Bartered Bride

‘Damn it!’ he muttered and stood up. He would not find the answer in the bottom of a brandy bottle.

In the morning he would make it clear that, if they went through with this marriage, he would expect Lottie to be faithful—at least until she had given him a son or two.

Feeling unaccountably tired, he realised that for the first time in a while he would sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

It must be the country air.

Lottie rose early, as was her custom. She sat up and looked over at the kitten lying on her bed. She had left it in the basket that Rose had provided for her, but it seemed that Kitty had other ideas. Reaching out, she picked the tiny creature up and stroked it, kissed its head and then climbed out of bed and placed it back in the basket.

‘That is your place, little one. You must not form bad habits, for I might roll on you in the night and suffocate you.’

Lottie found some water left over from the previous evening and washed her face and hands. She would have a proper wash before breakfast, but she wanted to go for a walk first.

Going downstairs, she surprised a maid already hard at work polishing the furniture.

‘I beg your pardon, miss. We did not know you were awake. Do you wish for something?’

‘Not until I return. I am going for a walk. I shall be back in time to dress properly for breakfast.’

A sleepy footman opened the door as she approached. She flashed a smile at him and went out into the early morning air. The dew was still on the grass and silky cobwebs hung between the perennials in the mixed border.

Walking across the lawns in the direction of the park, Lottie felt a sense of peace. The marquis’s estate was a lovely place to stay and she would have liked to live here, but she had decided that she must tell him the truth this morning.

She entered the park, reflecting that some of the trees here must be very ancient. One particular oak tree had grown so large that she thought it must have stood here for well over a hundred years. Lost in thought, she was startled by the sound of a shot somewhere to her right. Whilst it had come nowhere near her, she was concerned—she was certain that the marquis had said he did not hunt or shoot. Who could be shooting on his lands?

Without consideration, she turned towards the sound and a moment or two later came upon an unpleasant scene. A man had been shot in the leg. He was clutching at his wound, and the blood was trickling through his fingers. He lay on the ground and looked up at the man with the gun standing over him.

‘What is going on here?’ Lottie asked, walking up to them. ‘Why has this man been shot?’

‘He was poaching on his lordship’s land,’ the man who she instantly realised was a gamekeeper said, and touched his hat. ‘We do not allow poaching here, miss.’

‘My wife is starving. I only wanted a rabbit for the pot…’ the poacher whined looking at her hopefully. ‘Tell him it ain’t right, miss. There’s more than enough game in these parts—and his lordship ain’t never ’ere to want it.’

‘Poaching is illegal and must be stopped,’ Lottie said. ‘For one thing it is cruel to trap things. You should have come to the house and asked for help. However…’ She fixed the gamekeeper with a reproachful look. ‘It was not necessary to shoot the poor man in the leg, sir. You will take him to the house, where I shall bind his leg—and then we shall give him some food for his family.’

‘I don’t know about that, miss. His lordship don’t hold with poachers.’

‘I dare say he does not, but I do not hold with what you have done, sir. If you will not help him, I shall do so myself.’ She looked down at the poacher. ‘Can you stand?’

‘If he gives me a hand up.’

‘I’ll carry him over me shoulder,’ the gamekeeper said grudgingly. ‘You had best take me gun, miss. It ain’t loaded now so it can’t hurt you.’

‘I should not fear it if it were loaded,’ Lottie replied. ‘My father shoots occasionally. I am used to guns in the house.’ She checked that it was indeed harmless and slung the strap over her shoulder, following the men up to the house, round the back to the kitchen. ‘Bring him into the scullery. Cook will not want him bleeding over her kitchen floor.’

‘Miss Stanton…’ Rose came out to them as they reached the scullery door. ‘What is going on?’

‘This poacher has been shot. He was stealing a rabbit because his wife is starving, or so he says. We shall give him some food to take home—but in future he must work for his wage. I dare say he can be found some kind of work on the estate?’

‘That’s Sam Blake,’ Rose said. ‘He has never done a decent day’s work in his life.’

