Miss Bradshaw's Bought Betrothal

Chapter Two

Her head whipped around and with it a thick, dark plait swung off her shoulder and fell almost to her bottom. One hand automatically went to her heart in shock, drawing his gaze to the magnificent bosom that was indeed there, then her expression changed to annoyance.

‘Oh, Fergus! You gave me a fright.’

‘Fergus?’ If his brother was here, then his first assumption was correct. She was a tavern wench. ‘I am not Fergus.’

The woman had a heart-shaped face which was not classically beautiful, but certainly striking. Her mouth was a little too large for classical proportions, her nose a little too strong, but her eyes? Her eyes were quite lovely. Then they narrowed.

‘Are you drunk, Fergus?’

‘I am not Fergus.’

‘Of course you are and this silly game is not at all funny.’

As Evie said those words she began to feel uncomfortable. The more she looked at the man staring at her in the doorway, the more convinced she became that he might, indeed, not be Fergus.

Although he was the spitting image of Fergus.

Except his features were not as soft. The dark hair similar, but the style different. Fergus’s locks were always ruthlessly pomaded to maintain the fashionable à la Brutus style that was favoured by the majority of the ton. There was no evidence of pomade in this man’s hair and, now that she thought about it, it was longer. It flopped over one eye quite rakishly and had a windswept quality that Fergus would never allow. Dark stubble covered his chin. Another thing that Fergus would never be seen dead with. Even in the worst state of inebriation Fergus still managed to shave. The clothes were all wrong as well. Her fiancé was a bit of a dandy and had a tendency to wear lace and intricately folded knots at his collar. This man’s clothing was more austere with a distinct absence of any froth. And his eyes were slightly darker, his body slightly larger, his posture more commanding. But his gaze was equally as cold. Filling the doorway in his billowing greatcoat, he looked positively menacing.

‘If you are not Fergus, who are you?’ Her voice was pathetically small and uncertain once again.

‘I am his brother. His twin brother. Finnegan.’

Fergus had mentioned in passing he had a married brother, but he had neglected to tell her that he was one of twins. He had also apparently neglected to tell his brother about their visit, hence his unexpected appearance in the middle of the night. ‘Although this is quite unorthodox, Lord Finnegan, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I am Miss Evelyn Bradshaw, Fergus’s fiancée.’

His eyebrows lifted and his eyes insolently swept slowly from her face down her body. They lingered on her chest blatantly for a second before they travelled back up to her eyes again. ‘You are not his type.’

As far as Evie was aware, she was not anyone’s type, but that was by the by. She was not going to get into that sort of discussion with a stranger. ‘I can assure that we are engaged to be married, Lord Finnegan. And as such, for the duration of my stay here and for the sake of propriety, Fergus has taken residence in the local inn.’

His features remained deadpan, but his arms folded across his chest. ‘Has he?’

Evie smiled in a vain attempt to soften the blow she was about to deliver. She did find it very difficult to be assertive, but in this instance she had to do it. ‘I hate to inconvenience you after your late journey, but for the sake of propriety I must insist that you also take yourself directly to the inn as well. My great-aunt and I will be staying here in Stanford House.’

Nerves made her voice wobble and she had the overwhelming urge to curl up into a ball, but, remembering that she was resolved never to be Invisible Evelyn again, she pulled her shoulders back proudly and forced herself to meet his gaze. Several awkward seconds ticked by.

‘He didn’t tell you, did he?’

‘Tell me what?’ Fergus’s double now appeared to be amused and shook his dark head as he stared up at the ceiling, as if he were seeking strength from the lord.

‘This is not Stanford House. This is Matlock House.’ He folded his arms over his impressively broad chest. ‘My house.’

Lost for words, Evie gaped back at him. When she found her voice it came out in a squeak. ‘I have been led to believe that this is my fiancé’s house! He brought me here this very evening and made no mention of the fact that this was your house.’

‘Yes. Well, in my experience, Fergus’s relationship with the truth has always been rather tenuous. He probably brought you here because Stanford House in is no fit state to be inhabited. No doubt he will have constructed a perfectly reasonable-sounding explanation when I confront him about it in the morning. However, right now I am going to bed.’

