No Groom at the Inn: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novella Page 2

  It honestly hadn’t occurred to him to do anything, but now that she had that eyebrow raised, and her manner seemed to waver between entertained and aghast, he wondered just what she’d do if he took her hand and walked her out of the inn.

  Probably scream. So that was not a good idea.

  Thankfully, she did allow him to grasp her hand for a brief handshake. “I am Lady Sophronia Bettesford,” she replied. She spoke in a measured way, as though every word was held up for examination before being released from her lips.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Sophronia.” Jamie tried to summon up his most charming smile, but even with his ingenuity with women, he was at a loss when confronted with this situation—how did one behave toward a woman one might have deliberately not proposed to?

  “And yours, Mr. Archer.” She glanced to the door, where people were lining up to board the coach, presumably. “But I do have to be on that coach, and while I appreciate the opportunity not to marry you, I cannot take any more time.”

  She had a title—he hadn’t anticipated that; he’d just seen she was Quality. She was well-spoken, she seemed to take things in stride, and she was relatively attractive.

  He was not going to find a better potential bride-not-to-be anywhere.

  “What would it take for you to do this? It would last a month, at most, and then you could get on your coach and go to wherever you are planning to go.” He heard the desperation in his voice, and hoped it would sway her toward him, rather than making her want to run away.

  She knitted her brow and stared at him, so intently he had the feeling she could see inside to his soul. Hopefully she’d see how much he wanted his mother to be happy, not any of the things he knew might make him seem to be a bad person—his ability to talk a potential seller into letting go of that treasure for a lower price than the seller had asked for, his equal ability to persuade women to give up their treasures in bed, his need to be on the go, constantly.

  His selfish wish to live the life he wanted even though it might—it did—hurt his mother.

  “I would want enough to purchase a cottage somewhere. I have no idea what that would cost, and it is likely far more than you’d want to pay for a pretend betrothed,” she said, lifting her chin as though in defiance. As though now he was the one who might run away screaming. “And I would want your assurance that this is all the time you would require of me, that you wouldn’t need me to return and pretend to be your wife or anything later on.” She took a deep breath. “If you can give me those things, I will do this for you.”

  “Last call to Chester!”

  They both glanced to the door, to where the stable boy was calling.

  “Well?” she asked, reaching down to her valise.

  “Done,” he said. His happiness and his mother’s happiness—in opposition to one another—were worth whatever he’d have to pay.

  “Then we have a bargain, Mr. Archer,” she replied, raising her hand from the valise’s handle and holding it out to him.

  “A bargain,” he repeated, shaking her hand.

  Otosis:

  1. A skin affliction that causes discoloration.

  2. Mishearing; alteration of words caused by an erroneous apprehension of the sound.

  3. Remaining in a state of suspension.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Your purchasing clothing for me is not part of our bargain,” Sophronia said as she walked hurriedly after Mr. Archer—her new betrothed.

  He turned to look at her, a roguish smile on his lips. He had a remarkably lovely mouth for someone who appeared so otherwise masculine. Not that lovely mouths weren’t masculine, but she had never actually noticed a gentleman’s mouth before.

  Now it seemed that was all she could think of. Well, that and that he was determined to buy clothing for her, when she was perfectly capable of buying her own.

  Except she really wasn’t. She hadn’t even tried to get her money back for the coach. She knew that would be a fruitless endeavor, and what with the ale she’d bought and the rest of the money she’d carefully secured away so she could eat on the journey—she might have had enough for one sleeve.

  And, her new betrothed told her, they were on their way to a house party. One where getting appropriately dressed was one of the ladies’ primary activities.

  So while she could object, she knew he was right. She just didn’t want to make him spend more than he already had to—she was fairly certain that fake betrotheds, if there was a market price for them, cost far less than what she had demanded.

  Who was to say he wouldn’t find another, less expensive betrothed somewhere?

  But meanwhile, as soon as they’d shaken hands, he’d taken her from the inn and began walking, very quickly, toward a place he assured her would have gowns suitable for her, and that could be made in time so they could make the journey the day after next.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Archer?” she ventured, wondering how he could walk so fast without it seeming to be a strain. Likely something to do with his long legs.

  And now here she was thinking about his legs, and the long strength of them, in addition to his mouth.

  Perhaps by the time their month together was complete she would have inventoried his entire self.

  Although that was not something she should be contemplating.

  “If we are to persuade people as to our relationship, Lady Sophronia, you should call me James. Or Jamie, that is what my mother calls me,” he said, flinging the words over his shoulder without losing his speed. “And I will call you—Sophy? My lamb? Sophycakes?”

  “Sophronia will do just fine,” Sophronia replied, as stiffly as she could manage given that she wanted to laugh—Sophycakes?

  “Sophronia is not nearly as much fun,” he returned.

  He had a point.

  “But what did you want to ask, Sophronia?” She didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling—he spoke as though they were both in on the joke, whatever the joke was.

