The Smithfield Bargain (21 page)

“A courier?”

With a laugh, she set the book in her lap. “Dear Grange, can I believe that you chanced to miss an arrival at Westhampton Hall?”

“Clayson mentioned nothing of it.”

“Probably because it was of the least importance.” She sighed and opened her book again. As she began to read the poetry, the words blurred in front of her. She closed the book so sharply that Grange gasped.

“What's amiss?” the gray-haired woman asked.

“Nothing.” She was unwilling to own that she had foolishly selected Scott's
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border
. As much as she wanted to put James from her mind, she should have chosen something of England.

The door sprang open before Grange could ask her next question.

“Look!” crowed Ellen as she ran in and whirled about. The white silk was the perfect foil for her dark red hair. Flowers, as blue as her eyes, were embroidered across the bodice.

Romayne applauded as Aunt Dora, who had come to stand in the open door, and Grange smiled broadly. Although the gown was one of Romayne's and had been lengthened with rows of lace and ribbons, it would be good enough for Ellen to wear until the
couturière
could prepare more stylish gowns for her.

“Mama, isn't it beautiful?” Ellen ran to kiss her mother on the cheek, then swayed around the room as if she was in the arms of an invisible swain. “I cannot wait to reach London. I shall be like a fairy princess in an old tale. Everything will be magical.”

Dora clapped her hands sharply. When Ellen turned to look at her, she said, “Off with you and change out of that gown. You don't wish to spill something on it before you even reach Town.”

With a laugh, Ellen rushed to Romayne and threw her arms around her. “This is a dream come true for me.” Wiping a happy tear from her cheek, she whispered, “And I have you to thank, Romayne.”

“James was anxious for you to come with us,” she said, wanting to be honest.

“Oh, Jamie, he is such a dearie. When he came to stay with Mama and me and—”

“Do go, child,” interrupted Dora, “before you batter all our ears with your nothing-sayings.”

“Romayne, come and see what Mama did to my bonnet to make it go with this dress.”

“Tomorrow,” her mother answered. “Now go like a good child and let me speak with Romayne alone.”

When Grange shooed Ellen out of the room, anxiety raced through Romayne. The two older women had clearly conspired to arrange this. Their last machination had led to her marrying James. She hoped this was not the initiation of another disaster.

Dora closed the door behind her daughter and Grange, who appeared a bit discomposed by Ellen's enthusiasm. Nodding when Romayne urged her to sit down, Dora slowly crossed the blue rug and sat beside her on the settee.

“What do you wish to discuss?” Romayne asked, certain that it was best not to delay this conversation, for her stomach was knotted.

“Ellen.”

Romayne's smile was sincere as she said, “You need have no concern for her among the
ton
. She has grasped her lessons in deportment as if she had been raised in the finest house in England.”

“I know she will do nothing to embarrass me or her family. But what I need to know is this: what do you think Ellen's chances are of making a match? Really?”

Romayne hesitated, then said, “The Jones sisters should be fired off this Season. They are twins, and their father is full of juice, so their hands will be eagerly sought. I believe Lady Marlena Lloyd, whose father is an earl, will be part of this Season as well. Then there are—”

“No, no, I do not mean for you to list every lass, for that means nothing to me. Do you know of any gentlemen who would be willing to marry a girl who has is at point-non-plus? Ellen can aspire neither to a title nor a dowry that would garner the attentions of suitors.”

“That she has the sponsorship of the granddaughter of the Duke of Westhampton will not go unnoticed.”

Dora put her wrinkled hand on Romayne's arm. “Dear child, you have given my daughter an opportunity that truly is beyond our grandest expectations.”

“But I can promise nothing,”

“I am worrying us both needlessly.” Rising, she smiled. “You saw how exquisite she looked in that gown. What man with a bit of life in him will be able to resist such beauty? As James was smitten with you so swiftly, so shall it be for Ellen.”

