Jenni Fletcher - The Convenient Felstone Marriage

‘Any bride?’

‘Not any, but one he’ll approve of, yes.’

‘How flattering. What if he hears that you proposed to someone else yesterday?’

‘He might hear rumours, but if I announce our engagement before they reach him, he’ll dismiss them as just that—rumours.’

‘And you don’t think he’ll be suspicious if I simply appear out of the blue?’ She shook her head incredulously. ‘Why not ask someone else you already know?’

‘Because I need an engagement to be convincing. I go away on business often enough to make a long-distance courtship plausible. He won’t know that we’ve only just met.’

Ianthe drew her brows together thoughtfully. Put like that, it sounded almost convincing. It would put an end to Percy and Sir Charles’s plotting, not to mention give her a new start, a new home, somewhere to call her own again. And she was a new woman after all. Perhaps she could be the sensible bride he wanted. It might be tempting, if it weren’t so preposterous.

‘Unless you have some personal objection to me?’ His face darkened abruptly. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of my background? My parentage?’

She blinked, taken aback by the flash of steel in his grey eyes. ‘Your parentage is irrelevant, sir. If I thought that birth were any indication of breeding then I’d have married Sir Charles already.’

‘Then perhaps you dislike me personally?’

‘I think you’re moody and ill-mannered. Other than that, I’ve no objection to your character.’

‘I might have used the same words to describe you this morning. With the addition of stubborn, that is.’

‘I am not st—!’ She stopped mid-word, gritting her teeth at the irony.

‘Quite.’

‘What about love then?’ She inched her chin up. ‘Or do you think that doesn’t matter in marriage?’

‘I believe that’s your poetry speaking again.’

She felt a stab of bitterness. Did any man think of love? Not Percy or Sir Charles or this man either, apparently.

‘I assure you, it’s quite possible to marry for love. My parents did.’

‘That was fortunate for them, though for my own part, I’ve never had the benefit of any such example. My father wasn’t known for his finer feelings and my mother only came to regret them. I’ve seen the effects of your so-called love, Miss Holt. I’m not capable of forming such an attachment myself. If that’s what you’re waiting for, then I’m afraid I can’t help you. What I’m proposing is a practical arrangement, not a romantic one.’

‘Practical?’ She gave a sceptical laugh. ‘Yesterday you condemned me as a schemer and yet today you tell me I ought to be practical? Make up your mind, Mr Felstone.’

‘There’s a great deal of difference between marrying a man you despise and simply being practical.’

‘You’ve given me every reason to dislike you.’

‘True, but at least we know where we stand.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Things can only get better.’

Ianthe bit her lip. That was definitely true. Unconventional as his arrangement sounded, it did make a kind of sense. But how could she possibly agree to marry a man she’d known for less than a day? He didn’t scare her like Sir Charles, but she knew even less about him. At least with the Baronet she already expected the worst. This man was an unknown quantity, more attractive and yet potentially even more dangerous.

Besides, the thought of marrying without love went against all of her old cherished ideals and dreams. Even if she didn’t expect it for herself any more, she hadn’t changed so completely. She still believed in the possibility of love, even if not for herself...

‘Mr Felstone...’ She started to speak and then stopped, disturbed by a knock on the front door, by the sound of her aunt’s voice followed by Percy’s, then another man’s... She caught her breath in panic.

‘Sir Charles, I presume?’ Mr Felstone looked utterly unperturbed, pulling himself casually to his feet. ‘In that case, I’ll take my leave. I’ll be staying at the Swan until Thursday. If you wish to discuss any part of my offer, I’m more than happy to do so. If not, I promise never to mention it again.’

‘Wait!’ She swung around, as panicked now by the thought of him leaving as she’d been by his presence half an hour before. She’d been prepared to face Sir Charles then, but now she needed time to recompose herself. As if such a thing were possible with Mr Felstone’s proposal still ringing in her ears! Her head was still spinning from the fact that he actually meant it. How could he throw her into such confusion and then abandon her now?

Besides, it occurred to her that his presence there might actually be useful. Even if she had no intention of accepting him, Sir Charles wasn’t to know that. If he found them together, alone and unchaperoned, the situation might look just compromising enough to deter him. And if not... Mr Felstone would make an intimidating rival, even to a baronet. If anyone could scare him off, surely it would be him.

If she could persuade him to stay. Which meant changing everything about her behaviour so far.

‘I mean, please wait!’ She stepped in front of him, effectively blocking the way. ‘I’ll think about your offer, but don’t go!’

Chapter Four

‘You want me to stay?’

Robert studied her face, trying to understand what she was really asking him. Her expression had just run the gamut of emotions from dismissive to panicked to imploring in less than thirty seconds. He’d been about to quit the field, certain that she’d been about to reject him—again—but now she was actually pleading with him to stay.

Why?

‘There’s no need to leave on Sir Charles’s account.’ Her voice quavered slightly. ‘You haven’t had tea yet.’

