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Authors: Mary J. Putney

BOOK: The Bargain
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“The pleasure is mine, Major.” Jocelyn realized his eyes were striking not only for the unusual shade of transparent green, but because the pupils were tiny pinpoints, making the irises even more startling. Opium. She'd seen eyes like that in society ladies who were overfond of laudanum.
She had intended to make her proposal without delay, but as she stood by the wreck of what had been a warrior, her throat closed and left her silent. To look into Major Lancaster's green eyes and say that she was here to make a bargain in anticipation of his death was impossible.
Correctly interpreting her strained expression, Richard Dalton said, “Lady Jocelyn has a most unusual proposition, one I think you'll find interesting. I shall leave you two to discuss it.” He shifted his crutches to a more comfortable position, then left.
Jocelyn took a deep breath, grateful that Richard had broken the ice. Where to start? Not wanting to overtire the major, she said succinctly, “My father died several years ago and left me a substantial inheritance, on the condition I marry by age twenty-five. I shall reach that age in a few weeks and am still unwed. Richard mentioned your situation, and it occurred to me that we might make a bargain of mutual benefit. If . . . if you'll marry me, I shall settle an income on your sister to ensure her future security.”
When she finished, absolute silence reigned, broken only by the distant sounds of street traffic. It took all of Jocelyn's control not to flinch under Lancaster's startled gaze. Yet when he spoke, his voice showed only curiosity, not anger at the bald implication of his imminent death. “I have trouble believing you can't find a husband in the usual fashion. Are the men of London mad, blind, or both?”
“The man I want has shown an unflattering lack of interest in me,” Jocelyn admitted, feeling that nothing less than honesty would do. “Perhaps he may someday change his mind. I hope so. In the meantime, I don't want to marry only for the sake of an inheritance, then regret it the rest of my life. Do you understand?” Her last words were a plea; it was suddenly important that he accept her actions as reasonable.
“It would be utter folly to marry the wrong man because of a ridiculous will,” he agreed. His eyes closed, leaving his face alarmingly corpselike. She watched anxiously, hoping she hadn't overstrained him.
His eyes flickered open. “How much of an annuity were you proposing?”
Jocelyn hadn't thought that far. After a swift assessment of her income and the costs of living, she asked hesitantly, “Would five hundred pounds a year be acceptable?”
His brows rose. “That would be very generous. Enough for Sally to live a life of leisure if she wished, though I can't imagine her idle. Perhaps she'd start a school.”
He fell silent, the pain lines in his face emphasized as he thought. Uneasily Jocelyn said, “No doubt you'll want some time to consider this.”
“No,” he said emphatically, his voice stronger. “There is . . . no time to waste.”
The words chilled her. For an endless moment, their gazes locked. Jocelyn saw no fear about his impending death, only stark honesty and hard won peace. With every breath he drew, this man humbled her.
Carefully shaping each word, Lancaster said, “Lady Jocelyn, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” A faint, wry smile curved his lips. “Though I have nothing to offer you but my name, for your purposes that will suffice.”
His ability to joke under these circumstances almost undid Jocelyn's self-control. Choking back her feelings, she laid her hand over his. It was bone-thin, almost skeletal, but the pulse of life was still present. “The honor would be mine, Major Lancaster.”
“David,” he said. “After all, we are about to wed.”
“David,” she repeated. It was a good, solid name that suited him.
His brows drew together in concentration. “We shall obviously have to be married here. I'm afraid that you'll have to arrange for the special license, but if you have a man of business, he should be able to obtain one by tomorrow.”
“I'll have my lawyer take care of it. He can also draw up the settlement for your sister. Her name is Sally Lancaster?”
“Sarah Jane Lancaster.” He closed his eyes again. “Your lawyer must also draw up a quitclaim for me to sign, relinquishing all customary claims against your property.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Legally your property would become mine on marriage, and on my death half would go to my heir, Sally. Since the purpose of this exercise is for you to retain your fortune, we don't want that to happen.”
“Heavens, I hadn't thought of that.” What if she'd made this strange proposal to a man less scrupulous than Major Lancaster? It might have meant disaster.
In an almost inaudible voice, he said, “If your lawyer is worth his hire, he would have protected your interests.”
Recognizing that he was at the limits of his strength, Jocelyn said, “I should be able to have the license and settlements by tomorrow. Will this same time be agreeable to you?” As she studied the spare figure under the blanket, she wondered if he would still be alive in another twenty-four hours.
Uncannily reading her mind, he said, “Don't worry, I shall still be here.”
