Chapter Three
The farmer needed a mule, not another daughter.
The blacksmith needed a wife to cook and clean
and tend his children and his vegetable garden.
They traded. The daughter considered all three of
them jackasses: her father, her new husband, and
the mule.
—By Arrangement,
a chronicle of arranged marriages, by G. E. Felber
Penny leaned back against the door. She’d fall down without its wooden support, for there was not a muscle in her body not gone limp. She was gasping for breath, her cap was listing over one eyebrow, and one of her shoes had flown across the hall with the force of her blow, but she’d done it. She’d tossed out the rubbish. She’d told him how she felt, and then she’d tossed him. She did it, Penny Goldwaite, the disposable daughter, the forgotten fiancée, the woman without a choice.
Well, she’d chosen now, she thought with pride. And she’d chosen before Westfield, which was even more satisfying. Whether the fortune-hunting scum was here to claim her or jilt her made no difference. She’d struck the first blow.
Then it hit her: She’d struck the first blow. She had actually hit a man. Her own betrothed. She’d never raised her hand to a creature larger than an insect, and now she’d punched a peer. How uncivilized, how unladylike, how good it felt, except for her stinging knuckles. The dastard’s skull was so thick she might have broken her hand!
She checked. Her fingers moved, even if she could not yet. She was whole and she was free! Penny kicked off her other shoe, tossed her cap onto the floor, and filled her lungs with clean, fresh air only slightly tainted with the scent of brandy, horse, her own rose water, Grandpapa’s paints, and . . . ? Penny wrinkled her nose. And some spicy scent that was manly and exotic and exciting. No, she was merely basking in her victory, not inhaling the devil’s own cologne.
She was free, and free to forget all about the slug, his smell and his smile. So what if he was tall and broad-shouldered and even more handsome than she recalled? So what if his dark hair curled onto his forehead in boyish innocence, and his brown eyes gleamed with gold flecks? His smile when he first saw her, despite her appearance, still held remembered sweetness, but his voice was deeper and richer. Mellow tones did not make his words—or him—one bit more trustworthy. Penny had no idea if anything he said was true or sincere, and she refused to ponder over it. Perhaps he had tried to raise the funds to end the betrothal honorably before coming to speak to her, as he had said. Perhaps his horse-raising enterprise was successful. Or perhaps he was here to steal Grandpapa’s silverware. No matter, she had now seen the last of Kendall Westmoreland, Viscount Westfield, former fiancé.
Then she heard a rap on the door behind her and felt it vibrate through her skin.
She yanked the door open. “Yes?”
His hand was raised to knock again. “My hat and gloves and riding crop. I left them in the library.”
“Oh.” Sure enough, his hands were bare except for a signet ring on one, a gold band set with a dark garnet on the little finger of the other. There was nothing for it but to let the maggot back in, despite the fact that she had no shoes on and her hair was curling down her shoulders in ringlets. She could tell Westfield was trying to hide a smile when he noticed her further dishabille, so she turned her back and silently led the way to the book room. There was nothing more to be said.
He thought otherwise. As they walked, he asked, “Who taught you to make a fist like that?”
She looked around, surprised at his question. Oh dear, he was rubbing his jaw, where a fist-sized red mark stood out against his healthy complexion. It might even turn black and blue, so he would wear her brand for a sennight. Served him right. “You did. When we first met, and our fathers were closeted in the office so long.”
“I thought I remembered that. You said some boys in the neighborhood were teasing you, pulling your hair. I don’t blame them.” He almost reached out to touch those golden curls himself, now that they were drying in tumbled waves down her back. She glared and he rubbed his chin again instead, pretending that was his intention all along.
Penny put more distance between them. “You said I ought to know how to defend myself.”
“Did they ever bother you again?”
“No, but not because of the fist I clenched in front of their faces. I told them I was an engaged lady now, promised to a real lord’s son. I said you would come break their noses if they insulted me.”
“At least I was good for something.”
Her silence spoke volumes.
When they reached the library, West retrieved his belongings. While he put on one of his gloves, he asked, “Is it you who filled these shelves with treasures?”
