Engagement of Convenience

Closing the door behind her, she wondered if Paul could arrange for the money. Knowing how freely he spent while in port, she doubted he possessed the means to buy an estate and his failure to gain command of his own ship hindered his ability to make his fortune. Even if he could help, there was no way to reach him before the auction.

Julia paced her room, her mind working to think of a solution. The only way to buy Cable Grange was to obtain her inheritance. The only way to get her inheritance was to marry. At present, she had no suitors. To be honest, she had never had suitors, not here or during her one Season in London.

Julia stopped pacing, her mind seizing on an idea. What if she was only engaged? If Charles thought she intended to marry, surely he’d give her the money in time to purchase Cable Grange. Even he could see the benefit of making Cable Grange part of the Howard lands. But what gentleman could she possibly convince to make her a false offer?

Through the window overlooking the garden, she spied Simon strolling among the roses. It wasn’t like him to be awake at this time of day. Usually, he napped in the late afternoon in anticipation of an even later evening. How a man could spend all night gambling was beyond her comprehension.

The idea hit her like a bolt of lightning. Simon. As a gambler, he must need money. They could make a deal, pretend to be engaged and once she had her inheritance and Cable Grange, she’d give him a few hundred pounds to jilt her.

She rushed to the door, eager to strike the bargain, when a terrifying thought froze her hand on the doorknob. If he accepted the deal, could she buy his silence at the end of the engagement? If not, it would create a scandal, then who knew how Charles or even Mother would react. Charles might force her to go through with a ruinous marriage to avoid disgrace.

Julia resumed her pacing, desperate for a solution. Simon was no different from other London peacocks. How hard could it be to use her money, or the future possibility of money, to snare him? Instead of entangling herself in a potentially shocking agreement, she’d flaunt her wealth, then allow his greed to lead him to her. Once she had her inheritance and Cable Grange she could easily dismiss him. Simon would suffer no more heartbreak than the other London pinks who proposed to every unmarried rich woman who entered a ballroom. Even if breaking the engagement labelled her a jilt, it wouldn’t matter. She’d have her inheritance and Cable Grange and everything else could go to the devil.

Standing at the wardrobe, Julia tore through the dresses, selecting one of her better frocks. Slipping off the habit, she put on the light-blue dress, then sat at her dressing table to do her hair. The sight of herself in the mirror dampened her enthusiasm. Though the cloth of her frock was fine enough, the cut was unflattering and her hair, which was still fastened in the simple braided bun at the nape of her neck, did nothing to improve her features.

‘If only I were pretty enough to catch Simon without my money.’ She sighed and then dismissed the ridiculous notion. ‘I might as well wish for gold to fall from the sky.’

Pulling out the bun, she brushed out her hair. A man like Simon couldn’t resist the allure of money and she’d parade herself in front of him like a fat cow at market. Dignity be damned. She had to have Cable Grange for if she ended her days as a spinster aunt, she’d do it on her terms in her own house.

* * *

‘I never thought I’d see Melinda again.’ James smacked the cue stick hard against the white ball, sending it skipping over the slate, off the table and across the library’s wood floor.

George picked it up, laying it back on the table. ‘You aren’t still chewing on that, are you? Let it go. No good can come of it.’

‘Except an estate. I wasn’t planning it—I couldn’t have planned it—yet here it is, in my lap. I only have to wait for the bailiff to act, then I’ll watch them go and be done with it.’ Revenge coiled inside him with unnerving force. Even in the days after Melinda betrayed him, he hadn’t felt this much hate, but things were different then. His naval career had stretched out before him to blunt the disappointment and at sea he’d been too focused on succeeding and surviving to dwell on lost love. Now, with his career a shattered heap, his whole life crushed and bruised with it, there seemed nothing to distract him from old wounds. He flexed his left hand, cursing the dull pain. How he hated it and the way it made him hate everything.

George shook his head. ‘That’s not the Jim I remember.’

‘A lot of things changed last year.’

‘No, you just think they have. Look to the future. Don’t concern yourself with some past offence that no longer matters.’

‘You think it doesn’t matter?’

