Fear and pain had plagued Anita Crawford’s life since the age of four. Before then, her life was wonderful. Although she had only a few memories of that brief time, they were ones she’d never forgotten, nor would. Somehow in her young mind, she’d collected them, tied them together and tucked them away like special letters received in the post, bound with a ribbon and hidden away to be reread in uninterrupted privacy. She pulled up a memory every so often but, for the most part, just kept them hidden, safe from the world she’d known since then.
The next twenty years had been filled with fear and pain, and both were alive inside her today as the snow continued to fall, whipped around by the wind that was chilling her very bones. All of her bones. Not just the ones that were normally overly affected by the cold.
Or a storm or even a heat wave. Her left ankle, knee and hip could tell her when there would be a change in weather. At times the ache was so intolerable she wanted to sit down and cry. She never allowed that to happen, because the tears wouldn’t just be for the aching. They would be for all the pain that had lived inside her for so long, and she was afraid she’d never stop crying once she started.
The fear inside her at this moment, as she drove the horses through the wintery weather, was not only for herself but for the man inside the coach. Joshua, the coach driver, had never been unkind or cruel to her. Just the opposite was true. He’d always been kind and helpful, and had been at Brunswick for as long as she could remember. The fear of him dying, of freezing to death before she got him to Redford, was overwhelming her aches, pains and other fears.
Mainly, though, she felt the fear of arriving at Redford. Of meeting the man she was to marry—tomorrow! Myles Wadsworth, the Duke of Redford, had purchased her. Of course, he hadn’t walked into a store, selected her from a shelf and given the store clerk money like one would for a tin of tobacco or a yard of cloth. No one ever visited Brunswick, nor would they have chosen her given the choice. It was a sight unseen sale.
That Uncle Jerome had sold her hadn’t come as a surprise. He’d sold everything else of value, but she was considered by her uncle to be of little or no value. For years, she’d been known as that lame girl. The word homely was often included in that description. Anita had long accepted that she was a colourless creature. Her eyes were dull grey, and her thick, coarse hair was neither blond nor brown but a lacklustre shade between the two, with strands of grey that were uncommon for someone of her age.
What had surprised her out of this deal was the Duke. There was no viable reason why he would accept her in any deal. Why anyone would. She had no dowry. Her uncle had used that to pay gambling bills years ago. He’d said the dowry left in her father’s will wasn’t needed because she was unmarriageable, that a woman who could barely walk was a sorry excuse for a wife. At twenty-four, she was well on her way to a life of spinsterhood. At least had been, and had accepted that, up until a few days ago.
Although she’d never met him, Myles Wadsworth, the Duke of Redford, had been the talk of many gossip-mongers for several months. Not that she was ever anywhere where gossip ensued. The servants didn’t even gossip when she was near. Due to the fact that even though she worked beside the staff more often than not, she was part of the family. In name only. She didn’t fit in with the family any more than she fit with the servants. She hadn’t fit in anywhere since her parents had died. Since the accident that left her that maimed girl.
Her cousins, however, were out and about and collected gossip like bees gathered nectar. Matilda and Irma had brought home many a tale about Myles Wadsworth. He’d been engaged twice already this past year, and both times the wedding had been called off shortly before the event could occur. His former intendeds, both young, beautiful and well bred, from what Anita had heard via her cousins, refrained from saying too much, other than that a marriage to the Duke would never have worked for them.
That left Anita to silently contemplate why? Why wouldn’t it have worked? Though she’d never dared asked. Not even after Uncle Jerome had told her about the deal he’d made with the Duke. However, she’d been more curious as to know why Uncle Jerome had offered her and not one of his own daughters.
Matilda and Irma, who were respectively now twenty-two and twenty, and eagerly seeking husbands, were regularly carted off to London to reside with their mother’s sister Rainie to attend balls, theatre performances and other social activities that might gain them possible suitors. Ones of high-enough standards to marry an earl’s daughter.
That was what her uncle Jerome was, an earl. The Earl of Brunswick. That had once been her father’s title, and she’d been the daughter of an earl, until a dreadful carriage accident had taken the lives of both her parents. She had been in the carriage with them. In that one fateful moment she’d been orphaned and injured and, ultimately, left an outcast.