He turned and, to her utter chagrin, headed directly for the stairs, clutching his boots. ‘You cannot mean to stay here!’ Now the squeak was so high pitched that she sounded like a mouse.

Evie watched him drop the boots loudly and spin slowly to face her as he walked back into the library, his expression part confusion, part outrage. ‘This is my house, madam.’

‘But for propriety’s sake you cannot stay under the same roof as me!’

His hands came up to rest on his hips this time and his dark head tilted to one side insolently. The combative stance made him seem bigger. ‘Why ever not?’

Unsure of how to explain why his presence was outrageous, she managed to stutter something incoherent while he glared at her as if she was mad. In the end the best she could manage was one word.

‘Because!’

‘Because what? Are you afraid that at some point during the night my manly urges might get the better of me? Do you fear that I might hammer down your door and ravish you, Miss Bradshaw?’ Evie nodded weakly, painfully aware of the ferocious blush that had now swamped her face and chest. To her complete mortification he laughed bitterly at the implication. ‘If I was a man prone to being unable to control his urges, madam, I doubt I would wait until later to act on them. Especially since the firelight is doing a wonderful job of turning your nightdress transparent and giving me a perfectly unencumbered view of your naked body beneath.’ Automatically, she used her arms to cover herself and her mouth hung slack in shock. He, on the other hand, regarded her with polite indifference.

‘I am dead on my feet and I have absolutely no intention of leaving my house now or at any time in the future. Goodnight Miss Bradshaw. Don’t bother locking your door. Your precious virtue is perfectly safe with me.’

* * *

‘As he is not your fiancé, is already married and there are plenty of servants here as well as me, I do not think that there is any danger of your stay here being misconstrued as improper. In fact, it rather legitimises you staying here in the first place.’ Aunt Winnie nibbled on the tiny triangle of toast that she had procured from the extensive breakfast buffet laid out on the sideboard. Evie stared down at her matching toast mournfully and tried to ignore the tempting aroma of bacon wafting towards her nose.

‘That is as maybe, but now I am gravely concerned that Fergus has lied to me. His brother stated that Stanford House was uninhabitable and I have no intention of staying here for the duration.’ Although the house was quite lovely, she had hoped that she would be all alone. Being a guest rather put a dampener on things, especially as their unexpected host appeared to be quite rude. Seeking alternative accommodation that quickly was not something that she had planned for, not that she really had a plan.

‘We will make the best of it my dear. And think about it this way—if he has been fibbing it gives you another believable reason to call off your engagement when the time comes.’

Aunt Winnie did make a valid point, she supposed. Her sham betrothal to Fergus was only a temporary means to an end. She got her freedom and he got five thousand pounds for the year she anticipated they would need to maintain their charade. The important thing was Fergus had agreed to those terms. In the grand scheme of things, she would have still made the bargain if she had known that his house was uninhabitable—only she would have instructed her attorney to find a suitable cottage for herself and Aunt Winnie immediately before announcing her engagement to Hyacinth. In many ways, if Stanford House was a complete wreck, then it stood to reason that it would take ages before it was in a fit state to hold a wedding. Evie could delay telling Hyacinth the truth for years—pathetic coward that she was.

You see, Stepmother, I loathe my life with you almost as much as I loathe you. You are a mean, money-grabbing bully and I am tired of being your victim and of being Invisible Evelyn. Pitied, shapeless, plain and dull Invisible Evelyn. I feel as though I am dying inside.

No matter how many times Evie had thought a version of those words they had never seemed quite right so she had bitten them back. Hyacinth was her father’s second wife. He had loved her, perhaps, and he had made Evie promise to be a good daughter to her. Unfortunately, if he had made a similar request to Hyacinth, her stepmother did not feel duty-bound to honour it. This separation would give her the distance she needed to pluck up the courage to say them. Probably by letter. Almost definitely by letter. One day...

Out in the hallway, she heard the distinctive sound of a male voice and steeled herself to greet her fake fiancé’s rude twin brother. Under the circumstances, she had no choice but to rely on his hospitality until she had sorted out the mess, if the gentleman in question was prepared to extend his hospitality that was. Last night he appeared to be as enamoured of Fergus as she was, which was a worry and made her new situation precarious.

