The Husband Campaign

“What is this?” she hissed, blocking Lord Hascot’s view of Amelia by turning her back. “You run away, spend the night in a stable like a milkmaid and then dare defy your father’s attempt to salvage your reputation? What has happened to you, Amelia?”

What was happening to her? She felt the image she’d held of herself melting like silver purified, and she wasn’t sure yet what shape it might form.

“I don’t wish to marry him, Mother,” she tried. “I don’t love him. Nor does he love me.”

Her mother sighed. “Love, again. I wish you had never met that Hollingsford girl! You must think logically, Amelia. Lord Hascot has five thousand pounds per annum, his horses are widely admired and he was willing to take you. Be happy with that.”

She did not wait for Amelia’s reply but only turned to Lord Hascot once more. “I would prefer Amelia be married here, my lord. A quiet ceremony with a few friends and family, by special license.”

Her mother would even dictate the ceremony. Think! There had to be something she could say, something she could do, to make them all change their minds. Please, Lord, help me!

No inspiration struck. But now that her mother had moved away a little, Amelia could see Lord Hascot standing tall and proud where they had left him.

“Impossible,” he said to her mother’s dictates. “We will be wed in a church, after the banns are read.”

“The banns?” Amelia could hear the confusion in her mother’s voice. Common folk married by banns, their names read out for three Sundays in a row in their home churches. The aristocracy married by license or special license, away from prying eyes, among their own kind.

“The banns,” he insisted. He met Amelia’s gaze. “That way, if anyone chooses to object, he can.”

He was giving her a chance. She didn’t understand why, but she knew it. He would not force himself on her after all. By having the banns read, he gave some other gentleman who cared about her the opportunity to come forward, protest the wedding, state his former claim on Amelia’s affections.

If only she had such a gentleman to defend her!

A quiet voice inside her urged her to defend herself. But how? Her father had made his wishes clear. She could run away, but how would she live? She wouldn’t be old enough to marry without consent for another three months, even if she found a man she could love. No other relation would take her in, knowing she’d defied her father. And with no reference, who would hire her as a governess or teacher? Sadly, she wasn’t trained to be useful in any other legitimate profession, and she refused to think of the illegitimate ones.

In fact, the only person who would support Amelia’s position was away on her honeymoon. Ruby Hollingsford and the Earl of Danning had wed by special license and were off on their wedding trip to Yorkshire, where the fishing was supposed to be excellent.

Still, she thought and prayed as the next three weeks passed, but no solution presented itself. Each Sunday, she sat in church, listened to her name and Lord Hascot’s being read aloud, endured the stares and murmurs that inevitably started anew. She kept her head high, accepted the congratulations offered her, fended off the questions, the conjectures. The ton was agog that the beautiful, talented Lady Amelia, daughter of the powerful Marquess of Wesworth, had settled on a taciturn provincial baron. They expected her to confess an undying devotion, a sudden passion.

She refused to lie. So she said nothing.

But she didn’t stop thinking. She thought while her mother had her measured for a wedding gown of creamy satin. She thought while she embroidered the last pink rose on the lawn nightgown for her trousseau. She thought as she directed the servants in packing her belongings—clothing, books, sheet music, favorite furniture, watercolors she’d painted—for the trip to Hollyoak Farm.

She had two choices she could see—to convince her father that Lord Hascot wasn’t the right son-in-law to bring credit to the Wesworth title or to convince Lord Hascot that marriage to her served no one. She thought she’d have better luck with Lord Hascot, but he had immediately decamped for Derby, intending to return just before the wedding, and it was not a subject to be presented by a letter. That left her father.

She’d never had luck simply wandering into his study for a conversation. For one, he was more often to be found at his club or Parliament. For another, even when he was home, he always had more important matters that required his attention. To Amelia’s mind, nothing should be more important than his daughter’s marriage, so she lay in wait for him in the breakfast room three days running before finally catching him.

“Is there a problem?” he asked as he looked up from that morning’s Times to find her standing by his side.

Every other man of her acquaintance rose in her presence. “Yes, Father,” she said, forcing herself to say the words she had rehearsed. “I am convinced that Lord Hascot will not be an asset to the family. He lacks address, he has no influence on Parliament, as you pointed out, and his title is far inferior to yours. We can do better.”

He took a sip of his tea before answering her, fingers firm on the handle of the gilt-edged cup. “No doubt. But plans are in place, Amelia. Promises have been made. I need this alliance. If he treats you badly, you can always come home.”