‘Then it is time he started,’ Lottie told her. ‘He must obviously rest his leg for a while, but as soon as he can walk, he must be given a job cleaning out the stables.’

‘I’ll tell Mrs Mann you said to give him food, but you’ll have to ask his lordship about giving him a job,’ Rose said. ‘Sit him down on that stool, Jeb Larkin, and I’ll patch him up.’

‘I was going to cleanse and bind his wound, Rose.’

‘Best you let me, miss,’ Rose told her firmly. ‘He has a wound in his thigh and it wouldn’t do for you to tend him, miss. Besides, I’ll be sending your water up with one of the other maids. You’ll be wanting your breakfast.’

‘Yes, well, perhaps—but don’t forget to give him some food.’

‘I shan’t forget, miss.’

Lottie left the maid to bind up the injured man and went upstairs. She bit her lip as she reflected that perhaps she had been rash to bring the poacher to the house. His story had touched her, but if he was a rogue his wife’s plight might be his fault rather than anyone else’s.

She hurried upstairs. Her walk had made her hungry, though she would have gone further afield had she not chanced on the poacher.

Lottie was at the breakfast table alone when the ring of booted feet on tiles told her that someone was about to enter. Her hand trembled a little as she sipped her tea. The unpleasant incident had put the thought of her confession from her mind, but it must be made this morning without fail.

‘So you are here. What the hell do you mean by interfering in the way I run my estate? You are not mistress here yet.’

Lottie looked up and saw the anger in the marquis’s face. He was speaking of the wounded poacher, of course. She rose to her feet, feeling the nerves knot in her stomach.

‘Forgive me. The man was hurt. I thought your gamekeeper might have fired in the air as a warning.’

‘And so Larkin might had the rogue not been warned a hundred times before. Blake is a thief and a scoundrel. You may feel that taking what belongs to others is acceptable but I think you will discover that others do not. Far from giving him work in my stables, I have called the constable. Blake will see how he likes a few months in prison.’

‘That is harsh, is it not? His wife is starving…’

‘He has only himself to blame. Besides, his wife never sees any of the game; he sells what he steals to the inn in the village and gets a few drinks in return, I’ve no doubt. He will be lucky if he does not hang.’

‘Oh…I am sorry,’ Lottie clasped her hands in front of her. ‘And I do not condone stealing. I was just moved to pity for his wife.’

‘You do not condone stealing?’ He spluttered incredulously. His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Then pray tell me whether you think taking gold coins from a man’s pocket when he is in a drunken stupor is theft? Not to mention going to a bedroom alone with a man in that state.’

‘What..?’ Lottie felt the blood drain from her face. She was stunned, her mind reeling as she tried to take in what he was saying. ‘She… I would never… Where did this happen?’

‘You know full well where we were, at that gaming house in Paris. You were going through my friend’s pockets as he lay senseless.’ Nicolas stared at her intently. She looked so shocked and distressed that it suddenly dawned on him that it could not have been her. What an idiot he was! He should have seen it instantly. ‘Who the devil are you? You’re not her, are you? I thought from the start that something was different. You’ve been lying, trying to make a fool of me…’

‘No, it wasn’t to make a fool of you,’ Lottie hastened to reassure him. ‘I meant to tell you yesterday…to ask if you would let Papa repay the debt over a period of years. Clarice is my twin. She refused to marry you and—’

‘You thought you would take her place. How noble of you—or was it just a clever move to trick me into marriage, because you had a fancy to be the next marchioness yourself?’

‘No, of course not.’ Lottie’s cheeks were burning. ‘If you heard me say that to Papa, it was just in fun…to set his mind at rest. I was going to tell you the truth. I realised last night that I could not deceive the countess. She was so kind and—’

‘You would have deceived me happily enough, I suppose?’

‘At first I thought you deserved it. You have been exceedingly rude to Papa, to Clarice—and to me.’ Lottie raised her head, too angry now to care about what he thought.