The Bargain. Mary Jo Putney
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rose. Clearly she thought that the husband hunting had been left too late. “Good day, Laura. And do invite us to your wedding, Jocelyn. If there is one.”
Accurately interpreting the look on her niece’s face, Laura hastily escorted the countess from the room. On the verge of one of her rare but incendiary bursts of temper, Jocelyn rose and stalked across the room to stare out at the street as she struggled to master herself. Elvira had always been irritating, and it was a mistake to give her the satisfaction of losing control.
A few minutes later, she recognized Lady Laura’s quiet footsteps entering the drawing room. Turning from the window, she said, “I’d marry a beggar from Seven Dials before I’d let the money go to Willoughby and that … that archwife.”
“One could wish that Willoughby had chosen a woman of more refinement,” Laura admitted as she sat down again. “But Elvira is right, you know. Time is running out. I haven’t pressed you about marriage because you’re no green girl, and you know your own business best. Relinquishing most of your inheritance is preferable to an unhappy marriage, and it isn’t as if you’ll be left penniless.”
“I have no intention of giving up the fortune I’m entitled to,” Jocelyn said crisply. “Certainly not to the benefit of Elvira.”
“You’ve had over three years to find a husband to your taste. The weeks left aren’t much time.”
Remembering what she had wanted to discuss, Jocelyn sighed and resumed her seat. “Oh, I know whom I want to marry. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet succeeded in engaging his interest. At least, not the marrying kind of interest.”
“How … interesting. I hadn’t realized you had set your sights on someone. Who is the dense fellow who hasn’t yet recognized his good fortune?”
Jocelyn reached into the sewing box by her chair and pulled out an embroidery hoop with fabric stretched across the frame. “The Duke of Candover.”
“Candover! Merciful heavens, Jocelyn, the man is a confirmed bachelor,” her aunt exclaimed. “He’ll never marry.”
“The fact that he never has doesn’t mean that he never will.” Jocelyn threaded a length of pale blue silk through a needle, then took a meticulous stitch. “He and I are very well suited, and his attentions have been quite pronounced in the last few months.”
“He does seem to enjoy your company. You were just out riding with him, weren’t you? But he has stayed well within the bounds of propriety. Morning calls and dances at balls, with the occasional ride or drive. Unless there is more that I don’t know about?” Her sentence rose at the end, turning her words into a worried question.
“He has always behaved as a perfect gentleman,” Jocelyn said with regret. A pity that the duke hadn’t crossed the line of propriety; he was not the kind of man to do that with her unless he had serious intentions. “But he has spent more time with me than with any other eligible female. He’s in his mid-thirties, and it’s time he set up his nursery.”
Lady Laura frowned. “You’ve set yourself an impossible task, my dear. Candover has perfectly good cousins, so he has no need to marry to get an heir. He’s been on the town for years and has never come close to marrying. He’s had his share of mistresses, but always widows or other men’s wives, never a marriageable young woman.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “If you want him as a lover, marry someone else and he’ll probably oblige, at least for a while. But he’ll never make a husband.”
“Blunt talk indeed.” Unnerved by her aunt’s assessment, Jocelyn considered the last months for the space of a dozen stitches. Had she imagined the duke’s interest? No, he found her attractive; she’d had enough experience of men to recognize genuine admiration. And the attraction was more than simple physical awareness of a member of the opposite sex. “There is a … a real sense of connection between us, Aunt Laura, perhaps because we’ve both been pursued by fortune hunters for years. But it’s more than that. I think there could be a great deal more.”
“It’s possible,” her aunt said gently. “But you’ve run out of time, my dear. If he hasn’t offered for you yet, I can’t imagine that you’ll bring him up to scratch in a mere four weeks. If you’re determined to marry no one but him, you’d better start packing. Elvira will want to move in here the day after your birthday. She wouldn’t dare put you out, of course, but I assume you have no desire to stay on at her sufferance.”
“I will not give her the satisfaction of getting what should be mine.” Jocelyn stabbed her needle into her embroidery with unnecessary force. Being no fool, she’d already realized that it was wildly unlikely that Candover would move from admiration to matrimony in the weeks left. “I have an … an alternative plan.”
“One of your other suitors? Lord MacKenzie would marry you in a heartbeat, and I think he’d make a wonderful husband.” Lady Laura dimpled. “Of course I’m biased, since he reminds me of Andrew.”
Jocelyn shook her head. MacKenzie was pleasant and good-looking, but not for her. “I’m thinking of accepting Sir Harold Winterson. It’s something of a game between us that he proposes to me regularly, but he’d be delighted if I accepted. The man must be seventy if he’s a day—too old to be interested in exercising his marital rights. I’d fulfill the terms of Father’s will, and it wouldn’t be that long until I have my freedom again. If I’m a widow, Candover will regard me in quite a different light.”
Lady Laura almost dropped her tea cup. “What an appalling thought! To marry a man while hoping for his death would be wicked. Foolish, too. I knew a girl who married a man Sir Harold’s age, hoping to become a rich widow soon. That was twenty years ago, and her husband is still very much alive, while she has lost her youth.”
As Jocelyn’s face fell, Laura added, “Besides, there is no age at which one can assume a man will not be interested in exercising his marital rights.”
Jocelyn shivered at the thought. “You’ve convinced me. Sir Harold is a sweet old gentleman, but I have no desire to be a wife to him.” She bit her lower lip. “While the idea of marrying a man at death’s door has merit, Sir Harold is quite vigorous for his age. One would have to be sure the man was really dying.”
“I’d like to believe that I’ve dissuaded you through moral logic, but I have the dismal feeling that it’s only the practical problems that discourage you. If you have any more outrageous schemes in mind, don’t tell me.” Laura regarded her niece gravely. “Marriages of convenience may be the way of the world, but I’d hoped you would find something better. A true meeting of minds and spirits such as Andrew and I have.”
Trying not to be envious, Jocelyn replied, “Few people are so fortunate.”
Unable to deny that, her aunt said, “Does it have to be Candover? If not MacKenzie, perhaps Lord Cairn. I’m sure he’d be a kind and loving husband.”
“But I like Candover, Aunt Laura. Men are not pairs of interchangeable gloves. In the seven years since my presentation, I’ve met no one except Candover whom I can imagine as my husband. You had plenty of suitors in your day. Would you have wanted to wed and bed anyone other than Uncle Andrew?”
“Not after I met Drew.” Lady Laura drew her hands together, as if debating whether to say more. “Darling, I’ve sometimes wondered. Does your … your reluctance to marry have anything to do with your mother?”
Jocelyn said in a tone that could chip ice, “We will not discuss my mother!” Realizing how immoderate that sounded, she said more calmly, “I scarcely remember the woman. Why should she have any effect on my marital choices?”
Her aunt frowned, but knew better than to say more. Willing to change the subject, she lifted a letter from the table next to her chair. “I’ve just received this from Andrew. He and his regiment are safely installed in Paris now. I imagine the Allies will occupy the city for some time while the French government is restored.”
“Did he mention any of the officers I met in Spain?” Jocelyn said with quick concern.