The Winter Bride (A Chance Sisters Romance) (13 page)

“You don’t have a ring, and it would please me beyond anything to have her wear it. It would please Damaris too, I think.”

Freddy hesitated, turning the ring over in his hand. The sentiment associated with the piece made him uncomfortable. A ring purchased tomorrow from Rundell and Bridge would be better, more anonymous, more in keeping with a false betrothal.

But this was lovely. And Damaris would like it, he was sure.

“Shall we ask the bride-to-be what she thinks?” Lady Beatrice asked.

He almost winced. The bride-to-be. The bride-never-to-be. “Very well,” he said and went to the door. As expected, Damaris was waiting outside with her sisters. He gestured to her to come in.

“Everything all right?” she murmured as she passed him.

“I’ve given my consent to the match,” Lady Beatrice said. “And the boy has a ring for you.”

Freddy gave her a stern look. “It’s actually Lady Beatrice’s ring,” he told Damaris. “I was going to buy you one tomorrow, but she has offered this, and if you would prefer it . . .” He showed her the ring.

She hesitated, glancing at it briefly with a troubled expression. “Lady Beatrice, it’s very beautiful,” she said in a soft voice, “but I couldn’t possibly accept it. It looks far too valuable.”

“Nonsense,” the old lady snapped. “I’ve had it for years. Can’t wear any rings myself.” She lifted her hands. “Well, you can see how swollen these old joints of mine are. So this one might as well be of use to you, my dear. And don’t look at me like that—I have a ring for each one of you gels that I’ll give at the appropriate time. Decided it long ago, when Featherby first found them. Max and Abby were happy enough to accept the emerald.”

Damaris bit her lip, and the old lady sighed and added in a plaintive voice that didn’t fool Freddy for a moment, “But if you don’t want an old-fashioned piece like that for your betrothal ring, I suppose you can wear it on another hand. Or have it reset.”

“I would never have it reset; it’s perfect just as it is.” Damaris gave Freddy a speaking look. She loved the ring, he could tell, but was torn because she shouldn’t be accepting something like this for a false betrothal.

“Then that’s settled,” he said, making the decision for her. “Thank you, Lady Beatrice.” God, but the old lady was a tricky piece. He felt like he’d gone three rounds in a verbal boxing ring.

Damaris hesitated, then gave him back the little box. Lady Beatrice gave him an expectant look, then cleared her throat meaningfully.

Oh, damn, of course. He opened the box and Damaris held out her hand. She was blushing. He took out the ring and slid it onto her finger. It was a perfect fit.

“Well, go on, kiss the gel,” the old lady ordered him. “Not like you to hang back, young tomcat.”

This was one part of the charade that Freddy wouldn’t mind at all. He’d wondered for weeks what she’d taste like. He stepped forward.

“Oh, I must show the others.” Damaris broke away and hurried to the door, leaving Freddy standing. Lady Beatrice gave him a narrow look, then watched Damaris showing her sisters the ring. She arched a sardonic brow at him.

The old girl was no fool. She knew something was not quite right. Luckily Featherby, having anticipated the occasion, brought in champagne and glasses and the awkward moment was lost in the excitement.

Freddy toasted his blushing bride-to-be—she blushed beautifully, he noted with interest. They needed to do a little more planning if they were to pull this thing off successfully. He was only too aware of Lady Beatrice’s beady gaze boring into him.

 • • • 

D
amaris lay in bed that night, twisting restlessly under the covers, turning the evening’s conversations over and over again.

Everybody—from Lady Beatrice, Jane, and Daisy to Featherby and William, the butler and footman whom they’d brought with them to Lady Beatrice’s house, right down to the smallest scullery maid—they were all so pleased for her. Too pleased.

Accepting their well-wishes and happy speculations was like . . . like being flayed. The happier they were for her, the worse she felt.

Jane had never understood why Damaris hadn’t wanted to get married in the first place; she’d come to her senses, as far as Jane was concerned. Freddy Monkton-Coombes was handsome, rich, wellborn—and
nice
! Naturally Damaris would prefer to marry him rather than live alone and lonely in some moldy old cottage in the country!

Jane imagined Damaris’s situation was the same as her own—of course she did; Damaris had never told her anything to make her think otherwise.

Daisy, having had a great deal more life experience than Jane, if no more years, saw things differently. She could see that Damaris wasn’t securing herself a prosperous and comfortable future with a wealthy man. What Daisy thought was, to Damaris’s mind, much worse.

