Bartered Bride

‘In another two weeks,’ the marquis replied, making Lottie catch her breath. ‘I see no point in delay—and it will give us time to invite everyone and order whatever is needed from London.’

She had only two weeks to persuade him that she was not a suitable bride or accept her fate and marry him!

Lottie’s hand trembled slightly as she sipped her tea. Everything seemed to be going so fast. The marquis had a note of decision in his voice when he gave the date of the ball. It was very strange, but Lottie had thought he might be regretting his decision to take her instead of the money her father owed him, but now she thought she detected a change.

There was, she believed, a gleam in his eyes that had not been there when they arrived.

Chapter Three

Sir Bertie and the marquis went off together after tea, leaving Lottie and her father together in the parlour.

‘Well, Lottie, what do you think now you’ve met him?’ Sir Charles asked in a low voice. ‘Can you bear it?’

‘Yes, I think so—unless the marquis were to relent and release you from the bargain and your debt, Papa.’

‘You will certainly have all the luxuries that money can buy, m’dear—but if you should hate the idea I can tell him it won’t do.’

‘I believe we must be realistic. I am two and twenty and I have no fortune whatsoever. This may be my only chance to marry well. After all, most young women marry to oblige their families, do they not?’

‘Your mother chose for herself,’ Sir Charles said heavily. ‘She made me promise that you and…’

‘Papa,’ Lottie warned with a glance over her shoulder, ‘please say no more. I do not see that we have a choice. Besides, I believe I should be foolish to turn down the chance of living in a house like this—and I have a fancy to be the Marchioness of Rothsay…’

Anyone who knew her would have guessed immediately that she was merely funning, but the marquis, who had returned from seeing his friend off, and stood outside the door heard only the last few words and thought the worst.

His ears were still ringing with the congratulations Bertie had heaped on him, and he had almost begun to think himself more than fortunate to have found such a lovely bride. However, catching the last few words and hearing father and daughter laugh together aroused his ire once more. The scoundrels! Did they imagine they had found a soft nest for the two of them? He would send them both packing and good riddance.

Nicolas was about to go in and have it out with the pair of them when he heard a squealing sound, a murmur of alarm and some very peculiar noises coming from inside the parlour.

‘Oh, you poor little thing. What a mess you have got into…’

Intrigued by the new note in her voice, Nicolas walked into the room and saw something that amazed him. The woman he had just decided was a scoundrel was clutching a very sooty and disreputable animal he thought might be a kitten. She was stroking it gently and he could see that the beast did indeed look to be in a sorry state. Glancing at the fireplace, he saw how much soot the kitten had brought down and made a mental note to have the chimneys swept before the winter.

‘How in the world did that get here?’

‘I imagine it must have gone up on the roof somehow and fallen down. It feels so thin,’ Lottie said and held the creature to her breast, stroking its filthy fur and getting soot all over her gown. ‘We have some milk left from tea…’ With one hand, she poured a little milk into one of the exquisite porcelain tea bowls. Still holding the kitten gently as she set both the bowl and the creature on the carpet, she allowed it to lap while supporting it with her hands. ‘Oh, look how hungry it is. Do you think Cook would spare a little fish of some kind?’

‘I imagine she might if you asked,’ Nicolas said. ‘You are, after all, to be the mistress here, are you not?’

‘If it suits you,’ Lottie replied without looking up. ‘For the moment I am simply a guest. The milk has all gone. I must take Kitty to the kitchens. She needs a little wash, but it must be done carefully so as not to harm her, and she will need to be fed small amounts regularly. I think I shall keep her in my room…’

‘She has already covered your gown and the carpet with soot.’ Nicolas glared at her for no particular reason.

‘Yes, I am sorry about your carpet, my lord. I know soot is difficult to get out. I will fetch a cloth later and see what I can do.’

‘One of the servants will see to it. Good grief,’ Nicolas said, feeling irritable without understanding what had changed his mood. ‘Ring the bell and Mrs Mann will come. One of the footmen can deal with the wretched thing.’

Lottie looked up, her green eyes sparking with anger. ‘It may be a wretched thing to you, my lord, but at the moment I believe it is to be pitied. I dare say it has been lost in your maze of chimneys for days, for I think it is near starving. I wish to care for it myself.’

He blinked and then lowered his gaze. ‘I did not mean the thing was undeserving of pity. Merely that it would do well enough with the servants. If you wish to care for it, that is your own affair.’

‘If you would kindly direct me to the kitchens.’

‘I shall ring for Mrs Mann. She will assist you…’ he said, but was saved the trouble by the arrival of the housekeeper and a maid to clear the tea things. ‘Mrs Mann—a kitten seems to have got stuck up the chimney…’

‘Yes, my lord. It is one of the kitchen cat’s brood. We did think one was missing. Rose will take it for you, Miss Stanton.’

‘Miss Stanton wishes to care for the kitten herself. If you will show her where she can clean it a little and also provide some food for the wretched beast.’

