Miss Bradshaw's Bought Betrothal
‘It is a good morning, Lord Finnegan. I find myself quite delighted to be leaving.’ Her heart practically skipped a beat and her palms grew hot, but she managed to look directly at him as she spoke. Unfortunately, her voice wavered a little on the ‘Lord Finnegan’ and his clever eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he heard it. Almost as if he were looking forward to seeing her falter and he was just waiting, like a predator, to pounce.
‘But not before breakfast, I hope. You can hardly ready an uninhabitable house on an empty stomach.’ The forced joviality worried her. He was definitely up to something, she was certain. But then the inevitable insults came out and they forced her to put some steel in her spine. ‘My cook has ensured that there is plenty of that delicious bacon that you were eyeing so covetously yesterday. I know you don’t eat much, but I am sure you can choke down a few bites in the spirit of politeness. And I am quite I sure that you would hate to offend my cook by only partaking of toast when she has organised a breakfast banquet in your honour.’
Evie had hoped to be eating alone. Now he had stepped out of the doorway and was welcoming her into the room with his outstretched arm.
‘Stowers, would you be so good as to bring Miss Bradshaw a hot beverage? Is it tea or coffee you prefer?’
The little devil inside her spoke up. ‘I prefer chocolate in the mornings, Lord Finnegan. If it is not too much of an inconvenience.’ Reluctantly she entered the lion’s den and sat down primly as far away as it was possible to sit from the master’s chair. To her horror, he began filling a plate for her. Eggs, bacon, sausage, more bacon and finally a piece of toast formed a mountain on the plate which he put it before her with great ceremony. Then he did the same for himself and sat next to her rather than at the head of the table. Just to intimidate her further.
‘I thought I would accompany you this morning, in the spirit of being a good host.’
Evie’s spirits sank. ‘There really is no need, Lord Finnegan, I am sure that you have much better things to do with your day.’ The smell of bacon was making her mouth water and reminded her that she was ravenous. Demurely, she cut off a tiny piece and popped it into her mouth and tried not to sigh at the sublime savoury taste.
‘Oh, I insist, Miss Bradshaw. In fact, I am rather looking forward to it. Do you ride, Miss Bradshaw?’
‘I do not, Lord Finnegan, I intend to walk.’
‘How splendid. A brisk walk across the parkland will be most invigorating. Perhaps we could take the time to get to know each other a little better? I feel as though we have got off on the wrong foot. In fact, perhaps we should start now?’
In answer, Evie shoved an enormous piece of sausage into her mouth that prevented any further conversation and took for ever chewing it. She had no desire to know Finnegan Matlock any better than she did his dissolute brother. She followed the sausage with a healthy chunk of bacon. After the second forkful, he got the message and concentrated on his own breakfast, but he did it so smugly that she found herself frowning. He probably thought that she would faint dead away at the sight of Fergus’s dilapidated house. Frankly, she did not care if it was overrun with vermin and as damp as Scotland in winter. At least she would be on her own, aside from Aunt Winnie, of course, and then she could set about starting again. Tomorrow she would visit the attorney that her own solicitor had recommended and instruct him to begin searching for suitable properties immediately. The sooner she found her own house, the sooner she could end the charade with Fergus and live the sort of life she had always dreamed of. Free. Happy. Not a doormat. What was the point of having a fortune if you never got to enjoy it?
* * *
Miss Bradshaw remained stubbornly mute for the duration of the meal, which Finn found surprisingly amusing. Even more amusing was the way she closed her eyes in sheer bliss every time she put a new morsel of food into her mouth when she assumed that he was concentrating on his breakfast. This was a woman who enjoyed her sensual pleasures. Splashing water, joyous singing, hot, crisp bacon...everything she did when she thought nobody was looking, she did with such passion. It made him wonder what she would be like in the full throes of it, until he ruthlessly dismissed the errant thought when the usual guilt began to niggle. He had no right to be thinking such things. Not after Olivia.
Except he had been thinking them. Suddenly he could not stop thinking about them. For two nights now, he had lain awake not thinking about his darling wife, but about the woman who had suddenly invaded his quiet life. It was difficult to get the image of her silhouetted body in that oh-so-proper nightgown out of his head. Or the way the firelight and sunlight had made the copper strands in her thick chestnut hair glow. Or the earthy beauty of her voice as she had sung in the stream. Even in her current shapeless dress, there was something about his brother’s fiancée that intrigued him and called beneath the dead exterior he shuffled around in, to the remnants of the man that still, miraculously, lurked beneath the surface.