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then released it. “Thank you, David. I shall see you tomorrow then.”
A little dazed by the speed of events, she left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Richard was seated in the lounge area at the end of the hall, so she joined him, gesturing for him not to stand for her. “Major Lancaster has agreed. The ceremony will be tomorrow. Thank you, Richard. You . . . you've allowed me to take a measure of control over my life.”
“I'm glad I could help two friends at once,” he said quietly. “Perhaps providence was taking a hand.”
“I'd like to think so.” With a slightly crooked smile, she bade him farewell.
Wondering if David looked as shaken as Lady Jocelyn, Richard pulled himself onto his crutches and made his way to his friend's room. “I gather all is well?” he asked as he entered.
David's eyes opened. Though he was gray with exhaustion, there was a smile on his face. “Very much so. Will you stand witness for me?”
“Of course.” Richard settled in the chair beside the bed. “Do you need me to do anything else for the wedding?”
“Could you take the ring from my little finger and keep it for the ceremony?” He pushed his right hand over the dingy sheets. “I think it's small enough to fit her.”
Richard removed the ring. It came off David's bony finger easily.
“My efficient bride will arrange everything,” the major said with a spark of amusement. “Thank you for bringing us together.”
“The marriage of convenience is a time-honored tradition, though I've never heard of one quite like this,” Richard said. “But everyone benefits.”
“There are other men here whose families could use the money more than Sally, but I am selfish enough to be glad she will be provided for. A woman without family is only a step away from potential disaster. An accident or illness could push her into abject poverty. Now that won't happen.” David exhaled roughly. “Time for more laudanum. Over there, on the table . . .”
Richard poured a dose of the medicine, then held the spoon so David could swallow. “Your sister is not entirely without family.”
“She'd starve to death before she would ask help of one of our brothers. Can't say that I blame her. I'd do the same.” David's eyes drifted shut. “Now she'll never . . . have to ask help of anyone.”
Thinking his friend asleep, Richard hoisted himself onto his crutches, but before he could leave, David murmured, “I would have helped her even without the annuity. I rather like the idea of being married to Lady Jocelyn, even if it's only for a few days.” His voice faded to a bare whisper. “Something to look forward to . . .”
Richard left the room with satisfaction, grateful that Lady Jocelyn was bringing some pleasure into David's last days. The only person likely to object to the arrangement was Sally Lancaster, who guarded her brother like a mother cat with a kitten. At least the income would give her something to think about after he died.
Chapter 3
A
fter leaving Captain Dalton, Jocelyn entered the enclosed stairwell, then plopped down on a step between floors, heedless of her expensive gown. Burying her face in her hands, she struggled to collect herself, her mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings. She was intensely relieved that her problem was solved—assuming Major Lancaster didn't die in the night—yet she half wished she'd never set foot in the York Hospital. Though neither man had shown disgust at her impulsive suggestion, she felt like a carrion crow feasting on the almost dead.
Well, she and the major had made a bargain, and it was too late to withdraw now. There was comfort in the knowledge that he'd seemed pleased to accept her proposition. Yet when she thought of the major's courage, his amused green eyes, she could have wept for the waste. How many other men and boys had died as a result of Napoleon's ambition, or been crippled like Richard Dalton and Rhys Morgan?
It didn't bear thinking of, so Jocelyn stood and carefully donned her gracious-lady facade. By the time she reached Rhys Morgan's ward, she appeared composed again, though misery still knotted in her midriff.
Hearing an anguished, Welsh-accented voice, she paused in the door of the ward, just out of sight of the Morgans. “Who would ever want a cripple like me?” Rhys said harshly, “I can't fight, can't go down in the mines, would only be half a man working on the farm. I wish the damned cannon had blown my head off rather than my leg!”
Hugh's softer voice started making soothing noises, too low for Jocelyn to hear the words. She squared her shoulders before entering the ward. Here was something she could do for a man who would be around long enough to benefit.
When she approached the bed, both brothers turned to face her. Rhys's face was tense, while Hugh's showed the guilt and misery of a whole man in the presence of one who was maimed.
As Hugh stood, Jocelyn said to Rhys, “Corporal Morgan, I have a favor to ask.”
“Of course, my lady,” he said woodenly.
“I know it would be very dull after all you've done and seen, but would you consider coming to work for me? My aunt will be leaving soon to set up a separate household, and she'll be taking several of the servants, including one of the two men who work in the stables. As a cavalry man, surely you are experienced with horses. Would you be interested in the position?”
