His Makeshift Wife

At this display of mock-hurt, Ben threw back his head and roared with laughter. He was among the very few who knew when Luke Kingsley was putting on an act for the benefit of others and when he was in earnest. ‘Well, sir, fine-looking man that you are, you can’t be expected to charm all the fillies.’

‘I don’t want to charm them all,’ Luke returned sharply. ‘But I’m obliged to charm that pert and headstrong miss!’ He shook his head, betraying his genuine annoyance by a severe frown. ‘Curse Aunt Lavinia! What on earth possessed her to make such a will?’ His sense of humour then began to reassert itself and he couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘But, of course, I know well enough why. It would seem I’ve played my part rather too well in recent months, Ben. Even dear Lady Ashworth was beginning to suppose her nephew was turning into a rakehelly wastrel and needed bringing back into the fold, as it were. And she evidently considered Miss Briony Winters equal to the task. The chit must have qualities I have yet to unearth!’

A look of sympathy flickered over the older man’s face. ‘She ain’t ill favoured, is she, sir?’

‘Oh, no. Quite the opposite, in fact!’ Luke had little difficulty in conjuring up a face boasting, surprisingly enough, both character and loveliness in equal measure. ‘And in the normal course of events Miss Winters would have been most acceptable as a future bride. She’s pleasing in both face and form. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her birth. Her mother came from old and respected wealthy-yeoman stock. Sadly, the family disowned the woman, I seem to recall, soon after she’d married an impoverished baron’s younger son, a ne’er-do-well whose excesses killed him at a young age. When Briony’s mother passed away a few years later, my aunt took the child into her household. She quickly grew to love her goddaughter and I believe the affection was reciprocated. They were certainly very happy together. But whether Miss Winters can be trusted is a different matter entirely.’

He took a moment to consider other difficulties ahead. ‘I expect, too, she’s headstrong. I remember, now, she was somewhat wayward as a child. Unfortunately I’m not in the position to attempt to bridle her ways, at least not until after the knot is tied. And then I suspect I’ll need to tread very warily until I’ve got the chit’s full measure.’

‘But will she wed, do you suppose, sir?’

‘I’m far from certain, Ben,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve dangled the proverbial carrot before the donkey … or should I say jenny. All I can hope is that the treat offered is tempting enough. If not, I’m damned if I know what course of action to take that will not arouse suspicion!’

Later that same afternoon Briony ventured into the Manor’s finest bedchamber. Even though her own room was next door, she had not once attempted to gain entry, not once since the morning she had come in by way of the communicating door, only to discover her beloved godmother cold and lifeless in the bed.

Clearly Janet had been in the room. The bed had been freshly made with clean lacy pillows and frilly-edged bedcovers, all neatly in place. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen anywhere, testament to the housekeeper’s high standards and devotion to her late mistress. In fact, it looked exactly how it had always looked—the neat and elegantly furnished bedchamber of a middle-aged lady of means.

Absently Briony sat herself at the dressing table and pulled open the drawer containing some of her late godmother’s jewellery. Taking out the wooden box, she flicked open its lid to discover several sparkling trinkets, each of which she clearly recalled her godmother wearing on some occasion or other. How much they were worth, she had no notion. The pearls were fine and possibly very expensive. But it wasn’t their worth. Money wasn’t important. It was the sentimental value that really mattered.

For a moment temptation almost overcame her. Hand poised over the open box, she knew it would be a simple matter to extract a few pieces and hide them in her room—keepsakes, reminders of someone whom she had loved so dearly. After all, no one would know, she reasoned. As far as she was aware Mr Pettigrew had never come to the house to take an inventory of the valuables. Surely he wouldn’t know if a few items of jewellery were missing? And neither would Luke Kingsley, come to that. Only Janet would know for sure and she would never betray her.

The instant the last thought had passed through her mind Briony closed the box with a snap and put it back in the drawer, thereby placing temptation out of sight. No, she couldn’t involve Janet in such a deception, motivated though it was by love and not financial gain. No, it wasn’t right. Nor was it fair to help herself to valuables that Luke Kingsley had as much right to have. But if she were to accede to his proposal …?