* * *
Once the meal was finished, she did her best to dissuade him from accompanying her. ‘There is no need for you to come. I would prefer to go alone.’ The pink blotches creeping up her neck bore witness to the effort it took her to be impolite. Instead of making Finn feeling awful, her discomfort spurred him on.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Bradshaw. For the moment, at least, you are still my guest and I do feel responsible for you.’
‘Then perhaps you should ride to Stanford House later. I am certain that you will find the walk with me dull.’
No, he wouldn’t. There was nothing dull about her, aside from the dreadful dress. Finn had never seen quite so much fabric in one garment in his life. It must weigh a ton. ‘Nonsense. We are to be brother and sister, Miss Bradshaw. I am keen to further our acquaintance, aren’t you?’ Because he knew that it would vex her, Finn held out his arm. For a few seconds, she simply stared at it as if it were something distasteful, until her innate good manners forced her to take it. But she stared resolutely ahead as they set off towards his childhood home and she made no attempt at making conversation.
It was probably just as well. The moment they set off, Finn became painfully aware of her hips. They seemed to undulate as she walked, in a graceful figure of eight, and with each alternate step they lightly brushed his thigh. After a few yards, it was torture, so he stopped to pretend to check the time just so that he could sever the contact.
Chapter Five
Taking Finnegan Matlock’s arm was not to be recommended. The moment she had threaded her own through his, Evie quickly learned two things. Firstly, he had the body of a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors. Not that she had a great wealth of experience of the male form to draw upon, but he certainly did not feel anything like her occasional dance partners or her fiancé, whose arms were quite soft in comparison to his irritating brother’s. And secondly, and perhaps more importantly, just the feel of that solid, muscled, male appendage did funny things to her.
Instantly, Evie felt warm, her heart began to flutter in her chest and her fingers desperately wanted to run themselves all over the muscles to trace every intriguing plane and bulge. She was excessively grateful when he checked his pocket watch and then failed to offer out the offending arm again.
‘Stanford House is about a mile away,’ he said without any trace of his usual sarcasm or surliness. ‘Just over that hill.’
The gently rolling landscape of the Dales was spread out before her and Evie could not help smiling at the sight. ‘It is beautiful here.’
‘I have always thought so. Quite a change from London, I suppose?’
Good grief—were they actually exchanging pleasantries? ‘Indeed, Lord Finnegan, the only opportunity to see nature at all is in the parks and they are always so crowded.’
‘I cannot imagine that. I find York stifling enough.’
‘Have you never been to London?’
‘I have never had cause to go there, thank goodness. I am certain that I would dislike it immensely.’
‘I loathe London.’ Had she just said that out loud? By the way he turned to look at her, his dark head slightly tilted to one side and his expression curious, Evie realised that she had. And to him, of all people.
‘Why?’
How to explain something that she had never verbalised before? ‘It is crowded and unforgiving.’ Perhaps not the best choice of words, but fitting.
‘Unforgiving?’
Oh, dear, definitely not the best choice of words. Now she had to explain herself and he would no doubt think her pathetic. ‘Even though it is filled with people, the society there is very close-knit. Everybody knows everybody else’s business.’
‘It is like that in the countryside also.’
‘Yes—but...’ Evie sighed, becoming increasingly aware of his intense gaze. ‘In London, everybody is judged. And once judged, it is impossible to be anything other than what you are perceived to be.’ She really should not have said that. Except, that was how she felt. Bottled, labelled and displayed on the shelf. In London, she was Evie the spinster. The plain wallflower with the dull personality. A woman whose ship had not so much sailed, but failed to leave the harbour. A nobody. A nothing. She doubted this splendid-looking man would understand how draining it was to be of no consequence.
‘And how are you perceived to be, Miss Bradshaw?’
The question startled her and she blushed ferociously. She could hardly admit to the truth—but then again, she already had, she supposed. ‘I am perceived exactly as I am, Lord Finnegan. A plain, plump wallflower who has been so long on the shelf that she is almost a part of it.’
‘How old are you, Miss Bradshaw?’
Goodness, the man was rude. Nobody asked a lady’s age. ‘Almost six and twenty.’