Her throat plugged and she had to swallow past the lump to encourage the horses to keep moving along. In this weather, on these snow-covered roads, she had to be careful. One slip and they would all be in trouble, with no one to save them. She didn’t snap the reins across the animals’ backs like some may but instead shouted over the sound of their hoofbeats, the churning wheels, rattling coach, squeaking springs and cold, blistering winds, telling them that they were doing wonderfully, that she was proud of them and to save their strength until the estate was in view. That’s when she’d give them their heads, let them gallop. She also told them that it shouldn’t be much farther now.
She wasn’t sure. Just knew this was the road that led to the Duke’s country estate. The owner of the roadside inn where they’d stayed at last night had given Joshua directions to Redford, and she’d been nearby enough to hear. Although the instructions had not been difficult. They’d only had to make one turn off the road, and that had been right after the bridge where Joshua had fallen into the icy river.
It was always cold in November, but this morning, they’d awoken to gloomy, grey skies and a bite in the air that made her joints ache. Joshua had placed bricks heated by the inn’s fire inside the carriage, near her feet, and told her they’d arrive at their destination before noon.
Despite her aches and pains, she hadn’t been in a hurry to arrive; however, she also hadn’t wanted Joshua and the horses out in the cold for any longer than necessary.
They had barely been on the road an hour when the snow had started to fall. Though it made things colder and damp, it hadn’t affected their travels, until they’d come to the bridge. The horses had turned skittish at the ice coating the boards and the sound of rushing water below, and had baulked at crossing. Joshua had suggested they all walk across the bridge.
The cold had made Anita’s leg stiff and the ice-coated boards had made each step more difficult than usual, but she and her newly appointed maid, Olive, who had been sent along only because it was expected that she have a maid, had made it safely to the other side.
Her cousins each had a maid, but Anita had never had one, not that she’d ever needed one for anything. Olive was a kitchen maid, had been her entire life of forty years, but was the only staff Uncle Jerome would spare, and between the two of them, they’d managed to get her dressed in what Anita felt was an outlandish outfit that her aunt Tilda had provided for her. It was as bright blue as the wing feathers on a jay bird, and had so many buttons and bows that she and Olive had laughed themselves nearly silly trying to get her out of it that first night.
It was a pretty enough colour, it’s just that so much of it was shocking when she’d looked in the mirror. As she had each morning at the inns they’d stayed at, growing ever more fearful of what the Duke of Redford would do upon seeing her. Would he be shocked? Disgusted? Regretful?
To Olive’s credit, she’d also managed to find a way to hide the mass of wayward curls that had fought Anita’s attempts to train them for years beneath the white hat that held a single blue feather.
She’d never had a hat before and did like this one for the mere fact it hid a fair amount of her unruly hair.
Aunt Tilda had been more kind than Uncle Jerome, especially back in the early years when Anita had begun living with them, or they with her, since Brunswick had once been her father’s estate. Brunswick had also once been beautiful, and despite all she’d tried to do to make the home shine and sparkle like it used to, the paint on the walls was cracked, the bricks on the front steps crumbling, and the windows rattled in the wind. It was as if no one but she seemed to notice those things. The other thing she had noticed was that Aunt Tilda had been as happy as Uncle Jerome over the deal he’d made with the Duke.
Anita wasn’t sure where Aunt Tilda had found the blue dress, for she’d never seen her cousins or aunt wearing it, nor the other two dresses that were packed in the small trunk that held all her earthly possessions. She’d chosen to wear the blue one because, of the three, it was the warmest, made of thick corduroy material.
The corduroy was now wet from the snow, as was the woollen grey cloak she wore over the dress, and her fingers were numb, both from the cold and her grip on the reins.
While carefully leading the horses, Joshua had almost made it across the bridge, too, when Clyde or Clod—or perhaps both, it had all happened so fast it was hard to say—jolted forward, knocking Joshua over the short railing and into the river in their hurry to get across. Joshua had managed to catch hold of a bridge support and got back to shore, shivering so hard his teeth chattered.
Though shaking from the cold and fear for him, Anita and Olive, who had by then been crying fretfully, had managed to help him up the bank and into the carriage. Anita was indeed grateful that the horses knew her so well due to her time in the stables. Upon shouting their names, Clyde and Clod had stopped and settled down since the bridge was behind them, and they had waited patiently until Joshua had been helped inside the coach and she’d climbed up in the driver’s seat.
