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She stopped as he pivoted about to face her. “No more arguments, Laina. Granted, Rebecca and Margaret were less than admirable women. Is that not all the more reason to do what I am doing?” He lifted his lips in a cynical smile. “You can’t deny I’ve not done well choosing with my heart. It seems to have an abominable lack of good taste.”
Tears welled into her eyes at his words. She glared up at him. “I hate this change in you, Justin. You’ve turned into this cold, remote, untouchable stranger. I want you to stop this foolishness! I want my warm, gentle, loving brother back. You’re going to destroy your life.”
“Don’t cry, Lainy.” The old childhood name slipped softly from Justin’s lips. He drew his older sister into his arms and held her close. “I know a marriage of convenience is not ideal. But at least it will be an honest relationship.”
He held up a hand to forestall her comment as she jerked backward out of his arms and drew breath to speak. “Yes, an honest relationship, even if it will be based purely on greed. At least this time the avarice will be out in the open.”
Justin frowned, and turned away to put on his coat. Laina was right, he had changed—his voice sounded as cold and hard as his heart felt. He lifted her wool, fur-trimmed coat off the chair and held it for her. “We’ve talked enough. It’s time to go.”
He straightened the coat’s overcape about her shoulders, handed her the matching coal-scuttle bonnet and opened the drawing room door, stepping back to let her precede him into the entrance hall. “The Haversham Coach House is some distance from here. Surely you’d not have me keep my bride waiting?” His attempt to ease the tension between them with the light remark failed. He winced inwardly as Laina’s eyes flashed with anger. There was an audible snap from the bonnet’s satin chin ribbons as she yanked them into place and tied them.
“She can wait till the stars fall from the sky for all I care! And don’t call her your bride in my presence. I’ll never accept her as such.”
Justin’s heart gave a painful wrench as Laina snatched her fur muff from the seat of the chair and swept past him. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t let her dissuade him from the path he had chosen. He had been made a fool of twice. He didn’t intend that it should ever happen again. But he needed a suitable wife—a mother for the children.
Justin set his jaw in grim determination, grabbed his felt top hat from the chair and followed Laina out her front door and down the brick steps to the waiting cabriolet he had hired.
Ora Scraggs gripped the sideboard of the wagon as it made its lumbering, lurching progress down the road toward New York. March 28, 1820—her wedding day. At least it would have been if it weren’t for that addlebrained, dim-witted coach driver. The grip of her hand on the edge of the board seat tightened as she glared down at the long, jagged tear in the skirt of the red wool traveling outfit she had stolen from her mistress. A pox on him! A pox on the driver and his whole family! If he hadn’t been going so fast he might have missed that deep hole, the wheel wouldn’t have broken and—
Oh, what was the use? Why mull it over? The accident had happened. She was beaten. And she had planned so carefully! From the moment she’d overheard her mistress and her friends reading and laughing about that Article of Intent, she’d been figuring her every move. Now, the splendid, genteel entrance she had planned for her arrival at the Haversham Coach House in the hired coach and fancy stolen clothes was ruined. The time of her marriage appointment with “Widower” long past. Now she had to think up a new scheme, find another rich man to diddle. And she would! Her plan to have “Widower’s” money might be denied her by today’s accident, but she was clever. She would think of something. There were a lot of rich gentlemen in New York. And meanwhile…
Ora cast a speculative glance at the farmer driving the wagon and her lips curved upward in a self-satisfied smirk. It was a bit of luck he had happened by and offered her a ride after the accident. She could cozy up to him until after he sold his grain in New York tonight—until he had all that lovely money she could steal. But she’d best get at it—it was already twilight. She smiled and slid closer to him.
Chapter Two
“O h!” Elizabeth stumbled over an exposed root, falling to her hands and knees on the hard-packed earth. The jar of her landing sent pain radiating throughout her bruised, exhausted body. She felt the jolt at every spot where Reginald’s angry blows had landed.
