Captain Amberton's Inherited Bride

‘Shall we have a dance before supper?’ He extended one arm with a flourish.

‘Dance?’ She looked as if he’d just suggested something indecent. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’ He made a pretence of looking around. ‘This is a ball, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘I’m just not very good. That is, I’ve had lessons, but only with women and never in public. I really don’t think that I could.’

‘You mean you’ve never danced with a man before?’

‘No. My father says—’

‘But this is perfect! You have to start some time.’

He grabbed hold of her hand impetuously, ignoring her father’s furious glare as he pulled her on to the floor. The idea of being her first anything was strangely appealing, even if it was only a dance, and there was no harm in getting to know his potential sister-in-law. It wasn’t as if he was flirting with her, no more than came naturally anyway, and it wasn’t like Arthur would care—or even notice. Judging by the heated discussion taking place on the edge of the dance floor, his brother had chosen the most public of venues to finally make a stand. It didn’t look as if that was going to end any time soon. In which case, the longer he distracted the subject of that discussion, the better. It was almost selfless of him really...

‘No!’ She dug her heels in and tore her hand away abruptly.

‘Miss Harper?’

He swung round in surprise. She looked defiant all of a sudden, like a cat arching her back, flashing her eyes and hissing at him. The effect was as impressive as it was disarming, and he felt a dawning sense of respect. Apparently she wasn’t as obedient as he’d assumed, wouldn’t be charmed or cajoled or bullied on to the dance floor. There were claws behind that small, soft-looking facade. Damned if that didn’t make her even more attractive!

‘I apologise for my forthrightness, Miss Harper.’ He bowed in an attempt to look suitably chastised. ‘I can only blame overenthusiasm.’

‘I told you, I’m not good enough to dance.’

‘But I am, though I say so myself. I haven’t dropped anyone for a good half hour.’ He moved back towards her, putting a hand over his heart with mock solemnity. ‘But I promise I won’t let you fall. If you’ll do me the honour of accepting this dance, that is?’

Her eyes widened slightly, as if she wasn’t sure how to react, and he found himself willing her to say yes. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her father bearing down on them, coming to drag her away most likely, and by the slight tilt of her head he had the distinct impression she’d just noticed him, too. To Lance’s surprise, the sight seemed to decide her. After a moment’s hesitation, she took his arm, following him out into the middle of the dance floor.

The orchestra struck up a tune and he smiled with satisfaction. It was a polka, a livelier dance than the waltz, but still one that allowed him to face her, to place one hand on her shoulder blade while he clasped her gloved fingers in the other.

‘My father told me not to dance with anyone except your brother.’ She tensed as his hand skimmed across the small of her back.

‘Then you’re more rebellious than I thought, Miss Harper.’

‘I’m not rebellious at all.’ Her expression shifted subtly. ‘Though sometimes I think I’d like to be.’

‘Indeed? Then you’ve come to the right man. I’d be more than happy to help.’

‘Oh.’ Her brow furrowed with a look of confusion. ‘Thank you.’

He bit back a laugh, flirting by habit, though in truth, he was surprised by the variety of ideas that sprang to mind, none of which were remotely suitable in relation to his brother’s future wife. Over the top of her head he could see Cordelia Braithwaite pouting at him, though the sight left him cold. For some inexplicable reason, he preferred the unworldly, unusual Miss Harper.

‘The music’s very fast.’ She sounded nervous.

‘Just follow my lead.’

He squeezed her fingers reassuringly as he led them off, sweeping her in a series of increasingly wide circles around the dance floor. She stumbled slightly at first, but quickly caught up with the rhythm, gradually relaxing in his arms as she adapted to the lively pace of the music. Contrary to what he’d expected, it was surprisingly easy to dance with her. He didn’t have any backache at all. She was so light that he found himself actually lifting her off her feet with every hop, her natural poise making her float like a feather in his arms.

‘I didn’t peg you for a liar, Miss Harper.’ He arched an eyebrow accusingly.

‘What do you mean?’ She looked startled again.

‘You said you weren’t a good dancer. You’re a natural.’

Her whole face seemed to light up as she smiled. ‘I do enjoy it. We have a ballroom at home, though we’ve never had a ball.’

