The Thoroughly Compromised Bride (2 page)

Emily Godwin gazed at her niece and sighed. From the tip of her golden head to the bottom of her dainty feet the girl was an incomparable. A nonpareil she had been called, but of course, that had been more than six years ago. Six years in which she had buried herself in the country with no man’s company but her father’s, and now. here in Bath. Oh, it was so exasperating! And though one shouldn’t think ill of the dead, Sir Jonathan had been a selfish care-for-nobody. He should have made a push to see Elizabeth married.

Still, it was not too late. She would defy anyone to deny that Elizabeth was as lovely, or even lovelier now, with maturity. If only she weren’t so obstinate! It was beyond anything that the girl should behave as though she were past praying for. When she thought of the excellent matches Elizabeth had refused during her two Seasons, she could have wept with vexation! Then to have declined to go for another Season during the succeeding years was really too bad of her!

Miss Godwin sighed loudly again, and Elizabeth, calmer now, as well as feeling a trifle remorseful for having flown out at Emily, laid her book aside and gave her aunt a look of exasperated amusement.

“Come, Aunt Emily, let’s cry peace. I’m sorry to have spoken so sharply to you. Do, pray, forgive me,” she begged, and somewhat spoiled the effect of this pretty apology by adding, “but you know, you did provoke me!”

“But really, my dear, what else can you expect when you are determined to persist in this foolish notion of remaining a spinster? What will people say?”

“Good God! I care nothing for that!” said Elizabeth, laughing suddenly. “I suppose they will say that I am just another Bath Quiz. I may even become an eccentric recluse, and carry a cane with which I shall beat off all callers. Yes, and I shall wear nothing but black, and—”

“You would not!” cried her aunt in horrified accents.

“Well, perhaps not.”

“You are pleased to joke about it, but it is not a laughing matter! And I know very well where to lay the blame! Your father was entirely at fault!”

“Nonsense! Papa had nothing to do with my decision not to marry.”

“Indeed he did, and though you will not wish to hear it, I must say that had he not treated you more like a son than a daughter, you would not now be so shockingly independent!”

“What has that to say to anything? I promise you, it is not for that reason I wish to remain single.”

“Then it is all those romances you have read that have done the mischief! They have given you the very odd notion that you cannot marry where you do not love. And, indeed, nothing could be further from the truth! I daresay if I put my mind to it, I might think of a dozen cases where love did not enter into the matter at all, and really, such couples manage to rub along together quite tolerably!”

“As happy as grigs, in fact, but be that as it may, I no longer look for love, and I do not intend to marry!”

“But, Elizabeth...”

“Oh, the devil! I do not wish to speak of this any longer!”

“I wish you would not use that language, my dear. Not that I blame
you.
Had your father not taught you to speak so— Yes!—and then laughed when you did—but, you should not—”

Miss Godwin was interrupted by Wiggons, their elderly butler, who entered the room to announce that Lord Braxton had arrived to pay them a morning call, and he enquired regally, “Are you at home to visitors, miss?”

Elizabeth’s relief at this interruption of what was, to her a most distasteful discussion, was offset by irritation upon hearing Lord Braxton’s name, but after a brief hesitation, she answered pleasantly enough, “Why, of course, Wiggons. You may show him up.”

The man who entered the room a short time later was of stocky build and medium height. He was somewhere between thirty and forty years of age, with sandy-coloured, thinning hair, slightly protuberant eyes of a faded blue, and rather heavy features. He was dressed with propriety, but not modishly, for the points of his shirt collar rose no higher than his jaw line, his neckcloth, while neatly tied, was not remarkable, and his coat, though undoubtedly well made, fitted too loosely to be entirely fashionable.

Lord Braxton considered himself to be the region’s greatest matrimonial catch, but never, until the advent of Elizabeth, had he met a female whom he thought worthy of becoming his wife.

He was obviously in no doubt of his welcome, and going immediately to Emily, he bowed over her hand and said, “Ah, Miss Godwin, you become prettier each time I see you. If I am not careful, I shall be losing you to another beau!”

Emily tittered bashfully. “Oh, my lord, do stop fanning me! You are such a rogue!”

“Now, dear lady, you must know that I was not funning you. It is always a delight to see you.”