‘I think Rowan did you a favour, showed you who she really was before she leg-shackled you.’ George leaned across the table and took a shot, scoring another point. ‘Of course it’s your decision and Cable Grange will suit you, but you’ll need something more or you’ll be bored in a fortnight.’

‘You thinking running an estate won’t be enough?’ He reached for his glass of brandy sitting on the edge of the table.

‘Not for a man like you. You need adventure and what better adventure than marriage?’ George announced.

James stopped drinking mid-sip. ‘Marriage?’

‘Yes, marriage.’ George hooked his thumbs in his coat, quite pleased with himself.

‘What new scheme are you planning?’ He didn’t trust George’s happy manner.

‘Scheme? I never scheme.’

‘Never scheme?’ James laughed. ‘What was all that business with the rum in Jamaica?’

‘Merely an investment.’

‘And the plantation owner’s wife in Barbados?’

‘One could hardly fault me for such an escapade.’

‘Except the escapade’s husband.’

George shrugged, unrepentant. ‘You’re a man of your own mind. I never forced you to participate in the rum venture or follow me to the plantation.’

‘I followed you to save your hide and keep her husband from running you through.’

‘Perhaps.’ George fingered his cue stick, then levelled it at James. ‘But you went along with the other ventures because you wanted to, making a handsome profit on more than one occasion if I remember correctly.’

‘Yes, I have a great deal of my current fortune to thank you for.’

‘So why distrust me now?’

It wasn’t George he distrusted. It was himself. He hadn’t seen Miss Howard since returning from Daringford, but following George through Knollwood, he kept searching for her in every room, hoping she might appear. Her presence touched a place deep inside him he thought destroyed with his career and the feeling left him wary and unsettled. One woman had already preyed on the weakness of his youth. He couldn’t allow another to take advantage of his ruined life.

George fixed him with a stern, superior officer’s stare. ‘Seriously, Jim, you had a bad run last year, but you can’t live in the past. You’re young, full of possibility. You need a good woman by your side.’

‘I suppose you have someone in mind? Your little Artemis, perhaps?’

George leaned towards James, the glint of mischief in his eyes. James knew this expression all too well. How many times had he followed it into a tavern, or the heat of battle? ‘Now that you mention it, perhaps Julia is just the kind of woman you need. Sizeable inheritance. Brother in Parliament. Adept at running an estate. She’s a good match.’

James shook his head as he readied his cue stick. Is this what his life had come to? Discussing marriage over a billiard table? Country life must be very dull to lead an old salt like George to such a pastime. ‘Interesting suggestion—however, it has two flaws.’

‘And they are?’

‘One, I have no desire to marry, which you well know.’

‘At the moment, yes, but there’s always the future.’

‘And two, your Artemis doesn’t like me.’

‘Of course she likes you. She’s just an awkward girl. Spent too much time in the country, odd relatives and all that.’

‘Odd indeed.’ James hit the cue ball and it sailed past the red ball. ‘I see a great deal of Paul in his sister.’

‘There you are with the past again. Forget it. Paul was young. You were young and both of you stupid.’

‘I’d hardly say stupid.’

‘Stubborn, then, if you like. You’d be surprised to see him now.’

‘“Surprised” is not the word. Does your Artemis know I wrote to the Admiralty against Paul’s promotion?’

‘I didn’t see the need to inform her and I suggest you don’t either if you wish to have a pleasant visit. You don’t want to be on the wrong end of my niece’s temper.’

As if I needed the warning. ‘You don’t think she’ll find out?’

‘He’s off at sea and you’re here, not likely to meet.’

James had to admire George’s devil-may-care attitude. Here was a man who always believed everything would work out swimmingly and somehow for him it always did. What James wouldn’t give for even a small measure of George’s optimism, but the last year had left him anything but optimistic. The long days of his recovery followed by the even longer days of stalking the Admiralty, asking, then begging for another commission, had taken their toll.

During the year of his recovery, younger, fitter men with more prestigious connections had passed him by, and not even his loyal years of service were enough to secure him another ship. He could almost smell the oil on the wood panels of Admiral Stuart’s office the day he told James there would be no more commissions and encouraged—insisted, one might say—James enjoy his fortune while he still could.