She struggled to her feet, brushed the dry dirt from her cloak, then reached for the drawstring bag. Sharp pain shot through the tired muscles along her spine as her abused body protested. She eased herself erect and walked on, stinging darts prickling her cold, aching, satin-slipper-clad feet with every step. If only her father hadn’t taken her shoes and boots!
Elizabeth pressed her lips together and set her mind against her discomfort. Ever since she ran away this morning she had been walking, searching for a way out of town, but soon she would be able to rest at the coach house that kind old man with the oyster barrow had told her of. It was only a little farther.
Rapid footsteps sounded behind her. Elizabeth started. Was that one of the servants Reginald had out searching for her? She’d managed to elude one of them earlier when she’d overheard him asking about her at The Black Horse Inn—but if she was caught out here in the open…
Panic seized her. She glanced toward the shadows at the side of the road but it was too late to hide. She swung the cloth bag in front of her, covered it with her cloak, then pulled her hood farther forward, ducking her head so her face would be fully hidden from view. Fear propelled her forward as the footsteps behind her grew louder; drew nearer. It took all of her inner strength not to look over her shoulder—not to drop the bag and run.
Please, God, don’t let it be one of Reginald’s lackeys! Please, God.
The footsteps picked up speed, then veered away down a narrow alley on her left. Elizabeth stopped. Dull fists of pain pounded at her temples. She set the bag on the ground at her feet and lifted her trembling hands to rub the pain away. A cat, prowling in the shadows, leaped to the top of a fence and yowled. Her frayed nerves jolted.
Oh, Lord, help me! I must find this Haversham Coach House, Lord. I must find a way out of town before—
What if she hadn’t enough money to hire a carriage? Elizabeth drove her hand into her reticule, then stood staring at the few coins on her palm as the throbbing in her temples increased. She’d had no time to plan—to think of anything beyond escape—and now it was too late.
She frowned, then drew her weary body fully erect. She had no time for such discouraging thoughts. The coins clinked together dully as she dropped them back into her reticule. She was free of Reginald Burton-Smythe, that was what mattered. She would simply go as far as her funds would take her.
“But first, I must find this Haversham Coach House.”
The sound of her voice startled her. Elizabeth glanced quickly up and down the street, but there was no one to overhear. She was all alone in the fading twilight. The thought brought a feeling of desolation so unexpected and powerful she gasped. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, picked up the cloth bag, and walked on.
Justin pushed aside the remains of his half-eaten meal and looked up at “Judge,” the man who had been a surrogate father to Laina and him since their own father’s death in 1812. “Well, Judge, it seems I owe you an apology for wasting your time. Considering the lateness of the hour I can only surmise that ‘Interested’ lost her interest, and has changed her mind about marrying ‘Widower.’ It seems I cannot even buy loyalty from a woman.”
“Justin!”
“Don’t sound so shocked, Laina.” He slid his gaze to his sister’s face. “I’m simply stating the truth.” He flung his napkin down on the scarred wood table and surged to his feet. “I’ll have the carriages brought round.”
“Not so fast, my boy.”
Justin glanced down at the age-spotted hand gripping his arm, then lifted his gaze to the judge’s face. “What is it?”
The elderly man dipped his head in the direction of the entrance. “As much as I wish it were not so—I believe that may be your intended bride.”
Justin turned. A woman in a blue wool, fur-trimmed cloak stood just inside the door looking about.
“Are you still determined to go through with this ridiculous marriage?”
The judge sounded less than enthusiastic. Justin nodded. “I am. As long as my conditions are met.”
The judge sighed. “Very well. I have said all that I can say.” He rose slowly to his feet.
Justin moved to join him.
The older man shook his gray head in negation. “You wait here. I want to talk privately with this woman to assure myself she fully understands the conditions of this preposterous union. Unless I do, I will have no part of it.”
Justin frowned. “You leave me no choice.”
“As was my intent.” The judge gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder and walked away.
“How may I serve you, madam?”
Elizabeth fastened a wary gaze on the proprietor. “You may tell me if a gentleman has been making inquiries about—that is, if anyone has inquired—”
“I believe I’m the one to answer that question.”