She smiled for the first time since receiving her father’s message, pleased with the compliment to her beloved books. “I added to an already extensive collection, yes. The books have been my friends and companions.” She quickly held up a hand. “Not that I am complaining or trying to win your sympathy or make you feel guilty. My life in the country is rich, with running my grandfather’s household and helping the less fortunate in the community. Nor am I a mere bluestocking do-gooder. The neighborhood has an active social life with assemblies every month and frequent dinners and dance parties among the local gentry.”
“And none of the local beaux caught your fancy? None of your dance partners or dinner companions measured up?”
How could they, compared with him? She picked up a book from the desk and flattened its pages open, as if she were going to read it as soon as he left, which could not be soon enough.
When she did not answer, he gestured toward the high shelves. “I suppose you are far better-read than your possible suitors.”
“You sound surprised. Did you think I was an unlettered, ignorant country lumpkin? I had governesses and tutors, and a year at Miss Meadow’s Select Academy.”
“I did not know what to think, honestly.”
“Or you did not think.”
He spread his fingers, smoothing the soft leather down each finger, then smiled at her. “I believe we have settled that issue comprehensively. I acted wrongly, perhaps for honorable reasons, although that is not sufficient excuse. I can only apologize again. I truly am sorry, Miss Goldwaite, for any ill I caused you.”
Men did not apologize easily, Penny knew, especially proud men used to having their own way. She could do no less than accept his apology, which did not mean she had to forgive him. “And I apologize for having struck you,” she said graciously, which did not mean she meant it.
Before putting on his other glove, Westfield asked, “Have you never done anything else you regretted?”
Yes, she’d let him back in, him and his heart-stopping smile. “I did not say I regretted punching you, only that I was sorry. There is a difference.”
“And in my own defense, let me say that I never knowingly caused you harm. I did not know your circumstances. I should have made it my business to find out how you were situated; I see that now. I can only plead youth and the war, and abysmal ignorance. Our fathers made the arrangement, so I suppose I was waiting for them to finalize the wedding plans. After my father died and I never heard from yours, I simply assumed you had found a gentleman of your choice to wed. A wealthy man, one your father would approve. I was going to return your funds as soon as I was able, and all would be well.”
Perhaps someone else had hit him earlier, Penny thought, and scrambled his brains. “How could I encourage another man’s attentions when I was already promised to you? I was honor-bound by our betrothal from seeking another beau.”
“There is that again.” He studied his other glove before putting it on, the fact that he had not felt constrained by the contract a palpable presence between them. His mistresses and society misses might have been in the room, except none of them were interested in books. She had come a hairsbreadth away from impugning his own honor, but West could not fault her for that. He cleared his throat and tried to sound cheerful. “Well, you are no longer bound. Have you a gentleman in mind?”
Now she laughed, but without humor. “Eligible bachelors are not thick on the ground in the country. Little Falls is not Almack’s, you know, and I am no longer a blushing debutante. No one here considers me an heiress, either, only an eccentric old maid, which is just as well, for I would not wish to be wed for my money. Besides, Father wants a title. Rich men with peerages seldom look to bankers’ daughters.”
“But your father is a knight now. And you are an attractive, intelligent woman. Surely in London—”
“I am not in London. I meet my father and his family in the Lake Country for a summer holiday. Grandpapa and I travel to Bath in the winter.”
“Bath is better,” he said, relieved. “Lots of chaps go for the waters, some with their ailing relations, of course, but some of my officer friends stop in Bath to recover from various injuries. Or you might try convincing your family to go to Brighton for the summer. A younger crowd vacations there.”
Penny had never thought past this day. “Perhaps,” she said.
The viscount must have heard the doubt in her voice, for he smiled again and said, “You are free, little butterfly. Go spread your wings.”
“As you will? Blithely celebrate your release from bondage?”
Now he did reach out to lift a bright curl. “Not so blithely. Perhaps I will feel a bit of regret.”
The practiced rake might be saying that to make her feel better, Penny knew. It did.
