Bartered Bride

It was his own fault for giving in to a wild impulse. He could not blame Henrietta, who would certainly not have advised such a reckless affair. Nicolas smiled wryly. The irony of it was that such a marriage would have suited him had the woman not been a thief and a cheat. She was certainly pretty enough, and, if compliant, might have had her own house and done much as she pleased once she had given him a couple of heirs.

So for now, it seemed that he must go through with the formal arrangements. Henrietta must be told of his impending marriage and in due course an announcement must be made in The Times. Yet he would hold back on the announcement for a while; there was still a chance he might be able to persuade the young woman to withdraw. He must post down to his country house and put some work in hand. Nicolas seldom bothered to pay more than a flying visit to his family home; it would certainly need some changes if his wife were to live there.

His wife… Nicolas felt as if a knife had struck at his heart. There had once been someone he hoped to make his wife, but Elizabeth had laughed in his face and married an older, richer man. For years he had allowed his hurt pride to eat away at him, but it was time to put it aside. When this fiasco was over, he must look for a suitable wife in earnest.

‘I shall not marry him. I told Papa in Paris that I would not. He refused to tell the marquis that the contract must be broken. I know there is a debt, but he won a little before we left Paris, after I wrote to you. I dare say if we sold this house he could pay the debt.’

Lottie looked at her sister’s flushed face and wondered how Clarice could be so selfish. Did her twin never give a thought to anyone else’s comfort but her own?

‘What about Aunt Beth and me?’ she asked. ‘Where should we go if the house were sold? Aunt Beth has little enough income as it is—and I have nothing at all.’

‘I will find a rich husband and rescue you both.’ Clarice flashed a beguiling smile at her sister.

‘Surely the marquis is rich enough? Papa said he was rolling in the blunt.’

‘Well, I dare say he is, but I do not like him. He is arrogant and cold—and I shall not marry him.’

Clarice took up Lottie’s hairbrush and began to brush her twin’s hair.

‘I hate him, Lottie. Papa is mean to say I must marry him. I would rather die—besides, there is someone I really like. I met him in Paris and I think he is in love with me.’

‘Oh, Clarice…’ Lottie sighed. ‘If the marquis is that horrible, I should not want you to marry him. Is he very old, dearest?’

‘Oh, middle-aged, I should say…thirty or more.’

‘That is not old.’ Lottie frowned at her. ‘Is he ugly?’

‘No, not ugly…stern, I suppose.’ Clarice put down the brush. ‘You must agree with me or Papa will make me marry him.’

‘If he is presentable and rich…’ Lottie looked thoughtful. ‘It would be the answer to Papa’s troubles, Clarice. Could you not marry him for his sake and ours?’

Clarice made a face at her in the mirror. ‘If you think he sounds presentable, you marry him. He would never know the difference…’ Clarice stared at her in the mirror and her expression became one of excitement. ‘Why not? Why do you not wed him in my place? You could be certain that Aunt Beth had a decent home and Papa could come to you whenever he was in trouble.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Clarice.’ While it was true that they were almost identical in looks, apart from a mole on Lottie’s right breast that Clarice did not have, they were very different in character. ‘Surely he would know the difference? I know that many people cannot tell us apart but he must know you better than most.’

‘We have only met once—and he does not know me at all, though he may think he does.’

‘What does that mean?’

Clarice shrugged. ‘He is so arrogant. I suppose I cannot expect you to marry him, Lottie. Yet I shall not. I would rather run away.’

‘You will not change your mind?’

‘No, not for the world,’ Clarice declared. ‘I am sorry if the house must be sold, but I dare say Aunt Beth can find a little cottage to rent.’

‘Is that all you care—after she looked after us for so many years?’

‘Well, I should not like her to be homeless, but I refuse to marry him. If you are so concerned, Lottie, you may marry him yourself. I do think you could for it would be better than being stuck here in the country the whole time.’

‘Do not be so ridiculous. It is you he wants—how could I marry him?’

‘You could pretend to be me.’

‘No, no, that would be cheating him. It is a foolish idea, Clarice. I cannot consider it.’

‘Then Papa will have to tell him the wedding is off,’ Clarice said and looked mutinous. ‘I shall not marry him and that is an end to it.’

‘Have you seen your sister this morning?’ Aunt Beth asked when Lottie came back from her walk the next morning. ‘Your father wanted to speak to her, because the marquis has written to him, but she was not in her room. I knocked, but she did not answer’

‘I expect she is sulking,’ Lottie said. ‘I’ll go up and speak to her at once.’

Taking off her pelisse and bonnet, Lottie went to her own room first. She was thoughtful as she walked along the hall to her sister’s room. She had been thinking about Clarice’s suggestion that she marry Rothsay in her place ever since their argument the previous day. It was a mad idea that they should change places, yet if Clarice truly dug her heels in, what was the alternative?

Lottie knew her sister well enough to be sure that Clarice would never marry to oblige her family. She must dislike the marquis very much, which meant that he was probably a most unpleasant man. Yet if Clarice refused, their father would lose everything.

Knocking at her sister’s door, Lottie waited for a moment, then opened it and went in. The room was empty; by the look of things, Clarice had left it in a hurry. She had clothes strewn everywhere, an odd shoe dropped on the floor—and all her silver combs, brushes and perfume bottles were missing from the dressing chest.

Feeling cold all over, Lottie went to investigate. Looking in the drawers of the tallboy, she saw that some of them were empty of all but Clarice’s oldest things.

As she glanced at the bed, she saw a letter lying on a pillow. It was addressed to her. Tearing it open, her worst fears were soon confirmed.

Clarice had run away.

Tell Papa not to try to find me. I shall never come back and he may as well sell the house because I do not wish to marry that awful man.

‘Oh, Clarice,’ Lottie sighed. ‘What have you done now?’

As a child Clarice had always been selfish and thoughtless, and, because most people could not tell them apart, she had formed a habit of making people think it was Lottie who had broken their vase or knocked over her milk or put a stone through a window.

Glancing at the letter again, Lottie saw the postscript.

Why not do as we discussed and marry him yourself, Lottie? He will never know the difference. He doesn’t care two hoots for me, so what harm can it do?

Lottie took the letter and went back downstairs. She met her father as he emerged from his study. He was looking tired and worried and her heart caught with pain.

‘Father—is something the matter?’

‘Your sister has informed me once again that she will not marry the marquis and I’m damned if I know what to do. I suppose I shall have no choice but to sell the house.’

‘Perhaps not…’

‘What do you mean? Has she changed her mind?’

‘You had better read this, Papa.’ Lottie handed him her twin’s letter. ‘I have no idea where she has gone, but she has taken most of her things—including the silver that belonged to Mama.’

Sir Charles read it through and cursed. ‘She is a thoughtless minx. Well, that settles it. I must sell—and if the marquis sues for breach of promise, I shall probably end up in the Fleet.’

‘Papa! He wouldn’t sue?’