Daisy thought Damaris was in love with Freddy Monkton-Coombes. And he with her.

Daisy knew no more than Jane, but somehow she’d sensed the darkness in Damaris that Damaris had tried so hard to hide. Daisy had been raised in a brothel—she had an instinctive understanding of such things. She ought to understand why it just wasn’t possible.

But Daisy, like all of them except Damaris, was a girl full of hopes and dreams; she thought love could make the darkness go away.

Damaris knew differently; she didn’t believe in fairy tales.

Rain spattered against her window in spiteful bursts. She shivered, though she was not really cold. Was it always so in England? She hadn’t been here a year yet, but it always seemed to be wet, dark, damp, gray. Cold.

She missed the sun, even missed the burning, relentless heat of it during the Chinese summer, when it sucked the moisture out of everything, shriveling the plants, cracking the soil and leaving only the driest of dust. Even the shadows were crisp and brittle and sharp, making everything clear.

In England the shadows were soft edged, blurry, insubstantial. Deceptive.

“A young woman in love always looks ‘like Patience on a monument / Smiling at Grief.’”

—
JANE AUSTEN,
NORTHANGER ABBEY

“I
can’t bear it. Everyone’s so happy for me, and it’s just . . . wrong.”

“You’re not going to crack, are you?” Freddy steered her around a puddle. “You promised.”

It was a cold, bleak day, but they were taking a stroll around the square. She’d been so desperate to escape the house, she’d practically dragged Freddy out the moment he’d arrived. And of course everyone smiled understandingly; young love needed to be alone.

“I know, and I’m trying not to, but it’s so hard. It’s bad enough accepting the congratulations of relative strangers, the people in the literary society or those we meet in the park, but Jane and Daisy and Lady Beatrice—they’re the people in the world I most care about, and to go on deceiving them like this makes me feel just dreadful.”

“Is it really so bad?”

She gave him a despairing look. “Jane and Daisy are already planning the wedding, the invitations, the decorations, and Daisy has come up with a design for the most beautiful wedding dress. Featherby and William keep giving me fatherly smiles, thinking us Love’s Young Dream—well, you saw the way Featherby saw us off just now—even Cook is planning a very special wedding cake, not to mention the wedding feast. Everyone is being so
nice
, and I don’t deserve
any
of it.”

Seemingly at a loss for what to say he patted her hand and resumed their stroll. After a moment he said, “Had a letter from my mother this morning. She’s canceled the house party.”

“Oh, good.” That was the main reason for their betrothal, after all. For a fleeting second it occurred to her she could call off the betrothal now and have the whole horrid thing over with. But she’d promised to go with him to his parents’ home, and there was no way she could reasonably wriggle out of it. Besides, he’d bought her a cottage.

That cottage was the summit of all her dreams—her reasonable dreams. It was her future, her security. And if the deception she had to perpetrate on her loved ones was difficult, well, that was only fair. Cottages had to be earned.

She just hoped her sisters and Lady Beatrice wouldn’t be too hurt when they learned the truth.

As for unreasonable dreams . . . She glanced at the tall, elegant man strolling beside her, listening patiently to her complaints and protecting her from muddy puddles. Anyone who allowed herself to dream unreasonable dreams was a fool.

A man was roasting some kind of nuts over a small brazier. Freddy stopped. “Do you like chestnuts?”

The hot nuts smelled delicious, but Damaris was in no mood for food. “I’ve never eaten them, but I’m not hungry, thank you.”

“Nonsense, you don’t have to be hungry to eat hot roast chestnuts.” He bought some in a twisted cone of paper and offered it to her. “Try one.”

They looked a little greasy, but she pulled off her gloves and took one just to be polite. The outside shell was scorched in places and had been cut in a cross. The ends were curled up, ready to peel. She peeled back the shell and nibbled the exposed yellowish nut. It was a little floury and soft, rather than crisp, as she’d expected, but it was very tasty—sweetness with a tang of salt. She smiled at him. “They’re good.”

“They’re better with a bit of butter. Cook used to make them for me when I was a boy.” Freddy passed the cone to her again. She took another.

Freddy was pleased, seeing her enjoy the nuts. He hadn’t thought much beyond getting his mother and the muffins off his back, ruining George’s memorial. He hadn’t imagined it would be difficult for her. And now he could see it did, he had no idea what to do to help her.

