Never A Bride

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

James was resigned to his fate. He’d realized a month ago that there was no hope of making a love match before his thirtieth birthday. It had been a bitter moment. There was nothing he wanted less than a marriage of convenience, but, equally, he didn’t want to lose Elvy Park. His world had seemed very bleak—until he’d thought of Kate. She wasn’t a woman he could imagine loving, but she was one whom he liked. She would make an excellent wife and the emotion that he felt now, on the morning of his proposal, should be relief. It wasn’t.

Kate, he thought, as he fastened his shirt. One of the buttons came off in his hand. He stared at it and swore, a crude oath, from the stables. It made him feel marginally better.

“Sorry, Griffin,” he said. “I’ve done it again.”

The valet glanced up from where he was laying out James’s waistcoat. “I’m getting used to it, my lord.”

James frowned at the button. It wasn’t the first one he’d pulled off this week. Damn, who’d have thought he’d be so angry? It wasn’t Kate’s fault. It was his father’s. He swore again.

Griffin paused. “Another one, my lord?” he asked, in a startled tone.

“No, no.”

James stripped off the shirt and held it in his hand, the fine cambric clenched between his fingers. How could you do this, Father?

He tossed the shirt on the wide bed. His eyes caught the movement in the heavy mahogany mirror and he glanced at his reflection. His face was dark and unsmiling. He ran a hand roughly through his hair. Of course Kate would say yes. Why should she refuse?

He watched his jaw clench, and turned away from the mirror. Kate would be a fine wife. She had a clever mind and a good sense of humor. It was of no matter that he didn’t love or desire her. They would deal well together. It would be a better marriage than his parents’ had been.

James put his hands on his hips and frowned at the room. It was decorated in shades of brown and gold. The brown suited his mood; the gold did not. He transferred his gaze to the waistcoat he’d chosen for this morning and told himself that he wanted to marry Kate. But in his heart he knew it was a lie. He sighed.

“You’d prefer another waistcoat, my lord?” Griffin asked, as he brought a fresh shirt.

“No.” James shook his head. “The waistcoat is fine.” The silk was cream-colored, subtly embroidered, and elegant enough for a proposal. He took the shirt Griffin held out and shrugged into it and began to fasten the buttons. This time he managed not to pull any off.

He found Kate in the morning room. There had been a frost overnight, but the room was pleasantly warm. A fire burned in the grate and mild sunlight shone in through the windows. Kate sat at a rosewood writing table, her head bent and her expression solemn. The quill moved quickly over the paper. She was so intent on her task that she didn’t hear him.

James paused in the doorway and thought, not for the first time, how like her brother Harry she was. She had the same freckled countenance and gray eyes, the same red hair. For some reason his mind wanted to compare her with Maria Brougham. It was a painful comparison, and not fair on Kate.

He reminded himself that Kate’s looks weren’t why he wanted to marry her. She didn’t have the golden ringlets and pouting mouth of Maria Brougham, but what she did have was far more valuable. Her manner was calm and sensible and her conversation intelligent. And she liked to laugh. They would deal well together. There’d be no passion, but there would be respect.

Kate turned her head and saw him. She started slightly, and James thought that faint color rose in her cheeks. He was reminded, horribly, of her youthful infatuation for him. He’d not been able to be in the same room as Kate without her blushing an ugly, livid red, and any attempt at conversation had been tortuous. She’d been unable to put two coherent words together.

Kate glanced back at her letter and laid down the quill. James saw that ink had spattered across the closely written lines. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Kate smiled and shook her head as she blotted the letter. “No matter.” There was no sign of partiality in her expression or tone, nothing more than friendliness.

James decided that he’d imagined the faint wash of color in her cheeks. It had been a trick of the light, a reflected glow from the room’s rose-colored walls.

“Did you wish to speak to me?” Kate finished blotting the letter. She turned in the chair and smoothed her gown over her lap. A delicate pattern was woven into the ivory-white muslin.

Now that the moment had come, James found himself reluctant to make his offer. He walked across the room and halted beside the fireplace, his shoulders tense. He unclenched his jaw and made himself smile at Kate. She would make him a fine wife. She was no termagant, no silly chit who’d giggle at him and be frightened by his frowns.

He cleared his throat. Kate’s face was freckled and alert. For an instant, gazing at her, he had the impression that she braced herself. He dismissed the notion as absurd. Harry had given his word not to inform her; she could have no idea what he wished to say.

James realized that his smile had faded. His neckcloth felt too tight. He controlled the urge to loosen it and reminded himself that he’d faced worse moments than this. Briefly, the smell of cannon smoke and blood came to him. He pushed the memory aside. “Kate, will you marry me?”