The corporal's face reflected shock, and dawning hope. “I should like to be a groom.” His gaze went to his missing leg. “But I . . . I don't know if I can manage the work to your ladyship's standards.”
Deliberately she looked to the flat place on the bed where there should have been a strong, healthy limb. “I see no reason to doubt your competence, Corporal.” Wanting to lighten the mood, she said mischievously, “Please say yes, if only for your brother's sake. He is positively menaced by housemaids trying to capture his attention. Having another handsome young man in the household will make his life easier.”
Hugh blurted out, “My lady!” his face turning scarlet.
At the sight of his brother's embarrassment, Rhys leaned back on the pillows and laughed with the air of a man rediscovering humor. “I shall be most honored to work for you, Lady Jocelyn.”
“Excellent.” Another thought struck her. “Why not ask the doctors if you can be moved to my house for recuperation? It's a much more pleasant place than this, and your brother will be glad to have you near.”
“Oh, my lady!” Hugh exclaimed, his face lighting up.
“I . . . I should like that very much, Lady Jocelyn.” Rhys blinked a suspicious brightness from his eyes at the prospect of leaving the hospital.
“Then we shall expect you as soon as you are released.” As she withdrew so that Hugh could have a private farewell with his brother, she thought of David Lancaster, who was so frail that any attempt to move him would probably cause his death. Rhys Morgan was robust by comparison. With a comfortable place to live and a good job waiting, he would adjust to his loss fairly soon. And she would get a fine groom in the process.
A few minutes later the footman joined her, and they left the building. Jocelyn inhaled the warm summer air with relief. Even with the smells of the city, it was blessedly fresh after the hospital.
Behind her, Hugh said hesitantly, “Lady Jocelyn?”
She glanced back at him. “Yes, Morgan?”
“My lady, I will never forget what you have just done,” he said gravely. “If there is ever anything I can do to repay you, anything at all . . .”
“It was easily done, and I'm sure your brother will be a worthy addition to the house,” she said, shrugging off his gratitude.
“It may have been easy, but few would have done it. ‘Tis said in the servants' hall that there isn't a lady in London with a warmer heart than yours.”
She inclined her head briefly in acknowledgment, then turned to scan the street. “Do you see where my carriage is waiting?”
Carriages were easier than compliments.
Before returning to Upper Brook Street, Jocelyn paid a visit to her lawyer and man of business, John Crandall. In the years since her father's death, the lawyer had become accustomed to dealing directly with a lady, but today her requests raised his experienced eyebrows.
“You're going to marry a dying officer?” he repeated incredulously. “It will fulfill the terms of the will, but your father's hope was that you'd find a husband to keep you in line. This Major Lancaster can scarcely do that.”
Jocelyn did her best to look soulful. “Why do you think I have not married elsewhere? The attachment between David and me is . . . is of some duration.” It wasn't quite a lie. An hour qualified as “a duration.” “He was in Spain when I visited my aunt and her husband. But the war, you know . . .” Also not a lie, though certainly intended to be misleading. “I have never known a braver or more honorable gentleman.” That, at least, was the truth.
Mollified, Crandall promised to procure the special license, arrange for a clergyman, and have the settlement and quitclaim documents ready in the morning. On the ride home, Jocelyn pondered whether to tell Lady Laura about her wedding, but decided against it. Her aunt had said in as many words that she didn't want to know about Jocelyn's marital schemes. Far better to explain after the deed was done, she thought wryly. She'd learned early that it was easier to get forgiveness than permission.
Jocelyn awoke the next morning with a bizarre sense of unreality.
Today is my wedding day
. Not that this was a real marriage, of course. Yet that knowledge could not mask the reality that today she would take the step that for most girls was the most momentous of a lifetime, and she was doing it almost at random.
On impulse, she decided to add something special to the tragic little ceremony that would take place later that morning. When Marie appeared with her chocolate and rolls, she sent the girl down to the kitchen with orders to pack a basket with champagne and glasses, and to gather a bouquet of flowers in the garden.
She chose her costume with special care, selecting a cream-colored morning gown with pleats and subtle cream-on-cream embroidery around the neckline and hem. Marie dressed her chestnut hair rather severely, pulling it back into a twist with only the most delicate of curls near her face. Seeing that her mistress looked pale, Marie deftly added a bit of color with the hare's foot.
Even so, Jocelyn thought when she glanced in the mirror, she looked as if she was going to a funeral. And wasn't that almost the truth?
