Mary Nichols - A Dangerous Undertaking

Seeing her hesitation, he gave a twisted smile. ‘I promised to free you at the end of a year and, God willing we both survive, I shall keep that promise. And I will make sure you have a dowry, enough to seek out the man you believe you are destined to fall in love with. I will not stand in your way.’

‘Why a year?’ she asked, curious in spite of herself.

‘It will soon pass,’ he said, evading her question. ‘And I will not trouble you with my presence. I have to go back to London almost immediately and shall not return except very occasionally, when I come home to see that all is well and pay my respects to Grandmama.’

‘Why?’ she asked again.

‘I have my reasons.’ His tone was clipped.

She turned to look into his face, dimly lit by the lamp he held, trying to search out answers he did not seem to be able to voice. What sort of man was he, that he could so cold-bloodedly talk of ending a marriage before it had even begun? Unfeeling in the extreme, she decided, a man with no warmth. And yet there were times when there was a light in his eyes which revealed humour and vitality, and there was about him a suppressed energy which excited her. She could so easily fall under his spell.

He returned her gaze, hating himself. She was helpless, forced to ponder on the imponderable because of her circumstances. And she was beautiful, something which had not been evident when he had first seen her in the White Hart; she had a clear skin which had never been spoilt by paint, huge, expressive eyes which seemed to bore into his very soul, a mouth made for kissing, and a determined chin. Life with her would not be dull. If she had been anyone but a Capitain, he would have retracted, given her money to go wherever she wished and put her from his mind. It was all Charles’s fault. No, he chided himself, he should not blame Charles. He had done nothing but put the idea into his head. Charles had not been the one to lead Lady Pargeter to believe he would marry Margaret; he had done it himself. Lies! Could she see that in his eyes?

‘Very well,’ she said quietly. ‘I accept your terms.’

‘Good.’ He smiled briefly as he took her arm to guide her along the gallery.

She was not sure if it was the touch of his hand or a feeling of foreboding which made her shudder. She did not know why she should be apprehensive—perhaps it was because marriage was something she had not even been considering forty-eight hours before, perhaps it was the cavernous entrance hall with its upper gallery and dark corners where no lamp could reach, or perhaps it was just the weather, which imprisoned everyone, whether they willed it or not.

‘You are shivering,’ he said. ‘Are you cold?’

‘A little.’

He put the lamp on a chair and took off his coat to drape it round her shoulders. His touch was gentle and his breath was warm on her cheek as he bent to draw the coat close under her chin. She looked up and their eyes met and held, his dark and brooding, hers bright with tears which she did not know why she was shedding. It was as if both were searching for knowledge, for reassurance, for hope. He lowered his head, drawing closer, his mouth only inches from hers. She waited, trembling like a frightened bird beneath his hands.

‘No,’ he murmured, and drew away.

‘No?’ She could hardly speak for the tumult in her breast.

‘You are cold. I think we should postpone the rest of our tour for another time.’

‘Yes,’ she said, bewildered by his strange behaviour. He had proposed, in the coldest fashion possible, a marriage of convenience and then had warmed sufficiently to behave like a prospective husband and kiss her, and then decided against it. Ice; he was made of ice. And fire.

He picked up the lamp again and escorted her to her chamber door. ‘Goodnight, Mistress Donnington.’ He took her hand and bowed over it but he did not lift it to his lips. It was almost as if he was afraid to do so.

She went to bed, her insides churned up by the knowledge that she had wanted him to kiss her, which was foolish in the extreme. She had agreed to his terms and they took no account of feelings, either his or hers. It was not a love-match. Then why was she crying?

He returned downstairs to join Charles and Kate in a childish game of cards which caused them great hilarity but failed to lighten his mood. Kate soon lost patience with him and declared her intention of going to bed. ‘One would think Mistress Donnington had rejected you,’ she said.

‘On the contrary, Mistress Donnington—Margaret—has done me the honour of accepting.’

‘Then smile, for heaven’s sake,’ she said. ‘It should make you happy.’

‘Yes, cheer up, man,’ Charles said. ‘Think of the future.’

Yes, he decided, forcing a smile for their benefit, it was only thinking of Susan and their future that kept him sane.

Kate retired and the men went into the library, where a decanter of good French brandy and glasses had been put out on a small table by the window.

‘There is something you forgot when you thought of this diabolical plan,’ Roland said, pouring drinks. "Marry a complete stranger", you said, but you forgot that when two people are together for any length of time they cannot remain strangers. Even after one day, I have come to know Margaret a little. She is brave and independent and she has a sense of humour that is refreshing. I am sure she can read my guilt in my eyes.’

‘Then stay away from her until the wedding. You are leaving immediately after it, aren’t you?’

‘I had planned to.’

‘What do you mean, planned to? Have you changed your mind?’

‘The weather may prevent it.’ How could he explain to his friend what he did not understand himself, his remorse, so strong that he had been almost tempted to tell Margaret the truth? The only reason he had not done so was because he would lose any respect she might have had for him, and he was surprised to discover how much that mattered to him. He told himself he wanted to see her comfortable and happy in her new home before he left it.

‘It was only an idea, to help you out.’ Charles’s voice broke in on his brooding. ‘You didn’t have to do it.’

‘No, and do you know what decided me? It wasn’t my own predicament; it wasn’t thinking of Susan; it was the sight of that depraved villain, Capitain, standing in my vestibule demanding to have her back. I was furious.’

‘Whatever the reason, it’s done now. If you have any twinges of conscience, just remind yourself of the benefits.’

‘To me, but not to Margaret.’

‘She will have a year of being Lady Pargeter, a year of plenty that most young ladies would give their teeth for, and what she doesn’t know cannot hurt her, can it?’ He paused to take a mouthful of brandy, smiling over his glass at his friend. ‘Besides, she may survive the year. After all, you do not love her and she does not love you, so it won’t count, will it? Nothing will happen. It will all come right in the end and no harm done to anyone. But you really must look happier at the prospect, my friend, or questions will be asked.’

‘I must go to Derbyshire and explain to Susan.’

‘No.’ Charles spoke sharply. ‘It will look decidedly odd.’

‘It will look even odder if I don’t, particularly to her parents. I am sure they were expecting me to offer for her before I left.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know. The time didn’t seem propitious.’

Charles laughed. ‘You mean you were not sure of your feelings?’

‘Of course I am sure.’

‘Then wait,’ Charles said implacably. ‘The roads are impassable and, you never know, by the spring…’ He stopped and surveyed his friend. ‘Harden your heart, Roland, harden your heart. Think of your true love, think of the Capitains. Don’t all Capitains deserve your hatred?’