Wed Him Before You Bed Him (3 page)

Berkshire
Last Time—Summer 1806

B
y early afternoon of their trip to the Kirkwood estate, eighteen-year-old Charlotte Page wanted desperately to toss her father out of his coach. It just wasn't fair! If not for Papa, she'd be sitting across from Captain James Harris at Colonel Devlin's card party in Grosvenor Square. She might even have the chance to dance with him.

The handsome young officer danced awfully well, and he had a good mind, too. Best of all, he treated her as if
she
had a good mind. He was amiable and considerate and absolutely nothing like Papa.

She wished she could say the same for David Masters, the horrible son of Papa's horrible friend, the Viscount Kirkwood.

“You'll be civil to Mr. Masters, won't you?” her mother pleaded. Mama sat next to Charlotte in Papa's latest acquisition, a traveling coach so richly appointed that Charlotte was half-afraid of snagging her bracelet on the satin upholstery.

“She'll be civil, or I'll know the reason why,” her father growled.

When Mama cringed, Charlotte nearly bit her tongue
through, trying not to say something that would get them both into trouble. “If Mr. Masters is civil to me, Papa, I'll certainly be civil to him. Though I doubt he'll bother. Why should he, when you've already guaranteed him my hand and my dowry?”

Papa's lips thinned. “You're lucky he'll even consider you, missy, dowry or no. His family has money enough—they don't need ours. Besides, 'tis not your place to worry about who gets your dowry. That is
my
concern.”

“But I'll be the one who has to live with whomever I marry, Papa. And a man who wants me only for my money—”

“Like that Captain Harris?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” She'd tried to hide her interest in the cavalry officer, knowing what Papa would think about a man with no connections as a suitor.

“I'm not blind, girl. I've noticed you and the man talking and dancing together every time we go to Colonel Devlin's. Harris is the one who wants you for your money. You can be sure he's not sniffing round you for any other reason.”

The cruel claim shot pain through her chest. “That's not true!” she cried, then caught herself before she could show how thoroughly he'd wounded her. Like a shark, Papa attacked when he smelled blood in the water. She modulated her tone. “Captain Harris is a fine, upstanding officer—he wouldn't court a woman only for her money. He hasn't made his fortune yet, but I daresay he will soon.”

“You'll never have the chance to find out. I'll not have people laughing at us behind our backs because you married some nobody. You're marrying Masters, and that's an end to it.”

Papa can't force you to marry, Papa can't force you to marry,
she chanted to herself.

Now if only she could believe it. “I haven't laid eyes on Mr. Masters in ten years. Do you really expect me to wed a stranger?”

“Stranger! You know his family, and you played with him as a child. That's good enough.”

It was more than good enough to make her
not
want to marry him. At eight years old, she and her family had lived close to the Kirkwood estate near Reading. She'd trooped adoringly after David Masters and his younger brother, Giles. A bit of a tomboy, she'd done whatever they did—run foot races, played cricket, scrambled over hedges. She'd even tolerated David's ordering her about.

Then one day when he'd tried to exclude her from their climbing game because of her skirts, she'd informed him in front of the neighborhood lads that she could out-climb him, even in her pinafore. Of course they'd had to put it to the test. And he'd been
so
furious when she'd beaten him to the top of their favorite oak.

That's when the trouble started. The beast claimed she only won because she had long monkey arms. The other boys laughed and danced about her making monkey noises, and he joined in. Thanks to her supposed monkey arms and the short curly hair she wore in pigtails that resembled a monkey's ears, she'd thereafter been dubbed Miss Monkey.

She'd had to live with the vile nickname long after David had gone off to school the following week. It only ended when Papa had moved them to London to further his political ambitions.

Lord only knew what David was like now, after years of
being coddled and catered to as a viscount's heir. She said, “Rumor has it that Mr. Masters and his friends are utterly debauched. Do you really wish me to marry an unrepentant libertine?”
Like you?

