectionate. It perplexed and rattled her as she recollected those bliss-filled weeks at Summerfield when she’d been so happy, when she’d felt so vibrant and alive.

“You left Summerfield so fast,” he stated, “that I didn’t have a chance to explain a few things to you.”

“What things?” she inquired.

“I’ve now had several heart-to-heart chats with Stanley.”

“What about?”

“It seems, my dear Rose Ralston, that Stanley Oswald is my grandfather.”

“Your grandfather?”

“Yes, and like the ass you and I know him to be, he kept it a secret.”

“But…why?”

“Simply to torment me—and to prove a point.”

“To you?”

“No, to my parents, who’ve been dead for over two decades.”

Rose rubbed her forehead. “That makes no sense.”

“You’re correct, but when has Stanley ever made sense?”

“Why did he finally break down and tell you?”

“He’s old and alone and he’s regretting his choices.”

“He should regret them.”

“My feeling exactly,” James said. “Guess what else.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“I’m Stanley’s heir. He’s rewritten his will and publically claimed me.”

“You’re joking.”

“He’s having trouble with his health, which is why I didn’t come for you sooner.”

“What trouble?”

“He’s had a collapse. His doctor has diagnosed a minor apoplexy.”

“He’s incapacitated?”

“Bedridden for now anyway.” James shrugged. “So I’m in charge at Summerfield, and my first act was to convince the vicar to retire and move.”

“Vicar Oswald is gone?”

“Yes. The estate will be mine once Stanley passes, so Oscar realized there was no reason for him to stay. I saved the community from him, so at the moment, I’m very popular. I am also being lauded as Stanley’s grandson and heir—with people insisting they’d suspected all along. Do you know what this turn of fortune indicates, Rose?”

“No, what?”

“All of a sudden, I’m a rich man.”

“You’re not,” she breathed.

“I am, and I’ve decided I should bring home a bride to help me rule at Summerfield. Are you acquainted with anyone who might be available? How about a very pretty, very kind woman who is having a baby and needs to wed right away?”

Rose started to tremble, the shuddering increasing until she could barely remain in her chair. He dropped to a knee and clasped her hand.

“Will you marry me, Rose Ralston?” he said again. “I never used to view myself as much of a catch, but my situation has drastically improved. How about yours? Has it changed?”

He reached out and laid a palm on her belly, reminding her of the child that was very likely growing there.

She frowned. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious.”

“If you’re truly wealthy, I couldn’t possibly be your bride. My father was a penniless missionary.”

“At least your parents were lawfully wed. My father was an adulterer, and my mother—his mistress—was a notorious actress.”

“How do you know?”

“I told you: Stanley confessed all.”

“You should select someone who suits you, someone who could be your equal.”

“I agree. I also think I should marry for love. Don’t you?”

She scowled. “What?”

“I love you, Rose,” he shocked her by declaring. “Tell me you love me too.”

“What? You
love
me?”

“More than I can say. Please have me. Please tell me you’ll be mine.”

He leaned down and kissed the spot where their hands were joined, then he stood, and he was smiling, his affection washing over her like cool rain.

“If you refuse me,” he continued, “if you force me to leave without you, the rest of my life won’t be worth living.”

“Oh, James…” she sighed.

“I couldn’t go on without you. Don’t make me.”

He drew her to her feet, his beautiful blue eyes holding her rapt.

She remembered those wild, ecstatic days at Summerfield, when she’d peek around corners or stare out windows, hoping for a glimpse of him. She remembered those seductive, marvelous nights when he would sneak into her room, when he would cajole and entice her to wicked conduct.

She’d never been happier. She’d never felt more desired.

If she sent him on his way, what would happen to her? Could she cast herself out into the world to face the hard choices of a woman alone, of a woman in peril?

Though she hated to admit it, she wasn’t really strong or independent. She’d always yearned for a family, for a place to belong. He was offering her everything she’d ever craved. A child. A husband. A home of her own.

“Swear to me that you mean it,” she murmured.

“I swear on all that I am, on all that I will ever be.”

“Swear to me that you’ll always be glad you picked me.”

“Rose, you silly goose. As if I could ever want anyone but you.”

Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door. Evangeline called, “Rose, are you in there?”