He strode into the room looking just as dark and foreboding as he had last night and regarded his uninvited guests with an air of disgusted resignation. ‘Good morning, ladies. Miss Bradshaw.’ His eyes flicked from her face to her plain green frock and then back again shamelessly, making no attempt to disguise his disappointment with what he saw. Evie felt the blush creep up her neck and suffuse her face as she recalled his ridiculous claim to have seen through her nightgown and wondered if his disappointment was merely because she was intruding on his privacy or because he really did know what lay beneath the yards and yards of silk. He inclined his head towards Aunt Winnie and took her proffered hand. ‘I am Finnegan Matlock, Fergus’s brother. I have not yet had the pleasure of your acquaintance.’

‘This is my Great-Aunt Winifred. She has accompanied me as my chaperon.’ Even as she said it Evie could see the disbelief in his dark eyes. He was probably wondering what use an eighty-nine-year-old woman with a walking stick was as a chaperon, but then again, as Evie was highly unlikely to ever need the true services of a chaperon to protect her virtue, she tried not to be offended. Aunt Winnie was her only living blood relative and, despite the innate difficulties of transporting an octogenarian with rheumatism across the entire length of the country, Evie could have hardly left the poor woman alone with Hyacinth. Even though Winnie always gave as good as she got.

‘Welcome to Matlock House, madam.’

‘You are better looking than your brother, sir.’

One eyebrow quirked with what she assumed was amusement at Aunt Winnie’s forthrightness, although he did not smile. ‘As we are identical twins, madam, I find that highly unlikely.’

Aunt Winnie would not be swayed. ‘Yes, yes. I see the similarities well enough, young man. I am old, not blind. But there are distinct differences. I have always thought your brother looks untrustworthy. His eyes dart around too much when he talks. Yours are steady. And you wear your breeches better. Do you like to ride, Lord Finnegan?’

Evie’s level of mortification ratcheted up a notch and she gave Fergus’s brother an apologetic smile. ‘Aunt Winifred is very outspoken.’ Her plain face was very probably glowing scarlet and that was a colour that had never suited her. Typically, like most people, he ignored her.

‘Yes, I do ride. Aunt Winifred—would you care to take a gallop over the fields with me?’ Although his face remained impassive his eyes appeared to be smiling. He definitely had better eyes than Fergus. Clearer. Not bloodshot. A little intriguing. The old lady giggled and swatted him with her hand.

‘And you are more charming than your brother. Talking of which, where is Fergus?’

‘As it is still morning and I dare say he has enjoyed his evening at the inn, unless he has changed his ways in the three years since I last saw him, I assume that he is still asleep. He never was one for daylight.’

Three years? That seemed an excessively long time for any siblings to have not visited one another, let alone twins. ‘I take it that you and Fergus are not close, Lord Finnegan?’

He answered with his back to her, more intent on loading his plate with the delicious steaming bacon than being polite to Evie. ‘To be honest, Miss Bradshaw, we are virtual strangers. Even as children we had vastly different characters. The only thing we have in common is the same face and the fact that we once shared the same womb.’ He balanced a piece of toast on top of his mountainous breakfast and carried it back towards the table. ‘Our parents often commented that we were as different as chalk and cheese.’

Which probably accounted for the fact that Fergus had never mentioned that he was one of twins. Finn ate his breakfast heartily, but suddenly paused his fork halfway to his mouth as he noticed Evie’s slice of toast. ‘Are you not eating?’

The familiar lie spilled out. ‘I am not particularly hungry.’ In fact, she was starving. She spent a great deal of her life starving in a pathetic attempt to become slimmer and thereby miraculously more attractive. Her excessive weight was one of the many things Hyacinth was merciless about. Unfortunately, even if Evie did manage to reduce her figure by a few inches, the moment she succumbed to temptation and ate a cake she was right back where she started. And she so loved cake.

‘Then why you are staring at my bacon so intently? You do not look like a woman who could survive on one piece of toast.’

Horrified and mortified in equal measure, Evie stared back at her toast and tried to think of a pithy retort. As usual, none came so she sat silently and wished she really was invisible as she squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.

