Anne Herries - Bartered Bride

‘Why ever not? You are the equal of your sister in looks, and your character is superior. She has had chances enough—why should you not?’

Lottie sighed. ‘I should wish to marry for love, but then poor dear Mama married the man of her dreams—and they very soon turned to ashes.’

‘My sister was a silly little thing, though I loved her dearly,’ Aunt Beth said. ‘However, I married a man who had both background and money—and look where that got me.’

Lottie nodded. Her uncle had not gambled away his money at the tables, but on a series of bad investments—including being caught in a scandal that had been almost as calamitous as the South Seas Bubble, which had ruined so many people in 1720—and had left his widow with very little fortune. Aunt Beth had been forced to sell her home and come to live with her sister and nieces after her husband died in a riding accident. Then Aunt Beth had taken care of her and Clarice after their mother died, and Lottie at least had become very fond of her.

‘I suppose if one of us were to marry a rich man we might all be comfortable.’ Lottie frowned. ‘But Clarice sounds very angry. I do not think she will agree and if she does not…’

‘Do you think we might lose the house?’ A look of anxiety crossed Aunt Beth’s face. ‘Where should we go then, Lottie?’

Lottie had no idea. She had lain awake more than one night recently, worrying about what would happen if her father lost what little money he had at the tables. She had begged him not to go on this latest visit to Paris, but he could never rest in the country for more than a few weeks at a time, and Clarice had demanded to go with him. Now her father owed more than he could pay and both he and Clarice were on their way home.

Nicolas threw his gloves and hat on to the sideboard in the spacious hall of his London house. His boots clattered on the marble floor, the resulting sound echoing to the high ceilings. He was not in the best of tempers and it showed in the set of his mouth and the brooding expression in his eyes.

‘Did you have a good journey, my lord?’ his butler dared to ask.

‘No, damn it, I did not,’ Nicolas snapped. ‘Have Harris lay up some things for me. I shall be going into the country for a few days.’

‘Yes, my lord—certainly. Is there anything more, sir?’

‘No… Yes, you can wish me happy, Barret. I am to be married, and quite soon I think.’

‘My lord…’

Nicholas left his butler in shock as he took the stairs two at a time. He smiled grimly. The one consolation in the whole sorry business was that it would set the cat amongst the pigeons once the story got out. A reluctant smile touched his lips. At least he could still laugh at society and himself—but why the hell had he done it?

It was true that he had promised Henrietta he would consider the idea of marriage, but to ask for the hand of a woman—he would not call her a lady, for she was an adventuress—he had only just met was ridiculous.

Nicolas had at first refused when Sir Charles Stanton had offered him his daughter as payment for the gambling debt. However, after a night of reflection, he had decided that one woman was as good as another. His memory of being ridiculed by Elizabeth when he declared his love had made him determined never to offer his heart again. Therefore Sir Charles’s offer was a convenient way of solving his problem. Clarice had been brought up as a lady, of that he had no doubt—but he had not known when he’d agreed to the deal that her morals were those of an alley cat.

It was on the night after he had signed the contract Sir Charles had hastily had drawn up with their joint lawyers that Nicolas discovered his mistake. One of Nicolas’s friends had been visiting Paris and they had gone out to a gaming club together, both of them drinking more than usual. Ralph Thurlstone had been three sheets to the wind and Nicolas rather more drunk than was sensible when he discovered his friend in a back room of the club. Ralph was lying senseless on the bed while a very pretty young woman with long spun-gold curls emptied his pockets of what money he had left. From the look of her hair and crumpled gown, he suspected that she had been on the bed with Ralph prior to robbing him.

‘What the hell do you imagine you are doing?’ Nicolas enquired dangerously.

‘Taking what belongs to me,’ the woman replied, her green eyes flashing with temper. ‘He owes me and this is scarcely recompense for what he took.’

‘Are you telling me you were a virgin before this evening?’

‘Would you believe me?’

‘No.’

‘Then I shall tell you nothing,’ the woman said and passed him, going out of the room.

Nicolas had let her go. In truth, he was still stunned by what he had seen. Returning to the main rooms a little later, he discovered Sir Charles at the tables, and standing at his back was the young woman he had seen going through Ralph’s pockets moments earlier. Nicolas had thought he must have been mistaken, but there was no mistake. Clarice Stanton, his bartered bride-to-be, had robbed his friend while he lay in a drunken stupor.

‘Ah, Rothsay,’ Sir Charles said, looking up. ‘Sit down and join us, won’t you? Clarice is bringing me luck tonight. I was down to my last guinea but she brought me ten more and I have won the pot of two hundred.’

Which he would no doubt lose before he rose from the tables, Nicolas thought.

Nicolas looked the young woman in the eyes and saw her flush. Until this evening, he had not met Stanton’s daughter, not bothering to propose to her but leaving it to the father to tell her of their arrangement. He supposed that he had intended to speak to her in his own good time. When he recklessly signed the marriage contract, he had been acting on impulse. He had heard on the rumour mill that Stanton’s daughter was pretty, but as he was engaged to her already, sight unseen, her looks were not his primary concern. He had thought only that she was available and would give him the heir everyone said he needed.

To his horror, he had contracted himself to marry a thief and a wanton. What a damned fool he had been!

Henrietta had begged him to marry for the sake of the family. He hardly dared to contemplate what she would say if she knew the truth.

He must find a way to withdraw—but how could it be done? Anger smouldered inside him as he saw the young woman continue to encourage her profligate father at the tables. When Stanton rose a winner of some two thousand pounds or more, she flashed him a look of triumph, as if daring him to expose her to the world.

Needless to say, Nicolas had kept his mouth closed. It would have exposed him to ridicule, as well as Ralph, whom he knew to be newly engaged to a respectable English girl. His friend had been feeling a little hedge-bound, because his mother-in-law to be was demanding he dance attention on her daughter the whole time. Ralph had escaped to Paris for a last fling, and would never know that he had not spent all his guineas at the tables. The loss was one he could afford, but Nicolas was affronted by the idea that he had agreed to marry a woman of such low morals.

Nicolas had left Paris the next day, sending his would-be father-in-law a sharp note dictating that he take his daughter back to England to await his further instructions.

As soon as he had set foot in town, Nicolas visited his family lawyer to discover if the contract was watertight, and apparently it was. Nicolas could of course withdraw and compensate the girl for breach of promise. He would no doubt have to pay through the nose to be free of her. His mouth drew into a thin line as he contemplated the scandal.

No, better that he find a way of forcing the woman to withdraw. He would be ridiculed in the clubs whichever way it went, but if Miss Stanton withdrew it could all be settled by a payment for her bruised pride—if she had any—and there would be less scandal.