James raised a questioning brow, and Rose said, “It’s my friend, Evangeline.”

He went over, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. On seeing that Rose was entertaining a gentleman, Evangeline blanched with astonishment.

“The cook heard you hollering,” Evangeline explained to Rose. “She thought you might be having some trouble.”

“I am James Talbot,” James said to her. “The only trouble she’s having is that I’m proposing marriage.”

Evangeline gasped. “Marriage!”

“Yes,” James replied. “She’s having a baby, and I think she should say
yes,
don’t you?”

“James,” Rose scolded, “be quiet. You’re embarrassing me.”

“I won’t let you wiggle out of this,” he responded. “I’ll shout the news to the rooftops if that’s what it will take to convince you.”

Evangeline studied Rose. “You’re having a baby? Obviously, there’s a large part of the story you didn’t share with me.”

“Obviously,” James concurred.

Evangeline gazed up at him. “Do you love her?”

“More than my life.”

“Have you a way to support her?”

“I’ve recently become a very rich man.”

“My favorite kind.” Evangeline laughed and peered over at Rose. “Do you love him too?”

“With all my heart.”

“Is there some reason you’re debating then?”

Rose delayed for a second, then a second more, absorbing every detail, eager to remember it all so—in the distant future—she would never forget any of it.

“No,” she ultimately said, “I’m not debating.” She smiled at James. “My answer is finally easy.”

“And what is it?” he asked.

“Yes, James Talbot, I’ll marry you. And considering what you just announced about my condition, I’d better do it as fast as I can.”

“You’ll never be sorry,” he vowed.

“I know,” she agreed, “and neither will you.”

THE END

Don’t Miss the Second Novel in

Cheryl Holt’s “Reluctant Brides” Trilogy!

WANTON

The story of Amelia Hubbard and Lucas Drake

Coming in June, 2014!

“I’m here. I’ve arrived.”

Feeling overwhelmed and a tad lost, Amelia Hubbard called out her announcement to the empty bedchamber. But she was alone, so there was no one to hear or reply.

She’d been given a grand, ostentatious suite—a sitting room, bedroom, and dressing room—located in a drafty, isolated wing of Sidwell Manor. A rented carriage had brought her to the estate, and after being deposited in the front drive, a maid had led her in and wound them through the quiet halls.

Her battered portmanteau was on the bed. It contained all of Amelia’s worldly possessions, and it looked terribly shabby and much too threadbare to have been carried inside. The maid had offered to unpack it, but Amelia had declined any assistance.

She hadn’t wanted the girl to see the pitiful condition of Amelia’s clothes. Then again, with the plain gray dress she was currently wearing, her penury was obvious. The posh décor only highlighted the odd contradiction created by her presence.

At age twenty-five, she’d spent the prior two decades at Miss Peabody’s School for Girls, first as a student, then as a teacher. She’d never precisely thought of herself as poor. She’d always had a roof over her head and food to eat. Once she’d become a teacher, she’d earned an income, too. It hadn’t been much, but it had furnished a sense of independence and security.

Yet with her surroundings revealed, she couldn’t help but be perturbed by her overt poverty. The stark disparity between her circumstances and that of her host unnerved her as nothing else had so far.

Hadn’t she been anxious from the start? Hadn’t she been disconcerted by the swiftness of events?

After a long and painful decline, Miss Peabody had died. Out of the blue, her attorney had visited to declare that the school would be shut down and sold, the students sent away. Amelia’s teaching position had ended as abruptly as a snap of the fingers.

During Miss Peabody’s last days, she’d told Amelia and the other two teachers—Rose Ralston and Evangeline Etherton—that she’d provided for them in her will. They’d naively and foolishly assumed they’d receive a monetary bequest, that they could pool their funds and buy the school themselves.

So it had come as a huge shock to learn that their inheritances weren’t pecuniary at all. Miss Peabody had dowered them and arranged marriages to men they’d never met. She’d never wed or had children herself, and apparently, she’d regretted that fact and had wanted Amelia, Rose, and Evangeline to have a different option.

Amelia was an orphan with no prospects and no family except for her wayward brother, Chase. She’d never expected to wed, so it had never occurred to her that she’d have the option, but she’d reluctantly agreed to Miss Peabody’s scheme.