Page 1 of A Trial of His Affections (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #2)

Chapter One

S omerset, October 1815

“Miss Jenkins, after many months of deliberations, I have determined that an alliance between our two families would be both judicious and advantageous to us both.” Even in the cool shade of the garden a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Miles Yardley’s face. Under the guise of scratching his cheek, he glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Jenkins, seated on the terrace with mending in her lap. She was not an intimidating sort of lady, yet Miles could not help but feel as if she were watching his every move.

He had never proposed marriage before and was uncertain he was doing it correctly. He tightened his grip, and the small slip of paper where he’d written all the points of his proposal crinkled. He glanced up at her. Lud, did she have to tilt her head to the side like that? It made him want to kiss her. But now was not the time for such things. He hoped it would come soon enough. Now he needed to state his case. Reason and logic were the way to go.

Perhaps it was best if he did not look at her.

“Given the expectations of society and your situation within it, it would seem paramount that you secure a suitable marriage. As a barrister of good reputation, it is likewise expected that I establish a household with a wife who possesses a respectable character and a knowledge of social graces.” Miles licked his lips and took a much-needed breath. He grimaced. While the words came out as he had practiced them, he did not believe they sounded the same. Daring to look at her, he glanced up.

Miss Jenkins’ lips parted as if she had something to say. But then she twisted her head slightly and frowned.

She frowned . Surely, that was not a good sign.

Miles narrowed his gaze slightly. He’d never known Miss Jenkins to be without comment. But was that good or bad?

He simply needed to ask for her hand. Then this whole thing would be behind him. He hurried on. “And to that end, I propose we marry.” He tugged at his waistcoat, as if that could remove the awkwardness mounting around them.

The creases in Miss Jenkins’ brow grew deeper.

Uncertain what else to do, Miles continued. “There are, as I’m sure you have already discerned, many practical advantages to such an arrangement. Firstly, we are not strangers to one another, thereby eliminating the unpredictability that so often escorts marital endeavors.” He sucked in a quick breath. Surely, that was a point in his favor. “Secondly, as you are aware, I am now in possession of an estate which provides a moderate income. Such income would ensure that you never lack for stability.”

She did not look as intrigued as he had imagined she would. Botheration!

“And thirdly, as I have no vices of which to speak, you may rest assured that I shall be dependable and rational in all my decisions.”

She blinked once…twice…three times. But still, she said nothing.

Miles knew not how to interpret her silence. “You are surely considering that marriage is, by its very nature, a contract—legally binding under the law. And as such, I am prepared to offer you certain provisions and assurances.”

She flicked a glance toward the doorway. What was that about? Was she intent on fleeing? Lud, he hoped not. Perhaps she was simply hoping someone would come and save her. Although that notion didn’t settle any better than the thought that she might flee.

That did not bode well.

He raised a hand and took several steps toward her. It was best to be within arm’s reach, was it not? Just in case he needed to stop a hasty retreat. “To that end, I shall not interfere in your daily pursuits—provided they stay within the bounds of propriety. I will allot a reasonable allowance for your household expenditures and personal needs. Furthermore,” his voice pitched up slightly, and he raised a finger in the air to punctuate it, “I’m a sensible man and will take under advisement any stipulations you may wish to include, within reason, of course.”

He nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. There. He had done it. He’d laid it all out before her. And upon consideration, he believed there to be a good chance she would accept him. How could she not, given everything he’d presented to her?

Miss Jenkins opened her mouth and closed it. Then opened it again. Was the lady speechless?

He gave a small shrug, followed by a smile. “I believe if you take the time to consider my offer, you will come to see the terms are very agreeable and not delay in finalizing the arrangement.” He smiled and sucked in a deep breath. He could hardly believe that by next month, he’d likely be a married man. It was good news. And considering the news of Julian’s death fighting Napoleon on the peninsula, it was news the family could use.

Her head shook slowly from side to side.

Miles stilled, his hands and feet growing cold. Was she declining him?

“Mr. Yardley,” words finally flowed from her mouth, which should have brought with them relief. But that was the last thing Miles felt. “Might I have a day or two to consider your offer?”

