Never A Bride

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

James watched from the library windows as Kate came out of the trees on the far side of the lawn. Her hair was bright, even at such a distance. He frowned as he looked at her. He understood her aversion to marriages of convenience. It was an aversion he shared, having been witness to his parents’ miserable marriage. Not that Kate’s parents had been unhappy together—quite the opposite, in fact. The late Viscount Honeycourt and his wife had been devoted to each other. But theirs had been a love match.

James watched Kate and frowned. He wanted a love match. He wanted passion. But . . .

Passion was all very well, but a marriage couldn’t survive on passion alone. Respect and friendship were equally important, if not more so, and he had those with Kate. And despite her airy assertion, seven weeks was an alarmingly short time to find a suitable wife. Panic twisted beneath his breastbone. He should have bargained harder. Did Kate really think she was going to make a love match at her age?

He looked at Kate across the stretch of lawn and made up his mind. Damn it, he was going to bargain harder. He could easily seek his pleasure outside the marriage bed. Many husbands did. London abounded with pretty opera dancers, the majority of whom possessed skills other than performing on stage. Quite startling skills, on occasion.

James opened the French windows onto the terrace, smiling as he recalled Bella. Yes, an opera dancer would be just the thing. And there would be no disrespect to Kate. If he was discreet, she would never know.

He walked down the steps and cut a tangent across the lawn. The grass had been shaved short by scythemen and was faintly damp beneath his boots. He kept his eyes on Kate. Her hair glowed in the sunlight.

Kate’s step faltered when she saw him coming towards her across the grass. Then she altered her direction and came to meet him.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Her smile was wide and her cheeks faintly flushed with exertion. She wore a fur-trimmed blue pelisse over her gown, but had removed her bonnet and held it upside-down by the silk ribbons. The crown was filled almost to overflowing with spring wildflowers. He saw snowdrops and primroses and sweet violets.

“Yes,” he said. “Kate, about my offer—”

“I’ve made a list of suitable ladies.” Her tone was brisk and businesslike. She began to walk again. “We can start with the Misses Bellersby.”

“The Misses Bellersby?” he asked, strolling alongside her.

“Yes. They’re stopping by this afternoon.”

“I see.”

“Olivia is the elder and Fanny the younger. They’re very nice girls.”

“I’m sure they are,” James said. “But Kate, about this list of yours . . .”

“What about it?”

“What if I like none of them well enough to marry?”

“You will,” she said, in a tone that he thought was overly confident.

“But what if I don’t?”

“Well—”

“A deal,” he said. “If I don’t like any of them better than you, then you agree to marry me.”

Kate halted on the grass. “No.”

“Please,” he said.

“No.” Her tone was firm.

James looked at her. The color had gone from her cheeks. Her face was pale. The freckles stood out quite clearly.

“I know you want a love match,” he said. “But Kate, what do you think the chance is of that happening?” He regretted the words as soon as they were uttered. Too blunt, too cruel.

He watched in shame as Kate flushed and her eyes dropped from his. “I know it’s never going to happen,” she said, her voice low and stiff.

James’s sense of shame deepened. “I beg your pardon, Kate,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No.” She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. “It’s the truth.”

James raised a hand to loosen his neckcloth. He thought that he was flushing, too. His face felt hot. “Is . . . is spinsterhood more appealing than becoming a countess?” he asked.

He was unsurprised when she answered: “Yes.” He’d broached the subject remarkably ill. James cleared his throat and tried again. “But, Kate—”

“I’m happy,” she said, her tone defensive.

“I know you are. But have you thought what will happen when Harry marries?” Kate would no longer be mistress of Merrell Hall. Harry’s bride would have that role, and while James had no doubt that Kate would always be welcome in her brother’s home, he thought she’d find her position awkward.

“Yes. I have thought about it,” Kate said, raising her eyes and frowning at him. “I’ll take a cottage in the village. I’m not destitute, James. I’ll be perfectly comfortable.”

“And who will you have for a companion? Your cousin Augusta?”

Distaste flickered across her face. “No. I’ll hire someone.”

“You could be mistress of Elvy Park,” James said, watching her closely. “The house is beautiful, Kate. And the park is one of the finest tracts of land in England.”

Kate’s mouth tightened.