At fifteen minutes before eleven o'clock, Jocelyn's carriage halted at the entrance of the York Hospital. Waiting there was Crandall, a bulging case of papers in one hand and a vague, elderly cleric at his side. The lawyer looked gloomy. Jocelyn considered pointing out that he should be glad that she was keeping her inheritance and her need for his services, but decided that would be vulgar.
As Hugh Morgan helped her from her carriage, she said softly, “You know about my father's will?”
He nodded. She was unsurprised; servants always knew everything that happened in a household. “I'm about to marry. Please . . . wish me well.”
His jaw dropped for an instant. Rallying, he said, “Always, my lady.”
Crandall joined them, ending the private conversation. With Morgan carrying the flowers and a ribbon-decorated basket, they entered the hospital in a silent procession. No one challenged them or asked their business. Jocelyn had the eerie feeling that she could ride a horse into the building and no one would give her a second glance.
Major Lancaster and Captain Dalton were engaged in a game of chess when Jocelyn arrived with her entourage. She was absurdly pleased to see that her intended husband was not only alive, but Richard had helped him sit up against the pillows so that he looked less frail. She smiled at the men. “Good morning, David. Richard.”
Her bridegroom smiled back. “This is the best of mornings, Jocelyn. You look very lovely today.”
Hearing the warmth in the major's voice, Crandall unbent enough to smile, his sense of propriety appeased. He introduced himself, then said, “Major Lancaster, if you will sign these, please.”
David studied the papers carefully before signing. Ignoring the business aspects of the wedding, Jocelyn arranged the flowers on the bedside table in the glass vase she'd brought. Unfortunately, the brilliant summer blossoms made the rest of the room look even more drab. On impulse, she arranged some of the flowers into a small bouquet and tied it with a ribbon stolen from the basket.
After taking her own turn at scanning and signing papers, Jocelyn moved to the side of the bed and gave David her hand. His grasp was warm and strong on her cold fingers. She glanced down into his eyes and was caught by the tranquillity she saw there. Major Lancaster was not a man who either wanted or needed pity.
She smiled tremulously, wishing she could match his calm. “Shall we begin?”
The details of the ceremony were never clear to her after. She remembered fragments: “Do you, David Edward, take this woman . . .”
“I do.” Though not strong, his voice was firm and sure.
“Do you, Jocelyn Eleanor . . .”
“I do.” Her response was almost inaudible, even to her.
The vicar's next sentences were a blur, until the words “
Till death us do part,”
jumped out at her. It was wrong,
wrong
, that death should be hovering over what was usually a joyous occasion.
She was drawn back to the present when David took her hand and carefully slid on the gold ring that Richard provided. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
There was humor in his eyes, as if the two of them were sharing a private joke. Perhaps they were.
In a voice much larger than his diminutive frame, the vicar intoned the last, rolling words of the ceremony, “I pronounce that they be man and wife together.”
David tugged at her hand, and she leaned over to kiss him. His lips were surprisingly warm under hers.
Fighting tears, she lifted her head. Softly he said, “Thank you, my dear girl.”
“Thank you, husband,” she whispered.
She wanted to say more, to tell him that she would never forget their brief acquaintance, but the moment was shattered by a low, intense voice from the doorway. “
What is the meaning of this
?”
Jocelyn jumped as if she had been caught in the act of theft. A scowling young woman stood in the doorway, her fists clenched by her sides. While everyone in the room watched in stunned silence, the newcomer marched to the bed. Her gaze moved from David to Jocelyn, who saw that the angry eyes were brightly green.
With dry amusement, Jocelyn realized that her new sister-in-law had arrived and was not pleased by what she'd found. Sally Lancaster was a short wiry creature, almost relentlessly plain, her dark hair pulled into a tight knot. Her drab gray dress was unfashionably high at the neck, and she wore a practiced look of disapproval. The fine green eyes were her only claim to beauty, and at the moment they sparked with fury.
Jocelyn inclined her head. “You must be Miss Lancaster. I am Lady Jocelyn Kendal. Or rather, Lady Jocelyn Lancaster. As you have no doubt guessed, your brother and I have just married.”
The woman said incredulously, “David?”
He reached out his other hand to her. “Sally, it's all right. I'll explain later.”
As she took her brother's hand and glanced down at him, her face softened. She no longer looked like an avenging angel, just a tired woman little older than Jocelyn herself, her eyes bleak with despair.
Jocelyn turned to her footman. “Morgan, the champagne, please.”
Opening the basket, he produced a bottle and glasses. Pouring and handing around champagne dissipated the tension in the room. Even Sally accepted a glass, though she still looked like a rocket ready to explode.

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