As a proposal it was blunt and abrupt, and he was instantly ashamed of his lack of eloquence. He could have done better.

Kate’s expression became completely blank. “I beg your pardon?”

James abandoned the fireplace. His gait was stiff as he crossed the room, his legs moving awkwardly. He sat opposite her on a silk-covered chair, tense. “Will you marry me, Kate? Please?”

He wanted her to say Yes, but instead she asked: “Why?”

“Because if I don’t marry before my thirtieth birthday, I lose Elvy Park and the fortune and—oh, almost everything except the title.” Anger and frustration bunched in his muscles. It took effort to keep his voice calm.

Kate frowned at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

James’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need to be told it was ridiculous. He knew.

“Why?” Kate asked. “How?”

“My father wanted grandchildren before he died.”

Kate’s brow creased in confusion. “So?”

“So he tried to force Edward to marry.”

“How?” Kate asked again.

“He wrote a will, leaving everything on the condition that his heir marries before his thirtieth birthday.” The words came out flat and without inflection. “If the heir . . . if I’m not married by then, I inherit the title and the old Grange, but little else. Not Elvy Park and the other estates, and not the fortune. Nothing that is unentailed.”

“What?” Kate said. “That’s absurd!”

“Isn’t it just?” he said bitterly. And, absurd or not, it had failed to serve its purpose; his father had died before seeing any grandchildren.

Kate shook her head, staring at him.

“It wouldn’t bother me to lose the title—I never expected it. But Elvy Park! I . . .” He paused and tried to find the words to make her understand. “I don’t think I could bear to lose Elvy Park, Kate. It . . . I love it.”

Kate nodded, her expression sober. She said nothing. That was one of the things he liked about her, he realized: that she didn’t need to fill silence with chatter.

“So . . . you see that I have to marry?”

She nodded again.

“So, please, will you marry me?”

Kate clasped her fingers in her lap and shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry, James.”

His first emotion was astonishment. His second was relief. His third was panic. “What?” he said. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t wish to,” she said, looking past his shoulder at the fireplace.

He blinked. “Are . . . are your affections otherwise engaged, Kate?” It was the only reason he could think of for her extraordinary answer.

Her eyes came back to his face. “Otherwise engaged?” She shook her head. “No.”

His astonishment and relief were replaced by pique. Kate was refusing for no other reason than that she preferred spinsterhood to marriage with him?

She smiled at him. “But I’ll help you find a wife.”

“What?” James said, in no mood to be humored.

“I’ll help you find a wife. Tell me what you’re looking for.” She picked up the quill and drew a fresh sheet of paper towards her. Her head tilted at an enquiring angle.

“Kate.” There was a bite of frustration in his voice. “I have less than two months left.”

“I know,” she said calmly.

James stared at her. He clenched his jaw. This morning was not progressing as he’d planned.

Kate shrugged at his silence, and dipped her quill in the inkwell. “What sort of wife would you like?”

Pique and panic combined to make him surly. He stood. “There’s no point.”

She looked up at him. “I’m perfectly serious,” she said. “I know dozens of eligible young ladies. One of them is bound to suit you better than I.”

He shook his head. “You would suit me,” he said, and he knew in his bones that he was correct. They had compatibility, which was as important as passion.

Kate averted her head and put down the quill. “No.”

James stared at her, and wondered how to make her reconsider her answer. Inspiration dawned. “We could go to Venice on our honeymoon.”

Kate glanced back up at him, frowning.

“Rome,” he said. “Florence, Naples, Capri.”

Her frown deepened.

“Greece.”

“Honestly, James!” Kate shook her head, the frown giving way to laughter. “You can’t bribe me to marry you.”

James sat down again. “What would make you marry me?” he asked. “Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

Kate looked down at her hands. “I am a foolish romantic,” she said. “I shall only marry for love. I’m sorry, James.”

James opened his mouth and then shut it again without speaking. There was nothing to be said. Neither of them loved the other and he couldn’t alter that. It was quite beyond his power.

Kate smiled at him, an apologetic movement of her mouth. She picked up the quill. “So tell me, James, what is it you’re looking for? Does she have to be of noble birth?”

His tone was heavy: “Kate, I really don’t think there’s any point.”

“Two months is perfectly long enough to shop for a wife,” she said calmly.

“Seven weeks,” he said.

“Long enough.”

“But—”

“Consider Mr. Collins.”

“Mr. Collins?”

“Pride and Prejudice. Haven’t you read it?”

James had. He narrowed his eyes. “Are you comparing me to Mr. Collins?” As he recalled it, that man’s courtships had been hasty and ludicrous.

Laughter lit up Kate’s face. “Of course not.”

James eyed her. She met his gaze. The amusement faded from her face, leaving it serious. Silence grew in the room. “A sense of humor,” he said.