‘That is not old. You still have plenty of child-bearing years left.’ Another thing that, frankly, should never be discussed, especially as Evie’s heart lurched at the mention of the children she would never have. ‘And you are neither plain nor plump.’
‘You do not need to spare my feelings, Lord Finnegan.’
The corners of his mouth curved up as he stared straight ahead. ‘I believe you know enough about me, Miss Bradshaw, to know that I am not a man to spare anyone’s feelings. If you want me to be completely honest, I believe that your choice of attire and matronly hairstyle make you appear plain and plump. And old, Miss Bradshaw. Far too old.’
‘You are a very insulting man, Lord Finnegan.’
‘Yet a moment ago you accused me of sparing your feelings?’ Evie could not think of a quick enough answer to that so marched on ahead to the crest of the hill. When she got there, and stared down, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Ahead of her was what she assumed was Stanford House. Like Matlock House, it was Palladian in style and perfectly symmetrical. Unlike Matlock House, it appeared to be missing a roof.
‘I did tell you that it was uninhabitable.’ He came level with her and then jauntily bounded down the hill with a definite smug spring in his step, leaving Evie to trail despondently behind. Insufferable man.
By the time she caught up with him he was a few yards from the shell of a house with his arms folded. It was obvious by the lack of glass in several windows, and the black stains that blotted the pale stone above those gaping holes, that there had been a horrendous fire. A horrendous fire that Fergus had neglected to tell her about during their hasty negotiations. Was nothing about her move to Yorkshire going to go to plan?
‘What happened?’
‘About three years ago, my dear brother had one of his house parties. I have never really got to the bottom of who did what and when, Fergus never invited me to any of his many entertainments and I would never have gone even if he had. Suffice to say, at some point during the night someone set fire to something. Because it had been a particularly hot summer and because they were all so deep in their cups that nobody had the good sense to throw water on the flames quick enough, the place went up like a firework. You might have noticed that the roof is missing. If you go inside, and I do not recommend that you do, you will also discover that the entire upper floor has collapsed as well. You could always pitch a tent in the grounds.’
‘You are enjoying this, aren’t you, Lord Finnegan.’
His mouth curved upwards again and he nodded. ‘So—it’s back to London for you, I suppose.’
The rush of pure, unadulterated fury was so sudden and so visceral, Evie quite forgot herself. Of their own accord, both of her hands shot out and pushed him firmly in the chest, sending him backwards so that he landed unceremoniously on his bottom on the ground. He stared at her in shock.
‘I am never going back to London! I do not care if I do have to pitch a tent! I am never, ever going to live with Hyacinth again! I hate that woman. I hate the way she makes me feel. And I hate her stupid, spiteful daughters. And most of all, I hate the way that I am when I am around them!’
Evie covered her mouth with her hands and simply stared at him, shocked at her own lack of control. The anger on his face, changed to bewilderment. ‘Who’s Hyacinth?’
Evie’s voice was shaking and so were her hands. She had just pushed a grown man, a very big, solid, hateful grown man, to the ground and she had no idea whether to be mortified or exulted. ‘She is my stepmother.’
His dark head tilted to one side again as he assessed her from his seat upon the ground. ‘Why do you hate her so much?’
A painful knot formed at the base of Evie’s throat and for a few moments she was certain that she might cry. ‘This is really not what I had hoped for when I came to Yorkshire.’
In resignation, she lowered herself to sit on the ground as well, where she took several calming breaths. ‘My stepmother married my father for his money. When he died, the only reason she kept me on was because my father had left the bulk of his fortune to me, not her. But she resents me for it and spends every minute of every day reminding me of my shortcomings, making me miserable while she happily spends my money on her life and all I get to do is watch. In London, I am a doormat. An invisible nobody. I came here because I wanted to stop being a doormat. I am running away, you see, Lord Finnegan. I know that you probably think me over-dramatic or lily-livered for not standing up to Hyacinth, but if I stay there I will continue to fade away until there is nothing left of me but an outline. I cannot go back there; no matter how awful things are here.’
* * *
Finn did not want to feel sorry for her, but he did. He could see the tears shimmering in her pretty eyes that she would not allow to fall, saw the light of hope in them dull and hated the sight of it. He knew how painful it was to have all hope die. But she had misguidedly put all of her hope in Fergus so she was already doomed to be disappointed. ‘I doubt your life will be any better here with my brother, Miss Bradshaw. He will spend your money, too, and probably a darn sight quicker than this Hyacinth woman. And he will never be here. Already he has abandoned you for the gaming tables and I fear that he will always do so.’