Life had taught her that it wasn’t the fittest who survive, it was the strongest. Not even those with strong muscles or even bones, but strong willpower. Strong determination, and she hoped with all her heart and soul that Joshua was as determined to live as she was to get him to Redford.
‘Which one of his daughters?’ Wesley asked while shaking his head and pacing the floor.
Myles Wadsworth had known his brother would be shocked by the news, as had been his mother and two younger sisters, whom he’d told at breakfast this morning. He also knew Wesley would be the one to question his decision. ‘Neither. It’s his niece.’
Wesley nearly spat out the whisky he was drinking to take away the chill, having just ridden two hours in a snow storm from London, down the front of his ruffled white shirt. ‘His niece! Have you ever met her?’
Myles hadn’t met Jerome Crawford’s niece, nor the man’s daughters, not the he could remember. Neither of the Earl’s daughters nor his niece had been on Myles’s list of potential wives until Brunswick had sought him out, offering a marriage to either one of his daughters. When Myles had declined, he’d thought it was over, until he’d caught wind of other action the Earl had been taking and had determined to put a stop to it. ‘No, I have not.’
Wesley let out a smothered growl.
Myles had no doubt that his brother had heard rumours about Brunswick’s niece. The Earl had not been discreet in his spewing. ‘Have you met her?’
‘No,’ Wesley replied, ‘but I’ve heard about her. She’s a recluse. Never leaves their country estate. Hasn’t for years.’
Myles had heard that, too. Moreover, he’d confirmed it and several other things about Miss Anita Crawford. What he’d learned had cemented his decision to ask for her hand in marriage. Brunswick had agreed to the terms and had confirmed that his niece had agreed.
‘Myles,’ Wesley said, using a tone that one might talk to a small child with, even though Wesley was the younger of the two of them by two years. ‘I know you’re set on getting married, but shouldn’t it be to a woman you’ve actually met? Someone you know?’
‘I’ve tried that, twice, and found myself sorely disappointed each time.’ That was the precise reason Anita Crawford had been his choice. His past two attempts at marriage had inspired him to change what he sought. Gone were the expectations of what a duchess should look like and how they should socially participate in his life. All he needed was someone to bear him children—at least two, preferably boys, so the Dukedom would be secured—and someone mature enough to understand trust.
‘And you’re going to be again,’ Wesley said, running a hand through his dark hair. ‘Sorely disappointed.’
‘I don’t believe so,’ Myles replied. ‘I spoke in depth with Brunswick, and I spoke to his driver.’
Wesley scoffed, then set his glass down on a small side table as he walked past it. ‘You spoke to a man who everyone knows is a liar and a cheat. He’s owed you money from a gambling debt for—what?—two years and never attempted to pay you back. And you spoke to his driver, a man who undoubtedly is loyal to Crawford, and you’re saying that’s enough?’
‘It is enough.’ Myles understood his brother’s concerns. He’d had his own. Long before he and Wesley had started raising thoroughbreds, their father had instilled a love of horse racing in them. His father had often said that if it had been up to him, he’d be raising racehorses.
As a child, he’d asked his father why he wasn’t raising racehorses. His father had said that it was because a man could only have so many irons in the fire. If he had too many, something was sure to fail. He would be a failure.
Not understanding, Myles had pushed for more of an answer, and that’s when his father had told him about how a man has to have priorities, and he’d told him about love. About how he’d fallen in love with his mother. About how his dreams and priorities had shifted, and that Myles would understand that better when he was grown up and fell in love with a woman.
That was when he’d determined that he’d never fall in love. Never let someone make his dreams change. Never fail at anything. What may have been perhaps a silly childhood vow had become a reality when his father had grown ill and died within the week from pneumonia. The Dukedom had passed to him, and he’d felt a weight that he hadn’t expected. The duties, the businesses to oversee, were manageable. He’d been confident in his ability to follow in his father’s footsteps in all of them, even with the added thoroughbred business. It had been the other expectations that had weighed him down. The necessity of getting married to produce an heir.