Elizabeth jumped and spun about. A portly, prosperous-looking older man of medium height gave her a brief nod. “I am here on behalf of the gentleman you were asking about. I am Judge William Braden.”
Judge? The law! Reginald had set the law on her to force her to honor the betrothal contract her father had signed! Elizabeth darted a panicked glance at the door beyond the judge, gauging the distance to freedom. It was too close to him. She’d never get the door open before he seized her. She looked back at the elderly man, who was still talking.
“The gentleman you were asking after has engaged my services to handle the legalities of this…er…situation. And, as the matter is of a delicate nature, we have arranged use of a private room. If you will come with me?”
Elizabeth cringed as the man picked up the bag that had fallen from her suddenly nerveless fingers, then grasped her elbow. Her stomach roiled. He’d found her. Reginald had hired a judge and—Reginald. She gazed frantically about as the judge ushered her into a small room. There was no one waiting there.
Relief stole the strength from her legs. She collapsed onto a hard wood chair, watching as the judge closed the door. There was no bolt. She might yet make good her escape. Oh, if only she weren’t so weary! If only she could think!
Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin as the judge came to stand in front of her. One thing she knew. She would not go back. Jail would be better than marriage to Reginald Burton-Smythe.
“To begin, let me say that I do not approve of the action being taken by my client.”
The judge’s deep, authoritative voice cut across Elizabeth’s dark thoughts. Her heart leaped with hope. If he didn’t approve, would he help her escape?
“However, such actions are perfectly legal.”
The abrupt words plunged her back into despair.
“As for you, I want to be certain, in my own mind, that you fully understand the seriousness of what you are doing before this…this escapade goes any further. In light of that, I feel it best if I review the circumstances of your position. After I have done so we can discuss any consequences that might depend from it.”
Consequences? Shock streaked along Elizabeth’s nerves. Perhaps she would go to jail. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to hide their trembling.
“Shall I proceed?”
She gave a polite nod.
“Very well.” The judge clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “As you know, my client stands ready to marry the woman that meets the qualifications set forth in his published Article of Intent.” His voice sharpened. “My purpose, is to make certain those qualifications are understood and met. The first being, of course, that you agree to a marriage of convenience only.”
Elizabeth lifted her head and stared at the man standing before her. Whatever could he be talking about?
“Well? You do understand what is meant by a marriage of convenience, do you not?”
The words cracked through the air. Elizabeth jumped. “I believe I do.” Her cheeks warmed. “However, I’m not certain—”
“A marriage of convenience is one in which both parties agree to fulfill all the duties and responsibilities of a marriage except those of an intimate nature. It is a marriage that is never consummated.” The judge scowled down at her. “Now, do you understand?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth’s cheeks burned. She could not force herself to meet the judge’s direct gaze. She took a deep breath and focused her attention on his chin. Her pulse quickened as he reached for a chair, then sat facing her.
“You would agree to such a marriage? A marriage of convenience?”
“Yes, I would.” Elizabeth made her voice very firm. She didn’t understand why he should be asking her opinion, but after last night that sort of marriage sounded wonderful to her.
“Very well. My client has signed a legal document outlining such a stipulation. If all other particulars are met, his bride will be required to sign also.”
It was a mistake! The thought sizzled through Elizabeth’s mind, stiffening her back. It had to be a mistake. Reginald Burton-Smythe would never countenance such a situation or put his signature on something she’d see before a wedding. Last night proved that. Clearly, this matter had nothing to do with him—or her.
Elizabeth drew in a deep breath as the tightness in her chest released. She had only to explain the misunderstanding and she would be free to flee the city. “Sir, I believe you have made an— Oh!”
The judge reached out and pushed the hood back from her face. Elizabeth recoiled, turning her head so the bruising on her left cheek wouldn’t show.
The old man’s expression softened as her hood fell away. “How old are you, child?”
“E-eighteen.”