“Miss Chance! Mr. Monkton-Coombes!” Freddy turned and saw three ladies approaching, two young—sisters, by the look of them, and muffins for sure—and an older one, presumably their mother, with a liveried footman in attendance. “Congratulations on your betrothal, Miss Chance, Mr. Monkton-Coombes—Mama saw the notice in the
Morning Post
. How very exciting.”

Damaris murmured her thanks, wiping her hands on a handkerchief before shaking hands with the ladies. Freddy bowed and tried to look interested as he received their congratulations. He had no idea who they were, hadn’t caught their names when Damaris had greeted them, but the older one asked to be remembered to his mother in a familiar manner, so he supposed he must know her.

The two muffins chatted animatedly, quizzing Damaris about their plans and punctuating each utterance with girlish giggles and coy glances at Freddy. “All the young ladies in London will be ready to
slay
you, Miss Chance—”

“Yes, so many have been setting their caps at our
dear
Mr. Monkton-Coombes—”

“Who until now seemed
quite
oblivious to feminine charms—”

“When
all
along—”

“He secretly had his eye on
you
!” More girlish giggles all around, though not, he noted, from Damaris. She bore the nonsense with grace and dignity.

“Have you set a date yet?” the older one asked.

“Not yet,” Freddy said. “We’re going down to Breckenridge first. Delightful to talk, ladies, and thank you for your good wishes, but it’s chilly and we must keep moving—don’t want to let my bride-to-be get cold feet.” This witticism produced even more gales of laughter as Freddy and Damaris departed.

“Now do you see what I mean?” Damaris murmured. “Unbearable.”

Freddy didn’t know what to say. Of course he’d found the women irritating, but no other female of his acquaintance would complain of receiving such a flattering degree of attention and frank female envy. But then, Damaris was not like any other female of his acquaintance. And he could see it would get wearing.

He’d been on the receiving end of a little teasing, particularly from his male cronies, but he’d expected that after his oft-repeated prejudices against marriage, and in any case, he didn’t care what most of them thought.

“How’s the old lady taking it?” He tossed the now-cold chestnuts under a tree for the squirrels and brushed off his fingers.

“She’s about the only one who’s not behaving all midsummer-moony, but in a way it’s worse.”

“Worse?”

“Yes, she’s almost unbearably kind—always asking me if I’m
sure
. And if there
is
anything I want to tell her, it would make
no
difference; she will
always
love me and take care of me.” Damaris sighed. “So I feel like a
worm
.”

“I wish I could help, but I don’t see that there’s anything I can do.” Apart from calling off the betrothal, which he was not prepared to do. His head was still reeling from the speed with which his mother had called off the house party.

Damaris stopped dead and turned to look at him with an intense expression. A feeling of foreboding stole over him.

“As a matter of fact, there is something you could do.” She clasped her gloved hands to her bosom in an unconscious gesture of appeal.

Freddy took a deep breath and grasped the nettle. “What?”

“Take me away from here.”

He blinked. It was the last thing he’d expected. “Take you where?” he asked cautiously.

“To your family home.”

His brows shot up. “To Breckenridge? But that’s where my parents are.”

“You’ll have to introduce me at some stage. Besides, wasn’t that the whole point?”

It was, yes, but . . . “But that would mean we’d be there for”—he calculated the days—“more than two weeks, assuming we stay for my brother’s memorial service.”

“Would that be unbearable for you?” She looked at him and said quietly, “Oh, I see it would. I’m sorry. We’ll stick to the original plan, then.”

She took his arm and they continued their walk. Now Freddy was the one who felt like a worm.

Two more couples came up and congratulated them. Freddy watched as Damaris handled their felicitations with quiet charm. She probably had to put up with this sort of thing all the time. He only had to endure it when he was with her, at the literary society or in the park. The rest of the time it went pretty much as usual.

And when he was at home, Tibbins didn’t beam at him in a sentimental, fatherly fashion. He sniffed. Meaningfully.

Tibbins had said everything that was proper, of course, but it was apparent to Freddy—well, he would’ve had to have been a block of wood to have missed it—that Tibbins was Not Happy about Freddy’s upcoming nuptials. Tibbins did not like Change. In Freddy’s bachelor quarters he ruled supreme. In a properly ordered marital home, he would be one of many, a mere valet—significant, but not supreme.

Three more ladies and a gentleman approached them, beaming, to wish them happy—that made eleven blasted well-wishers in a period of about fifteen minutes!

Damaris was everything that was gracious, but Freddy had had enough. They hadn’t even made a circuit of Berkeley Square yet. And she’d said it was worse for her at home.

