Never Fall for Your Fiancee, page 4
Vee frowned. “How does remoteness make anything convenient?”
“Because nobody will hear our screams.”
Minerva glared at Diana and, feeling defensive, pulled rank in the hope the pair of them would stop badgering her, when her unease and her conscience were doing that quite enough already.
“Girls—I don’t mean to be flippant about the peculiarity of the situation or its potential dangers. Nor do I want to sound mercenary or callous, but dismal facts are facts nonetheless. We are in dire need of money and he has pots of it which he is clearly happy to share in exchange for a brief bit of dishonesty. I confess, I didn’t really consider much else beyond the forty pounds when I agreed to assist him. The forty pounds and the promise of greener grass.” And perhaps his eyes and the odd way he made her feel also had some bearing on it. It had been rather nice to be the one rescued for a change. “I dragged you both along because I knew you’d only worry about me if I didn’t. If you would prefer not to be part of it, I fully understand. Say the word, and I shall have you dropped at the next inn and you can take the post home.”
She reached into her reticule and took out the two silver shillings and the two dirty pennies, holding the paltry amount in her outstretched palm as a reminder of the full extent of their current wealth. They all stared at the coins in silence for a moment. “Or perhaps you have a better idea to get us so much money swiftly, because Lord only knows if things continue as they are, we’ll all be destitute and sheltering under bridges before winter is over.”
Of course, neither sister did.
“Now, kindly stop moaning and criticizing and let’s make the best of things. If nothing else, at least the actual grass is greener in Hampshire.”
The coachman’s knock on the roof above their heads punctuated her outburst with the stamp of finality. “Standish House!”
Then the fancy carriage turned, its well-sprung wheels suddenly crunching on the gravel of the driveway. There was no turning back now. Minerva inhaled a slow, deep breath, hoping it would calm the butterflies in her stomach. It didn’t work. She glanced out of the window and saw nothing but thick, dense trees lining their route.
“I told you there would be woods.” Diana was like a dog with a bone. “Nobody knows where we are, so nobody will come to our rescue.” She slowly sliced her index finger menacingly across her neck again.
“Papa will save us if we need rescuing.” Vee’s cheerful assertion brought her other sisters up short. “I left our forwarding address at the Dog and Duck in case he comes home for Christmas and asks after us.”
Diana shot Minerva a look. It was the usual look when their youngest sibling deluded herself into believing their wastrel father would return. The look that said, “You can deal with this because I’ll only put my foot in it.” Which was true. Diana was reliably blunt, and that bluntness would only upset Vee, who always felt things far too deeply.
“Darling, he’s not coming home for Christmas.”
“How do you know? Has he written to say he isn’t?”
It was tragic to listen to, but Vee had been very young when he had left and still had enough childish hope to believe he had meant what he said in his final letter to them all those years ago. She had taken “See you soon” as a promise to return rather than a means to sign off his blunt missive telling them he was going away for a little while—something he often did—before he made it permanent. It was the main reason they stayed in Clerkenwell, in the cramped, damp rooms they had lived in with him. Vee wouldn’t hear of moving in case their father decided to venture back to the horrid place he had abandoned them to. Yet moving was one of Minerva’s first priorities once she had the forty pounds. The hopelessness of Clerkenwell was killing them. As much as they had cosseted and protected Vee as the youngest, it was long past time they all moved on from the awful legacy he had saddled them with.
“He hasn’t written in five years, Vee. Perhaps it’s time you faced the fact he’s never going to.”
“Of course he will. Just as soon as he’s able.” The youngest Merriwell turned her head stubbornly to watch the scenery go past, her way of terminating the unwelcome conversation. All at once her eyes widened. “Oh my goodness! I can see the house! It’s huge!”
All three of them pressed their faces to the window to get their first glimpse of their home for the next few weeks or so.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Even Diana couldn’t stop herself from grinning at the spectacle. “It’s practically a palace.”