For perhaps the hundredth time since his visit that morning, the idea of doing precisely that filtered through her mind, only to be dismissed a moment later as unthinkable. Yet, she couldn’t deny, as she had wandered about the house that afternoon, visiting each and every room, the temptation to become the mistress of such a fine house, where she had been so happy, had been strong. She would have every right to the jewellery then, all of it, she reminded herself. Moreover, for the first time in her life she would be able to come and go as she pleased. Married women enjoyed far more freedoms, and so would she, even though the marriage would be one of convenience only.

Well, there was no denying it might prove to be highly convenient for her. If Luke Kingsley was a man of his word the marriage would be annulled after the specified period, then she could continue living at the Manor, its mistress and its sole owner.

But could Luke Kingsley be trusted to keep his word? That was the burning question. After all, she had never known the man, and the boy hardly at all. Moreover, although her childhood memories didn’t precisely redound to his credit, she was obliged to acknowledge that for a youth of eighteen, which he had been when first she had arrived at the house, a twelve-year-old girl was hardly an ideal companion. Troubled though she was, she couldn’t resist smiling as this thought crossed her mind. Why, he must have found her a confounded nuisance, forever trailing after him whenever he spent his holidays at the Manor!

Then, of course, he had gone up to Oxford, she reminded herself, and she had seen hardly anything of him at all. Afterwards the army had beckoned, and he had been away from these shores for several years fighting in Portugal and Spain—firstly, under the command of Sir John Moore, and then Wellesley. Not once since his return, after hearing of his cousin’s death and becoming heir to the viscountcy, had he paid a visit to the Manor, until today. If the gossips were to be believed, he enjoyed all the pleasures the capital had to offer a well-heeled bachelor and, apart from the occasional visit to the ancestral pile in Kent, he was happy to live all year round in the metropolis.

She shook her head. No, none of it made any sense at all. Why this sudden desire to reside here now? Moreover, surely if he had had any genuine attachment to the place he wouldn’t be so willing to forfeit his half-share? Furthermore, it was absurd to suppose he’d taken one look at her and fallen head over heels in love. No, ridiculous! But, unless he was a complete simpleton, and she didn’t suppose for a moment he was, there had to be some very good reason for his wanting to comply with his aunt’s will. So what was it about Dorsetshire that had instigated the desire to rusticate in the county for a period of time? Whatever it was, it must be vastly important if he was willing to forfeit his bachelorhood.

Unable to come up with any logical explanation, Briony wandered across to the escritoire in the corner of the room and sat herself down. Throughout her life Lady Ashworth had been an avid letter writer. Briony had seen her sitting before the fine piece of French furniture on countless occasions, writing missives to her relatives and numerous friends.

Sooner rather than later she and Luke Kingsley were going to have to get together in order to sort through Lady Lavinia’s personal effects, she told herself, after opening one of the drawers to discover piles of letters, neatly tied together with lengths of ribbon. Picking out one of the bundles at random, she noted the direction was written in a childish scrawl. They were from her nephew, written when Luke had been away at school. She quickly discovered another bundle penned by him when up at Oxford and another pile sent during his years in the army.

Curiosity got the better of her and she began to read them in strict chronological order. The light was fading fast by the time she was reading the very last letter he had sent to his aunt from London dated a month before her death.

… I hope during your impromptu visit to the capital late last year I succeeded in setting your mind at rest, that you no longer believe everything the gossipmongers circulate about me. You could do no better than trust your instincts, Aunt Lavinia, and be sure I shall never bring dishonour to the proud name I bear …

An odd thing to have written to his aunt, Briony decided. Evidently Lady Ashworth had been concerned about the numerous rumours circulating with regard to her nephew—his excessive gambling, not to mention his womanising. That was possibly why she had made that unscheduled stop in the capital after visiting her friend. One thing was certain, though—the letters had revealed how very fond of his aunt he really was. There was no mistaking that.

