The Convenient Felstone Marriage

‘I believe I asked you to be quiet, sir.’

‘No, you asked me to keep my thoughts to myself. Hence my interest in yours.’

‘You’re impertinent!’

A hint of sardonic amusement crossed his features. ‘I think we passed impertinent a long time ago. But since we’ve already established that I’m not a true gentleman and since I’d like to make amends for my behaviour, I have a proposal for you.’

‘A proposal?’ She repeated the word suspiciously.

‘A business proposition, if you prefer. Something that might benefit both of us.’

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Percy strolling back along the platform towards them, whistling and swinging a newspaper in one hand. There was no time for this. Whatever the stranger’s proposal was, it was too late to hear it. She had to conclude this bizarre, indiscreet, utterly inappropriate conversation as quickly as possible.

‘I’ve no interest in anything else you have to say, sir.’

‘You won’t hear me out?’

‘My brother is returning. I beg you to say no more on the subject. On any subject.’

‘Shame.’ He looked nonplussed. ‘I was prepared to offer you an alternative to Sir Charles.’

She froze. Was he offering her employment? He sounded sincere, but why would he offer to help her? Was this some kind of cruel joke or just another veiled insult?

‘What kind of alternative?’ she couldn’t resist asking.

‘What I said, a business proposition.’

‘I know nothing of business, sir. I was a governess.’ She regarded him dubiously. ‘Do you need a governess?’

‘Yes, as it happens. Though I was thinking of something a little more permanent.’

‘A companion for your mother, perhaps?’

‘My mother is dead.’ He leaned back in his seat, adopting the same casual posture in which she’d first seen him.

‘Your sister, then?’ She glanced anxiously out of the window. Percy was only a few paces away.

‘I don’t have a sister, so far as I know anyway.’

‘Then what?’ she burst out in exasperation as Percy’s hand reached for the door handle. Why couldn’t he just get to the point? ‘What do you need, sir?’

‘The position is with me.’ He smiled suddenly, transforming his features from simply striking to quite devastatingly, heart-stoppingly handsome. ‘I need a wife.’

Chapter Two (#u3c3dfa74-d0a9-559e-8cc3-633d2f41d885)

Robert Felstone was aware that he’d been acting badly.

He’d boarded the train in a ferocious temper that had only deteriorated the further they’d travelled. He hadn’t intended to listen, had feigned sleep in order to be alone with his own troubled thoughts, but the conversation taking place opposite had first disturbed and then enraged him. After Louisa’s refusal of his marriage proposal that morning every word had felt like a fresh insult.

He’d tried his best to ignore it, but the unseen woman’s antipathy towards her suitor had struck a raw nerve. Was that how Louisa had talked about him behind his back? Had she been secretly repelled by his visits even as she’d batted her eyelashes so convincingly?

The memory of their interview still made his blood boil. If it hadn’t been for Louisa’s flirting, he would never have even considered proposing, yet she’d had the nerve to imply—no, more than that, to actually say—he wasn’t good enough. He’d thought success in business had earned him a place in society, a modicum of respect at least, but apparently that wasn’t the case. He was just as disreputable now as he’d always been. He was the only fool who hadn’t known it.

Back on the train, half-listening, half-fuming over his rejection, he’d become increasingly irate, interpreting every word from his own injured perspective, taking the side of the beleaguered suitor before finally venting his anger on the unfortunate would-be bride. He’d been offensive, improper and unforgivably rude, as if Louisa’s comments about his past had actually stripped away the veneer of respectability he’d worked so hard to attain.

It was only when he’d learned the mysterious suitor’s identity that he’d finally come to his senses, anger turning at once to agreement. Lester’s name had changed everything, but by then the damage had been done. He’d done what he’d always sworn he would never do and judged a woman without knowing her whole story, as if he had any right to play judge and jury.

And then he’d proposed. What the hell was he doing?

He leaned back in his seat, folding one leg casually over the other as he watched the rapid interplay of emotions on his travelling companion’s face. Judging by the combination of shock and outrage, a passer-by might reasonably assume he’d just propositioned rather than proposed to her. Which in one sense, he supposed, he had. They hadn’t even been introduced and here he was suggesting a far more intimate relationship. No wonder she looked so appalled. He didn’t even know her name.

‘Just in time.’ The brother bounded back into the carriage just as the stationmaster’s whistle blew. ‘I say, sis, are you hot? You look like a beetroot.’

‘I...’ She looked vaguely surprised to see him. ‘A little warm, that’s all.’

She raised both hands to her cheeks, still peering warily through her fingers as if afraid they were trapped in a carriage with a madman. Robert felt tempted to laugh. Given his recent behaviour, it was a reasonable assumption. He was almost starting to question his sanity himself. He’d spent twenty-six years specifically not thinking about marriage and now he’d made two proposals in one day.