It was indeed. A vast, symmetrical Palladian mansion made of white stone stood in stark contrast against the twilight sky, its sparkling windows already glowing with candlelight, illuminating the soaring columns. Minerva had never seen anything quite like it. Or felt quite so out of her depth. When he had said he had a country estate, never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined this. It was another world. A world she had no understanding of and little in common with. Yet soon, she would have to pretend all of this didn’t intimidate her in the slightest and that she was betrothed to its handsome, charming, and titled owner in front of an audience made up of his nearest and dearest.
Oh dear.
Instinctively, she gazed down at the skirt of her best dress. It was old and faded despite the new ribbon she had recklessly bought to liven it up for this charade. No amount of ribbon in the world could turn this old thing into a gown fit for Standish House. The butterflies in her stomach turned to panicked, flapping birds as she forced herself to face the reality she had been avoiding ever since she had sold her soul for forty pounds.
What in God’s name had she been thinking?
Chapter Four
Hugh heard the carriage arrive and ignored the fizzing nerves that had plagued him since he had proposed his plan to Miss Merriwell.
“She’s here.” He found himself standing and straightening his coat because he had no earthly idea what to do with his hands. “We should greet them.”
“I don’t see why I have to move. They’re your guests, after all. Just as this entire mockery of a sham is yours, too. I have already logged my protest at this madness.” But Giles slowly unfolded himself from the chair he had occupied for most of the day and grinned. “Although, I am curious to see if she is as pretty as you painted her. For if she is, then she has me intrigued. What sort of attractive young lady consents to pretend to be a scoundrel’s fiancée for the miserly sum of forty pounds?”
“Forty pounds isn’t miserly.” It was probably more than Miss Merriwell earned in a year, if the shabby coat she had been wearing was any gauge, and it was one of the main causes of the guilt that was currently keeping him awake. He had made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. A positively scandalous offer, truth be told, and all to save his own sorry skin. Poor Miss Merriwell had to be beyond desperate to have accepted it. He felt ridiculously bad about that.
Payne, his butler, had also reported she and her two sisters lived in a very sparse and spartan set of rooms in a very depressed part of town, and that bothered him, too. Clearly she was in the most reduced of circumstances—but she had also been well spoken, had carried herself with genteel confidence, and was obviously very intelligent as well as inordinately pretty. How the family had fallen on such hard times was something his social conscience was keen to get to the bottom of. Already, he suspected she would leave with significantly more than forty pounds. Knowing she wouldn’t starve might alleviate some of his worries about her situation. “And might I remind you that you leapt at the chance to offer your services and I’m not paying you a farthing.”
“Of course I did! I love a good farce, and this one is bound to be a complete shambles. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
“That’s hardly reassuring.”
“As your dearest friend, it is my job to tell you nothing but the honest truth, old boy. Though obviously, for those same reasons, I shall stand by your side regardless of the inevitable consequences. I’m sure you can rustle up an idiot from the rest of our irritating circle to offer you blind reassurance if that is what you desire. But somebody diligent needs to point out the pitfalls, and who better to gaze judgmentally at the ruined mess of your life with you once this nonsense has run its course than me? You know nothing gives me greater pleasure than telling someone ‘I told you so.’” His friend retrieved the last bonbon from the bowl on the sideboard and popped it in his mouth. “And on the subject of ‘I told you so,’ why did you never tell me that your dreary house in Hampshire is, in fact, a thriving estate? I thought we were friends.”
“The fact that it’s thriving doesn’t stop it from being dreary.” Not that Hugh actually thought it was dreary. This was his sanctuary—although from what, he couldn’t say. “As your friend, all I have done is spare you from it.” And keep it private.
“Still, you … with tenants and crops and … actually managing things responsibly…”
All too personal and potentially too revealing, when Hugh preferred to let sleeping dogs lie, so he shrugged and trotted out the answer Giles would expect. “I just sign things.”