Kate blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I should like my wife to have a sense of humor.”

“Very well.” Kate dipped the quill in ink and began to write. The nib scratched swiftly over the paper.

James watched her. His pique faded and some of his panic began to ease. He felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe Kate was correct. Maybe she could find him a bride who would suit him as well as she would—maybe even one he could feel passion for. Making love to one’s wife should be a pleasure, not a duty.

Unexpectedly, the thought of making love to Kate slid into his mind. To his astonishment, James felt a faint stir of arousal. He frowned at Kate’s bent head. In the sunlight her hair was as bright as flame, astonishingly vivid above the ivory-white gown. He didn’t want to make love to Kate. Nothing was further from his mind. And yet the thought was in his mind and it brought a flush of heat to his body. How odd. He didn’t desire Kate, didn’t want her in his bed, didn’t—

Kate turned her head and smiled at him. “What else?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What else would you like in a wife?”

James looked at her red hair and freckles. A degree of beauty would be nice, but he couldn’t say so without offending her. “She should be at least moderately intelligent,” he said. “I couldn’t bear a bird-witted wife.”

Kate nodded.

James watched as she wrote. He didn’t want Kate in his bed. Why, then, did the notion bring heat to his blood?

He deepened his frown and concentrated on the list that she wrote. It was unsettling to have such thoughts in his head, and it was vulgar and discourteous to Kate. He didn’t understand it at all.

Kate looked at the list once James was gone. It contained only four items. She frowned as she read them.

Sense of humor.

Moderately intelligent.

Not straight out of the schoolroom.

A gentleman’s daughter.

The requirements were certainly adequate for a wife he could tolerate, but not for one he could love. Pretty, she wrote firmly on the sheet of paper.

Kate stared at the list and sighed. Then she pushed it aside and began to think of names. With the London Season under way, the neighborhood was somewhat depleted, but quite a number of eligible young ladies were still in residence. She drew another piece of paper towards her. Miss Marianne Charnwood, she wrote. Miss Caroline Charnwood. Miss Eudora Wilmot. Miss Cecily Mornington. She chewed on her lower lip, frowning at the paper. Miss Dorothea Ingham. The Hon. Isabella Orton. Miss Olivia Bellersby. Miss Fanny Bellersby. Miss Amelia Hart. Miss Sarah Durham.

Kate tapped the quill against her chin. She’d forgotten to ask James about his views on widows. Would he only consider a virgin bride? She added Mrs. Emmeline Hurst to the list and then laid down the quill, satisfied. The ladies met James’s criteria and all were prettier than she was. Any one of them would make James a suitable wife. She could begin showing him prospective brides this afternoon, starting with the Misses Bellersby. And tomorrow she could introduce him to Miss Ingham. And after that . . .

Kate rummaged through the papers on the little writing table until she found the letter she’d been writing. It was spattered with ink.

“Lizzie,” she said, under her breath. “I think I’ve found you a husband.” She picked up her quill and copied the letter onto a fresh sheet of paper. Dearest Lizzie, I know we had decided on June, but please tell me that you can make your visit earlier . . .

Kate wrote swiftly. The sooner Lizzie received the letter, the sooner she could be here. And once James met Lizzie, how could he not wish to marry her? She was everything he needed. She was clever and sweet-natured and pretty, and she had a gift for laughter. She would suit James well. And more than that, she’d make him happy.

Kate reread what she’d written and was satisfied that no hint of her intention was evident. She wanted James to be a surprise for Lizzie. “Fall in love with him, Lizzie,” she whispered, as she sealed the letter with a wafer. “And make him fall in love with you. Please.”

She sat at the writing table for a moment, looking at the letter in her hand. Foolishly, she felt like crying. It wasn’t too late to change her mind. She could throw the letter and the lists into the fire and tell James she’d marry him after all. And they could go to Venice on their honeymoon, and Rome and Florence and Naples.

Her mouth turned up in a lopsided smile as she remembered James’s attempt at bribery. He knew her well to make such an offer. London held little lure for her—after three tedious Seasons she had no great liking for the place—but Italy was another matter.

To think of going there with James!

Kate’s smile crumpled. Tears stung beneath her eyelids and gathered chokingly in her throat. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and swallowed and took a deep, steadying breath. Then she rang for a footman and gave instructions that the letter be sent by express. That done, she folded the lists and went upstairs to her room. She should find James and tell him about the Misses Bellersby this afternoon, but she couldn’t face him again so soon. Their interview had been harrowing. She’d learned not to wear her heart on her sleeve, but it was like walking on glass to be in the same room as James, to talk to him and pretend that she didn’t love him. Her head ached. She needed fresh air and to be alone.