The Reluctant Bride. Meg Alexander

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      Isabel Rushford stared at him.

      “I see that you agree with me,” he continued. “Owing to your recent loss we cannot celebrate in the style we might have wished. Otherwise the marriage might have taken place in London. As matters stand a simple ceremony would be best.”

      It was a statement of intent, rather than a question, and India could not forbear to smile. It was what he had intended from the first, she suspected, but he had advanced upon her mother in good order, reminding her of the need for decorum, but sweetening the pill with apparent consideration for her health.

      She caught his eye and surprised a wicked twinkle. Then he turned back to her mama.

      “Ma’am, you will have so much to do, and I am sorry for it, but when the announcement appears in the Morning Post you may expect a flood of letters…” He sighed. “It is always the way upon these occasions, I fear.”

      This happy prospect succeeded in lessening Mrs Rushford’s disappointment. Smiling fondly upon her future son-in-law, she left the betrothed couple to themselves.

      Isham grinned at his bride-to-be. “Well?” he said. “How was that? I take it you have no wish for some fantastic circus?”

      “Would it make a difference if I had?” India was very much upon her dignity. She regretted that he had seen her smiling at his machinations.

      “Not in the least, you prickly creature! Even so, I imagine that you will wish for bride-clothes and a trousseau?”

      For an awful moment India thought that he was about to offer her money. That would be the last straw. Already she felt like some commodity in the marketplace.

      His lazy gaze rested upon her face. “No matter,” he announced. “We shall be a law unto ourselves. In this case the bride shall have her trousseau after we are wed.”

      “It will be unnecessary, sir. You have pointed out yourself that I am still in mourning.”

      It was a brutal reminder of his part in her father’s death, and Isham’s expression changed. “As you wish,” he said shortly. “Though the convention does not apply to a bride.”

      India made no reply. She thought she saw a look of impatience in his eyes, but he changed the subject.

      “I leave for London in the morning,” he announced. “I shall be away for several days. Have you any commissions for me?”

      “None, my lord, though I wish you a safe journey.”

      “Thank you, my dear.” His tone was ironic. “For that, at least, I must be grateful. India, may we not drop some of the formality? My name is Anthony.”

      “Very well, my lord…I mean, Anthony…When do you return?”

      “You will be spared my company until Thursday of next week. I have other matters to attend…”

      India guessed that these important matters most probably concerned a visit to the opera-dancer, but she thrust the thought aside. It was no concern of hers.

      “I hope to return with my half-brother, Henry,” Isham continued. “He will wish to support me at the ceremony.”

      It was an unpleasant reminder of the course to which she had committed herself, but now that the decision had been made India was resolved to play her part.

      “I look forward to meeting him,” she murmured politely. She was beginning to feel ashamed of her curt manner. Isham had done his best to treat her with civility in spite of her rudeness. On an impulse she held out her hand, but his lordship did not take it. There was something in his expression as he looked at her which she did not understand. For once his manner appeared abstracted.

      “Tell me,” he said at last. “Do you go abroad much in the evenings?”

      India stared at him. It was the oddest question.

      “No, we do not,” she replied tartly. Isham must know that Mrs Rushford was not in a position to keep horses or a carriage.

      “I believe that on occasion you have the use of Sir James’s carriage?” he persisted. “May I beg you not to use it after dusk?”

      India stiffened. She was not yet Lord Isham’s wife. Why should he think it proper to dictate to her? She would go out as she wished.

      He saw her look, smiled, and shook his head, but then his face grew grave. “There is good reason for my warning, India. You have not heard of the unrest?”

      “No,” she answered in surprise. “What is that, my lord?”

      “There is disaffection in this area, and it is growing. Certain men are banding together in large groups. They roam abroad at night, smashing machinery and burning factories.”

      “But why? Who are they?”

      “They are mostly labourers from the framework knitting industry.”

      “But why destroy their means of livelihood?”

      “That livelihood is almost non-existent now, I fear. The war with France has reduced demand for their stockings and export of Midlands cotton goods has fallen by a third. The harvest has been poor this year and food prices are extremely high. On reduced wages they cannot afford to eat. Half the local population is on public relief.”

      “Then one can hardly blame them,” India cried.

      “Their despair is understandable, my dear, but their actions cannot be condoned. The mood is ugly, they are heavily armed with muskets, pistols and hatchets. And there has been at least one death.”

      India gasped. “We have heard nothing of this,” she said slowly. “But Anthony, they could have no reason to attack a private carriage. We ourselves do not go out at night, but both our uncles come to visit us.”

      If Isham was pleased that she had used his given name of her own accord he gave no sign of it.

      “I have no wish to frighten you,” he told her gently. “Yet a mob is sometimes carried away with a strange energy of its own. It needs only a core of hotheads; even a few will serve to whip the others to a frenzy. Then the original reasons for their actions are forgotten. Anyone may become a target.”

      She shuddered, but he took her hand and pressed it. “You will be safe indoors,” he comforted. “And to date they have not ventured forth in daylight.”

      Once again he raised her fingers to his lips. And this time she did not draw away until he took a step towards her. India stood very still. Pray heaven he would not try to embrace her. He was a stranger still. She would need more time to grow accustomed to this man who had come so unexpectedly into her quiet life. Yet again his curious antennae warned him of her feelings. He merely bowed and released her hand.

      India felt like a gauche schoolgirl. Would she ever be at ease with him? He was unlike anyone she had met before. In his presence she was aware of the raw power beneath his formal manner. Charm and courtesy could not disguise it. She was about to marry a dangerous man.

      He СКАЧАТЬ