“And there’s an estate in Somerset, and one in Cornwall. And a house in Mayfair.” He didn’t mention the old Grange, which, although it was entailed to the Arden heir, was an uncomfortable pile and not somewhere he’d ever choose to live. “And we could travel, Kate. Wherever you wish to go. Rome, Florence . . .” He said the names again, persuasively. “Capri.”

Kate turned her head away.

“Is that worse than spinsterhood, Kate?”

“Of course not,” she said stiffly.

“Then say you’ll marry me,” he said, looking down at her bright hair. “If no one on your list suits me.”

Kate said nothing.

“Please, Kate.”

She met his eyes, still frowning. “Very well. But you have to give them a fair chance.”

Relief made him almost light-headed. “You have my word,” he said, ready to promise anything. “Thank you, Kate.”

She didn’t return his smile. She looked as if he’d backed her into a corner. Which he had.

“Tell me about the Misses Bell-whatever,” James said, as guilt came on the heels of relief. He’d been no gentleman to force the agreement from her. He’d meant to coax, but instead he’d bludgeoned. It was nothing to be proud of.

Kate’s face relaxed. “Bellersby. Olivia is twenty-one and Fanny twenty. They’ve never had a London Season although their father could easily afford it. He’s a widower and quite dotes on them. I don’t think he wants them to leave. Certainly, he’s not made the slightest push to see them married . . .”

James listened to her description of the Misses Bellersby as they walked across the lawn towards the Hall. He was ashamed of his conduct, but his anxiety was gone. He’d view the ladies on Kate’s list and perhaps he would like one, but if he didn’t, then it was of no consequence, because Kate had promised to marry him. He glanced at her. It would be no love match, but they’d be comfortable together.

Passion, he thought, frowning, remembering the odd stir of arousal he’d experienced at the thought of Kate in his bed. He shook his head. It had been an aberration, born of panic.

Although . . . James looked at her more closely and was startled to realize that her profile was very fine indeed. He was so disconcerted by the discovery that he missed part of what Kate was saying.

“So, are congratulations in order?”

James looked up from the Gazette. Harry stood in the doorway to the library, his curly hair awry, as if he’d been dragging his hands through it.

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, not exactly?” Harry came into the room and threw himself down on a couch. The wine-red damask should have clashed with his bright hair; somehow it didn’t.

James folded the newspaper and put it aside. The armchair creaked slightly as he stretched. “Kate wishes to try her hand at matchmaking.”

Harry’s brow creased. “What?”

“She has a list of eligible candidates for me.”

“She does?”

The expression on Harry’s face almost made James laugh out loud, something he hadn’t felt like doing in a long time. “Yes,” he said. “Starting with the Misses Bellersby, this afternoon.”

“So . . . you’re not going to marry Kate?”

“If none of the ladies on her list are suitable, then she’ll marry me.”

“She will?”

James nodded. “We have an agreement.” Which Kate wasn’t pleased with. He shrugged off his guilt. Chances were that someone on her list would suit him.

“An agreement?” Harry’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes.”

Brass-headed studs trimmed the armchair’s leather upholstery. James rubbed a finger over them. He didn’t tell Harry that Kate’s first response had been refusal. It had been arrogant of him to assume she’d jump at his offer of marriage, as she would have eleven years ago, but he was offended that she preferred spinsterhood to marriage with him. It stung his pride.

“Well,” said Harry, looking bemused. “Uh . . . well.” He blinked several times and then shook his head. “Would you like to go fishing this afternoon? I’ve nearly finished with Crake.”

“Sorry,” James said, with regret. “I have the Misses Bellersby.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Right. Of course.”

Harry took her aside after luncheon, before he returned to his study. His hair was standing on end, as it always did when he went over business with his steward, Crake. It gave him a deceptively frazzled air; Kate knew he enjoyed the sessions. Land management was Harry’s passion.

“What’s this about you and James?” he said, frowning. His voice told her that he spoke as the Viscount Honeycourt, not her brother, Harry. It was a tone he’d perfected in the six years since he’d succeeded to the viscountcy.

“I’m helping him find a wife.”

“The Misses Bellersby?” Harry shook his head. “Kate, I don’t think James is going to marry a Bellersby.”

“They’re perfectly amiable.”

