The Bargain. Mary Jo Putney

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СКАЧАТЬ Foolish, too. I knew a girl who married a man Sir Harold’s age, hoping to become a rich widow soon. That was twenty years ago, and her husband is still very much alive, while she has lost her youth.”

      As Jocelyn’s face fell, Laura added, “Besides, there is no age at which one can assume a man will not be interested in exercising his marital rights.”

      Jocelyn shivered at the thought. “You’ve convinced me. Sir Harold is a sweet old gentleman, but I have no desire to be a wife to him.” She bit her lower lip. “While the idea of marrying a man at death’s door has merit, Sir Harold is quite vigorous for his age. One would have to be sure the man was really dying.”

      “I’d like to believe that I’ve dissuaded you through moral logic, but I have the dismal feeling that it’s only the practical problems that discourage you. If you have any more outrageous schemes in mind, don’t tell me.” Laura regarded her niece gravely. “Marriages of convenience may be the way of the world, but I’d hoped you would find something better. A true meeting of minds and spirits such as Andrew and I have.”

      Trying not to be envious, Jocelyn replied, “Few people are so fortunate.”

      Unable to deny that, her aunt said, “Does it have to be Candover? If not MacKenzie, perhaps Lord Cairn. I’m sure he’d be a kind and loving husband.”

      “But I like Candover, Aunt Laura. Men are not pairs of interchangeable gloves. In the seven years since my presentation, I’ve met no one except Candover whom I can imagine as my husband. You had plenty of suitors in your day. Would you have wanted to wed and bed anyone other than Uncle Andrew?”

      “Not after I met Drew.” Lady Laura drew her hands together, as if debating whether to say more. “Darling, I’ve sometimes wondered. Does your … your reluctance to marry have anything to do with your mother?”

      Jocelyn said in a tone that could chip ice, “We will not discuss my mother!” Realizing how immoderate that sounded, she said more calmly, “I scarcely remember the woman. Why should she have any effect on my marital choices?”

      Her aunt frowned, but knew better than to say more. Willing to change the subject, she lifted a letter from the table next to her chair. “I’ve just received this from Andrew. He and his regiment are safely installed in Paris now. I imagine the Allies will occupy the city for some time while the French government is restored.”

      “Did he mention any of the officers I met in Spain?” Jocelyn said with quick concern. She and her aunt had pored over the casualty lists after Waterloo. In the weeks that had passed, some of the wounded would have died.

      Laura scanned the letter, reading aloud comments about officers that Jocelyn knew. “Here’s a bit of good news. Captain Dalton has been sent to the Duke of York Hospital here in London. He has a severe leg injury, but his life is no longer in danger.”

      “Good news indeed.” Jocelyn smiled reminiscently. “Remember how Richard rescued me when I got lost trying to find Uncle Andrew’s winter quarters?”

      “Remember!” Laura rolled her eyes in mock horror. “I could show you the exact gray hairs I acquired when you rode into Fuente Guinaldo with all those soldiers and not so much as an abigail to bear you company.”

      “The maid I had then was such a hen-hearted creature,” Jocelyn said defensively. “How was I to know that she would flatly refuse to leave Lisbon?”

      “The girl had a good deal better sense than you did,” her aunt said dryly. “It’s a miracle that you weren’t robbed and murdered by French troops, bandits, guerrillas, or heaven knows who else. You were mad to come bolting into a war zone like that.”

      Privately Jocelyn agreed. That had been one of the occasions when her headstrong streak had erupted, despite her endless efforts to curb it. “I’d made inquiries, and it seemed as if the journey would not be unduly dangerous. I’ll admit I was a bit worried when my guide ran off and I had no idea where to find the regiment, but I was well armed, and you know that I’m an excellent shot. After Captain Dalton and his patrol found me, I was perfectly safe.”

      “All I can say is that you have a highly capable guardian angel.” Lady Laura consulted the letter again. “Major Lancaster is at the York Hospital, too, but I don’t believe you met him. He was on detached duty with the Spanish army the winter you spent with us.” Her eyes became bleak. “He’s dying, I’m afraid.”

      Jocelyn leaned across and briefly laid her hand on her aunt’s. The Waterloo casualty lists had been painful for her but far worse for her aunt, who had spent her life as an army wife and now saw her friends decimated.

      Having met many officers through Lady Laura, Jocelyn sympathized deeply, because she’d liked the kind of men they were. Unlike the perfumed gallants of London, what they did mattered. Perhaps that was why she was attracted to the Duke of Candover, whose fine tailoring could not conceal his intelligence or air of purpose. He was considered an exemplary landlord, she knew, which spoke well of his character, and he was a force for principled reform in the House of Lords. Political views were another area where they were in tune.

      Yes, Candover was the one. She liked him very well—but not too well.

      If only she had more time for their relationship to grow and deepen. She’d observed the duke carefully and believed he would marry if he found the right woman. A woman of his rank, and a similar steady temperament.

      But time had almost run out, and if she waited to bring him around, she would lose her patrimony. Moreover, if she was reduced to living on the modest stipend she would have left, she would lose most of her opportunities to meet Candover socially. She would no longer be a glamorous, much sought after heiress, but a woman of modest fortune past the first flush of youth. She shuddered at the thought. That was quite, quite unacceptable. Her rank in life was one thing she had always been sure of.

      Damn her father! They had been so close—yet in the end, he’d betrayed her as surely as her mother. …

      She cut off the thought with the skill of long practice. Better to think of what she could do to ensure that she would have both her inheritance and the husband she wanted. She had a month still, and a Kendal of Charlton never surrendered, even if she was of Charlton no more.

      Returning to mundane matters, she said, “I think I’ll call on Captain Dalton at the hospital tomorrow morning. Will you join me?”

      “I can’t tomorrow or the next day, but tell him I’ll be there the day after without fail.” Lady Laura rose and excused herself to write an answer to her husband’s letter.

      Alone in the drawing room, Jocelyn’s mind returned to her dilemma. The obvious solution was to marry one of her suitors and have a fashionable marriage, each of them going their own way after an heir or two had been produced. Yet the idea revolted her. She didn’t want to be a brood mare to a man she barely knew, nor did she aspire to become one of Candover’s passing mistresses. She wanted to be his wife. She was resigned to the fact that few if any husbands were faithful, but at least if Candover strayed, he would be discreet about it. If she was really lucky, he might realize that his wife was all the woman he needed.

      Despite her aunt’s revulsion at the thought, a swift widowhood would be preferable to a loveless marriage of convenience, for that would give her freedom and the time she needed to win Candover’s heart. But not Sir Harold Winterson. Lady Laura was right about that—it wouldn’t do to marry the old gentleman and find herself in the distasteful position of longing for his death so she could regain her freedom.

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