By his perplexed expression, his canny friend was not convinced. “Then you clearly sign a lot of things, old boy, as your estate runs rings around my stodgy father’s crusty old pile in Shropshire. This place is modern.” He eyed him suspiciously. “Impressively so…” This was not a conversation he could cope with when his nerves were bouncing all over the place. Fortunately, Payne magically appeared at the door in the nick of time, saving him from explaining that he had been trained to care about those things and couldn’t seem to stop. Something his incorrigible friend would doubtless find hilarious.
“The Misses Merriwell are here, my lord. Shall I show them in?”
“Yes!” Suddenly everything was overwhelming, and this entire idea felt foolhardy in the extreme. Why had he dragged them all to Hampshire, when home always awoke the past? “Yes, of course.”
Three wide-eyed young women soon entered the drawing room, but Hugh only fixed on one. Minerva really was as lovely as he had remembered her. Today perhaps more so because she had already removed her bonnet and he got to see her hair for the first time. It was so dark it was almost black, the thick, coiled knot at the back suggesting it was very long. Bizarrely, his fingers itched to touch it. Loosened, slightly curling tendrils framed her face, highlighting the alabaster paleness of her skin and the stunning contrast of those beautiful green eyes.
Eyes that held his with a boldness he admired.
Eyes that called to him in a way none ever had before. What the blazes was that about?
Without the shapeless, chunky coat, she had a fine figure. A compact but delightfully rounded bosom, a slim yet not petite frame, and—from what he could ascertain from the way her plain skirt grazed her curves—a wonderfully long pair of legs. He liked that she was taller than average. Liked more that she was unfashionably dark haired when society favored blondes. All in all, she was nothing like any young woman he had ever seen before, yet exactly as he’d pictured his Minerva to be. Unique. One of a kind. A woman any man would be proud to have on his arm.
Or in them.
But he was staring. Openly. Perhaps even longingly.
Off-kilter, Hugh turned to his friend and saw the appreciation in Giles’s eyes and had the sudden urge to poke his fingers in them to stop him from looking at her. Which was hardly fair to Giles but panicked Hugh in the extreme. He wasn’t usually possessive. “Miss Merriwell—I am so glad you are here. Allow me to introduce my good friend Giles Sinclair, Lord Bellingham.”
“Heir to the Duke of Harpenden?” One of her sisters frowned as she said this. “I’ve read all about you in the papers. There was a story about you only last Friday, in fact.”
Obviously, that delighted Giles. “Really? Did they paint me the scoundrel?”
“A complete scoundrel.”
“How wonderful. I am a great believer in both the press and gossip and do like to do my bit to keep the masses entertained.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Minerva squirmed and shot Hugh an apologetic look. “Diana has strong opinions regarding everything and feels the need to voice them often.”
“I applaud that.” Of course Giles did. “What is the point of having an opinion if you never share it?”
This seemed to please the prickly sister immensely. “My sentiments exactly, Lord Bellingham.”
Before her outspoken sibling said anything else, the eldest Miss Merriwell interrupted, looking embarrassed. “We are delighted to make your acquaintance, aren’t we, Diana?” She glared at the younger woman, who couldn’t be too far from her in age. Whilst also very pretty and dark haired, to Hugh’s eye, Diana lacked the luster of her sister. The invisible pull that compelled him to stare.
“Miss Diana—named after the goddess of the hunt, no doubt.” Hugh bowed and turned to his friend. “Mr. Merriwell named them all after Roman deities. Isn’t that fun?” Then he turned back to her sister. “Does the name suit you as much as it does Miss Minerva?”
“I should very much hope so, Lord Fareham. For I am a warrior at heart.”
“What is your weapon of choice?” Lord Bellingham took Diana’s hand and lingered shamelessly over kissing the back of it.
She snatched it away and glared. “Cutting words and pithy setdowns, my lord. If they fail to suitably wound, whatever sharp or heavy object is closest at hand.”
“I like her.” Giles nudged him hard in the ribs. “Miss Diana, I believe we shall get on famously so long as you promise never to mince your words with me.”