“Eighteen. And you would be willing to enter into a relationship without intimacy for the rest of your life?”
“I would.” Elizabeth winced at the soreness in her shoulder as she reached up and pushed at the curls that had popped free of her hair combs. How unkempt she must look. She pulled her hood back in place. “I don’t care about intimacy. And I don’t want to…to be consummated. Ever! But I—”
“That is sufficient answer. I do not wish to hear intimate details.”
“But, sir, you don’t understan—”
“Not another word! We shall proceed.”
Elizabeth stared at him, taken aback by the sharp, censorial tone in his voice.
“What of children?”
“Children?”
“Yes, my client has young children. Babes really. Do you get on with them?”
“Of course. I love children. But, sir, truly I must explain—”
“No need. That is sufficient answer. And the last condition that must be met.” The judge locked his gaze on her eyes. “That leaves only the settlement to be arranged before I call in my client and perform the ceremony.”
“Ceremony!” Elizabeth leaped to her feet.
“Of course, ceremony. I told you this is to be a legally binding union.” The judge leaned back in his chair, studying her. “This will be a true marriage in all but intimacy.” His voice emphasized the point quietly. “I thought you understood that. If you did not—it’s not too late to refuse my client’s offer.”
Elizabeth’s mind reeled. He was offering her this strange marriage proposal from a man she had never met. Had never even seen! Why, such a deed was out of the question. And yet—he’d said it would be a legal marriage without consummation. She would be protected from Reginald and her parents by— No! She couldn’t possibly. Could she?
Elizabeth sank back down onto the chair. If she accepted this strange offer of a marriage of convenience she would be safe. She would be legally protected from Reginald Burton-Smythe by marriage. Safe! Her mind locked on the word.
“Do you wish to refuse my client’s offer?”
Elizabeth stared down at her trembling hands, then, aghast at what she was about to do, lifted her gaze to the judge’s face and shook her head. “No.”
“Very well. Then let us get on with the matter. There is still the settlement to discuss.”
“The settlement?”
“Yes. The generous provision my client agreed to bestow on the woman that met his qualifications. He wishes the matter settled before the ceremony, and has empowered me to discuss it with you to decide upon an amount that is mutually acceptable.”
Elizabeth gaped at him. This situation was becoming more and more confusing. She had heard of a bride’s dowry, but she had never heard of a groom’s settlement. She went very still as a glimmer of suspicion flickered through her mind. “Tell me, sir, is this ‘groom’s settlement’ customary?”
A look of disgust passed fleetingly across the judge’s distinguished features. “No, it is not. My client is making the settlement as a token of his good faith.”
“I see.” A sick, sinking feeling hit the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach. It all made sense now. The judge’s client—whoever he was—was buying a wife. And they thought she was that woman.
Elizabeth swallowed hard, bowing her head and fighting back tears of shame. She would have to allow the misconception to continue, but at least she could refuse the man’s money. She lifted her head. “If this is not customary, sir, but is merely a gesture of your client’s good faith, then I shall accept it as such—as a gesture.”
“Of course. And the amount?”
She shook her head. “You mistake me, Judge Braden. There will be no amount. Your client has made a gesture which I have accepted. The money is not necessary. The offer of it is sufficient to establish good faith.”
The judge’s features went slack with shock. Elizabeth sat up a little straighter. “I understand that your client had no knowledge of the manner of person with whom he would be dealing. But—” Her voice broke. Tears of humiliation flooded her eyes. She lifted her chin and spoke with quiet dignity. “But I do not wish to feel purchased.”
Her words faded away. There was dead silence in the room. It was broken by the sound of the judge’s chair scraping backward on the floor as he rose to his feet. He inclined his head.
“My dear, I pray you will accept my apology on behalf of my client and myself. It was not our intent to insult you.” He straightened and smiled down at her. “You are correct in your assumption. We had no idea of the manner of person with whom we would be dealing. You are a very pleasant surprise.”
Elizabeth managed a shaky smile. “I pray your client may find me so.”
