The Arrangement

Brook studied the flourishes of the pen on paper, a smile teasing his lips at the exhilarating feeling of conquest. He set the parchment down, and quickly dispatched a missive to his solicitor in London. Now came the details, which had to be perfect. They would be married in the country, so there would be no scandal as he brought her, unaccompanied, to London. For all his scandalous ways, he knew how to be proper when he wanted to be, when it suited his purpose.

He’d need a license as well. It would be rather time consuming to apply for one at Doctors’ Commons. He’d apply for an ordinary license, providing the woman—Diana—was a member of the local parish. That would take care of that detail.

And finally, and most important, he dispatched a missive by express to Lord Walker, to notify him of his impending marriage. As he finished the missive, he signed with a near-violent flourish. Let the deal be done then; the acquiring of the entirety of Walker’s estate in the Caribbean would then be his, and his alone.

It was nearly five years he’d been working toward this goal, with the possibility of it so near, yet so far away. Each time the old man would hint at it, he’d change his mind. However, with the death of his son there was no one to inherit the business estate—and Brook had made an offer that was very difficult to refuse.

Withdrawing another piece of parchment, he wrote a message to Miss Diana Lambson, soon to be Countess Barrington. He paused. It had a nice sound to it; he could get used to the concept, provided she understood that this was going to be a contract more than a marriage. Which was the reason for the missive. He toyed with the idea of telling her the details in person but rather wished to keep everything as concise and impersonal as possible, no attachments.

Miss Diana Lambson,

I’m pleased you agreed to accept my offer of marriage. In the honor of being truthful, I wish to outline several expectations I have in such a contract as marriage. I assume you’ll be amenable to them, since you certainly are not attached to me in any way.

First, this is a marriage of convenience. I do not wish for your attachment, nor do I expect it. However, I do require your respect and you to fulfill your wifely obligations and the obligations that come with the title of Countess of Barrington.

Second, I will require an heir, but after said heir is born, you are free to seek your pleasure however you wish. Which leads to my third requirement, that you will be aware that I will do the same.

In return, all debts of your family will be paid in full, with a small dowry designated to each of your sisters. Your mother will also be provided for; with your estate fully repaired, its reestablishment as a sheep farm will create an income for the estate’s maintenance.

I trust you’ll approve of the terms I’ve outlined. I plan to visit the local vicar to procure a common license, so that we may be married this weekend.

Yours—CB, Earl of Barrington

Brook studied the letter, then dispatched it via messenger to the estate. It was half past ten, and he was quite certain he’d done more than a day’s work in less than a few hours. It was a delightful feeling. If he were in London, he’d reward himself by visiting Celine in her cozy town house, taking the rest of the day slow and deliciously in her ample company. But he wasn’t in London. He was in bloody Sussex. With a low curse, he noted the stack of estate business that needed his attention. Though reluctant, Brook prided himself on his attention to business, even the mundane type. Now, if he could only view this impending marriage as business, he might actually be good at it.

Pity he was pretty certain that this was one business venture he’d not find immediate success at. But as long as everything followed the outline in the letter, it couldn’t fail too badly. Expectations were important, and as long as Miss Lambson’s kept to the rational, he had nothing to fear.

Which was laughable. And he wouldn’t even consider the idea of falling in love with her. After all, who in all of England fell in love with his wife? A courtesan maybe, a mistress, possibly. But to fall for one’s own wife . . . impossible.