Mrs Mann glanced at him, but made no comment. She turned to Lottie with a smile.

‘Rose will show you the kitchen and scullery, miss—if you are sure you wish for the trouble?’

‘It won’t be a trouble to Lottie,’ Sir Charles put in. ‘She always had a soft spot for any creature she found in trouble. Clar…uh, that is, Clara used to scream when she found wounded birds in the garden, but Lottie did her best to heal them if she could.’

‘And who is Clara?’ Nicolas asked. ‘I thought your aunt was called Beth?’

‘Oh, Clara is a just a friend,’ Lottie replied, eyes wide and innocent. ‘Excuse me, my lord. I must attend to the kitten—I think she has just wet herself.’

‘And you, miss,’ the housekeeper said. ‘You will have to house train the beast if you mean to make a pet of it.’

‘Yes…’ Lottie smiled. ‘I shall have to teach her better manners, shall I not?’

Nicolas let his gaze follow her as she walked from the room. He had meant to send both her and her father packing. It would be simple enough to cancel the debt and pay a lump sum to ease the lady’s pride. Yet the incident with the kitten had made him curious. He could not quite work out in his mind what was going on, but something did not ring true. Lottie had made nothing of the soot on her pretty afternoon gown or the kitten wetting her. How did the girl he had seen robbing his friend while he lay in a drunken stupor equate with the demure and compassionate young lady now staying in his house? She was like two different women!

She must be a consummate actress. Nicolas scowled, for he did not like the way she had played on his sympathies. Miss Stanton was not the only one to care for animals in distress. As a young lad he had rescued enough of them himself… Now what had made him recall his childhood? It was years since he had given it a thought, perhaps because painful memories had superseded the happier times.

He had, he supposed, been fortunate to live in a house like this and to have parents who cared for him, even if they spared him little enough of their time. His tutor and some of the grooms had been his companions, as he roamed the estate, fished with a net for frogs and newts in the streams and ponds, rode his pony and climbed trees. It was a very good place to bring up a family. The pity was that his mother had been a little fragile after his birth, and when she died from a putrid fever, the house had been plunged into mourning, from which it had never quite recovered. Nicolas’s father had not remarried, spending most of his time away from the estate, working. Nicolas had been left alone with his grief.

Glancing around the parlour, Nicolas saw that although the furniture was good quality and made to the finest standards, the curtains and décor had become a trifle faded. He had spent only a few days at the house in the last years, and never in this particular parlour. If his wife intended to use it, he must have it refurbished for her.

His wife… Nicolas walked to the French windows and looked out. Was the reason he had been avoiding the subject of marriage down to his disappointment in love years before—or to the fear at the back of his mind that he might love too well, as his father had? Losing his mother at an early age had made Nicolas a little reserved and afraid of giving his affections. When the first woman he had believed himself in love with had also turned him down, he had put up a barrier to protect himself.

For a moment he thought about Elizabeth, the beautiful young lady who had been his first love. He had believed her nature as sweet as her face. The realisation that her gentle manner was false and covered a spiteful character had swept the illusion of love from his mind. He had thought her a woman he could trust, but her dismissal of his declaration had been deliberately cruel and meant to wound, destroying his trust in women and convincing him that love was for fools.

His father had been a fool for love. As a child, Nicolas had not truly understood why his father could not bear to be in the house after his wife died. Nicolas had imagined the fifth marquis was too busy to be interested in his only son, but as an adult he could guess that his father had simply shut himself off from everyone who mattered because it was too painful; because he was suffering from a broken heart. Perhaps he had grieved as much as Nicolas, but been unable to show it, which meant they might have been more alike than either of them had realised.

No woman was worth the pain love inflicted. Nicolas was determined that he would never again offer his heart to have it crushed beneath a woman’s dainty foot.

‘Foolish…’ he muttered and went out of the French windows. Love was a waste of time. A marriage of convenience was much safer. It was best to keep his mind on practical matters. He would walk down to the stables and speak to the head groom to discover if there was a suitable horse in their stables for a lady to ride.

‘Now you must be good, Kitty,’ Lottie said and stroked the kitten’s fur. It still felt a little spiky and rough but with good food and care she did not doubt it would recover in time. Now that that the soot had gone, she could see that the kitten was a pretty tortoiseshell in colour. ‘If you must wet, use the sand tray as I showed you.’

‘You talk to her just as if she can understand,’ Rose said and laughed. ‘She will learn to use the tray in time. My mother puts the cats out to teach them, but they still wet in the house until they get older. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to take her down to the kitchen?’

‘I shall keep her here until she is better,’ Lottie said. ‘If you would pop in and look at her now and then…’

‘I’ll come before I help with the dishes, miss,’ Rose said. ‘Cats are loners, you know. I dare say she will wander off when you let her outside. My mother says dogs are the best companions for they give love in return, and cats don’t.’