‘Tell me how you came to be engaged to my feckless brother.’

Evie focused every bit of her attention on the rapidly cooling and unappealing piece of toast and trotted out her practised line. ‘We collided at various functions last year, found that we rubbed along well enough and, after a few months, he proposed.’ The story was purposefully short and dull because that was easier. Besides, everyone expected Evie to be dull so few asked for further clarification. Lord Finnegan tilted his head to one side and simply stared.

‘Are you sure?’

Nobody had ever queried the tale before and it flustered her. ‘Well, of course I am sure. Do you think that I would make something like that up?’ Already her palms were moist and her heart was racing guiltily. No doubt her neck was already blooming in unbecoming pink blotches. She never had been a particularly convincing liar.

‘To be perfectly frank, Miss Bradshaw, I have no idea. You completely bewilder me. You are definitely not Fergus’s usual type and the brother I know is about as likely to settle down into marriage of any sort as I am to suddenly sprout wings and soar majestically through the clouds.’

‘You, yourself, said that you had not seen your brother in three years. People can change a great deal in three years.’

He snorted his disbelief. ‘The sort of change you are suggesting would take a miracle to achieve. Fergus likes to drink, gamble and whore. You do not strike me as a woman who fits any of those criteria. That leads me to believe that there is only one reason why he is marrying you and that reason has to be money. Are you obscenely rich, Miss Bradshaw?’

Her mouth hung slack. Had he just used the word whore in front of a lady? And more importantly, he had just insulted her in the most horrendous manner. Nobody had ever spoken to her quite like that, apart from Hyacinth. Evie’s gaze flicked to the fork lying on the table to her left and for a moment she considered picking it up and using it as a weapon. Perhaps Lord Finnegan’s manners would improve if he suddenly found himself with a piece of cutlery embedded in his hand. Or his forehead.

‘That is none of your business, sir!’

‘So you are obscenely rich.’ He calmly popped another piece of bacon into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. ‘You must be scraping the bottom of the matrimonial barrel to have agreed to marry him.’

The man was insufferable. Fortunately, Aunt Winnie was never short for words.

‘You are a very rude man, Lord Finnegan.’

‘I agree.’ Was that really the best set-down she could manage? Evie had promised herself that she was not going to be a doormat any more and as this man was unspeakably rude, it could hardly hurt to practise the new Evie on him. ‘And I do not need to sit here and listen to your insults.’ At least that sounded more assertive although saying it aloud had now terrified her.

He shrugged and munched more bacon. ‘You are quite right, Miss Bradshaw. Should you wish to leave this house immediately, I would completely understand.’

Her lush mouth hung slack again and Finn felt a stab of guilt for being so obnoxious. It was hardly the poor girl’s fault that his brother was a scoundrel and that he was a miserable curmudgeon who would rather be left alone than suffer company of any sort. With a sigh of resignation, he put down his fork.

‘I am sorry, Miss Bradshaw, my rudeness was uncalled for. It has been some time since I have entertained guests and I am out of practice.’ He offered her his best approximation of a smile by way of an apology, although he doubted that it looked like one. Smiling was not something he had much call to do any longer. Besides, it would feel much better to take out his anger on his brother. And his brother would get both barrels. ‘What time will Fergus be returning?’

She worried her bottom lip, drawing his attention to it. She really did have a very diverting mouth. ‘I am not altogether sure. We had made no firm plans.’

Well, that was odd. But then again everything about Fergus’s engagement struck Finn as odd. The oddest part was his unexpected choice of fiancé. He might not have a great deal to do with his brother, but he knew him inside and out. If Fergus was going to take a bride, and that was a very big if indeed when one considered his lifestyle choices, then it would be a lady who was more ornament than actual woman. A stickler for the latest fashions, Fergus would never condone the drab, shapeless dress Miss Bradshaw was wearing. Finn was no expert on ladies’ fashion, but from neck to hem that gown was a disaster. Why the woman would want to disguise the shapely figure he had seen was a mystery to him. The yards of unnecessary fabric formed one solid, shapeless block that did nothing for her. Nor did the severe hairstyle. The lovely thick, chestnut hair he had seen shimmering in the firelight was so ruthlessly styled that it had lost all of its lustre. If ever anyone was hiding their light under a bushel, it was Miss Bradshaw.