I hope not
. Ellen deserved more than the counterfeit marriage Romayne had. Feeling like a hypocrite, she said, “I expect she will find as much happiness as James and me … or more.”

Ellen peeked in the door, her face alight with happiness. “Romayne, come and see the stockings Grange found for me!”

Setting herself on her feet, Romayne followed the excited young woman down the hall. She would as lief do anything else this evening than prattle about Ellen's new clothes … anything but think of her husband and how she yearned for his touch.

Romayne yawned as she walked along the corridor to her chambers. Grandfather had been a startlingly jovial host this evening as he held Ellen and Aunt Dora rapt with his stories of the war in America. He had not moderated his opinions of that “upstart government which is far too self-important”, as he had called the United States more than once.

With a smile, she thought of how distressed Mrs. Kingsley would be when Grandfather started spouting these sentiments at her party. The affable dowager wanted no hint of gloom during her
soirée
, and with each passing year, she had told Romayne earlier and earlier in the evening that the Duke of Westhampton should confine his political opinions to the House of Lords. Only the fact that her other guests were amused by the duke kept her inviting him back with the beginning of each Season.

When Aunt Dora and Ellen had been unable to fight off fatigue, they had left Romayne alone with her grandfather. That had only sharpened the debate, because, for as long as Romayne could remember, her grandfather had insisted she take one side of the controversy while he defended the other. That she sometimes agreed more with his stance meant nothing; she must justify the position she had been given. The game often found them matching wits until long past midnight—as it had tonight.

Romayne caught her reflection in the pier glass set near her door. Pausing, she raised her fingers to her cheeks which were rosy with the laughter she had struggled to stifle.

Shouldn't she look different from the girl she had been when the last Season began? That naïve child could not have imagined what the succeeding months would bring. Then she had dreamed, as Ellen did, of a dashing rake who would sweep her off her feet and into his arms with the promise of never-slaking love.

A shiver ached across her taut shoulders as she realized that she would be barraged by curiosity once they reached Town. She watched her lips tighten when she wondered what Bradley had said to his friends at his club. Whatever tale he had told was guaranteed to keep him in his tie-mates' best graces and make James look like a widgeon.

Her steps were heavy as she reached for the latch on her door. The best course would be to seek her bed and sleep away her concerns. On the morrow, when the sun was as bright as Ellen's smile, things would be much easier to face.

Opening the door as she heard the tall-case clock at the end of the hallway chime twice to announce the hour, Romayne drew the pins from her hair. Her tresses fell down her back as she tried to stifle another yawn. She failed and surrendered to its teasing tickle on the roof of her mouth. Slowly she closed the door, leaning back against it as she yawned again. She had better accustom herself to these hours, for once the Season was underway, she would seldom go to bed before two.

She pushed herself away from the door and went to blow out the lamp on the closest table. The flame flickered and vanished, swathing the room in dusk.

“By gravy! How's a man to read the news without light?”

Romayne turned to stare at James, who was seated on the settee in the middle of the room. He lowered the newspaper to his lap and plucked the glasses off his nose. She bit her lip to keep from blurting out that she had had no idea he wore barnacles. How much else did she have to learn about this intriguing man the world saw as her husband?

“You are late to bed,” he said as he folded the gold-rimmed glasses and put them in a pocket of his blue and white striped waistcoat. “I had thought you already had retired when I came in to find the door to the bedchamber closed.”

“You are here early.”

He smiled, but with little humor. “Then we both have altered our schedules. We should endeavor to keep each other more closely informed of such changes.”

“I did not realize I should share my schedule with you in advance.”

Motioning toward a chair across a low table from him, he dropped the paper on the floor beside him. “Do sit, Romayne. I am exhausted, and you look little better. Has your grandfather kept you up late haranguing you about the stupidity of your marriage?”

“Haranguing? Yes.” She tried to twist her hair back into place, but it was worthless, and she gave up. As she sat, she sighed with a lassitude that sucked the last bits of energy from her. Draping her arms over the sides of the chair, she kicked off her slippers and put her feet on the table between them. She smiled as she added, “About our marriage? No.”

