The Husband Campaign. Regina Scott
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questions about the situation and Lord Hascot calmly, agreed that they should return to London immediately and made her excuses to Lord Danning and Ruby. Ruby seemed the only one truly saddened to see her go.
“You stick to your guns,” she said, giving Amelia’s hands a squeeze. “You promised me you’d only marry for love.”
“Never fear,” Amelia told her. “I won’t forget.”
But her promise was easier to keep with Ruby nodding encouragement than when she faced her father in London.
“You are a very great disappointment to me, Amelia,” he said.
He had called her into his study the day after she’d returned. His perfectly organized desk sat before floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the boxed-in formal garden behind the house. Every book was lined up properly on the white-lacquered shelves, every paper neatly filed away. Her father stood at the window, addressing the tops of the trees. Not a single strand of his sandy hair was out of place; his dove-gray coat had nary a crease. He wouldn’t have allowed it.
She was aware of every least wrinkle in her muslin gown, of the crumb of toast that had fallen on her lacy sleeve as she’d hurriedly quit the breakfast table to answer his summons. She wasn’t sure why she’d been so quick to answer. She’d known what he’d say. And she should be used to his disappointment by now. It had started the day she hadn’t been born a boy.
But the truth was, it hurt. When she was younger, she used to think she could earn his love. If she wore her hair perfectly combed, if she curtsied without wobbling, if she played a sonata with no mistakes, he would recognize her as having worth. But he never noticed her hair, paid no attention to her curtsy, was too busy to listen to a sonata. If her governess praised her French, he would ask why she hadn’t mastered Latin, as well. If she rode with the hunt, he would ask why she hadn’t led the field. There was no pleasing her father.
And yet she could not seem to stop trying.
“I’m very sorry, Father,” she said to his back, attempting to stand as still and composed as he was. “But I can assure you that nothing untoward happened at Hollyoak Farm. Lord Hascot offered for me and I refused. The matter is settled.”
He turned from the view at last, his pale blue eyes showing not the least emotion. “I fear the matter cannot be settled so easily. Hascot would be a decent alliance for you. I intend to have him.”
“A shame you’re already wed, then,” Amelia said.
Her father stiffened, and she wanted to sink into the floor. Where had that come from? How could she be so disrespectful?
“Forgive me, Father,” she said. “I suppose I meant that as a joke, and it was a poor one. I merely thought we would have more discussion when it came time to choose a suitor.”
“Your mother and I have discussed the matter,” he replied as if that were sufficient. “I have written to Hascot and requested that he attend me.”
His note might have been couched as a request, but it would have been an order. She felt as if something was crawling up inside her, choking her, making her fists clench. Her parents were going to force her to wed.
Lord, show me how to stop them!
Calm welled up. She would prevail. And Lord Hascot would have something to say in the matter. For one thing, he knew he and Amelia had settled things. For another, he bore her no love. How could he?
She’d read a number of stories in which the hero conceived undying devotion for the heroine the moment he saw her, but in her experience it took a bit more time and proximity to develop lasting emotions. At least, that was what she hoped. For if men were supposed to wish to marry her on sight, something was very wrong indeed.
“Please don’t press me on this, Father,” she said.
Her father was watching her with a slight frown, as if he wondered what woman was masquerading as his daughter. “If it is that business with Lady Hascot that concerns you,” he said, “I can assure you her interests lay elsewhere.”
“Lady Hascot?” Amelia asked, confused. “Lord Hascot’s mother?”
“His older brother’s widow, the former Lady Caroline Musgrave,” her father corrected her, with a look that said she should have known that. “As the wife of the previous titleholder, she is beholden to the Hascot estate for her living. I understand there has been a question about whether Lord Hascot intends to honor his brother’s wishes, but his actions should have no bearing on you.”
The only thing she’d seen about Lord Hascot that could make her admire his character was his care for his horses. He might be handsome, in a dark, brooding sort of way, and he had been kind to assure her safety that night in the stable. But he was stiff in conversation, sharp in manner, rough in voice and dismal in attitude. Now it seemed he could not even care for a poor widow!
“His actions have no bearing on me at all,” Amelia said. “I don’t intend to see him again.”
Her father’s look was enough to make her knees start shaking under her petticoat. “Make no mistake, Amelia,” he said. “Bringing the appropriate son-in-law into the family is the one consolation for having a daughter. Hascot may not have the fortune or influence in Parliament I wanted, but his reputation as a horseman is unparalleled. I can make use of that. Therefore, you will accept him when he offers.”
She dipped a curtsy. Better that than to let him see the frustration surging up. She didn’t want to be angry at her father, didn’t want to be a disobedient daughter. But she had seen enough of John, Lord Hascot, to know that he was a man as cold as her father, and she would not wed him. And she would tell the horseman that in no uncertain terms if he bowed to her father’s demands and came calling.
Chapter Four
John hadn’t intended to call on Lady Amelia, even after her father’s imperious note demanding his presence in London. He generally came to town once a year for one of the larger sales at Tattersalls, and then he was careful never to cross paths with Caro. He was never comfortable dealing with the woman he’d thought to marry, especially now that she was his widowed sister-in-law, but it wasn’t as if she had scared him out of town. Hollyoak Farm had ever been more of a home to him than London. He’d only spent the Season in town to humor his brother.
He had no interest in humoring Lady Amelia’s father. The Jacoby family and the Wesworth title were well known for their pretensions. He had met the current titleholder twice, both times when Wesworth had come seeking a mount. Both times he’d made it seem as if John should be honored to receive him.
The letter Lady Amelia’s father had sent him held the same tone, but something in it hinted of consequences. John very much doubted the marquess could do anything to diminish the reputation of Hollyoak Farm. Hascot horses led the hunting field from Cornwall to Carlisle. They had, to John’s dismay, carried Hussars into battle. It would take more than the sneer of the Jacobys to sway the horse-loving gentlemen of the ton.
But even as he was tempted to dismiss the letter, he couldn’t help wondering about the consequences to Lady Amelia. Surely Society wouldn’t shun her for sleeping in his stable one night. And marrying her would hardly improve her standing with the ton. He wasn’t known for his cutting wit or dashing style.
Still, Fletcher’s prediction that she would pay for her lapse refused to leave John, so he rode to London with the idea of assuring Lady Amelia’s father that the marquess need not concern himself for her reputation.
But the meeting with Lord Wesworth did not go as he had expected.
“We are practical gentlemen,” Lady Amelia’s father said when he received John in his study. “This emotional business associated with marriage does not become us.”
John could not argue with that. He’d grown emotional about marriage once. He still bore the scars. He took the seat his lordship indicated before the desk. “Then you had another reason for