  She hadn’t felt as though she’d been included in anything even close to a joke for a long time. It felt—lovely. Nice. Wonderful.

  Again, she heard her father chastising her for saying basically the same thing three different times, but “lovely” was sufficiently different from “nice” and “wonderful,” wasn’t it? And now she felt all three.

  “I don’t have a place to stay this evening. If you know of a respectable hotel,” and can pay my bill, “I can stay there this evening, and then join you on the journey to”—and she didn’t even know where they were going—“to the house party.”

  He stopped and spun around to face her, so abruptly it made her gasp. But then again, that could be because she was struck, again, by just how handsome he was. Would anyone believe he had chosen her? It wasn’t that she thought ill of herself—she didn’t—but she did know that while nobody would bat an eye at his taking up residence in the Handsome Hotel, they would likely quibble if she were to attempt to book a room at the female equivalent—the Pulchritudinous Pub, for example, or perhaps the Ideal Inn.

  Somewhere, she heard her father cheering her expansive language.

  “You can stay at my house,” he began, only to hold his hands out to her as he saw her reaction. “That is, at my mother’s house. I am staying there as well, but she will be a more than suitable chaperone. Besides,” he added, his mouth quirking up in a rueful smile, “she will have many questions to ask you.” He frowned, as though struck by something. “We need to get you a lady’s maid, however. Mother will know something is awry if you just appear alone.”

  Sophronia’s heart leapt. Of course, she would be able to be reunited with Maria, who was spending her last night of freedom at her sister’s house in Cheapside. “I have a lady’s maid I can obtain, that is no worry at all.”

  “Good, good,” he said distractedly. “You ca
n send a note to retrieve her while you are being fitted at Madame Fairfax’s establishment. And then we can return to my mother’s house, and I can introduce you. We will need to better acquaint ourselves with one another so as to make our story plausible.”

  The enormity of what she—what they—were doing struck Sophronia so sharply she gasped again, and this time it was not in appreciation of his pulchritude.

  “It will be fine, you will see.” It was as if he had read her mind, even though not a moment ago it had seemed he had been thinking of something else entirely.

  “Yes, I just—” She paused, then blurted it all out. “I just want to be certain you will not regret this, we don’t even know how much it will cost for a cottage, and then there’s the expense of the clothing, and my maid, and the travel, and—” She heard her words roll faster and faster, and her heart sped up in rhythm.

  “Breathe, Sophronia,” he replied, taking her hands in his. She gazed down at his fingers, noting how large they were, but still shapely, sprinkled with hair on the back of his hand.

  She had moved on from his mouth and legs, it seemed. She heard herself laugh, a breathy, nearly hysterical laugh, and felt the rush of what this could mean for her—for her whole future.

  She couldn’t ruin this, either for him or for herself. The rest of her life depended on it.

  Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “I am breathing, James,” she said in a measured tone. Close-ish to the way she normally spoke, at least. “Thank you for the kind offer,” she said, feeling her mouth curl up in a half smile. “I promise you, I will do my best to be the betrothed you require.”

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, keeping his gaze on her face. “We are in this together, Sophronia. I promise you in return, I will uphold my end of the bargain and will also do my best to be the betrothed you are worthy of.”

  Her throat got thick at hearing the obvious sincerity in his voice. And then she wondered if she was getting into even more than what she’d expected.

  Jamie took his betrothed’s arm—Sophronia, not Sophycakes or even just plain Sophy—as they walked up the stairs to his mother’s house. They’d spent two hours at the dressmaker’s shop, and thankfully Madame Fairfax had exercised discretion, not commenting on how this young lady was so markedly different in looks and style than the other ladies Jamie had brought to her shop before.

  He glanced over at her as they waited for the door to be opened. She was remarkably tall, so tall he would guess her to be only five or so inches shorter than he. It was refreshing not to have to bow his head down to look at her. And he found he did want to look at her—something in her face, something in her dark brown eyes, in her expression, made him want to discover who she was, why she was in that coaching inn, what made her needs so modest that a remote cottage would suit her.

  He hadn’t been in London or among Society so much as to have the breadth of English aristocracy at his command, so he had no idea who her father the earl had been, or where she had lived before arriving at the inn. He knew, however, that she was a lady, in more than just the titled sense; there was something so elegant about her, her movements, her way of speaking, that was both appealing and off-putting. As though she were a beautiful diamond who would cut you if you got too close.

  Jamie should remind himself of that, he thought—not to get too close. She wasn’t at all like any of the women he’d found intriguing before, but for some reason, she intrigued him.

  “Ah, Mr. James,” his mother’s butler said, a welcoming smile on his face. Taylor had been with his mother for years and treated Jamie as someone to be tolerated for her sake. Jamie knew the warmth of Taylor’s smile was in direct correlation to how many times his mother must have sent Taylor outside to see if her son had returned yet.

  He was surprised there wasn’t a path on the carpet in the hallway indicating the poor man’s footsteps.

  “Yes, we are back. If you could inform my mother—”

  “You’re back!”

