The Six-Month Marriage

  Jason nodded. ‘I see what you mean. But couldn’t you find some penniless young lady, then? Someone who wouldn’t embarrass you, but who would be glad to go through with the subterfuge, in return for a handsome compensation when the six months were over?’

  ‘No young lady would agree to such an arrangement: it would jeopardise her chances of making a permanent marriage. And beside, her family would never let her.’

  Jason sighed. ‘It’s hopeless, then.’

  Philip nodded. ‘So I thought. I’d already dismissed the idea - when I ran across Miss Delaware.’

  ‘Miss Delaware? Do you mean the flash of scarlet satin I saw following Mrs Green up the stairs belonged to Miss Delaware?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘It did.’ Philip’s face became brooding. The sharp lines of his face were deeply etched, and looked even more severe in the candlelight. He took a drink from his glass.

  ‘Tell me,’ he went on, ‘what do you know about the Delawares?’

  Jason shifted uncomfortably. ‘Not a lot, really. That is, only what everyone knows.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Which is . . . that Gareth Delaware’s a drunken sot who’s run through his own fortune, and would have run through his niece’s fortune if it hadn’t been tied up.’

  ‘And what do you know about his treatment of his niece?’ asked Philip

  Jason looked even more uncomfortable. ‘That most of the time he keeps her under lock and key. That she’s hardly ever seen at parties or concerts or routs, and that even when she is seen she’s not allowed to speak to anyone, at least not to say more than two or three words, after which her uncle or her chaperon moves her on.’

  Philip nodded. That fit in with his own knowledge, and with what he had seen when he had been introduced to Madeline at Lady Appleton’s ball. Strange, the introduction had been several months ago, but its impression had lingered. She had looked very different then, of course. She had been dressed in a simple muslin gown, and her face had been pure and natural, not smeared with gaudy paint, whilst her hair had been demurely arranged. Even so there had been something about her elfin face and haunted eyes that had remained with him. So that almost as soon as he had seen her again, despite her crimson gown and painted face, he had remembered who she was.

  But that did not solve the problem of why her uncle had dressed her as a harlot, or why she had been wandering the streets, at night, alone.

  ‘You don’t know if he had any plans for her?’ asked Philip meditatively.

  ‘Well . . . ’ began Jason.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I had heard . . . only on the grapevine, mind . . . that he’s heavily in debt again: to Lucius Spalding this time.’

  ‘Spalding? You don’t mean he was planning to marry her to that monster?’ demanded Philip.

  Jason looked unhappy. ‘It’s only what I’ve heard. But it seems likely. Her dowry would cover his gambling debts. Or so the rumour goes. But what’s your interest in her?’ he asked. ‘Besides the fact that you stumbled across her when you’d left young Mr Murgo?’ A look of realisation began to dawn on his face. ‘You don’t mean . . . you’re not going to ask her to be your temporary bride?’ asked Jason in surprise.

  Philip turned hawk-like eyes on his friend. ‘I mean exactly that.’

  ‘But won’t she bore you every bit as much as any other young lady?’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ said Philip. ‘But only for six months!’

  Madeline followed Mrs Green up the stairs.

  As she did so she looked about her with interest. The house she now found herself in was the complete opposite of her uncle’s. Whereas Gareth’s house was dark and dirty, Lord Pemberton’s house was light and bright and scrupulously clean – a tribute to Mrs Green, Madeline supposed.

  She was rather unsure of Mrs Green. Her experience of life had taught her to mistrust people as a general rule, servants as well as equals. It was Miss Handley, after all, who had been her chief gaoler at her uncle’s house. But the housekeeper seemed to have no inclination to watch her or bully her, and simply showed Madeline into one of the guest rooms.

  ‘I’ll have hot water brought up to you directly, miss,’ she said. ‘If there’s anything you want, you have only to ring the bell.’ And then she departed, leaving Madeline alone.

  The bedroom was very pretty, and could not have been more different from her own dark and sombre bedroom at her uncle’s house. Sprigged drapes surrounded the four-poster bed and matching curtains covered the window. An inlaid dressing-table stood against the far wall, and next to it was a rosewood wardrobe. Over in the corner stood a rosewood bookcase and a dainty chest of drawers. A delicate washstand, complete with basin and jug, nestled in the corner. She was at first hesitant about opening the wardrobe, but Mrs Green having told her that the dresses in the guest room were no longer worn by Miss Emma, who was staying with relatives in Bath, Madeline finally overcame her scruples. She looked through dozens of gowns, marvelling over the pretty yet discreet styles. She finally chose a white muslin with a scoop neckline and little puffed sleeves and laid it on the bed.

  As soon as the water arrived, brought up by a neat maid, she washed the powder and paint from her face, feeling much better as soon as she had done so. Then she began to undress.

  What help did Lord Pemberton propose to offer her? she wondered, as her thoughts returned to the hawk-like man below. She stripped off the crimson dress. Did his sister perhaps need a companion, or . . . she blushed furiously as another, more unwelcome, idea leapt into her mind. There was only one kind of proposal a man would make to a young lady whose reputation was ruined – and she knew that, having left her uncle’s protection, her reputation was ruined for ever. How could she have been so blind?