“I see what you mean,” he said after the last well-meaning nuisance had wished them joy and taken himself off. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning. I’ll write to my mother to expect us on Wednesday.”

She gave him a glowing look. “Really? Are you sure?”

He nodded gruffly. “It’s only a couple of weeks. It won’t be that bad. We needn’t spend much time with my parents. I’ll take you around the estate, show you a few of the local sights. Can you be ready to leave by nine o’clock tomorrow morning?”

“I can be ready to leave in an hour,” she said so fervently he laughed.

“Nine o’clock it is. I will make the arrangements and you can break it to Jane.”

She tilted her head. “Why Jane in particular?”

“She’ll have to do all the reading for the literary society now.”

Damaris laughed. “She won’t mind. Oh, thank you, Mr. Monkton-Coombes—”

“Freddy, remember?”

“Thank you, Freddy, you can’t imagine what a relief it will be to get away for a little. I really appreciate it. I promise you I’ll do everything I can to make this visit to your parents go smoothly. And to make them like me.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry whether they like you or not. They’ll like any respectable girl who’s prepared to marry me.”

Her face dimmed, and he added, “Besides, if they like you too much, I’ll never hear the end of it when you come to your senses, break the engagement and send me about my business.”

She still looked troubled, so he patted her hand. “So you can be as rude to them as you like—I won’t mind.”

She bit her lip. “I couldn’t possibly be rude to them, but perhaps I could be a bit cold and standoffish—”

“For heaven’s sake, don’t do that!” he interrupted. “Cold and standoffish? They’d adore you! No, don’t worry about my parents. Just be yourself.”

She nodded, and gave him a determined half smile, but the glow had gone. He hoped it wasn’t anything he’d said.

 • • • 

I
t was a still morning and the mist hung low. The stark, bare trees of Berkeley Square seemed to float in a lake of cloudy gray. “Perfect weather for traveling,” Freddy said when he arrived. “Shouldn’t take this fog long to burn off, and once it does it should be clear and dry, all the way.”

He’d come with a postilion, four horses and a smart-looking bright yellow chaise. Carriage lamps burned on either side of the chaise, golden orbs of light in the gray morning.

“Hired a yellow bounder, eh?” Lady Beatrice commented when she saw it. She’d come down the front steps, leaning heavily on her canes, to oversee their departure.

Everyone, it seemed, had gathered in the street to wave Damaris off; the servants spilled along the footpath and peered through the railings from the subground kitchen entrance, Featherby supervised as William stowed her luggage safely in the boot, and another footman assisted Polly, the maid who was accompanying Damaris, into a seat at the back of the carriage.

Jane and Daisy stood on either side of Lady Beatrice, veering dizzily between excitement and misery. They’d each hugged her a dozen times, pelting her with advice, wiping away tears, and generally acting as though she were going away for good instead of visiting Somerset for a few weeks.

Damaris felt a bit teary herself.

Behind the chaise stood Freddy’s curricle, pulled by two beautiful bays, snorting and prancing restlessly, under the control of a diminutive tiger who held their bridles and crooned endearments and muttered curses at his charges. A groom sat in the curricle, holding the reins.

Damaris wondered why Freddy would take two carriages, but since nobody else had commented on the arrangement, she didn’t ask. What did she know about traveling in England anyway?

But he must have noticed her wondering, because he explained. “Need my curricle to show you around the district when we get there. Lord only knows what carriages my parents have, probably some dowdy old-fashioned rigs you wouldn’t want to be seen dead in.”

She hid a smile. She wasn’t the one who cared about being smart.

“I’ll write,” she called to Lady Beatrice and her sisters as Freddy helped her into the chaise, then climbed nimbly in after her.

“Mind you take good care of my gel, young Monkton-Coombes,” Lady Beatrice said almost fiercely.

As Freddy was in the process of tucking a luxurious fur rug around Damaris to protect her from drafts, he gave the old lady a sardonic glance. For a moment Damaris thought he was going to say something rude, but all he said was “I will, m’lady,” and shut the door.

The postilion glanced back, Freddy gave him the signal and the carriage moved off.

“Phew, that’s done,” Freddy said, leaning back as they turned into Mount Street, leaving Berkeley Square behind them. He glanced at her. “Comfortable?”

“Very, thank you.” The fur rug was lovely and soft and warm.

They watched the streets of London slip by, the familiar giving way to the unfamiliar, Freddy pointing out various places of interest as they went. Then, sooner than she’d thought possible, they were moving along the turnpike at a smart clip, with the city fallen behind them and the country all around.