He couldn’t deny that he’d always known that he’d have to marry at some point, but having it become the topic of nearly every conversation had made him feel as if he did, indeed, have too many irons in the fire. He’d tried to meet those expectations, made the time for courting, but it had been awful. There had been nothing about it that he’d enjoyed. The women had all wanted to be his top priority, and he didn’t have time for that. There had been nothing that he’d been willing to give up in order to make time for carriage rides in the park, walks in the moonlight, attending balls and the theatre and the numerous other outings that he considered merely a waste of time.
So, he’d taken the next approach. Enquired about, and found, a woman who hadn’t needed any of that either. One who had the social graces to become a duchess and simply wanted to get married because it too was expected of her.
That had been Leslie Carlisle. She’d wanted to bypass all the courtship, too, get straight to the wedding, and being the daughter of a marquess, she’d fit his standards for a wife. Until he’d discovered that the reason she’d wanted to get married, and so quickly, was because she was in love with a man her father didn’t approve of. She was now engaged to that man, and Myles wished them well. It appeared that after being rejected by a duke, an earl would fit her father’s needs after all.
Myles had been relieved when the engagement ended, but the expectations had still been there, so he had continued his search. Diana Brockholder had approached him with the claims of wanting nothing more than to wed and raise a family. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been until after he’d given her a ring that he’d discovered she was little more than a spoiled child. He’d been glad to end that relationship, too, which is why he’d been far more diligent this time.
Huffing out another sigh, Wesley sat down in the chair adjacent. ‘Myles...’
‘Wesley,’ Myles interrupted before his brother could say more. ‘I have to get marriage behind me. We have too much at stake. We need things secured. The next generation secured. What started out as a cough ended our father’s life within a few days. God forbid, if something were to happen to me, or you, we have to think of mother and the girls.’ He paused for a moment, then continued, ‘Redford Stables was our dream, Wes. We’ve already accomplished much, but there is much more we can yet do. So many more of our horses that could be winning races around the world. The competition is growing, and we have to act now to remain at the top.’
Eight years ago, when he’d been twenty and Wesley eighteen, their father had granted permission for them to pursue breeding racehorses. The sport had been around since men had started riding, but the popularity of it was turning everyday men wealthy, and that was creating a hunger for the sport worldwide. Their timing had been perfect. They’d amassed not only a massive stable full of prime breeding stock, but their venture had ensured that Redford Stables was a name to be recognised in racing across the country, the continent.
Their goal now was to extend that reach across the ocean, to America, where the sport was doubling in participation and attraction. Wesley would travel there in the new year to meet with track owners and buyers. Men who already owned stock but wanted more. They wanted horses with pedigrees behind them. Redford Stables’ English thoroughbreds not only had pedigrees; they had the drive of champions.
There had been talk of both he and Wesley travelling, promoting their horses, one to America and one to Australia, and then on to other countries, other continents, but that had been before their father’s death when everything had changed. The title and role that he’d inherited included several other ventures that needed constant attention, comprising the banks and properties his family owned and other numerous duties.
All of their holdings, including the stables, had competent and dedicated employees, and though such good employees made light of his everyday workload, it didn’t lessen the fact that he was responsible for every decision made. Responsible for everyone and everything.
‘With you going to America—’
‘I won’t go,’ Wesley interrupted, rising to his feet again. ‘I don’t have to. We can wait to expand for another few years. Goodness knows we don’t need the money.’
‘This has never been about money,’ Myles reminded. It was about failing, and that was the one thing he refused to do. A Duke of Redford had never failed, and he refused to be the first. ‘We could both sit on our assets for the next fifty years, doing nothing, and our great grandchild will still not run out of money. This is about creating something, a legacy for future generations, like our ancestors did before us. Like our grandfather did with the banks and father did with rental properties. We’ve created something people want, our thoroughbred horses are in demand, and it’s up to us to meet that demand.’
‘At what cost, Myles? Shouldn’t happiness fall in there somewhere?’
‘Yes,’ Myles admitted. ‘Redford Stables has made us both happy. It made father happy, too. This was his dream also, and one we need to continue for him as much as for us.’ Understanding his brother’s concerns focused on his decision to marry, Myles added, ‘We’ll both be happier once the family is secured.’
Wesley shook his head as he began pacing the floor. ‘Will you be happy about the way you secured it? Married to someone you don’t even know?’