‘Never mind. If he fails to materialise any time soon, I shall take myself to the inn later and speak to him.’ There were a great many things that Finn had waited three years to say. None of them was pleasant.

This statement appeared to fluster her. ‘As I suspect it might take him several hours to materialise after he lied to me last night, I should like to accompany you, sir.’ He was sir now, he noted the censure in her voice, but she stuck out her chin proudly even though her expression suggested she would likely bolt at any moment, given half a chance.

It was on the tip of Finn’s tongue to tell her to get used to it. Fergus was a consummate liar. It was one of the few things his twin excelled at. But he stopped himself. If she was not aware of that fact already, she would come to know it soon enough without his help. Instead he nodded and took a swig of his coffee.

‘Before we leave, it is only right and proper that I introduce myself to your wife.’

Finn nearly choked. Just the mention of Olivia brought it all crashing back when he preferred to remain numb.

‘Where might I find her?’

‘Where she always is.’ Finn stood and ruthlessly quashed all of the unwelcome emotions that swirled in his gut. ‘In the cemetery.’

Chapter Three

By late afternoon, it had become apparent that Fergus had no immediate intention of visiting Evie at all. She was desperate to track him down at the inn and ask him what he thought he was about or what he intended to do about the awkward situation he had placed her in. But after spectacularly putting her foot in it with his brother, she was reluctant to seek the man out so that they could go visit her fiancé together. She had not seen hide nor hair of the other Matlock since breakfast, when he had marched out of the breakfast room with a face like thunder and slammed the door behind him.

No doubt her crass mentioning of his wife had upset him and for that she felt horribly guilty, even though she found the man himself most disagreeable. Evie absolutely hated hurting another’s feelings. It went completely against her nature. Her own were hurt so often that she knew very well how awful it felt and would never intentionally do something like that, even to a nasty piece of work like Finnegan Matlock. It was yet another thing she intended to take Fergus to task for when he finally deigned to make an appearance. It was bad enough pretending that your brother’s house was yours, but to neglect to tell your fiancée that your twin brother was also a recent widower was unforgivable.

‘Would you like some more tea, Miss Bradshaw?’ a maid asked politely and Evie shook her head.

‘No, thank you.’ Already she was positively swimming in the stuff. Another cup might well cause it to seep out of her ears. ‘Do you know where I can find Lord Finnegan?’ Sitting around and waiting for one of the Matlock brothers to come to her was becoming very tiresome. Even Aunt Winnie had given up and taken herself off for an afternoon nap.

‘I have no idea, miss. Lord Finnegan went out hours ago. He tends to come and go as he pleases so I could not hazard a guess as to when he will return.’ The maid bobbed a curtsy and scurried away, leaving alone Evie to wait some more.

This was ridiculous.

She had come to Yorkshire to escape having her life controlled by others, to climb out of her suffocating chrysalis and breathe, not to allow two obnoxious men to step into Hyacinth’s shoes and force her to dance to their tune. If Fergus was too cowardly to face her here, then she would go and track him down herself. She was the new Evie Bradshaw after all, no longer a convenient doormat, and she was intending to be more fearless and independent. Feeling suddenly decisive, she stood and went off in search of the stables. She would avail herself of Lord Finnegan’s carriage and take herself to the inn.

But there was no carriage in the stables. Lord Finnegan, she was reliably informed, had no use for one. They would, however, saddle a horse for her should she require one or she could walk the two miles to the village seeing as it was a lovely day. As there was no way Evie was going to climb on to the back of a horse, she set off across the pretty meadow in the direction that had been pointed, ignoring the early summer heat and the inappropriateness of her footwear. Half a mile on and her thin slippers began to rub and Evie found herself becoming quite hot in the long-sleeved dress she had stupidly chosen to wear. Far off in the distance she could just about make out the spire of a church nestled amongst the gently rolling hills, which meant that she probably still had a good thirty minutes of walking ahead of her. Thirty more minutes of perspiration and foot pain.