“Of that you can be assured, sir.” Already Hugh could tell Diana was going to be trouble.
“And this is my youngest sister, Miss Vee Merriwell.”
Minerva looked ready to strangle her outspoken sibling but hid her annoyance under a brittle smile, although her glare at Diana was quite frightening. Giles was, of course, enjoying himself immensely and looked intent on continuing to spar with the outspoken sister, as did she. To spare them all from it, Hugh stepped forward and shook the youngest Miss Merriwell’s hand. Unlike the other two, she was fair, yet had the same feline green eyes behind her unbecoming spectacles, eyes that looked thoroughly overwhelmed and troubled.
“I don’t recall a Roman goddess called Vee. Or anyone called Vee, for that matter. What an unusual name.” Hugh smiled at her, attempting to put her at her ease.
“Vee loathes her name,” said Diana with more than a hint of mischief. “She thinks it improper. So we call her Vee for short…”
Minerva glared. “Thank you, Diana…”
“But really it’s Venus. The goddess of beauty and lo—”
“I said, thank you, Diana.” Again Minerva intervened before the outspoken sister could finish, as their youngest was too mortified to do anything other than blush, something she did with crimson aplomb, the poor thing. He had to rescue her.
“I sympathize on your being saddled with a name you despise, Miss Vee. My middle name is Peregrine. How dreadful is that? But where are my manners? Come … sit.” Hugh smiled, offering his arm, and the youngest sister smiled shyly in return as she took it, allowing him to maneuver her out of the line of fire. “Payne is rustling up some refreshments for us all. You must be exhausted from your travels. London is so inconveniently far from Hampshire.”
Once they were all seated, the heavy veil of awkwardness descended on the proceedings. Small talk felt inappropriate. However, so did bluntly tackling the topic of the planned deception. Exactly how did one converse with one’s fake fiancée and her family upon their first meeting? There was so much to do and potentially so little time to do it in. He wanted to get started straightaway. Just in case.
“How was your journey?”
“Very pleasant, my lord. Your carriage was very comfortable.”
“Splendid.” Hugh’s eyes took in the sisters’ tatty frocks and well-worn boots. “Excellent news.” There was another awkward conversation that would need to be had. Anticipating their wardrobes would not be up to scratch, he had already engaged a team of seamstresses who would arrive tomorrow to measure them all for acceptable new clothes and produce them with haste. And new clothes weren’t the only things Miss Merriwell and her sisters would need. He had done a great deal of planning in the last two days. He’d made lists, issued countless instructions, and even prepared notes on everything his temporary fiancée would need to know. Seeing as he had anticipated all that, why the blazes hadn’t he worked on a few tactful sentences to broach difficult subjects? Or preempted his odd and overwhelming reaction to Minerva? “And the inn you stayed in last night … Was it to your satisfaction?”
“It was lovely, my lord.” Minerva forced a smile. “And very comfortable, too.”
“Excellent.” He racked his brains for something more erudite. Anything …
No.
Depressingly, there was nothing else. The ormolu clock on the mantel ticked more loudly than it ever had before. “Excellent.” That was apparently the full extent of his vocabulary today. His toes began to curl inside his boots, so he looked at Giles in the hope he might take pity on him. But his friend stared back with deliberate blandness, his eyes dancing with amusement.
Excellent.
“Is this your first visit to Hampshire?”
“Indeed it is, my lord. The scenery was very lovely from the carriage window.”
Well, that was another inane question answered as fully as could be expected. Hugh wanted to die. Miss Merriwell didn’t appear any more comfortable, but bless her, she was trying. Her outspoken sister was glaring, the shy one staring at her lap as if her life depended on it, and Giles was barely holding in a laugh. When Hugh heard the rattle of teacups in the distance, he almost cheered out loud. “The refreshments are coming! Excellent.” He was coming to loathe that bloody word. He resisted the urge to greet his butler like the prodigal son. “Step lively, Payne. The ladies must be starving.”
