Meg Alexander - The Reluctant Bride

“Help me. Isham is sure to be on time….”

India was right. They had not long to wait. As the clock struck four, Lord Isham was announced and shown into the parlor.

As he bowed to her mother, India stole a critical look at him. His manner was correct, his bow perfection, but his presence shattered the genteel atmosphere in the room.

India glanced down at her hands and found that they were trembling. She had summoned all her courage for the coming interview, but it was deserting her fast. Now she longed only to get it over with.

It seemed an age before her mother rose.

“Will you excuse me, sir?” she said. “India would like to speak to you.”

Isham merely bowed and held the door. As it closed he turned and leaned against it. For a panic-stricken moment India felt trapped. She was forced to suffer his long, assessing stare.

“So you are to be the sacrificial lamb?” his lordship drawled at last. “What a fate, my dear!”

The Reluctant Bride

Meg Alexander

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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MEG ALEXANDER

After living in southern Spain for many years, Meg Alexander now lives in Kent, although, having been born in Lancashire, she feels that her roots are in the north of England. Meg’s career has encompassed a wide variety of roles, from professional cook to assistant director of a conference center. She has always been a voracious reader, and loves to write. Other loves include history, cats, gardening, cooking and travel. She has a son and two grandchildren.

Other books in THE STEEPWOOD SCANDAL series:

Lord Ravensden’s Marriage, by Anne Herries

An Innocent Miss, by Elizabeth Bailey

The Reluctant Bride, by Meg Alexander

A Companion of Quality, by Nicola Cornick

A Most Improper Proposal, by Gail Whitiker

A Noble Man, by Anne Ashley

An Unreasonable Match, by Sylvia Andrew

An Unconventional Duenna, by Paula Marshall

Counterfeit Earl, by Anne Herries

The Captain’s Return, by Elizabeth Bailey

The Guardian’s Dilemma, by Gail Whitiker

Lord Exmouth’s Intentions, by Anne Ashley

Mr. Rushford’s Honour, by Meg Alexander

An Unlikely Suitor, by Nicola Cornick

An Inescapable Match, by Sylvia Andrew

The Missing Marchioness, by Paula Marshall

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

1811

The elder of the two ladies seated by the fireside in the tiny cottage was visibly distressed. Tears fell unheeded down her cheeks as she looked up at her brother-in-law.

“Tell me it isn’t true!” she pleaded. “Must Isham take everything? Oh, please, not my dowry too and the portions for the girls?”

Sir James Perceval hesitated, hating the task ahead of him, yet knowing that it must be done.

“There is no help for it,” he said at last. “Isabel, my dear, it is better that you face the worst. I tried to save what little I could, but the debt is too great. When I said that everything was gone I meant not only the house, your carriage, and the horses…”

“I don’t care about those,” Mrs Rushford cried, waving aside the comforts which had sustained her for a lifetime. “But my girls! I had such hopes for them. Who will take them now, and how are we to live?”

She reached out a hand to the silent figure of her daughter. “India, we are destitute…quite ruined!” Then, to the horror of her companions, she burst into hysterical laughter.

India rose to her feet and rang the bell. Then she took her mother’s hands and began to speak in a low voice.

“Mama, you are very tired. Let me take you to your room. Martha shall bathe your head with Hungary water, and make a hot brick for your feet. Uncle and I will see to matters here. There may be something we can do…”

Slipping an arm about her mother’s waist, she supported her distraught parent from the room.

It was some time before she returned, much to Sir James’s concern, but India was quick to reassure him.

“Mama is resting,” she said quietly. “But I have sent Letty for the doctor. A sedative will give her some respite. It was the shock, you see, coming on top of all she has had to bear just recently.”

“I would have spared her if I could, my dear, but it wasn’t possible. This is a bad business, and I am sorry that she has taken it so hard…”

India nodded. “I’m afraid that the news about her dowry was the last straw. These last four months since Father’s death have been a nightmare. And then, you know, she had such plans for us.”

“I know it, my dear child. God knows I tried at least to save your own portions, but the debt was too great. Your father’s vowels committed him to the hilt, and a debt of honour must be paid.”

“Honour?” India cried harshly. “Forgive me, Uncle, but I see no honour in any of this. Isham must have known that Father could not pay such sums. He is a cur. If I were a man I’d call him out myself.”

Sir James’s face grew stern. “You don’t understand, I fear. If a man sits at the tables his companions do not question his finances. It is taken for granted that he will be able to meet his obligations. To do otherwise would be fraud.”

India was silent. In her heart she knew that Lord Isham was not solely to blame for the disaster that had overtaken them. For the first time in her life she was beginning to realise that her adored papa, for all his charm and gaiety, lacked any sense of responsibility for his family. To face the truth squarely, as she must now do, he had gambled away not only the roof above their heads but monies which he might have considered were not his to spend.

The law would not agree with her. She knew that well enough. Where her own property was concerned a wife had no rights. Her husband might dispose of it as he willed. But how could Papa have left them destitute? Something of her despair must have shown in her face, and her uncle saw it.

“I wish I could make you understand,” he said more gently. “Tailors, grocers, even builders may be left to whistle for prompt settlement of their accounts, but gambling debts must be paid at once.”

“Very well then,” India told him stiffly. “He shall be paid, and much good may the money do him. He, above any man in London, is in no need of it…”

“That’s not the point, my love. Try not to be bitter. His lordship has been accommodating. He gave you three months’ grace in your old home when he might have turned you out at once.”

“That was kind of him!” India would not be placated. “He must have been waiting with impatience to take possession of the Grange. After all, a hovel would be an amusing change from one of his so-called palaces.”

“Your home was scarcely that, India.” Sir James looked about him sadly. “Now this, I fear…”

India was at once contrite. “Uncle, I am a wretch! Pray do not think we are ungrateful to you for giving us this place. We shall be happy here…” Her voice wavered a little but she pressed on resolutely. “I have such plans for the garden. We shall grow fruit, and vegetables.” She managed a brief smile. “I am even learning to cook.”