Mary Moore - Accidental Fiancee

“I told you I meant no insult. I am sorry, but you have known me less than twenty-four hours and we are betrothed. You must come to terms with this, Grace.”

“Very well, my lord,” she said coldly. “You have made your point. I am going to go get my hat and pelisse, and have the horses put to. Perhaps, as we journey to London, you will tell me how we are to handle the widow you mentioned.”

* * *

“You keep overstating that situation.” Now he was angry! They were in her carriage and he knew she was still upset about the kiss. “During the Little Season I danced with her more than some others and took her up in my curricle once or twice. Since then, I have been at my estate and at Lord Southby’s house party, and there has been no contact between us. As I told you before, she is not seventeen years of age, and has some experience of the world. She may have believed I was declaring my intent because of those few things, but I assure you I did not.”

“As you wish,” she said, turning to stare out the window. “The only thing left to settle is the termination of our betrothal. What causes that? Is it public or private? And what will that mean in terms of Lydia’s prospects?”

“It could be a private decision between the two of us that we do not suit. One of us might wish to leave Town for a while.”

“I will go, gladly. Home is where I wish to be,” she said stoically.

He continued as if she had not interrupted him. “More than likely, however, with Lydia’s beauty and her dowry, she will be spoken for even before we end the engagement. Then you can either leave or stay, as you please. Though I hope you will stay.”

She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side.

“Assuming, however, that Lydia is not betrothed, you must stay. It will be the great on dit of the Season. And whatever cause Society assigns to the break, the sympathy will be with you in any event.”

He wished they had the time for him to soothe her feelings and make her laugh. But they must work together now to save their reputations, and a sullen attitude would not help the situation. Seeking a way to make her smile, he said, “You really do have to get in the habit of calling me Brandon, or at the very least Weston, or no one is going to believe any of this. Why, even a significant sigh when you say my name would not come amiss a time or two.” He winked at her as he said the last.

Chapter Four

After plans had been finalized, the trip to London passed uneventfully. Lord Weston sat languidly, listening to Grace and Lydia talk, speaking only when there was a specific question in his mind.

Even though Grace was still upset that he had kissed her to make a point, she could not forget his distress as he’d told her of his youthful indiscretion, reminding her that he had not always been so blasé where feelings were concerned. She wondered how many rakes were actually born to it and how many were driven to it by some horrible circumstance in their past. Father, this man needs Your grace and Your forgiveness. You give it so freely. Help me to show him that.

She told him as much as she felt he needed to know about growing up at the Abbey, without boring him to tears. She thought she saw surprise a few times when she talked about the estate matters she handled on her own now, her father trusting the training he had instilled.

“So tell me the truth, Grace. Why are you still unmarried? Though estate managers have never been to my taste,” he said, winking at her, “I cannot fathom why you remain unwed.”

“My lord, that has little to do with our arrangement.”

Lydia, always proud of her older sister, said softly, “She has had three offers, my lord.”

“Lydia!” Grace exclaimed.

“Oh, dear, I am sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

Grace felt instant remorse for taking her mood out on her sister. “I am sorry, Lydia. I did not mean to bark at you. It is not...appropriate to speak of offers one has received, and it is of little consequence here.”

“I am sorry, Grace, I did not know.” Grace patted her hand, but Lydia apparently felt the need to fill the silence. “Perhaps you and his lordship should discuss your interest in father’s armor, as that is one of the reasons we have established for his visit to the Abbey.”

“I should not think that a matter of too much importance once we are discovered to be betrothed. According to his lordship, all of London will be lining the streets to see us when we arrive.” Still ignoring him completely, she spoke directly to her sister. “That I have become attached to one or two of Father’s collection will be of no specific use to him.”

Lydia was so soft-spoken and shy, Grace didn’t have it in her to staunch her conversation when she began again. “He will need to know about Max, the one in Town. To own the truth, I cannot wait to meet him myself.”

Grace blushed at Lydia’s mention of it. Max was her particular favorite, a sixteenth century Maximillian suit of armor that adorned the foyer of their London town house. But she did not wish to discuss him with Lord Weston. Max was private, only for herself.

She had been in awe of him since she was a child, and called him Sir Maximillian when her father told her his proper name. He was the pinnacle of plate armor design, made of steel and iron with curved surfaces. Tall and imposing, he had stood guard at the bottom of their winding staircase for many years.

As a child, Grace had made up many stories about his adventures. She held back a smile, remembering the number of times rescuing her had been a part of those adventures. Max had become her sole knight in shining armor when she had given up hope of falling in love. One day, when her father was gone and Lydia was married, he would take up residence at Pennington Abbey with her.

She began to blush as she realized that even now she still thought of him as a real being rather than a fixture in their London home. She turned to find two sets of eyes searching her face. “I beg your pardon, I did not hear your question.”

“Where did you go, Grace?”

“Nowhere important, I assure you, my lord.” But she could feel his eyes watching her.

* * *

He had been listening to Lydia’s prattle, but was watching Grace. She was blushing at the mention of a suit of armor in their home, which went by the name of Max. Why would she be so embarrassed by that?

Perhaps it was the mention of a trail of broken hearts she had left behind her that caused her blushes. He certainly was not surprised that she had been asked for her hand in marriage, and more than once, but he found himself wondering who these men were. Did they all spring from the surrounding countryside in Essex, or had it been during her own Season?

In fact, he did not know if she had even had a Season. She was nine years younger than him, and he likely would have given her no notice. But if the offers had come from someone in Town, he might actually know her suitors. Was she embarrassed at the thought of running into one of them while escorting Lydia?

“Perhaps, my dear, we should discuss those prior offers of yours. I might learn what you like and do not like in a suitor.”

If a look could kill, he would definitely be a corpse! “There is nothing to tell, my lord. And, as I told Lydia, it is of no consequence and no business of yours.”

“I am sorry, Grace, I should not have talked of it,” said Lydia, contritely.

“I pray that we may now put an end to this ridiculous topic,” she exclaimed.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” He stared at her from under his lazy lids. “Why,” he asked, “did you turn them down?”