So why had he never made the effort to pay her a visit in recent years? Lady Ashworth, as far as Briony was aware, had seen him on three occasions only since he had sold his commission and had left the army, and that was because she had gone to the trouble of paying short visits to the capital herself. Furthermore, why was it that a gentleman who wrote in such fond terms to his aunt could not even put himself out to attend her funeral?

Increasingly Luke Kingsley was becoming something of an enigma. Quite unfathomable!

Chapter Three

‘You may kiss the bride,’ the vicar had invited, his benign, lined face beaming with delight, Briony all too vividly recalled. And for one heart-stopping moment she had thought Luke had meant to exert his rights as a husband and do precisely that! But, no, he had kept his word and, after staring fixedly at the curve of her mouth for endless moments, had merely raised her left hand in order to press his lips lightly against the plain gold band he had slipped on her finger a short time before. But would he continue to keep to his part of the bargain now the knot was tied? That was the all-important question.

Raising her head slightly, she peered through her long lashes down the length of the table at her sole dinner companion. For perhaps the hundredth time since the ceremony had taken place earlier in the day, the thought that she must surely have been utterly insane to have gone through with it once again filtered through her mind. What did she know of Luke Kingsley, after all? Next to nothing, if one disregarded the gossipmongers’ tittle-tattle. Even though he had visited the Manor several times during the past month, she knew little more about him now than she had when he had paid that first unexpected call, after his very long absence.

Yes, he continued to remain an enigma. No, more, she decided, a dichotomy. She had seriously begun to suspect there might be two distinct and quite opposite personalities locked inside that well-muscled frame of his.

Whenever he was in company he resembled nothing so much as the light-minded profligate the gossips had painted him since his return from the Peninsula. Yet, on other occasions, when they had chanced to be alone, she had thought she had detected a look in those attractive grey eyes of his that had betrayed innate wisdom, an expression flickering over those distinctly aristocratic features that had strongly suggested the shallow care-for-nobody attitude might well be assumed. But if so, why on earth should he wish the world to think so poorly of him? There must be some reason behind the feigned triviality, surely? Or was he merely putting on an act for his own amusement?

‘Something appears to be troubling you, m’dear? I sincerely trust you are not regretting so soon the vows you made? That would be unfortunate indeed.’

So, the drawl, too, had returned, had it? That most certainly was assumed for her benefit, and the benefit of others, of course, Briony decided, favouring him with her full attention. ‘And I sincerely trust you do not give me cause to regret having uttered them,’ she parried, never having been afraid to speak her mind, at least where he was concerned. Which was most strange, now that she came to consider the matter.

She could hardly admit to their having become friends during the past month. Perhaps the most she could own to was that, over certain matters, they were well on the way to achieving a better understanding and drawing up boundaries beyond which the other was prepared not to tread. For instance, he had made it perfectly plain that he had no intention of completely changing his lifestyle, merely because he had been prepared to relinquish his bachelor state; he had every intention of making visits to the capital during the next six months. For her part Briony didn’t object to this in the least. Not only would it offer her the golden opportunity to come and go as she pleased, without having to respect another’s wishes, but it would no doubt make him easier to live with if he was able to visit his present mistress whenever the inclination happened to take him.

In fact, he had travelled to London on one occasion already during the past month. Although she wouldn’t have gone so far as to say she had been glad to see the back of him, it certainly hadn’t aroused the least resentment or jealousy in her breast to see him go. Whether he had taken the opportunity to visit his mistress or not she had no way of knowing, but he most definitely hadn’t been idle during his time away. He had arranged for several of his personal belongings to be brought down to Dorsetshire and had installed two of his own servants at the Manor.

‘No, nothing is troubling me,’ she assured him cordially, determined to do her part to keep their relationship as affable as possible, ‘except, perhaps, trifling domestic concerns. I trust you’ll find the master bedchamber to your liking. I hope you approve the colour scheme.’