“And I you, my lord,” she said coyly.

These pleasantries out of the way, he judged it permissible to turn to Elizabeth, and carrying her hand to his lips, he bestowed an unwelcome kiss upon it, saying fervently, “My dear Miss Ashton! I need not tell you, I feel sure, what happiness it gives me to see you.”

Elizabeth forced a smile as she retrieved her hand. “How good of you to call, sir.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but not having seen you for the length of a whole day, my dear, I could not stay away. You will allow me, I know, to tell you that you are more lovely each time I see you.”

“Thank you,” she said coolly, and to forestall any more of his fulsome compliments, she asked quickly, “How is your mother. Lord Braxton?”

Lady Braxton, who lived with her son, was a robust woman who thrived on infirmity, going from one alarming malady to another.

“I am very much afraid that she is not at all well,” said Lord Braxton somberly, and he launched into a lengthy description of his mother’s most recent sufferings.

Nothing could have been more delightfully interesting to Emily, and she spent some time discussing a variety of cures and remedies with his lordship.

With that topic finally exhausted, he entertained them with the newest on-dits from Town, and then favoured them with a detailed account of his latest improvements to his estate. Aunt Emily flattered and encouraged him throughout all this, while Elizabeth endured it stoically. By the end of the requisite half hour, when he stood to take his leave of them, she felt sure that had she been forced to listen for another moment to his prosing, she must have been provoked into screaming.

“I shall call again tomorrow,” he promised them, “for I know you will wish to hear how my mother goes on.”

“Oh, yes! We certainly shall!” Emily assured him. “You must call and tell us everything. Poor lady, how she does suffer!”

“Yes,” he agreed, “and bears it so well.”

Miss Godwin shook her head in wonderment. “It is truly amusing!”

Elizabeth choked. “Amazing, Aunt.”

“Yes, I knew you would think so, too.”

Lord Braxton now gave an arch smile and said, “I had almost forgot! Among my reasons for calling was a wish to learn if I shall have the pleasure of seeing you dear ladies at the concert this evening.”

“How delightful that would be!” Emily cried enthusiastically.

“I am not at all sure that I feel up to going out this evening, Aunt. Let us discuss it later,” Elizabeth said hastily.

“My dear Miss Ashton, I should be most distressed to hear that you are not feeling quite the thing,” Lord Braxton told her. “I do hope your indisposition will not keep you from the concert. I shall look for you there and shall be quite disappointed if I do not see you.”

At that moment, Wiggons appeared to announce the arrival of Mr. Charles Carlyle. The name was unfamiliar to Elizabeth, and she looked questioningly at her aunt. But before she could ask the question that hovered on her lips, their guest had entered the room.

Elizabeth turned, and her breath caught in her throat as she found herself gazing at the most handsome man she had ever beheld.

CHAPTER TWO

Considerably taller than the average, Charles Carlyle paused in the doorway of the morning room with an air of polite boredom, his glance slowly taking in the room and its occupants, and at last coming to rest on Elizabeth.

He was dressed in tight-fitting breeches and highly polished topboots, his neckcloth was arranged to a nicety, and his coat of Bath superfine was exquisitely fashioned and fitted him like a glove. Yet no sartorial fussiness marred the elegance of his appearance.

His black hair was brushed into the Brutus style and one unruly lock fell over his forehead, softening the otherwise austere visage with its slightly aquiline nose, high cheekbones, square jaw line and finely chiseled lips. All this Elizabeth saw before his intensely deep, blue eyes found and held hers irresistibly. For the space of several heartbeats they stood thus, until one of his dark brows arched questioningly, and his eyes narrowed in amusement.

Brought abruptly back to an awareness of her surroundings, Elizabeth felt her cheeks suffuse with colour, and she could only be thankful when his attention was drawn from her by Aunt Emily, who exclaimed, “Oh, Charles! What a very pleasant surprise! But does this mean that Margaret is here in Bath? I had not expected it so soon.”

The smile that Charles directed at Emily transformed his face, banishing all trace of arrogance and boredom, and bowing to her, he replied, “Why, yes ma’am, we arrived yesterday evening. My sister has charged me with delivering a message to you. She is all at sixes and sevens today getting settled in, but wishes me to tell you that she hopes to have all put to rights by tomorrow, and will call on you in the morning.”