  She sank down on the bed feeling suddenly deflated.

  But why, then, if that was the answer, had he treated her so respectfully in front of Mrs Green and told her to change out of the crimson gown? She shook her head. It did not seem to make sense. But whatever the reason she knew she would never agree to becoming his mistress, no matter how strangely intoxicating she had found his kiss.

  She pushed the thought aside. It troubled her deeply to remember her response to his embrace, and she preferred not to think about it.

  She stood up and returned to the task in hand, putting on the white gown. It was a little tight, and a little short, but the muslin was very soft, far softer than the muslins she was used to, and it was very pretty, being trimmed with a satin ribbon beneath the high waist.

  With the change of clothes her self-confidence began to return. She sat down on the bed and thought over her difficult situation. With her mind working clearly once again, she decided what she would do. Once she joined Lord Pemberton downstairs she would thank him for rescuing her, and then forestall his plan to make her his mistress by asking him if he knew of any respectable family in need of a governess. If she could only secure herself a position, preferably a long way away from London, then she would be able to support herself respectably. And, if her luck held, she would be able to escape from her uncle completely so that she would never have to see him again.

  Noticing that her hair had fallen loose she did her best to repair the damage before plucking up her courage and going downstairs. She hesitated, wondering which way to go, but a light was coming from under one of the doors. She went towards it. Pushing it open, she found herself entering the library.

  A warm glow met her eyes. Tall bookcases shone in the candlelight. The gilding on the spines of the books threw out gleams of gold. Dark green curtains drawn across the windows kept out the night. It was a room to be used, Madeline realised; a room in which the Earl could write his letters at the large desk which was set against one wall, or sit reading in one of the wing-backed chairs that flanked the fireplace.

  She was pleased to see that he was alone. She had half expected to see Mr Fellows, but it seemed that Lord Pemberton’s guest had gone.

  Lord Pemberton himself was stand
ing with his foot on the fender, the candlelight playing over his craggy face. She paused for a moment, studying his bronzed skin, his firm chin and his fierce scar. How had he come by it? she wondered. But she had time to wonder about nothing else as he turned at the sound of the door opening.

  He took his foot from the fender and was about to speak when she forestalled him by saying, ‘Lord Pemberton. I want to thank you for your kindness in rescuing me from the dangers outside, and to ask if you could help me to secure a position. If you know of any respectable family in need of a governess —’

  ‘Kindness?’ he interrupted.

  She looked startled; and before she could reply he said, ‘When you know me better you will realise that I am not in the habit of being kind. I rescued you, as you put it, because I wanted to. And before you talk any more nonsense about becoming a governess, you will do me the courtesy of sitting down and listening to the proposal I have to put to you.’

  ‘That is just it,’ said Madeline, ‘I can’t. I’m not that kind of person.’ She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. ‘I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me, but I cannot accept carte blanche.’

  His eyes lit with amusement, and he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Carte blanche! My dear Miss Delaware, that is just as well, as I would not dream of offering it.’

  ‘You wouldn’t?’ She was bewildered. ‘But . . . ’ She remembered the feel of his lips on hers and the way his body had pressed close to her own. A strange weakness came over her at the memory, and before her legs could give way she sank into one of the chairs.

  ‘Ah,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The kiss. I behaved unforgivably. At the time I thought you were . . . something else . . . and kissing you seemed the simplest way of convincing the drunks you were under my protection and therefore not worth the trouble of molesting. I could have knocked them down, of course, but it seemed preferable to solve the problem without resorting to violence.’ He sat down opposite her in the other chair. ‘No. My proposition is of a different kind.’

  Madeline, recovering a little, was curious to hear what he had to say.

  He stretched his legs out in front of him and frowned, as if finding it difficult to know where to begin. ‘You know that if your uncle comes here I will have no authority to keep you from him –’

  He got no further. Madeline, leaping to her feet, declared, ‘I will not go back to him.’

  She faced him determinedly, steeling herself for the angry shouts she expected would follow. Whenever she had stood up to her uncle, either shouts or threats had always followed. But to her surprise, none came. Disconcerted, she warily resumed her seat. ‘I can’t go back,’ she said more quietly. ‘If you would help me, give me a reference, I could find myself employment as a governess, perhaps, or a companion. I could go right away from London, somewhere my uncle will never find me. I know it is a lot to ask but —’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said. ‘There is another way.’ He paused, as though choosing his words carefully. ‘Miss Delaware, I am faced with a dilemma. If you agree to help me it will solve your problem as well as my own.’

  She was interested now. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Very well. My dilemma concerns the subject of my inheritance.’ He paused, frowned, and then continued. ‘My father died just over a year ago but, because of one of the clauses in his will, I did not immediately inherit the Rochdale fortune. I will not be able to inherit it until I have been married for six months. That in itself does not present a problem. I fully intend to marry, but unfortunately my father did not like my choice of bride. So that, if I marry Letitia, I will lose the fortune for ever.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  He smiled; a warm smile. It brought his face to life and she found it strangely attractive.