In the end, despite his disappointment, he’d secretly been relieved. It shamed him to admit it, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Death had passed over him. Ten years ago he’d have shrugged it off and raced to face the devil once more. This time he couldn’t. He wanted to live free of violence and risks, to take care of his family and see his sister’s future children grow up, but without his command he saw nothing, no meaning or activity, just an endless set of days stretching out before him.

James refilled his drink from the small decanter of brandy on the table near the window. He hated this emptiness. It made him feel like a ship in a storm with a broken rudder at the mercy of driving winds and an unforgiving sea. He took a deep drink, careful not to enjoy too much the burning in the back of his throat. He’d seen other men come home and lose themselves in gin, women and cards, their energy wasted by a lack of duty and direction. He put the glass down, knowing his future wasn’t at the bottom of a bottle, but was it really as close as Cable Grange? Perhaps an estate would give him a sense of purpose again, a chance to do something more than grieve for his past and the future he’d planned for himself.

James watched while George calculated his next shot. ‘Why isn’t your little Artemis already married?’

‘Says she’s not interested.’

‘A woman not interested in marriage? Next you’ll tell me you believe in mermaids.’

‘I do. I saw one off the coast of Florida once. She’s not interested in marriage. However, a man with an estate could change her mind. If you’re determined to buy Cable Grange, she’s the woman you need to run it.’ George took his time lining up his shot, looking quite proud of himself for what he considered a brilliant idea.

James couldn’t resist the opportunity to rib his old friend. ‘So your niece is only interested in marrying a man for his estate?’

George whiffed the cue ball then straightened up, indignant. ‘She’s not that kind of young lady. She’s clever, a real woman of substance, made running Knollwood her life, but the place isn’t hers. Charles plans to assume control when he comes home at the end of the month. Where will she be then?’

‘You could leave her Creedon Abbey.’

‘I probably will...’ George floundered. Clearly he hadn’t thought of this and James enjoyed watching the older man work to recover himself. ‘But I’m not at death’s door yet. I plan to live at least another twenty years. Spend some time with her, get to know her, you’ll see what I mean.’

James walked to the window, noticing the threatening clouds gathering overhead. Their darkness layered the hills with damp shadows, making the hour feel late. Somewhere across the hills and valleys sat Cable Grange. Watching the wind shake the tall hedges of the garden, he tried to picture himself as lord of the manor, spending his days in land management with all its hundreds of concerns, but he had trouble imagining it.

Reaching up under his jacket, he felt for the jagged, raised scar. Yes, he was lucky to be alive and sometimes it made him think he wanted a wife and a family. What would it be like to enjoy the kind of happiness he’d witnessed between his parents before his father died or the love he saw in his sister’s eyes when she walked with her husband? He’d tried so many times while convalescing to imagine the future, but always it remained shrouded in a grey fog of uncertainty. The sudden end to his naval career made the years before him seem meaningless while old wounds and betrayals arose from the past to dominate his mind.

A bolt of lightning split the distant horizon and the image of Miss Howard atop that beast of a horse commanding him like a common seaman seared his mind. Tight desire coursed through him at the memory of her tongue tracing the line of her lips and the curious need illuminating her face. Her free spirit and courage reminded him of Caribbean ladies, bringing a smile to his face at the memory of warm afternoons and even warmer nights in the islands. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago yet today, in Miss Howard’s presence, their carefree ease sparked deep inside him for the first time in over a year.

The feeling made him uneasy. He’d experienced something like it once before, allowing it to guide him, and he’d come to regret it.

He downed the last of the brandy, forcing back the encroaching sadness. He wasn’t ready for another life-altering change and certainly had no intention of courting Miss Howard.

As James examined the cut-crystal glass, an idea suddenly came to him, so simple yet brilliantly amusing. George was determined to meddle with yet another scheme. Why not catch him up in one of James’s devising, give him a friendly taste of his own medicine?

‘Perhaps you’re right. I should give more thought to the idea of marriage,’ James announced, strolling back to the table and scrutinising the position of the balls.

George’s smile broadened. ‘Indeed.’

‘A man needs a woman to make a comfortable home for him.’

‘One with a sense of how to run things properly.’

‘The perfect mistress to complement him.’