Papa might make no attempt to hide his other life—the mistresses he paraded in front of Mama and the nights he spent drinking with his close friend Charles Fox, the foreign secretary—but he expected her and Mama to keep quiet about their outrage. That got harder for Charlotte to do as the years passed and Papa's drunken rampages at home became intolerable.

“Masters isn't a libertine,” Papa said with a snort. “Like all young bucks, he sows his wild oats, but he's discreet. That is all you can expect from a man. And my inquiries into his character reveal that he's a diligent student and a well-respected gentleman who is perfectly aware of the obligations due his rank.”

In other words, he used his father's influence to sway his instructors, knew how to put on a good show when it counted, and was “perfectly aware” of how far his rank could get him.

She'd dipped her toe into society enough to know how to interpret the usual lies about a titled gentleman. Papa was describing a man exactly like himself. And the last thing she wanted was a husband of Papa's ilk.

“Besides,” Papa went on, “his friends include a young marquess, a brother to a viscount, and an heir to a duke. I could well use those connections, so if only for my sake, you'll smile and be demure and welcome his attentions like any eligible young lady. Because if not for me and my labors, you wouldn't even have a dowry to entice a young man.”

“But Papa—”

“The king didn't give me a barony because I own coal mines, you know. He did it because I promoted His Majesty's concerns in the House of Commons. I've done
my
part to further the aims of this family. Now you must do yours.”

She stifled a snort. Papa only furthered his
own
aims and ambitions, but there was no point in arguing. He'd just deny it.

“But why must it be David Masters? Surely some other man could further your aims just as well.” A man who might want her for herself. “If you'd only wait until my coming out next spring—”

“I'm not wasting money on a come-out when a man like Masters is there for the taking. Besides, Masters's friend Simon Tremaine, heir to the Duke of Foxmoor, is destined to be the next prime minister. That's a connection I don't intend to lose the chance of.”

“Then perhaps you should offer me to him instead,” she said bitterly. “It would be a much better business transaction.”

Her father's face darkened. “You watch your tongue, missy. I've had enough of your insolence. We've not yet passed Richmond—we can still leave the carriage at a livery and travel up the Thames by wherry.”

The words thundered in the carriage, sucking out all her bravado. Up the Thames! Would he be so cruel?

Of course he would. Her breathing grew labored as she saw again the swirling waters closing over her head, the blackness blotting out her sight, the panic as she realized she could not hold her breath any longer…

“Rowland,” her mother protested. “You shouldn't say such an awful thing. It upsets her.”

“Hush your mouth, woman,” Papa shot back. “Or you know what I will do to
you
.”

When her mother paled, Charlotte grabbed her hand. “You leave Mama be! She has naught to do with this!”

“She's the one who hired that bluestocking governess. God only knows what foul ideas that female crammed into you before I found her out and dismissed her.”

“Foul ideas!” Charlotte protested. “She encouraged me to exercise my mind, read important books, learn science and history and Latin—”

“And look what it's done to you,” he snapped. “You're insolent to your father. Well, I won't tolerate such rebellion, do you hear? It's time you recognize who runs this family, and it isn't you, missy.”

She bit back a hot retort. As if she hadn't had that drilled into her since childhood.

“Now,” her father said firmly, “will you comport yourself like a proper young lady this week, or shall we take a river jaunt to remind you of your duty?”

Every inch of her wanted to throw his threat back in his face. It would be so satisfying to deprive him of the weapon provided to him by her obsessive fear of drowning. But Papa never made idle threats, and the mere thought of sitting frozen in terror on a boat made her throat close up and her heart waver.

She must have shown her fear by a wince or shudder, for triumph leaped in her father's eyes. “I think we understand each other now, don't we?”

Numbly she nodded. She understood
him,
anyway. He wouldn't rest until she agreed to marry David Masters.