  “Never mind, Taylor, I see she is here.” Jamie took a deep breath before turning to face his mother. This was it. He had to persuade her that not only was he betrothed, but that he was deeply in love with his bride-to-be. He knew Sophronia’s favorite color was green, she preferred novels to poetry, she liked ale, and she had a way of pausing before she spoke that made him think she was truly considering her words.

  He hoped his mother would keep her questions to those important topics so they wouldn’t be found out.

  “Allow me to introduce my betrothed,” he said, drawing Sophronia forward. Her hand trembled. “Mother, this is Lady Sophronia Bettesford. Sophronia, this is my mother, Mrs. Archer.”

  She withdrew her hand from his arm and held it out to his mother, who gaped at it, then stepped forward and gathered Sophronia into a hug, which meant the much taller woman had to stoop to be embraced. “I am so delighted to meet you, my dear. Jamie kept you such a secret, I didn’t even know he was acquainted with any lady who might be worthy of him, much less you!” She released Sophronia but kept hold of her arms, gazing up at her with an expression something close to rapture. “You are so lovely, I am certain we will be as close as though I was your own mother,” she said, her words coming out in a sob.

  Sophronia darted a startled look at Jamie, but her expression was serene when she looked back at his mother. “I am delighted to meet you as well, Mrs. Archer. This was all rather unexpected,” she said, in such a dry tone Jamie nearly choked on his laugh, “so it is not surprising to hear this is the first time you have heard of me.”

  “Come into the sitting room, dear, and let me hear all about you.”

  His mother took Sophronia’s arm and led her into the room, chattering nonstop about her general delight at Jamie having brought her home. “Even though an indication that this was happening would have been nice,” she said, with a sharp look directed at Jamie. He followed them, feeling some of the knot of tension in his chest untie, just a bit, that the first encounter seemed to be going well.

  Now they just had to get through the next two, perhaps three, weeks without anyone realizing they’d met only earlier in the day, and that neither one of them had any intention of marrying the other.

  Jamie had once successfully negotiated the purchase of artifacts that were reportedly the only things keeping the town from being destroyed by angry gods, so he thought he could handle the relatively minor endeavor of persuading his mother and the guests at a house party that he was, indeed, engaged to be married.

  Even though he rather wished he were back facing those superstitious villagers rather than attempting this subterfuge.

  Vecordy:

  1. Senseless, foolish.

  2. A harmonious sound.

  3. The change of seasons.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “My lady!” Maria shrieked as she was shown into Sophronia’s bedroom. She’d been given the best bedroom, according to her new not-yet mother-in-law, and Sophronia had to admit it was substantially better than the place she’d lived in most recently, when she’d still held out hope that something could keep her from her cousin, and his chickens.

  And now, just when she had given up and was resolutely headed to become an unpaid chicken-and-children herder, he’d appeared.

  “Maria, how lovely to see you, and isn’t this incredible?”

  Maria hugged her, and Sophronia felt immediately better—she had spent only a day or so on her own, without any kind of human discourse (beyond the purchasing of the coach tickets, not to mention the ale), and she hadn’t realized just how bereft she had felt without anyone to connect to. Until Maria wrapped her in an embrace.

  “Now, now, my lady, why are you crying?” Maria sounded perturbed, as she should—Sophronia never cried, not even when she’d come to the conclusion that her father had, indeed, left nothing for her. “Why are you
here? Is there anything I can do?”

  Sophronia drew back from her friend’s embrace and shook her head. “I am fine, this is really an amazing story, I just—I think I am just overwhelmed.”

  Maria nodded toward the bed. “Let’s just sit down and you’ll tell me all about it. I have to say, you could have knocked me over with a feather when the note arrived, telling me to come here posthaste.”

  Thankfully I will not be knocked over by any kind of feather, not if I do this properly, Sophronia thought to herself. It seemed she could leave the chickens behind, but they would not leave her.

  “So you just have to pretend to be engaged to the gentleman?” Maria said after Sophronia had related the details. Put that way, it did sound rather easy.

  “Yes, and I have to persuade his mother that I am a suitable bride for her son, which is the most important element.” The lady was so sweet, and obviously adored her son. Already Sophronia felt bad about her part of the deception, at fooling the woman who only wanted her son to settle down and have a family. A fact she had repeated no fewer than a half dozen times while they were having tea and getting “better acquainted.”

  If all the people she was to meet in the ruse were as talkative as Mrs. Archer, there would be no concern about having the lie discovered—she had barely gotten a word in edgewise, and the words were limited to “yes, please” and “just milk.”

  “You will do fine. And then—and then you’ll have enough for us to go to the country?” Maria’s tone was hopeful and wistful; they’d talked about what they wished they could do when they knew there was no chance of it. That Maria was still hesitant about the possibility made Sophronia’s heart hurt, even as she was thrilled their dream could become reality.

  And then what? a voice asked in her head. You buy a cottage, you and your maid go to live there, and then what? You spend the rest of your life alone?