‘I do know that, Lord Finnegan. It was one of the reasons why I became engaged to him.’
Now Finn was truly baffled. ‘You willingly became engaged to a man who will make you miserable and ignore you, just as you claim this Hyacinth woman does?’
‘I suppose, to you, that does sound silly, but I have no desire to spend any more time with your brother than he does with me. I came here to live my own life, Lord Finnegan.’ She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, and in doing it was almost as if she was repairing herself. When those eyes opened again there were no more tears there. ‘I shall buy a house, Lord Finnegan. A fine house. And I shall live in it. I am not a doormat any longer. The new improved Evie Bradshaw is resilient and determined. This is only a setback—not a defeat. In the meantime, I shall take rooms at the inn.’
She stood up then, smoothed down her skirts and started to walk back towards the hill. Whilst he admired her tenacity, her lofty plan was flawed. ‘It could take many weeks, months even, to find a house and complete the sale. Your aunt cannot stay all that time in an inn.’
‘My great-aunt is made of stern stuff, Lord Finnegan. We will do well enough whilst we wait. Besides, I would not send her back to Hyacinth. That woman is a nasty bully.’
A nasty bully? The way she said it suggested she had been on the receiving end of such harsh treatment. A new knot of guilt was forming in Finn’s gut.
‘There is no need to send your aunt back to Hyacinth Whoever-She-Is.’ Good heavens, what was he saying? ‘And there is no need for either of you to go to the inn. Under the circumstances...’ Stop, man—before you say something that you know you will regret! ‘...and as we are to be brother and sister, I would prefer it if you stayed at Matlock House while you search for a new home.’
Finn stared at the sky and cursed his parents for bringing him up to have good manners.
She stopped walking and turned to face him. ‘I do not wish to inconvenience you, Lord Finnegan.’ But there was hope sparkling in those golden-flecked eyes again and he did not want to be the one to dash it.
‘It is not an inconvenience, madam. Just do not expect me to be a good-humoured host.’
When she rushed at him and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek in gratitude, Finn had the overwhelming urge to respond in kind. Except it was not her cheek he wanted to kiss. Instead, he stood stiffly and hoped that the sale would go through more swiftly than any sale had ever gone through before. ‘I suppose we should head back.’ His voice sounded gruff and she disentangled her lush body from his. Instantly, he had the overwhelming desire to pull her back, but resisted.
They set off up the hill and his brother’s fiancée could not stop smiling. And perhaps smiling was contagious because Finn felt the urge to smile back at her. Clearly doing good deeds warmed the heart and his cold, shrivelled heart felt inordinately pleased with itself.
‘Now that you are no longer a doormat, what will you do with your days?’
‘I intend to do whatever takes my particular fancy rather than Hyacinth’s. I am tired of being dragged around town while she makes endless calls on people who are always glad to see the back of us. I hate balls and parties and sitting with the wallflowers. So you see, Lord Finnegan, by contrast this place is paradise. I shall paint outdoors, sing folk songs loudly, wear unsuitable gowns...’
‘The one you are wearing is quite unsuitable enough. It does not fit and it is ugly.’
‘You are a very rude man, Lord Finnegan.’ But she was smiling as she said it.
‘Perhaps. Would you prefer me to lie to you with idle flattery? I assumed that the new and empowered Miss Bradshaw would have the gumption to insist on complete honesty.’
‘I do not have the right figure for gowns to fit properly.’
‘Any decent dressmaker could make you a gown that fits properly. That abomination is shapeless and far too capacious.’
She stiffened in outrage but the faint blush that stained her cheeks was actually very becoming and certainly something that she should do more often. ‘More fabric is flattering to someone with a more generous figure!’
Knowing full well what lay under all of those acres of stiff fabric, Finn was inclined to disagree. ‘Is that one of your awful stepmother’s pearls of wisdom?’
She paused thoughtfully before answering. ‘Yes, it is! And as I am no longer a doormat, I should probably ignore all of her advice going forward. I shall find a new dressmaker as well as a new house.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ Her good mood was infectious. ‘Perhaps you should find a new fiancé while you are about it?’
She simply grinned at that and chatted about everything and nothing all of the way home while she idly picked wild flowers that he wanted to weave into her hair.
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