Harry didn’t disclaim this truth. He continued to frown at her. “James told me about your agreement.”

“Oh.”

“Will you really marry him?”

“Only if I can’t find him a more suitable bride.” Kate made her voice cheerful. “And I shall!”

“A Bellersby?” Harry shook his head again. “Certainly they’re amiable, but—”

“They’re as suitable as I am, if not more so.”

“Nonsense,” Harry said staunchly. His frown deepened. “Kate, are you certain you want to marry James?”

“It won’t come to that.”

“It might.”

Kate shook her head. “I doubt it. But if it does, then yes, I think we should deal tolerably well together.” Too late, she realized she’d repeated James’s words, overheard in the library. She turned the subject. “I thought we could have the Charnwoods to dinner.”

“The Charnwoods?” Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re thinking of Marianne, aren’t you? Trust me, Kate, James is not going to want to marry Marianne.”

Kate shrugged lightly. “There’s Caroline, too.”

Harry observed her narrowly while the mahogany longcase clock in the hallway ticked the seconds away. His mouth twitched as if he struggled to hide a smile. “Very well,” he said. “Let us have the Charnwoods to dinner.”

“Thank you,” Kate said.

Harry shook his head at her. “What else have you planned, Kate? Tell me the worst.”

“Well . . . I’ve asked Lizzie to come a little earlier.”

“Lizzie?”

“Miss Penrose.”

“Miss Penrose?”

“My friend from Derbyshire. She was coming in June. Remember?”

“Oh,” Harry said. He blinked. It was obvious he’d forgotten. “Of course. Whatever you wish.”

“And I thought . . . could we have a ball?”

“A ball?” Harry frowned again.

“Yes,” Kate said. “We haven’t had one since . . . oh, I forget when.”

“A ball.” Harry’s brow cleared. “Why not? When’s the next full moon, Kate? Do you know?”

Kate did. She’d checked. “Three weeks.”

“Perfect,” said Harry.

Kate nodded. It was perfect. With a full moon to light the country roads, they’d receive few refusals. “I’ll send the invitations out tomorrow.”

“Good.” Harry nodded, and turned towards his study.

“Only, there’s one thing . . .”

He turned back. “What?”

“Cousin Augusta. Shouldn’t we inform her that James is staying?”

There was a long moment of silence. “Do you think we should?” Harry asked finally, slowly.

“Well . . .” Kate twisted her hands together. “Are you certain that’s it’s quite . . . quite convenable for me to be your hostess? I know I’m as much an old maid as Cousin Augusta, only . . . I’m not so . . . so old as she is, and—” She bit her lip. “Do you think . . . will it occasion talk to have James staying?”

“If I thought that, I would have asked him to put up at The Minstrel,” Harry said firmly. “None of our acquaintances could think there’s any impropriety. A friend of such long-standing! It’s perfectly unobjectionable. I’m here.”

“But . . .”

“Only a—a sapskull could imagine that Merrell Hall is anything but respectable!” Harry’s tone was hot. “And if they did, Yule would set them straight, or Mrs. Hedley!”

Kate chewed her lower lip. It was true, the butler and the housekeeper would put tattlemongers right. “But—”

“Dash it, Kate, you’re old enough not to need a chaperone!”

“But . . . what about when Lizzie comes?”

Harry’s reply was prompt: “You shall be her chaperone.”

“Do you think it will serve?”

“Yes,” Harry said firmly. “No one can take exception to it.”

“But—”

“Kate . . .” Harry sighed, a deep sound. He stepped closer and took hold of her hands. “If you truly want her back, I’ll send word to Bath.”

“I don’t want her back.” Kate sighed, too. Merrell Hall, without Cousin Augusta and her spasms and vapors and incessant scolding, was a much nicer place. “It’s just that—”

“Only think, Kate, we’ll ruin her holiday . . .” Harry’s tone was coaxing, his smile mischievous. He looked, for an instant, like a schoolboy and not a man who’d recently celebrated his thirtieth birthday. “She’s only been gone a week. It would be such a pity to call her back.”

His shameless wheedling made her smile. “All right,” she said.

Harry bent his head and kissed her cheek lightly. “Thank you, Kate.” He squeezed her hands before releasing them. “And if the old tabby cats say anything, ignore ’em. I shall!”