‘Exactly.’

‘A woman like Miss Taylor.’

‘Annette?’ George sputtered. ‘You must be joking.’

‘I’m quite serious. She’s well brought up and pleasing to view.’ James leaned over the table to take a shot, pretending not to notice George’s stunned expression.

‘But there’s nothing there, no substance.’

‘Good. It makes life less complicated.’ James hit the cue ball, sending it bouncing off the side to hit the red ball. Straightening up, he worked to contain his laughter as George stared slack jawed at him.

‘Annette?’

James smiled to himself, realising just how much fun this harmless revenge would be.

Chapter Four

The clock in the hallway chimed six times as Julia rushed across the marble floor, late for dinner again. Stopping outside the dining-room door, she ran her hands over her hair, tucking a loose tendril into her coiffure. Mary, her lady’s maid, had been too busy with Annette to arrange Julia’s hair so she’d done it herself, pulling it back into a more flattering bun and allowing a few curls to hang about her face. The coiffure was far from stylish, but it framed her features much better than Emily’s plain creation. Pulling the bodice of the light-blue muslin dress lower, she hitched up the pink sash in an effort to make it appear more fashionable. The ribbon refused to co-operate, slipping back down to her waist. With a sigh of frustration, she gave up, knowing she’d dressed as well as could be expected for dinner at Knollwood, which was never a formal affair.

Until tonight. The instant Julia stepped into the dining room she remembered Emily’s instructions to dress for their new guest. She’d been so distracted by planning her tactics with Simon, she’d completely forgotten.

‘I’m so glad you could join us. I was afraid Knollwood business would keep you away.’ Emily’s high, nervous voice pulled Julia out of her momentary shock and she took in everyone’s attire. Mother’s deep-maroon mantua, though of an older style, suited her matronly frame while Emily and Annette’s dresses were the height of London fashion. Simon wore a coat of the finest material and Uncle George and Captain Covington looked dashing in their uniforms. Plain muslin in the face of so much silk only emphasised her lack of fashion. For a moment, Julia contemplated making her excuses, feigning a headache or some other feminine nonsense, then changed her mind.

I’ve already made a fool of myself. No sense starving now. Throwing back her shoulders, she strode into the room.

‘Yes, Knollwood business can be quite exacting, but I wouldn’t dream of missing dinner.’ She took her place next to Simon, across from Annette and Captain Covington.

‘You look very lovely this evening,’ the captain offered across the table.

‘Thank you.’ Was he teasing her? It was difficult to tell. His beguiling smile reminded her of the one Paul always used to flatter pretty ladies at the assembly hall.

‘The affairs of Knollwood must be very demanding to make you lose track of time,’ Annette mocked.

‘No, I was quite aware of the time,’ Julia replied coolly, annoyed by her stepcousin’s condescending tone.

‘Perhaps you could learn a thing or two about managing your affairs, Annette,’ Simon suggested, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

‘Now you prefer bluestockings?’ Annette frowned. ‘I thought you felt education was wasted on women?’

‘I do. It leads a woman to interfere too much in a man’s business.’ He fixed an icy stare on his sister, who coloured under the remark, but said nothing.

Julia sensed more to this conversation than a simple debate of female education, but having no interest in the intricacies of the Taylors’ personal business, she concentrated on enjoying her meal.

‘Julia, Jim was telling us the latest news from London regarding Napoleon,’ Uncle George announced. ‘It appears Admiral Nelson will face him before the month is out?’

The food turned to dirt in her mouth. ‘Do you think so?’

‘It’s a very real possibility,’ the captain answered with measured words, fingering the spoon next to his plate.

‘Paul’s ship, HMS Pickle, is with Admiral Nelson’s fleet. He could be injured, or worse.’ Her voice quavered with worry and she didn’t care who heard it or what they thought.

‘Even if there is a battle, HMS Pickle is a small ship used to send messages or fetch supplies. She won’t see much action.’

‘But there’s still a chance Paul will be involved in the fighting?’

‘There is, but let’s hope if Admiral Nelson and your brother face him, the battle is quick and decisive in Britain’s favour.’