‘What a waste.’

‘Sometimes I dance there by myself.’

‘Without music?’

‘I sing.’ She bit her lip suddenly as if regretting the admission. ‘I suppose that sounds ridiculous.’

‘On the contrary, I’m sure you make quite a charming picture. I’d like to see and hear it.’

She smiled again and he tightened his grip on her shoulder, amused and intrigued in equal measure. He’d never visited the Harpers’ mansion in Whitby, though it was rumoured to be immense and as chilling in appearance as its owner was in reality. The daughter really was straight out of a fairy tale. At this point he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that she’d grown up in an ivory tower.

‘This is your first ball, I understand?’

She nodded enthusiastically. ‘It’s my first anything. I’ve never seen so many people in one place. The ladies all look so beautiful.’

‘I suppose so.’ He glanced around, though the rest of the room seemed to have lost some of its lustre. All the other women looked drab by comparison.

‘Would you introduce me to some of them?’

‘The ladies?’ He raised both eyebrows this time. ‘Don’t you know anyone?’

‘The only people I know here are my father and yours, and now you. I don’t have many acquaintances.’

‘Not even in Whitby?’

‘No.’ She looked vaguely apologetic. ‘My father doesn’t like to make calls and he doesn’t approve of me going out on my own.’

‘Indeed?’ He felt a flicker of anger towards her father. Had she really been a prisoner, then? And yet she spoke matter-of-factly, as if she didn’t expect anything else. ‘In that case I’d be glad to make some introductions. Then perhaps you could encourage your father to throw his own ball? So that you can dance in your own house, I mean.’

‘Father?’ Her laugh sounded like a bell tinkling. ‘I can’t imagine that ever happening.’

‘Not even for your coming out?’ He felt a sudden impulse to test her, to see if she suspected anything of their fathers’ scheming. ‘I’m sure you’d find plenty of suitors.’

The silvery glow that had seemed to envelop her faded, as if a shadow had just fallen over her face. ‘My father doesn’t approve of suitors.’

‘Maybe not, but after tonight I’m sure there’ll be plenty of young men eager to renew your acquaintance.’

‘Eager for my father’s money, you mean?’

He almost tripped over his feet, taken aback by her bluntness. It was an unfortunate truth that in the eyes of the world her fortune would constitute her most attractive feature. She was too unusual looking to be called beautiful—he wouldn’t be surprised if his father actually saw coins when he looked at her—but such things weren’t usually spoken about out loud.

‘I see.’ Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face because an expression of hurt swept over hers. ‘I think I’d like to stop dancing now.’

He blinked, surprised for the second time in less than a minute. Never in his life had a woman asked to stop dancing with him before. Most wanted to do a lot more than that. He couldn’t have been any more surprised if she’d slapped him across the cheek.

‘Miss Harper, if I’ve offended you then I apologise.’

‘You haven’t.’ She stopped stock-still in the middle of the dance floor, every part of her body turning rigid at once. ‘I know what I am.’

‘What you are?’ He made a brief gesture of apology as the couple behind them polkaed straight into his back.

‘Yes! And I refuse to stand here and be mocked for it.’

‘What...?’

He didn’t get any further as she twisted away from him, pushing her way through the dancers as he stared speechlessly after her. What on earth had he said to cause such an extreme reaction? That she might have suitors? Women liked to be told they’d have suitors, didn’t they? And yet she’d seemed to think he’d been laughing at her, as if the very idea were a joke—as if she were a joke. Why the hell would she think that?

He started after her, taking a different path through the throng. He had to fix it, whatever it was that he’d done. If his father were really so determined to have her as a daughter-in-law, then he didn’t want to make a bad situation any worse—although he didn’t want to upset her either, he realised. The look of hurt on her face had elicited an unexpected feeling of guilt. It wasn’t an emotion he was accustomed to, had actually taken him a few moments to identify, and he wanted to be rid of it as quickly as possible.

‘Miss Harper.’ He intercepted her before she could reach her father. ‘I wasn’t mocking you. I was only trying to make conversation.’

‘Well, I didn’t find it amusing.’