‘I know more about her than you realise, I’ve talked to more people than you know. Anita was the daughter of Jerome Crawford’s brother, Daniel, the then Earl of Brunswick. Our father knew him. We were both too young to remember that, but he was a man of honour, nothing like his brother, the current earl. Anita is twenty-four, two years younger than you. The late earl and his wife, and their daughter, Anita, were in a carriage accident. Her parents were killed and she was injured. That’s why she now walks with a limp. She was only four. Jerome Crawford inherited the title from his brother, and a substantial amount of money and holdings, and has lost nearly all of it. He was attempting to gamble off his niece in a game of cards at White’s on St James’s Street.’
Wesley let out an expletive under his breath. ‘What kind of man does that?’
It wasn’t unheard of for men to gamble with practically anything, but wagering another human being was looked down upon by most, and Brunswick had been thrown out of the game and the establishment. ‘A desperate one,’ Myles replied. ‘From what I learned, Anita has barely left their estate in years. It’s a distance from London, and few people have been there over the years. Whether she remains home due to her inflictions or because Brunswick refuses to let her leave, I don’t know, but I do know that his sister-in-law chaperons his daughters around London regularly.’
Wesley pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘You can’t rescue people like you do stray animals. You’ve done that with everything from squirrels to horses over the years, but a woman? You can’t do that, Myles.’
‘Why can’t I?’ That was the very question he’d asked himself when he’d heard about Brunswick’s gambling. He loathed seeing anyone or thing mistreated, and her situation had resonated with him, telling him that he’d needed to do something about it, even before he knew about her injuries. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t help her? Not the kind he wanted to be. ‘It’ll benefit both of us. I’ll have the wife I need, children to secure the Wadsworth name as well as the Dukedom, and she’ll be taken care of, will never again have to worry about being gambled off in a card game. I also have access to doctors who might be able to help her.’
‘What are the nature of her injuries? What if she was injured to the point that she can’t have children?’
‘I spoke to the doctor who examined her when she was five or so. She’d been struggling to walk a year after the accident. He said her ankle had been broken in the accident and not properly set, and that Brunswick refused to pay for a surgery that might have helped back then. Other than her leg, the doctor claimed she was healthy.’
‘I still worry that you’re taking a big risk here.’
‘Am I?’ Myles asked aloud, because he’d convinced himself otherwise. ‘I’m not taking the risk that my soon-to-be wife is already plotting how to continue an affair with another man. Nor am I taking the risk that she’ll throw herself into a fit of rage and mistreat the servants or my family members.’ The more he’d learned about Anita, the more intrigued he’d become and was convinced that she would fit his needs. ‘Brunswick’s driver sang her praises. Described her as a quiet woman of dignity, perhaps a touch meek, who enjoys country life, and is the one who manages the household like clockwork. I also spoke with Brunswick’s sister-in-law, the Dowager Countess of Wheyfield, who not only confirmed the driver’s sentiments but added her own opinion that Anita has never been treated fairly by Brunswick.’ Myles shook his head. ‘I’m really not risking anything. Nor is she. All I’ll ask of her is trust. That I can trust her to remain faithful to me and be kind to others.’
Wesley shook his head and huffed out a breath. ‘You can’t really believe this is going to work?’
‘Yes, I can,’ Myles answered. ‘Furthermore, I do. I believe Anita Crawford is what I need. What we need. You’ve already put off going to America for over a year, ever since father’s death. You’re not cancelling another trip. I refuse to have that happen.’
Wesley shook his head, then nodded and stared across the room at nothing in particular as he asked, ‘What did mother say? I’m assuming you told her, and the girls?’
‘At breakfast this morning. Mother was surprised but agreed that it’s my decision and will support me in it.’
‘Of course she agreed with you. You’re the head of this family,’ Wesley said. ‘But we both know her wish for us is to find the love that she and father knew.’
‘Love is nothing more than a distraction, one I don’t need. I need a wife who is content to not have my constant attention,’ Myles said as he clamped his back teeth together. Though their mother had tried to keep it hidden, he’d witnessed how the loss of the love his parents had shared weighed on her. How it had aged her and it still was. That too increased his urgency to marry. He needed to find a wife, a duchess, to take other duties off his mother’s shoulders. That, though, was not something he would share with Wesley. There was no need for his brother to worry. ‘I’m twenty-eight, and the past two wedding cancellations have already given the ton all the gossip they need about us. It’s time they move on to someone else.’