He did not release her curl, just stared into her eyes. “Perhaps I will feel more than a little regret that I never got to know you. But now we are both free to make our own choices, find our own paths. That is better, isn’t it?”
“Much better,” she answered too readily to be polite. His nearness was disturbing. “That is, we shall both benefit from the end of this unfortunate experience.”
“Shall we seal the end of our betrothal with a kiss?”
A kiss? Gracious, he really was a rake. She was well out of the engagement. “I do not believe that is at all proper.”
“No, I suppose not.” He lightly touched his lips to hers anyway. “Farewell, my onetime bride-to-be. Be happy with your independence.”
Penny would be happy if her legs could hold her up. She really ought to hit him again, she thought. Or kiss him again so she’d know how a practiced womanizer did it—for future reference, of course.
He was smiling, the devil, knowing his effect. His confidence gave her the strength to smile back and say, “Yes, now I can go find my own Prince Charming to wed.”
“Like hell you can,” came a loud voice from the open doorway. “You are marrying Lord Lustful, for good or for ill, and not a moment too soon, it seems. And you, sir, unhand my daughter. The wedding ain’t taken place yet.”
“Father?”
“Sir Gaspar?”
Penny’s father stepped into the library. “Who were you expecting, King George? Although I had to be as mad as the king to let Westfield ride ahead. But I suppose no harm’s done, an engaged couple and all.”
“You are mistaken, Sir Gaspar,” West told him. “We were saying good-bye. There will be no wedding.”
“Like hell there won’t.” He looked around for a place to put his hat. “Havey-cavey household altogether. I always said so. I sent a note to expect me and what do I get? No butler, no footman, no chaperone for my daughter.”
“I am too old for a chaperone, Father.”
“Not by the looks of you.” He peered over his spectacles at her bare feet, unfastened gown, and disordered hair. “Your mother would be ashamed.”
“It is not what you think,” Penny insisted.
“Miss Goldwaite is totally innocent,” West said.
“When the gal’s cheeks are rubbed red from your beard and she looks like she’s been dragged through a bush backward? Deuced hard to think anything but you were anticipating the wedding vows.”
“There will be no wedding, Father.”
Sir Gaspar finally set his hat on the desk. “Are you telling me you behave like a wanton with any stranger who walks through the door?”
“Of course not.”
West was growing irritated at the older man’s stubbornness. “You insult your daughter, sir.”
“Hmph. I wasn’t the one pawing at my betrothed.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I’m not his—”
“I need a drink. Does the old man still keep that fine brandy?”
West brought him a glass and the decanter, much less full than it was when he arrived. Sir Gaspar sank into one of the leather armchairs and took a deep swallow of the brandy. “I needed that, just getting through the hall.”
The man most likely needed it after a night with the innkeeper’s wife, but West said, “The paintings are somewhat of a shock, aren’t they?”
“That and finding my daughter dressed like a Covent Garden convenient.” He shook his head. “Thought she’d cause a dustup, but I can see you handled the gal right. I guess you were smart to come a-wooing on your own. Not surprising, a fellow with your reputation with the ladies.”
West almost snarled, “I did not come a-wooing and I did not handle your daughter.”
Sir Gaspar snorted.
“Well, not in that way. We have agreed we do not suit, so there will be no wedding.”
“Hah. You, miss, go make yourself presentable while Westfield and I settle a few details.”
Penny crossed her arms over her chest. “I am not leaving. It is my life you are discussing.”
“Well, I ain’t talking while some buck ogles my daughter’s ankles. And assets.”
More red color flooded Penny’s face, and she was glad her arms were making certain her gown stayed almost modest. There was nothing she could do about her bare feet or her hair. “Fine, I shall go.” She glared at both of them. “But you are not to talk about me or my future until I return.” To make sure they did not have the opportunity, she told her father, “Speaking of propriety, you ought to pay your respects to Grandpapa, if you are going to drink his wine.”
“Suppose the old loon is off painting, or whatever he calls it nowadays.”
“He calls it art.”
Sir Gaspar snorted again. He grimaced, but got to his feet.
When they were both gone, West eyed the decanter. Then he eyed the door.