‘Then blame my shoddy manners.’ He put an arm out as she tried to dodge past him. ‘I was too forward, but for what it’s worth, I think you might have any number of eager suitors. There aren’t many women I’d run across a ballroom for.’

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a dignity that managed to make him feel even more guilty. ‘I’m not devoid of intelligence, Captain Amberton. My father’s told me not to think about marriage and I don’t. He’s warned me that any suitors would only be after my fortune.’

‘But that’s preposterous!’ He felt a spontaneous burst of temper. What kind of father would say such a vile thing, as if she had no attractions of her own? She had more than enough, in his eyes anyway, not that it was his place to say so. That was supposed to be his brother’s job. Where was Arthur anyway? There were enough people looking in their direction now, but no sign of his brother among them.

Her eyes flashed. ‘My father wants what’s best for me. He’s trying to protect me.’

‘He’s a liar!’

‘Indeed, sir?’

Lance clenched his jaw, stifling an oath at the sound of her father’s voice behind him. So much for behaving himself. Somehow he’d managed to cause a scene and insult one of his father’s oldest friends into the bargain. Not that he felt particularly sorry. On the contrary, now that he’d started a scandal, he saw little point in stopping.

He turned around, looking the older man square in the eye. ‘If you’ve told your daughter that no man would want to marry her for herself then, yes, sir, you’re a liar.’

‘What I say to my daughter is no business of yours.’ Harper’s beady eyes narrowed malevolently. ‘And I’ll thank you to keep your distance in future. She won’t be dancing with a reprobate like you again.’

‘Better a reprobate than a liar.’

‘Captain Amberton!’ Miss Harper pushed herself between them, though her tiny height did nothing to obstruct either one of their views. ‘You’ve no right to insult my father!’

‘I do when he insults you.’

‘I’ve only told her the truth.’ Harper jutted his chin out as if daring him to take a swing at it. ‘Or are you saying that you’d marry her without my money?’

‘What?’ He said the word at the same moment she did, though it was impossible to tell which of them sounded the most horrified.

‘I asked if you’d marry her for herself? Since you take such a keen interest.’

Lance dropped his gaze to her face, but she was already looking away, arms folded around her waist as if she were trying to make herself look as small and unobtrusive as possible. Would he marry her? No. Of course not. He had absolutely no intention of shackling himself to any woman, no matter how attractive or intriguing he found her, though he could hardly say so without causing her further embarrassment. Better that than an engagement, however...

‘I’m about to return to my regiment, sir.’ He gave the first excuse that came into his head. ‘I’ve no provision for a wife.’

‘Ha!’ Harper’s face contorted with a look of malicious glee. ‘I thought not.’

Somehow Lance resisted the urge to grab the older man by the lapels and throw him headfirst through the nearest window. What on earth was the matter with him? Every eye in the room was turned towards them, every ear honed to hear every word—even the orchestra had stopped playing to listen—and yet Harper seemed so determined to win their argument that he had no qualms about humiliating his daughter in public. Just how much of a monster was he?

‘What’s going on?’ His father burst upon them suddenly, trailing a defeated-looking Arthur behind him. ‘Lance, I told you to behave yourself.’

‘I was behaving myself.’

He ran a hand through his hair, torn between exasperation and dull fury. How exactly had he found himself in this position, between two livid fathers, a silent brother and a tiny kitten of a woman who looked as though she wished the ground would open up and swallow her? Why the hell was he the one defending her?

‘He called me a liar.’ Harper’s tone was indignant.

‘And you called me a reprobate.’ Lance shot him a savage look. ‘I believe that makes us even.’

‘Apologise!’ His father’s voice was a hiss, bristling with rage. ‘Apologise to our guest right now.’

‘Don’t you want to hear my side of the story?’

‘Your side of the story is always the same. He called you a reprobate because that’s what you are. Now apologise or get out of my house this instant!’

‘Stop!’ It was Miss Harper who interrupted this time. ‘Please stop. It was all my fault. I overreacted, I’m sure.’

‘I doubt that, my dear.’ His father didn’t even bother to look at her. ‘You mustn’t distress yourself.’