He knit his brows suspiciously. She was trying to smile and failing, her strained features barely concealing an undercurrent of fear. Clearly she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she didn’t want to marry Sir Charles, but fear? Aversion was one thing, but this...this was something else entirely. Was she afraid of him, then?

‘Please.’ She threw a nervous glance over her shoulder when he still didn’t answer. ‘Just for a few minutes.’

‘You don’t want to be alone with him?’ He felt vaguely disturbed by the idea. ‘Your aunt and brother are here.’

‘It’s not that...’

‘You want to make him jealous?’

Her eyes flew to his. ‘Yes. If he sees us alone together...’

‘He might not like the competition?’

She held his gaze in guilty silence for a few moments before shaking her head. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I’m flattered.’

‘Then you don’t object?’

He gave a small shrug, surprised to find that he didn’t object at all.

‘Not if you think it might help, though it might not be the wisest course of action. Some men like a challenge.’

‘I don’t know what he likes!’ Brown eyes flashed tempestuously. ‘But I’ve tried everything else!’

Robert cocked an eyebrow, surprised as much by her vehemence as by the words themselves. What did that mean? That she’d tried ‘everything else’? What else?

His gaze dropped to her extravagant pink dress, so wildly different to her sensible grey outfit from the day before. She seemed to have gone from one extreme to the other. There was nothing remotely sensible about her appearance now. When she’d entered the room he’d thought he’d made a mistake and had the wrong woman. She looked like a younger version of her flamboyant aunt, the ridiculous lace cap on her head framing her face like the petals of a huge flower. Not that there weren’t still points to admire. The tight bodice accentuated curves that had been largely hidden the day before, revealing a surprisingly statuesque figure, shapely waist and ample, round breasts...

He forced his attention back to her words. I’ve tried everything else. Was her outlandish appearance all a façade then, some kind of bizarre attempt to repel Sir Charles? That would explain why she’d looked so embarrassed to see him instead. After charging into the parlour so defiantly, her cheeks had turned almost the same colour as her dress, though he had to admit the effect had been unexpectedly alluring.

‘I’m more than happy to play the rival suitor, Miss Holt.’ He made an ironic bow. ‘Shall I stand here or languish at your feet?’

She shot him a cutting look, opening her mouth to retort before clamping it firmly shut again as the tall, suavely dressed figure of Sir Charles Lester appeared in the doorway.

‘Ianthe.’ The Baronet strode forward at once, grasping her hands and raising them both to his lips, seemingly oblivious to anything unusual in her appearance. ‘You look just as lovely as ever.’

Robert regarded the other man critically. In his mid-fifties, the Baronet had an air of casual, confident authority, with a strong athletic figure and abundance of silver-blond hair. There was nothing obviously untoward or overtly threatening about his appearance, but the hard edge to his features gave him away. It was the same edge he recognised from his father’s face, the same look of a man accustomed to wanting—and getting—his own way.

And in this particular case what the Baronet wanted was obvious. The way he was clutching Ianthe’s wrists put him in mind of a falcon digging its talons into a small bird. As for her... She was standing completely immobile, her whole body stiff and rigid, as if simply awaiting an opportunity to get away.

He tensed, seized by an instantaneous rush of dislike, barely resisting a compulsion to grab the other man by the collar and throw him out on to the street.

‘Felstone.’ Sir Charles addressed him without turning his head. ‘I didn’t think you were the type to make calls on ladies.’

Robert held his temper with an effort. The Baronet’s tone was dismissive, though if he thought he could be chased away so easily, he could think again.

‘I make the occasional exception. When the company’s so pleasant, that is.’

‘Indeed?’ Sir Charles dragged his gaze away from Ianthe’s face at last. ‘Percy told me you met on the train yesterday.’

‘That was my good fortune, yes.’

‘And here you are again today.’ Green eyes narrowed unpleasantly. ‘Isn’t there any work to be done for the gala?’

‘Plenty, I should imagine.’

Robert flung himself back down on the sofa, throwing one leg casually over the other with the air of a man determined to stay put. Antagonising a man with the Baronet’s influence didn’t make particularly good business sense, but then his behaviour seemed to have become increasingly reckless since meeting Miss Holt. Good business or not, he wasn’t going to abandon her now, not when she’d just begged him to stay. As for the man’s ill manners, he’d be more than happy to take issue with those...

‘And we’re quite delighted that you called, Mr Felstone.’

Sophoria Gibbs pushed past the Baronet so roughly that Robert almost laughed out loud. He’d always suspected that the old woman’s eccentricities belied a sharp mind, but he’d never been so certain of it until that moment. It seemed he wouldn’t have much work to do to get her on side. If he asked, she’d probably help him haul Sir Charles out on to the street.

‘Let me do the tea, Aunt.’ Miss Holt extricated herself from the Baronet’s clutches at last, rubbing her wrists together as she moved towards the table.

Robert’s eyes narrowed. Even from where he was sitting, he could see faint red marks, indentations left by Sir Charles’s fingers. How hard had he been holding her? His gaze shifted towards the Baronet, but the other man looked completely absorbed, his eyes following her every movement around the room with a look of alarming intensity.