‘I’m sure I shall. And so long as my own bed has been installed in there I’m certain I’ll be comfortable.’

‘It arrived earlier in the week,’ she was able to assure him, ‘and has been made up with fresh linen and merely awaits its master.’

All at once there was a hint of an unnerving sparkle in those grey eyes of his. ‘All this talk of bed, madam wife, might give me every reason to suppose you’re eager to get me in there.’

Now, how was she supposed to react to that piece of deliberate provocation? Briony wondered, deciding to nip such foolishness on his part in the bud. ‘What time you choose to retire, sir, is entirely your own concern.’ She rose to her feet. ‘But I have eaten my fill and so shall bid you good evening and leave you to your port.’

‘There’s no need for you to scurry away like a frightened rabbit.’ Although the drawl had disappeared completely, his eyes retained a glimmer of something, possibly a challenge this time. ‘It isn’t late and we must both accustom ourselves to being in each other’s company for at least part of most days. Besides which, I cannot imagine you’ve found the day such an ordeal that you must retire so early. Considering everything had to be arranged in such a short space of time, I thought things went rather well.’

While speaking, he had risen to his feet and had come slowly down the length of the table towards her, bringing the port decanter with him. He was undeniably continuing to be deliberately provocative. Yet, behind the gentle goading, she sensed there was a genuine desire for her to remain. She hovered for a moment, undecided, then, against her better judgement, resumed her seat, curiosity having got the better of her.

‘No, I haven’t found the day an ordeal in the least, sir.’ She shrugged, attempting to appear more at ease than she in fact was, now that he had positioned a chair so close to her own that she could almost detect the warmth his body exuded. She watched the strong yet shapely hand tilt the decanter and fill a glass. ‘As—as weddings go, I suppose it did go rather well, even though it was perhaps unusually private,’ she added tentatively, feeling a little more comment was expected of her.

He regarded her in silence for a moment. ‘Since the marriage was, to all intents and purposes, forced upon us, it would have been somewhat hypocritical to have had a grand affair to celebrate the union, attended by all our relations and friends,’ he pointed out. ‘Those who needed to be there to witness the event were present—Mr Pettigrew and … your Janet.’

Was that a note of disapproval in his voice? ‘My Janet?’ she echoed.

‘She’s quite evidently become devoted to you.’

Briony saw no reason to deny it. ‘Yes, I suppose we have become very close over the years. You don’t object, surely?’

‘No, not at all …’ his regard all at once became more intense ‘… providing, of course, your obvious affection for the housekeeper doesn’t induce you to confide in her more than is wise. The result might be unfortunate for you if you do.’

Very much resenting the evident threat, she made no attempt to disguise the fact. ‘I have confided in no one, sir. You above anyone should realise how far I’ve been prepared to go to make this farcical union of ours appear real. Was it not I who suggested you should occupy your late aunt’s bedchamber so that we might be as close as possible in order to allay any suspicions with the household staff, which might ultimately result in gossip spreading throughout the locale? I assure you your mistrust is quite without foundation. I have every intention of keeping to my part of the bargain, providing you keep to yours.’

‘Come down off the boughs, girl!’ he ordered gently. ‘Here, drink this,’ he continued in the same mildly authoritative way, after filling another glass and steering it across the table towards her. ‘It might help calm you. We must at least attempt to appear perfectly at ease with each other, even if we are not. And six months is a very long time to maintain the pretence.’

She couldn’t argue with that and meekly took the glass of port he had offered, which obviously pleased him, for his smile was clearly one of approval.

Undoubtedly, he was going out of his way to be amiable in an attempt to maintain cordial relations between them. Yet, she wasn’t so foolish as to suppose there mightn’t be a darker side to his nature, which might so easily surface if she was to prove an annoyance. At the moment, though, he seemed intent on remaining in an affable mood, so she decided to take advantage of the fact by attempting to discover what had really induced him to relinquish his bachelor state, if only for six months. After all, everything was for her benefit. She couldn’t for the life of her see where he profited at all!