‘Like this isn’t going to create more gossip? A reclusive wife you keep hidden?’
‘I won’t keep her hidden. It will be up to her if she wants to remain here, at Redford, most of the time, but I will request that she attends the Christmas Ball in London with us, as a family.’ Attendance by his family was required since it would be the first ball his two younger sisters were to attend, and he couldn’t disappoint them. He’d already convinced himself that he would not be throwing Anita to the wolves, which is what his brother was most likely thinking right now. He’d be at her side the entire time, the entire family would be, showing a united front.
‘The ball is less than a month from now,’ Wesley said. ‘When do you plan on marrying her?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes, that’s why I requested you here today. I’ll need you as a witness at the wedding. Brunswick sent a message that she agreed to the marriage and is due to arrive before evening, given the weather hasn’t delayed their travels. They should have been close to arriving before the storm rolled in this morning.’
‘The roads weren’t bad from London,’ Wesley said, ‘just cold and wet, but do you trust Brunswick to keep his word?’
‘Yes, I’ve petitioned the courts for a loan against his holdings in the amount of his debt to me that will go into effect if she doesn’t arrive today.’
Wesley lifted a brow, but a knock interrupted anything he was about to say.
‘Come in,’ Myles said, rising to his feet.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Charles, their long-time and still overly spry butler said. ‘There is a carriage coming up the driveway that appears to be out of control. I’ve sent Gus to the stables to get help, but I’m not sure what else to do.’
Myles wasn’t sure what to do, either, other than rush outside and figure out what could be done. Wesley ran beside him, down the corridor and across the hall, and then out the door. Neither of them had grabbed coats, and the bite in the air was as cold as Wesley had proclaimed upon his arrival a short time ago.
However, the cold didn’t stop them from racing down the steps and watching the carriage careen around the last curve in the road and barrel forward. A woman was driving it, with a single bright blue feather flopping atop her hat like she’d struck a bird en route and one of its tail feathers had got stuck to her head. The horses didn’t appear to be out of control, but she had to be out of her mind to drive them at such speeds in this weather.
Myles couldn’t tell if it was with expertise or sheer determination, by the look on her face, that she brought the steaming horses to a stop so close to the front steps that both he and Wesley had to jump back to keep from getting hit.
‘There’s a man freezing to death inside the coach!’ she shouted. ‘He fell in the river! Hurry! Get him inside the house!’
Myles leaped forward and pulled open the door of the coach. A man was huddled in the corner of one seat, so blue that if not for the way he was shaking, Myles would have thought him dead. However, he also recognised him as Brunswick’s driver.
There was an older woman inside the coach, too, who looked as cold as the driver, but she wasn’t blue. She was white, as if she’d lost all her colour. Even her hands that were gripping the edge of the carriage seat were white.
Groomsmen from the stable were arriving two at a time, and Myles instructed them to get the man and woman inside the house.
As Myles stepped back, giving the men room, Wesley caught sight of the coach occupants, then looked up at the woman driver, who was telling the grooms to be careful, but hurry.
‘That’s her, isn’t it?’ Wesley whispered.
‘I believe so,’ Myles admitted, as a chill that had nothing to do with the cold air coiled around his spine.
Wesley slapped his back. ‘I wouldn’t call that meek, brother. You ever rescued a hellcat before?’
Myles ignored his brother and turned his full attention on the woman driver as the other men carried the man and other woman towards the house. Maybe all of his thoroughness hadn’t been quite thorough enough. She wasn’t meek. Nor was she unattractive, as he’d also been told, granted that had been by Brunswick when Myles had said he was interested in her, not Brunswick’s daughters. Even with her hat askew and her hair dripping wet, the fineness of her features was enough to steal a man’s breath.
‘My horses need to be taken care of, too,’ she said. ‘Quickly. They’re overheated and that’s dangerous in this weather.’
Even though her words were clear and full of urgency, he heard the way her voice shivered, indicating she was as chilled to the bone as her passengers. Perhaps more so considering she’d been out in the elements.
‘They’ll be taken care of,’ he said, stretching his hands towards her. ‘Here, let me help you down.’