Turning her face to the window, she scowled out at the
forest lining the road. Somehow she would find a way out of this trap he'd built for her. Because she had no intention of being chained to a younger version of Papa for the rest of her life.

 

David sprinkled more whisky on his coat, then patted some on his cheeks for good measure.

“What the devil are you doing?” asked a voice behind him.

He jumped, then let out a breath. It was only Giles. “Preparing for the Pages' arrival.”

His younger brother looked bewildered. “By dousing yourself in whisky?”

“Surely you've guessed why they're coming here after all these years. Why Father invited them, even though Mother detests them.”

“To be honest, I hadn't thought much about it.”

“That's because
you're
not the one Father hopes to marry off to Charlotte Page.”

Giles burst into laughter.

“It's not funny,” David gritted out as he donned his whisky-dampened coat. One sniff had him choking. Perhaps he'd done it up a bit too brown.

Still, he might as well let the chit think he bathed in the stuff. He might need the drastic measure to thwart her doe-eyed adoration and her father's scheming.

“I remember Charlotte,” Giles said. “She thought you hung the moon. Until that ‘monkey business.'”

David stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You don't remember? No, of course not. You left for Eton shortly after.”

“After what?”

Giles chuckled. “Never mind. Why does Father want you to marry
her
?”

“Because Charlotte is an heiress. And knowing Father, he's figuring that Lord Page will be more willing to loan him money for his latest favorite venture if it's all in the family. Of course, I am the one who has to make it ‘all in the family.' I'm the one who has to suffer by marrying some chit I barely know.”

“I suppose since Father and Mother had an arranged marriage, they figure what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.”

“Well, this gander is not doing it.”

“Seems to have worked for the Mater and Pater. They rub on fairly well.” Giles plopped down on David's bed. “Or are you holding out for true love? Because you know what Father would say to that. ‘Love is for fools and children, but money rules the world.'”

“I don't care
what
Father says,” David muttered. “There's something cold-blooded about choosing a wife according to her station and wealth.”

His friend Anthony said he was a romantic, which was nonsense. He simply didn't want to be treated like a bloody horse up for auction. He would pick his own bride, after he'd enjoyed a bit of the world, of course. And when he did get around to marrying, it would not be for money alone.

He scowled into the mirror. “Bad enough that I've been dealing with the steward and the tenants ever since I left Cambridge, because
he
is too busy chasing the next great investment. I draw the line at getting leg-shackled just to help Father cover his risky ventures.”

“What does her family think of it? Why should they be
keen on the marriage?” When David eyed him askance, he added, “Ohh, right. The title. This is one time I don't envy your being the heir.” He leaned back on his elbows. “Has Charlotte even had her come-out?”

“No.” David pulled his cravat askew and mussed his hair.

Giles laughed again. “That's probably why Page wants to fob her off on you. She must have turned out ugly indeed, if he thinks that even her fortune won't buy her a decent husband.”

“The thought did cross my mind,” David said tersely. He had a vague memory of what Charlotte used to look like—carrot-red hair that stuck out everywhere, freckles, and long limbs that enabled her to run as fast as any boy. Now she was probably some gangly spinster with no breasts, a frightful face, and not a feminine bone in her body.

“I'm expecting you to help me, Giles. Tell her what a bad fellow I am, how I lose money at cards—”

“I can't say that with a straight face,” Giles protested. “You mostly win. When you gamble, which isn't that often.”

“Fine. Then tell her about my wild living and my women.”

“I'm not going to talk about that in front of Father, for God's sake,” Giles said. “He'll have my head for it. He's always raging about you and your friends spending so much time in the fleshpots.”

“And I plan to spend a great deal more before I let myself be caught in the parson's mousetrap.” He was too young to marry, damn it!

Though if he were honest with himself, the fleshpots were growing tedious. Although he still bedded his share
of barmaids and whores, he found them rather boring lately. Outside of their obvious talents, they had nothing to offer in the way of interesting conversation.