His sympathetic eyes touched her and she wished they were alone so she could pour out all her worries to him. He would understand, perhaps even take her in his sturdy arms and, with tender, reassuring words, drive away all her fears for Paul.

‘Admiral Nelson will lose more than a battle if he continues his indiscretion with Mrs Hamilton,’ Annette added, indifferent to Julia’s concerns. ‘Don’t you agree, Captain Covington?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t follow town gossip,’ he answered, but Annette refused to relinquish his attention or the table’s.

‘Don’t you find his indiscretion scandalous?’

Julia noticed the way his fingers tightened on the stem of his wine glass. ‘Great men are always granted some leeway.’

‘If society shunned him, then who would lead the Navy against France?’ Julia demanded, irritated by Annette’s prattle. ‘Or would you prefer the French on our shores? Perhaps they would be more delightful in the drawing room.’

‘How droll to discuss politics at dinner,’ Annette sniffed. ‘Captain Covington, you must tell me all about your sister’s wedding.’

With a twinge of regret, Julia left the captain to Annette and focused on the dandy beside her. How could she possibly capture his interest? She couldn’t simply announce the size of her inheritance and hope he took the bait. Conversation seemed the key, but since his arrival they’d barely exchanged ten words. Now she had to captivate him with witty repartee? It seemed a Herculean feat, but one she had to accomplish.

‘Simon, do you ride?’ she asked in her most pleasing voice. The young man turned his pointed chin over his starched cravat, staring at her as though she possessed three heads.

‘Of course,’ he sneered.

Julia clamped her hands together in her lap, screwing the smile on her face. ‘I suppose no country ride could compare to the fashionable hour in Rotten Row?’

‘On at least that point you are correct,’ he lisped, returning to his meal.

Her cheeks burned with the strain of holding her smile. For a moment, the game felt like more trouble than it was worth, but the thought of having her own estate urged her on. ‘You must be an excellent horseman.’

Simon’s knife and fork clanked against the plate. ‘I prefer the elegance of a phaeton—surely you’ve heard of them, even here in the country.’

She resisted the urge to empty her plate in his lap, continuing to remain charming as though nothing was amiss. ‘Oh, yes. When I receive my inheritance I plan to purchase one. Perhaps you can help me select the best?’

‘Your inheritance?’ His bored eyes almost sparkled at the mention of money. She leaned towards him, dropping her voice.

‘Yes, I receive it as soon as I’m married. Tell me about your phaeton. I imagine it is one of the finest in London.’

Just as she suspected, flattery worked. Simon puffed up at the opportunity to discuss himself. ‘It’s second only to the prince’s.’

Despite the loss of her appetite, Julia soldiered on. ‘Oh, you know the prince? How wonderful.’

‘He complimented me on my rig.’ Simon’s voice dripped with pride.

‘Please, tell me all about it.’

* * *

What followed was the most boring and tortuous hour of Julia’s life as Simon described, in minute detail, his phaeton. From the corner of her eye she noticed Uncle George and Emily exchanging baffled looks. Even Captain Covington threw her a sideways glance and for a brief moment she felt ashamed of her plan. Only her mother seemed indifferent, slipping bits of food to Charlemagne, who sat on the floor next to her chair.

‘The squabs are far more comfortable than the average phaeton. I had the leather dyed dark green,’ Simon continued and Julia gazed up at him through her lashes, mimicking the way Annette flattered the captain. If only her dress were cut as deeply as Annette’s. However, such a ploy might make her scheme too obvious.

After what felt like an eternity, Emily rose, ending dinner. ‘Shall the ladies retire to the drawing room?’

Julia forced herself not to jump up and run into the adjoining room. Instead she smiled coyly at Simon as she rose. ‘Perhaps we can discuss it more later?’

‘Perhaps.’ He didn’t seem enthusiastic at the prospect.

Massaging her aching cheeks, Julia followed the other women into the drawing room. Taking The Monk out of her dress pocket, she situated herself on the sofa to read, hoping the others would leave her in peace. Her hope was short lived when Emily walked over to the card table near the window and shuffled the deck. ‘Ladies, would you care for a game of piquet?’

‘I’d love to play,’ Annette announced, choosing her place at the table and taking the deck from Emily. ‘I’ll deal.’