‘But you mustn’t do this! Not because of me. It’s too awful.’

‘It’s no more than he deserves. This is the last straw, Lance.’

‘For you, too, Father.’ He didn’t wait another moment, turning his back and cutting a swathe through the dancers as he stormed towards the door. ‘Don’t expect me to set foot in this house ever again!’

‘Good!’ His father’s voice reverberated around the ballroom. ‘Because I wouldn’t let you in! You’re no son of mine any more!’

Lance stopped in the doorway, opening his mouth to hurl one final parting shot, then closing it again as he caught sight of his brother. Arthur was standing off to one side, a picture of such abject misery that he was half tempted to march back across the room and drag him away with him, too. But he was going back to his regiment and Arthur...well, Arthur was going to marry Violet Harper.

He took one last look at her face, at her big blue eyes made even bigger with shock. She was right about one thing. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t been so damned oversensitive, then he wouldn’t have had to run after her to apologise, wouldn’t have run into her father or stood up for her either, not that she’d thanked him for that! His lip curled contemptuously. From now on, he’d stick with the Cordelia Braithwaites of the world. Women like Violet Harper were more trouble than they were worth.

He turned away, mentally consigning his father, Harper and the whole room, Arthur excepted, to the deepest, darkest region of Hades. As for Violet Harper, future sister-in-law or not, he earnestly hoped he never set eyes on her again.

Chapter One

March 1867—five years later

The snow started to fall around midday.

Violet tugged at the hood of her thin grey, woefully inadequate cloak and tipped her head back, sticking her tongue out to catch a flake on its tip. It melted at once, sending an icy trickle sliding down the back of her throat. Snow. She’d never been out in it before, had only ever watched it fall through a windowpane, and the new experience was invigorating.

Nothing, not even bad weather, could dampen her spirits today. She ought to be frightened, sitting in the back of a rickety old cart rattling its way high over the moors, running away from her home, her few friends and everything else she’d ever known, but instead she felt exhilarated. Even the barren heather-and-gorse-filled wilderness didn’t intimidate her this morning, as it always had from a distance. Today it looked free and unconfined and alive, the way that she finally felt inside. In the space of a few hours, she’d travelled further than she ever had in the whole of her twenty-three years previously, not just in distance, but in herself, too. At long last, she’d taken charge of her own future, refusing to be the old, shrinking Violet any longer. For the first time in her life, she felt proud of herself.

Not a bad accomplishment for her wedding day.

‘The mine’s just over that ridge!’ the driver’s boy called back to her. ‘Don’t worry about the weather, miss. We’ve ridden through worse.’

She gave him a dazzling smile and settled back against the crates bearing supplies up to the miners at Rosedale. The driver had promised to take her on to Helmsley afterwards, though she could only imagine what he and his boy must be thinking of her. Her friend Ianthe had vouched for them, both for their characters as well as their ability to keep a secret, but they must surely still be wondering why a lone gentlewoman would arrange to meet them at dawn on the outskirts of Whitby as if she were fleeing the clutches of some evil tyrant.

Which in one sense, she supposed, she was.

She’d been planning her escape for the past week, almost from the moment Mr Rowlinson had taken her aside after her father’s funeral, saying he preferred to communicate the terms of the will in private. It hadn’t taken her long to understand why. The lawyer had been apologetic as he’d read, watching her anxiously over the metal rim of his spectacles, though no amount of sympathetic looks could have mitigated the shock of those words. Looking back she felt strangely detached from the scene, as if it had been someone else sitting in her chair like some kind of black-clad statue, frozen in horror as her father bequeathed her in marriage to the heir of Amberton Castle.

Bequeathed!

In that moment she’d felt something harden inside her, as if all her feelings of grief and loss had crystallised into something else, something colder and darker. She didn’t know what the emotion was, if it even was an emotion at all. It felt more like the absence of one, an emptiness at the very centre of her being, as if her ability to feel anything had been suspended.

She remembered laughing. She must have sounded hysterical because Mr Rowlinson had rushed to pour her a glass of brandy and, for the first time in her life, she’d accepted. Her father had never allowed her to touch any kind of alcohol, but she’d wanted to drink the whole bottle just to spite him.