He seemed to think that a kindness, and she did not know how to tell him that home had always been where she was treated worst of all.

That night, she threw herself on her knees beside her tester bed, hands clasped and gaze on the gold drape of the half canopy. “Father, help me! I don’t know what else to do, where else to turn. Surely this isn’t Your will.”

Yet what if it was, that voice inside her whispered. God could turn ashes to beauty, make good come from tragedy. Could He make something from this marriage?

The answer came the night before her wedding and from an unexpected source.

Amelia had not seen Lord Hascot since the day he had proposed, but her mother assured her he had returned to London and was staying at the Fenton. How she knew this, Amelia didn’t question. All the servants reported to her mother anything they saw or heard. That was one of the reasons Amelia intended to leave her maid behind if she married Lord Hascot. The outspoken Dorcus Turner would suit the woman Amelia was becoming much better than the cowed creatures her mother seemed to hire. In fact, it was her mother who came to tell Amelia that Lord Hascot wished to speak to her.

“I tried to dissuade him,” her mother complained, pacing in the bedchamber where she’d come to announce their visitor. “You are far too busy with preparations at this time to speak with him.”

All the preparations were made for the wedding at St. George’s Hanover Square at nine o’clock with a breakfast to follow at the house. All Amelia had to do was convince herself to go through with it. What, was her mother worried that she’d take this opportunity to refuse him?

The very thought forced her to her feet, had her eagerly following her mother down to the withdrawing room, thanking God for the opportunity and praying for the words to persuade her unwanted betrothed to cry off.

Lord Hascot was waiting, standing by the hearth, though his gaze was on the door. At the sight of her, he stood taller and inclined his head in greeting. Some of his coal-black hair fell across his forehead. He must have been in a hurry, for he hadn’t even given his greatcoat to their servants. She remembered the soft wool that had covered her that night in the abandoned stable.

She hadn’t realized she’d be trading it for a wedding ring.

“Good evening, my lord,” she said, following her mother into the room.

“Yes, good evening,” her mother said, as if remembering her own manners. She hovered around as Amelia seated herself on the sofa, asking about refreshments, his activities in London, the state of his stock. Odd. She had never known her mother to chatter.

When she stopped for a breath, he said, “I’d like to speak to Amelia. Alone.”

Her mother visibly swallowed, skin paling. She was afraid! Her stubborn, demanding mother was afraid to see her plans dashed. Pity stung her, and Amelia put a hand on her arm.

“It’s all right, Mother. I’m sure Lord Hascot simply wishes to speak of things that will follow our wedding.”

Now her mother’s color came flooding back, and she hurriedly excused herself.

“Nicely done,” Lord Hascot said as the door shut behind her.

Amelia managed a smile. “Thank you. But I wasn’t trying to mislead her. Why else would you come but to tell me your expectations?”

He licked his lips. Like the rest of his features, they were firm and sharp, as if chiseled that day from fresh marble. But what surprised her was that she saw a sheen of perspiration under the fall of his black hair.

“Are you certain you want to go through with this?” she marveled.

She wasn’t sure how he would respond. Perhaps some part of her hoped for a declaration of secret devotion. The rest of her could only pray she’d given him license to beg off. Instead, he motioned her to the sofa and came to sit next to her, so gingerly she wondered if he thought he might stain the white upholstery.

“I’m not in the slightest certain,” he told her. “But I see no other way. I have given my word.”

Could it be so easy to rid herself of this stone-cold lord? Amelia found it hard to breathe with the possibility. “If you don’t wish to marry me, sir, simply tell me.”

He took a deep breath as if he fought for air, as well. “It is not what I wish, but what you wish.”

The statement was so far beyond anything she had ever experienced that Amelia blinked. “What?”

He rubbed his hands along his coat, gaze on the movement of his fingers. “I never planned to marry. I have no time to be a doting husband. But if you wish to be my wife, you are welcome at Hollyoak Farm. I will keep the stables and the horses. The house will be yours to command. And I will expect you to manage any visitors who come merely to look.”

He made it sound as if she was accepting a position. “And the payment for my services?” she couldn’t help asking.

He frowned as if he didn’t understand her. “You will have a home, the funding to furnish and decorate it as you like and as much as you could want for dresses, though I can’t imagine you will need many out in Derby. Know that I will honor my vows, and I will treat you with respect.”