Was he out of his mind?

He frowned, seriously considering the question. Had his pride been so badly injured by Louisa that he’d felt the need to propose to the very next woman he met? Or was he so unaccustomed to hearing the word no that he’d had to keep going until he got the answer he wanted? It was just the kind of reckless, impulsive behaviour he might have expected from his younger self, not the sensible, respectable man of business he was today. After all the time and thought he’d put into deciding whether or not to ask Louisa, was he really prepared to jump to the furthest extreme and marry a complete stranger?

What if she said yes?

The brother dropped into the seat opposite and Robert gave a polite nod, wishing he could throw a fist at his jaw instead. Now that the woman’s situation was clearer he felt angrier towards the youth than ever. If he were really friends with Lester, then surely he knew what kind of a man he was, especially where women were concerned. What kind of brother actively encouraged his sister to marry such a reprobate?

The idea of offering her an alternative had come to him out of the blue, somewhere around the time she’d demanded to know his real opinion of Charles Lester. It had been an impulse, a desire to make amends for his insulting behaviour, combined with a determination to put Louisa behind him and get his affairs settled once and for all, but then he was accustomed to trusting his impulses. His business instincts had never steered him wrong before, and wasn’t marriage a business? When one deal didn’t work out, he moved on to another.

It wasn’t as if he’d ever expected to marry for love. Growing up with his mother had taught him the folly of that particular emotion. He’d done his best to act the lovesick swain for Louisa, though in truth he’d found the pretence as tedious as the rest of their courtship. Perhaps that had been his mistake, trying to speak a language he didn’t understand. Business, he did understand. Business, he was good at it. In his domain, no one could ever accuse him of not being good enough.

In which case, why not take emotion out of the equation and treat marriage strictly as a business arrangement? He had neither the time nor inclination for a new courtship, and this woman seemed more than a little reluctant to wed Sir Charles. It was the perfect business proposal, a mutually beneficial arrangement for them both. He was in the market for a wife, she for a husband. He’d thought to make a society match, but since Louisa had made it abundantly clear that no lady of any social standing would have him, asking this stranger had seemed the obvious thing to do.

Somehow, insanely, it still did.

Even if she was the strangest-looking damsel in distress he’d ever seen. With his eyes closed, he’d assumed the brother’s insults had been exaggerated to hurt her feelings, but first impressions made it difficult to argue. It was hard to imagine what Sir Charles saw in her. Her clothes were so old-fashioned they seemed to belong to another era, every item a drab, uniform grey that did nothing for her wan complexion. Her collar was so high it looked as if it must surely constrict her breathing, while the rest of her gown was completely shapeless, hanging loose around her waist with almost no definition at all. Combined with an ancient-looking poke bonnet, woollen gloves, a shawl that might better serve as a dishcloth and a pair of heavy lace-up boots, she seemed determined to look as severe and dowdy as possible.

Ungallant as it sounded, she wasn’t exactly the bride he’d envisaged when he’d set out that morning. Louisa, with her golden curls and indigo-blue eyes, was the most exquisitely beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. This woman looked as though she never even glanced in a mirror. Side by side they might resemble an old crow next to a glamorous swan.

After Louisa’s rejection, on the other hand, the very contrast was appealing. Besides which, there was no trace of meanness in her face, no hint of Louisa’s sulkiness or petulance. It was a pleasant face, albeit a trifle too thin, a fact accentuated by the severity of her hairstyle, scraped back so tightly that he could hardly distinguish the colour, a nondescript shade somewhere between blonde and brown. But her skin was clear, her lips full and wide, and there were even faint lines curving upwards from the corners of her eyes as if, difficult though it was to imagine, she was accustomed to laughter. Overall, she might be quite pretty, if she hadn’t clearly resolved to be otherwise.

‘It’s only twenty minutes to Pickering.’ The brother seemed blithely unaware of any tension in the compartment. ‘So the porter says.’

‘A little longer.’ Robert interrupted smoothly, glad of the chance to prove his respectability, if not his sanity, at least. ‘Forgive my intrusion, but the new deviation line to Whitby has only just opened. It’s a longer route so it’s caused a few delays along the branch line, but some of the porters still forget.’

‘The new line takes longer than the old one?’ The youth sounded scornful. ‘That doesn’t sound like progress.’

Robert allowed himself a cynical half-smile. What was it the sister had called him? Pompous. The word seemed particularly apt.

‘It’s much safer than the old rope-worked system at Beckhole. It’s a steep hill and there have been several bad accidents there over the years. The new route is safer.’