A few sips had put paid to that idea, making her cough and splutter and her head spin even more as she’d tried to understand how her father could have done such a thing to her. After so many years of obedience, of living her life in the shadows, tolerating his abuse and his insults, how could he have arranged a marriage without even telling her—let alone asking her? Just when she’d thought she might finally be free.

She ought to have known that he wouldn’t let her go so easily. He’d never allowed her to make any decisions of her own and now it seemed he intended to keep on controlling her life even after his death. The terms of the will were so strict that even Mr Rowlinson had faltered in reading them. Unconventional as it was to hold a wedding so soon after a funeral, her father’s words were as uncompromising and unyielding as ever. Unless she married the man of his choosing within one month of his burial, she would be disinherited, would lose her home and her fortune to a distant cousin in Lancashire. In short, she would be penniless.

Unless she did as she was told.

Her spinning thoughts had rushed back to the ball at Amberton Castle five years before, the one and only such event she’d ever attended. At least the will finally explained why her father had been so uncharacteristically keen for her to spend time with Arthur Amberton, not just at the ball, but on the monthly visits he’d made with his own father since.

She’d been vaguely suspicious, especially when her father had started to drop hints about her future, even once going so far as to actually say he’d arranged a marriage for her, though she’d eventually concluded that it was some kind of cruel joke. After all, he was the one who’d always told her how small and unattractive she was, how only a fortune hunter would pretend to want her, how she was better off without a husband. It hadn’t made any sense that he would ever want her to marry.

Besides which, there had never been anything in Arthur Amberton’s behaviour to suggest that he was remotely interested in her. He’d always looked as depressed on his visits as he had the first time they’d met at the ball. Their few conversations had been stilted and uncomfortable, their fathers watching over them like a pair of severe-looking owls. He’d never as much as hinted at a secret engagement, if he’d even known of it, though if he had, he couldn’t have made it any more obvious that he didn’t want to marry her. No more than she’d wanted to marry him.

Though even he would have been preferable to the alternative...

She pulled her hood tight around her face, oppressed by a wave of sadness. Arthur Amberton had been lost at sea seven months before, sailing his small boat along the North Yorkshire coast on a calm, late summer’s day. He’d gone out alone, without telling anyone where he was going, and his boat had been discovered by a fishing vessel the next day, intact and undamaged, though Arthur himself had been nowhere to be found. There’d been numerous theories—that he’d hit his head and fallen overboard, that he’d been attacked, that he’d gone for a swim and developed cramp—though no one had wanted to mention the obvious answer, that he’d taken his own life rather than live with his despair a day longer. Rather than marry her.

Ironically, she’d been the one who’d insisted on keeping the news from her father. He’d been bedridden already by that point and she hadn’t wanted to distress him any further. She’d been half-afraid that Henry Amberton, Arthur’s father, might make an appearance, but the following day had brought further bad news. The father had suffered a fatal heart attack on being told about the empty boat. Father and son had died within twenty-four hours of each other, leaving a different heir to the estate.

Captain Lancelot Edward Amberton, the new Viscount Scorborough.

The very thought of him made her shudder, evoking the same feeling of stomach-churning embarrassment she’d felt at their first encounter. She’d been hopelessly naive, actually enjoying his company to begin with. She’d been excited and nervous about her first ball, all too vividly aware of the strange looks and whispered comments she knew her tiny size and extreme paleness attracted, but Captain Amberton had seemed not to notice.

He’d been confident, friendly and open, unlike any man she’d ever met before, seeming to embody the very freedom the ball represented. He’d come to her rescue when his father and brother had been arguing, encouraging her to talk when she felt tongue-tied and putting her at ease when she’d been too afraid to dance. She’d actually defied her father by dancing with him and she couldn’t deny how attractive she’d found him, far more so than his brother despite their being identical twins, with his carelessly swept-back chestnut hair, his broad, muscular frame, and the roguish glint in his eye that had made her want to smile, too. When he’d held her in his arms she’d felt a new and distinctly alarming sensation, a tremulous fluttering low in her abdomen, that had made her feel giddy and excited and awkward all at the same time.