The Earl's Marriage Bargain

Jane shrugged. ‘But I am not anyone, I am merely an unknown lady from Dorset. And no one will recognise you with those bruises if they are not expecting to see you. We must think of a surname if we agree to continue as brother and sister.’ She scanned the table for inspiration and fixed on the vegetable dish. ‘Pease? Pomeroy? Pomfret? Poppinghall?’

‘Preposterous. We are Mr and Miss Turnham who will be taking a private parlour—and going off to find an inn in Newbury if there is no privacy to be had at the Pelican, believe me!’

‘Yes, Ivo,’ Jane agreed meekly, earning herself a suspicious look. It was a novelty to get her own way about anything, almost as much as this whole adventure was new and exciting. Mama and Papa were loving parents, but they were also exceedingly conventional ones, in her opinion. And Mama was ambitious. Jane would be a pattern book of good behaviour if constant nagging could achieve it—and as a consequence of this behaviour she was confident that Jane would find herself an eligible partner. Even a titled one might be possible because, as Mrs Newnham kept repeating ad nauseum, ‘Look at what Verity Wingate has managed.’

Jane had pointed out that there were no eligible dukes presently available, but that had merely sent her mother back to the Peerage to check each ducal line for unmarried heirs, or sons of heirs. But none was in Dorset and it was too much for even the most optimistic mama to hope that any would stray into the path of Miss Newnham, so her parents, who had treated as mere politeness previous vague invitations from Aunt Hermione in her letters, had decided to see what might be achieved.

‘Poor dear Hermione has not been well, it seems. We really should make the effort to visit her now she has recovered. And she has such a generous nature,’ Mama had murmured.

Jane had no trouble in translating that as, If we play our cards right my wealthy sister-in-law will fund a come-out.

Her father’s younger sister was inclined to approve of her niece, it seemed, and the hoped-for invitation for Jane to make her somewhat belated London debut next Season was on the verge of being made, if the hints Aunt had dropped were to be believed. And then, one naked footman later, Jane was on her way to the sedate safekeeping of Cousin Violet whose sole male indoor servant was sixty if he was a day.

Her wine glass was empty and both the bottles were nearer Ivo’s side of the table. Jane pointed this out.

‘You have had quite enough to drink.’

‘Two glasses only.’

‘Three and that is doubtless two too many.’

Perhaps it would not be as easy as she had thought, getting her own way with Lord Kendall. Jane reached for the bottle and he moved it out of reach, his expression suddenly reminding her that he had been an officer and was used to being obeyed.

‘You, my lord, are no f…fun.’ Although perhaps he was right after all, her tongue had almost got in a tangle and it was a most improper thing to say, mumbled or otherwise.

‘I am delighted that you think so, because that is absolutely the impression I wish to give, Miss Newnham. This entire expedition should not be amusing, entertaining or, in any way, fun. If we are fortunate it will be routine, dull and uneventful. If not, it has the potential for scandal, disaster and extreme embarrassment—’

He broke off as they were interrupted once again with more food—the promised apple pie. The open door admitted the noise and bustle of stagecoach passengers, the sound of the guard blowing his horn, impatient to be off, the cries of, ‘Here! Waiter!’

‘Close the door firmly, please,’ Ivo said to the maid as she carried out the remains of the main course. ‘You see—anyone could blunder in at any time. I must be mad. We should return you to your parents, not be planning to set out towards Bath.’

‘Absolutely not. Oh, bother, she has forgotten the cream.’ Jane looked round, then remembered that the bell was not functioning.

‘I should not have even contemplated going to Batheaston with you,’ Ivo said, ignoring the cream shortage completely. ‘I cannot imagine what I was thinking. I will take you back to your parents in London first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘No! I will not go and you cannot make me.’

‘I most certainly can.’ Ivo got to his feet and circled the table to her side.

He’s in pain, she realised, even as she pushed her chair back. Tired and in pain.

He was white under the tan his army life had given him and he could not quite hide the wince as he moved his arm incautiously. It was an effort to feel sympathetic with a large male looming over her, but she made the attempt.

‘Shall we sleep on it? In the morn—’

There was a sudden increase in noise behind her, the door swung open. ‘I quite forgot the cream, miss. We’re that busy—’

The maid broke off with a little shriek as Ivo moved and the door hit him square on the wounded shoulder. With a gasp he spun round under a shower of something white, thick and sticky.

‘Oh, lawks, miss.’

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