“So kind,” breathed Emily. “I shall so look forward to seeing her again. But where are my manners? Charles, you are equated with my niece, of course.”

Charles appeared startled, and Elizabeth’s eyes danced as she interposed, “You mean acquainted, Aunt Emily.”

“Yes, dear, that is what I said.”

Charles looked at Elizabeth with both amusement and appreciation before answering Emily. “No, ma’am, I’ve not had that pleasure.”

Emily frowned in puzzlement, saying, “No? I made sure... well, no matter. Elizabeth, this is Lady Langley’s brother, Charles Carlyle. Charles, my niece, Elizabeth Ashton.”

By this time Elizabeth had recovered sufficient composure to extend her hand to him, and with a coolly polite smile, said, “Mr. Carlyle. How do you do?”

He raised her hand slowly to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers and murmured, “Very well indeed. Miss Ashton. I had no idea, when I agreed to deliver Margaret safely to Bath, that it would prove to be such an interesting place.”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to raise an eyebrow as she said, “No doubt you are referring to the Pump Room, the Assembly Rooms and our many other attractions.”

“Just so! Especially the ‘other attractions.’“

The corners of her mouth twitched in response to his wicked grin, but before she could make a suitable retort, a loud throat-clearing caused three pairs of startled eyes to swing round to the forgotten Lord Braxton, who was fairly quivering with indignation at having been ignored for so long.

“Oh, my dear Lord Braxton,” gasped Emily, “we have been indulging in the most inexcludible behaviour! Pray, forgive us and allow me to make Mr. Carlyle known to you.”

Charles gazed at Emily in fascination.

Lord Braxton, his countenance stiffened with disapproval, said, “I am acquainted with Mr. Carlyle, and you will not object, I know, Miss Godwin, when I say that he is
not
a fit acquaintance for a delicately nurtured female such as Miss Ashton. It would be remiss of me were I not to inform you of this, and, indeed, a shirking of my duty as your friend.” He glared at Charles, who merely smiled sardonically as though he were enjoying the whole situation immensely.

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with anger. “Lord Braxton, you go too far! When I wish your advice as to whom I may be acquainted with, I shall tell you! But you were just leaving, were you not? We mustn’t detain you!”

As a distressed Aunt Emily tried to smooth Lord Braxton’s ruffled feathers, Charles whispered, “Good girl!” into Elizabeth’s ear, and so inordinately pleased was she at this approbation that she had difficulty maintaining the quelling stare with which she was regarding Lord Braxton.

His lordship very obviously had no wish to leave while Charles remained, but was unable to think of an appropriate excuse for staying. He said only, “Well, well, we shall speak of this another time when you are feeling more yourself. I shall look for you, dear ladies, this evening at the conceit.” With that, he finally took his leave.

While Emily accompanied him to the door of the room, still talking soothingly, Elizabeth turned to Charles with laughter in her eyes and said in a low voice, “You must not encourage me in being rude to a guest.”

“If giving that pompous toad a set-down he richly deserves is being rude, then I certainly shall encourage you! For that matter, why do you encourage him to dangle after you?”

“No, no! I don’t! It’s Aunt Emily who does that! But it takes very little to encourage him, I fear, for he has an excessively high regard for himself.”

“Give him a damper and send him to rout,” he advised her.

“Do you think I have not tried? I assure you I have, but the man is impervious to insults and rejections alike. Add to that the fact that he cannot bring himself to imagine that any female would not be thrown into transports by his attentions, and the situation becomes impossible.”

“Would you like me to discourage him?” Charles laughed. “I could, you know.”

“Good heavens! I’m afraid to ask how you might do it,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

He smiled. “Oh, nothing too drastic—merely one of my famous set-downs. However, let’s not waste our time speaking of him. Tell me, instead, does your aunt always exhibit that peculiar manner of speech?’’

She gave another gurgle of laughter. “Not always, but frequently. Especially when she is excited or overset, which is most of the time!”

“But what an endless source of amusement for you,” he said, his eyes crinkling with laughter.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But she is really a dear, and I don’t know how I should go on without her.”