“I thought I heard your raised voices when I came past his bookroom.”

“You must have crept past with your ear pressed to the door. Little sound escapes through that thick mahogany.”

“Enough when your grandfather speaks.”

She laughed. “True, but you need worry yourself no longer on what we spoke about. I'll be glad to share that with you. Grandfather and I were discussing the merits of our navy involving us with the Americans.”

“And which side did you take?”

Again she laughed. “The opposite side as Grandfather.” Quickly she explained the game they enjoyed when they were alone. “Grandfather has owned that he found me interesting only when I learned to talk back to him.”

“After that discussion, you must be truly tired, but I must beg a few moments before you turn in.”

“What did Cameron find out?”

He arched a single brow at her. “I would be wise to see in the future that I can hide little from my whitherye-go.”

“In the future, I shan't be your wife.” Setting herself on her feet, she walked around to stand behind him. Gently she massaged his temples as she whispered, “You will need to find someone else to put up with you when you are in a bad skin, someone who will not be sent up to the boughs by your grouchiness.”

“Our man is headed toward London.” He closed his eyes and relaxed against the chair.

“Very conveniently for you.”

“Aye, but with all the souls in that metropolis, we shall need each of our wits to trap him.”

“How can I help?”

A hint of a smile drifted across his lips. “Your task will be to keep everyone so agog over our marital difficulties that they will pay scant notice to my whereabouts.”

“Ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” he repeated, scowling. He sat straighter and grasped her wrists. Drawing her around the front of the settee, he sat her beside him.

“James, you know better,” she said. “It is unlike you to show such a decided ignorance of the
ton
.” She slid her hands out of his. “How can you think they will be uninterested in your activities once it is clear that our marriage is not as exemplary as it should be? What a glorious time all the gabble-mongers shall have with keeping track of you and of me and seeing how we avoid each other!”

“Damn.” He stood and went to pour himself a glass of wine. Filling another glass, he handed it to her. “You are most irritating when you are correct.”

“Thank you.”

“For the wine?”

“For the compliment.” She rested her elbow on the curved arm of the sofa and drew her feet up beneath her.

“I did not see that as a compliment.”

“It's the closest to a pleasantry that I've heard from you since we discovered Bradley was alive.”

He grimaced. “You need not be so pernickety, Romayne. You know that it is my hope that within a few months you shall be in your beloved Bradley's arms while you batter
his
ears with your complaints.”

“I have not complained … much.” She laughed and took a sip of the wine. “You are not an easy husband, James, not even as a temporary husband as Grange calls you.”

“Temporary?” He grasped her arm. “Did you tell her the truth?”

Jerking her arm away, she looked ruefully at the wine he had splashed on her gown. She dabbed at it with a napkin, then gasped as he gripped her chin and tipped her face up to look at his.

Rage like she had never seen blazed in his eyes. “Who else knows, Romayne? Have you told your fervid suitor why we are married?”

“I've told no one.” She pulled away again. “Nor will there be any need for me to do so if you keep bellowing like a hound with a breast-high scent. I gave you my word that I would keep the truth to myself, and a Smithfield does not take a pledge lightly.”

“But you said that Grange called our marriage temporary.”

“Because she doesn't anticipate that Grandfather will allow us to remain married much longer. She speaks endlessly of whom Grandfather will find me to wed once our marriage is over.”

“Bah!” He drained his glass and set it on the table.

“Bah? That is hardly the response I expected.”

He dropped heavily onto the settee and set one foot on the opposite knee. “What did you expect?”

Romayne was about to fling back a sharp answer, but paused when she saw the hay and dirt ground into the bottom of his shoes. He had been in the stables. That probably was where he and Cameron had spent the evening conspiring. Looking at the floor, she saw his bootprints. No doubt, Grange would be furious when she saw the marks in the morning.