  ‘However, there is a solution to the problem,’ he said. ‘If I arrange a temporary marriage with another young lady – any young lady, so long as she is not Letitia - and take her home to my Yorkshire estate, I can claim my fortune once I have been married for six months. I can then have the marriage annulled and I can go on to marry Miss Bligh with the fortune already in my hands.’

  ‘Ah! I see.’ Madeline was beginning to understand the nature of his proposal. ‘And you want me to be that other young lady?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘But how will that solve my dilemma?’ she asked. She did not like the idea of a sham marriage but in her desperate situation she was forced to consider it.

  ‘Because once you are my wife you will be able to escape from your uncle. As a married woman, he will have no more power over you,’ he said.

  ‘But you will.’ She jumped up and paced the room. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘No. I cannot do it.’

  ‘I would have power over you as your husband, it is true. However, it would only be for a short time. Once the marriage is annulled, no one will be able to have any power over you ever again. If you agree to my proposal I will make you a handsome settlement when the annulment takes place. You will have a home of your own, and an annuity which will bring in enough money for you to live on comfortably for the rest of your life. But you look close to exhaustion.’ He stood up. ‘You don’t have to decide now,’ he said. ‘Why not think it over and give me your answer in the morning?’

  ‘It’s no good,’ she said with a sigh. She shook her head. ‘Even if I could bring myself to agree, my uncle would never give his consent. He has . . . other plans for me.’

  ‘Your uncle has no control over my life. I would not ask his consent.’

  ‘But I am under age.’ Her shoulders dropped. ‘My birthday may be only a week away, but it may as well be five years away if my uncle finds me. And once he reads the banns he will be sure to do so.’

  ‘Then we will not publish any banns. We will marry by special licence. It has been done before, and will be done again. Young ladies don’t always marry with their guardians’ approval. You simply ran away before you knew you were to be married, instead of afterwards.’

  There was a laughing glint in his eye as he said it, and Madeline realised that he was teasing her. It had lightened the atmosphere and to her surprise Madeline felt the corners of her mouth tugging themselves into a smile. She had had so little to smile about of late that she had almost forgotten what it felt like.

  Even so . . .

  Even so, the Earl was a man, and she knew from bitter experience that men were not to be trusted.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said, shaking her head. Once again she waited anxiously for an exclamation of impatience, expecting him to be angry or jeering because she did not fall in with his plans. But again, to her surprise, neither anger nor jeers came.

  Somehow, she found it unsettling. She had always know how her uncle would react, even if she had been afraid of him, but with the Earl she was off-balance, never knowing what to expect.

  He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face towards his. ‘You are tired,’ he said. ‘You will find your bed has been made up. Go and get some rest.’

  She looked up at him uncertainly. Consideration and gentleness were not things she was used to, and for a moment she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to be the Earl’s wife.

  But then she bid him goodnight. Because there was also a hardness and a frisson of danger about the Earl, and she could not marry him, no matter how desperate her situation – or how short-lived the marriage would be.

  Philip stood watching the door when Madeline had left the room, lost in thought. Her reaction to his proposal had surprised him. He found himself wondering why she thought of marriage in terms of power. It was not a normal reaction, particularly in one so young, and despite himself he was intrigued.

  Just what had happened to her to make her so distrustful, and so afraid of marriage – and of men? Was it just her uncle, or was it something else?

  He shook the thought away. It really was none of his concern.

  If she declined his proposal he could not force
her to marry him, but he found himself hoping, for her sake as well as his own, that she would accept.

  Chapter Three

  Once back in her room, Madeline sat down in front of the inlaid dressing-table and stared sightlessly into the looking-glass. She did not ring for a maid to help her undress. She preferred, for the moment, to be by herself. Because the Earl’s marriage proposal had stirred up painful memories, memories buried deep in the past.

  How old had she been when she had first realised how dreadful her parents’ marriage had been? she wondered. She could not have been more than five or six years old. She could still remember the occasion clearly. It had been on a hot summer night when she had wandered down from the nursery, unable to sleep. As she had approached her mother’s room she had heard the sound of shouting and had stopped, afraid to go any further. She had put her eye to the crack in the door and had seen her mother sitting on the bed, weeping. Standing over her mother she had seen her father. He had been shouting at her mother. Cruel words. Uncalled for. Stupid . . . worthless . . . the tirade had gone on. And then other memories. Memories of her father belittling her mother before the servants and then laughing at her mother’s distress; her father making jibes at her mother when the vicar called, leaving the vicar embarrassed and her mother crushed and humiliated; her father laughing at her mother for her thinness and paleness, making her thinner and paler with every word he said. And her mother, when Madeline discovered her one day weeping brokenly, saying to her in an impassioned voice, "Never trust a man, Madeline. It only leads to despair. And never, ever marry. Marriage is a terrible trap from which there is no escape."

  Madeline recalled her thoughts to the present. With trembling fingers she began to unpin her hair. Her father and her uncle, both bullies . . . Her mother had been right to warn her against men.

  And against marriage.