Meg Alexander - The Reluctant Bride

India hesitated.

“Come!” he continued. “You make your decision now, ma’am, or my offer does not stand.”

“But where is the need for haste?”

“I have my reasons. I do not propose to burden you with them at this present time.”

“Then perhaps an engagement…?”

“Which you would seek to break at the earliest opportunity? No, my dear, you must give me credit for some intelligence. If you accept we shall be wed by Christmas.”

“So soon? It is but weeks away…”

He smiled at her discomfiture and it infuriated her further. She had suspected him of being ruthless. Now she was sure of it. She was in no position to refuse him and well he knew it. He must have guessed at the pressure which had been brought to bear on her. Now he had added to it with his threat to withdraw.

“Let us understand each other,” he said at last. “I shall keep to the terms of our agreement if you will keep to yours. Your feelings towards me need not signify…”

India glared at him and he laughed.

“Will you deny that you detest me, ma’am? I should not believe you. If looks could kill I should now be lying at your feet.”

India was reduced to silence. She had never met a stranger character. What other man would offer to wed a woman who disliked him? She should have refused him there and then, but something held her back, and it was not only the thought of material advantage. With this man her life would most certainly not be dull, and what was the alternative? Letty would marry and she herself would wither on the vine, reduced to caring for a petulant invalid who gave her neither thanks nor affection.

Suddenly she held out her hand, rather to her own surprise. “We have a bargain, sir.”

Isham took her hand and kissed it, and as he did so she felt an odd little frisson of excitement. Those warm lips seemed to burn her skin and she drew back quickly.

“Shall we tell Mama?” she asked.

As she had expected, Mrs Rushford was overcome with joy. She would have embraced Lord Isham, but to India’s amusement he managed to avoid this fate.

Her sister was her main concern. Letty looked stricken to the heart.

India made as if to go to her, but Isham forestalled her, taking her sister to one side. It was to be some months before India discovered what was said on that occasion, but whatever it was removed the troubled look from Letty’s brow.

Oh, he was clever, India thought bitterly. He knew exactly what to say to ingratiate himself with every member of her family.

Later she tried to question Letty, but for once her sister was reticent.

“You have not even reproached me,” India murmured in surprise. “I thought you were against this match.”

“I was.” Letty’s look was positively smug. “But you know best…”

India could not help but wonder. Had Isham promised to help Giles, or Oliver? She would not put it past him to rally support in every way he knew. She tried to question the uncommunicative Letty further, but without success.

From then on she found herself with little time to think. Preparations for the wedding came upon her thick and fast. Isham would not hear of a delay, in spite of Mrs Rushford’s half-hearted protests that it was already late November.

In spite of her dislike of Isham, India could only admire the way in which he handled her mother’s objections. She noted wryly that he stifled possible argument before it could begin. Mrs Rushford was given no opportunity to insist upon her grandiose plans for an elaborate ceremony.

“I would not place such a strain upon you, ma’am,” Isham murmured smoothly. “Your health must be our first consideration…”

India almost giggled. For once her mother’s hypochondria had been cleverly used against her.

His lordship was not finished. “Time is short, as you have pointed out. I should not have ventured such a brief engagement except that of necessity you will wish to observe the proprieties…”

Isabel Rushford stared at him.

“I see that you agree with me,” he continued. “Owing to your recent loss we cannot celebrate in the style we might have wished. Otherwise the marriage might have taken place in London. As matters stand a simple ceremony would be best.”

It was a statement of intent, rather than a question, and India could not forbear to smile. It was what he had intended from the first, she suspected, but he had advanced upon her mother in good order, reminding her of the need for decorum, but sweetening the pill with apparent consideration for her health.

She caught his eye and surprised a wicked twinkle. Then he turned back to her mama.

“Ma’am, you will have so much to do, and I am sorry for it, but when the announcement appears in the Morning Post you may expect a flood of letters…” He sighed. “It is always the way upon these occasions, I fear.”

This happy prospect succeeded in lessening Mrs Rushford’s disappointment. Smiling fondly upon her future son-in-law, she left the betrothed couple to themselves.

Isham grinned at his bride-to-be. “Well?” he said. “How was that? I take it you have no wish for some fantastic circus?”

“Would it make a difference if I had?” India was very much upon her dignity. She regretted that he had seen her smiling at his machinations.

“Not in the least, you prickly creature! Even so, I imagine that you will wish for bride-clothes and a trousseau?”

For an awful moment India thought that he was about to offer her money. That would be the last straw. Already she felt like some commodity in the marketplace.

His lazy gaze rested upon her face. “No matter,” he announced. “We shall be a law unto ourselves. In this case the bride shall have her trousseau after we are wed.”

“It will be unnecessary, sir. You have pointed out yourself that I am still in mourning.”

It was a brutal reminder of his part in her father’s death, and Isham’s expression changed. “As you wish,” he said shortly. “Though the convention does not apply to a bride.”

India made no reply. She thought she saw a look of impatience in his eyes, but he changed the subject.

“I leave for London in the morning,” he announced. “I shall be away for several days. Have you any commissions for me?”

“None, my lord, though I wish you a safe journey.”

“Thank you, my dear.” His tone was ironic. “For that, at least, I must be grateful. India, may we not drop some of the formality? My name is Anthony.”

“Very well, my lord…I mean, Anthony…When do you return?”

“You will be spared my company until Thursday of next week. I have other matters to attend…”

India guessed that these important matters most probably concerned a visit to the opera-dancer, but she thrust the thought aside. It was no concern of hers.

“I hope to return with my half-brother, Henry,” Isham continued. “He will wish to support me at the ceremony.”

It was an unpleasant reminder of the course to which she had committed herself, but now that the decision had been made India was resolved to play her part.

“I look forward to meeting him,” she murmured politely. She was beginning to feel ashamed of her curt manner. Isham had done his best to treat her with civility in spite of her rudeness. On an impulse she held out her hand, but his lordship did not take it. There was something in his expression as he looked at her which she did not understand. For once his manner appeared abstracted.

“Tell me,” he said at last. “Do you go abroad much in the evenings?”

India stared at him. It was the oddest question.

“No, we do not,” she replied tartly. Isham must know that Mrs Rushford was not in a position to keep horses or a carriage.