He sighed and took a step back. That was not the response he was expecting. But it was not a refusal. Indeed, it was a sensible request. He need only be patient. “Of course.” He nodded. “It seems a prudent action.” He bounced on the balls of his feet. “Very prudent, indeed.”

She smiled at him, but he did not miss the confusion—or was it disbelief—in her gaze.

He nodded at her like a complete nodcock. “Capital.” He frowned. Why had he said that? He could not remember ever saying it before. It was something his father said but not Miles. He dipped his head. “Then I will leave you to your considerations.” He rocked back on his heels. Was there anything left to say?

She dipped her head. “Thank you, Mr. Yardley.”

He nodded in return.

For a moment, it seemed they might continue indefinitely—two courteous gladiators in a nodding match.

Finally, she stopped, and her brows rose slightly.

That was his cue, was it not? He bowed. “I shall await your response, Miss Jenkins.” He turned and walked slowly toward the side of the house. He paused just before leaving the garden. He did not wish her to have come to a decision already—and be unable to tell him for want of his patience.

But alas, she did not stop him.

He moved around the side of the house and out of view of all the Jenkins ladies’ eyes. He released a heavy breath. It had not gone precisely as he’d imagined, but he’d said everything on his list. He lifted his hand, the paper now slightly damp and wrinkled, and looked over the list he’d made.

It was advantageous to them both— “Tick,” he muttered.

He was an estate owner with a moderate income— “Tick.”

He had no known vices— “Tick.”

He loved her?—

Miles stared down at the paper. He’d told her he loved her, had he not? He stopped walking, a cold trickle of sweat running between his shoulders. Rubbing the space between his eyes, he tried to recall everything he told her. But it was all a muddle. He’d said he loved her before his three points. He was nearly certain of it.

His stomach twisted. What if he hadn’t? He glanced back toward the back garden but could see nothing but the shrubbery. Did he go back and declare himself? Lud, that was about the most idiotic thing he’d ever thought. What would she think of him? Would she think him insincere if he told her he loved her again?

He sighed. She had to know he loved her, surely. Did not his actions say as much?

He shook his head. Perhaps if she did not already know his feelings, he would think it necessary. But she had to know . He had paid her particular attention for months. And the more he thought on it, the more he was convinced he had mentioned it.

He gave one last searching look at the house. But it gave him no answers. Thunder and turf! Why did such things have to be so deuced difficult?

He shoved his beaver on his head and headed for the stables to retrieve Rhadamanthus. It was time he returned to Briarcliff Hall.

* * *

“He proposed to me, Miss Martindale.” Grace sat on the settee across from her dearest friend.

“Who proposed?” Miss Martindale looked down her long, thin nose.

Grace bit the side of her cheek. It did not bother her very much that Miss Martindale used Grace’s Christian name but had not consented for Grace to do the same. Indeed, Grace was honored to be so singled out. As the daughter of a baron, she was far above Grace in status.

“Mr. Yardley,” she said timidly. She’d been rather flattered by his proposal. And he had made several points in his favor. She had always hoped she would marry for love. And if she were being honest with herself, she liked Mr. Yardley. Indeed, she thought it quite possible she could come to love Mr. Yardley… in time. Although, he had not indicated any such feelings for her. So perhaps it would only be on her side.

Miss Martindale’s eyes widened, and she launched herself toward Grace. “You did not accept him, surely!” She took Grace’s hand in hers.

Grace shook her head. “No, I asked if I might consider it for a few days.”

Miss Martindale collapsed onto the sofa next to Grace and dramatically flung her arms to her side, her head laid back. “Lawks, Grace, you had me concerned.”

“But why? Mr. Yardley is a respectable gentleman.” Grace clasped her hands in her lap. “He is the son of an earl. And with his newly inherited estate, he seems a very logical choice.” Logic was precisely what he had given her. His proposal had not been of the romantic sort. But it did not follow that it was completely unwanted.

Miss Martindale gave her a look. It was the look that made Grace feel small and uneducated. But compared to Miss Martindale, Grace’s education at Mrs. Bootle’s School for Young Ladies was lacking. “Grace,” she said with all the dramatics of a stage performer. “You need not settle for the likes of Mr. Yardley. There are any number of barons or viscounts that would marry you.”

Grace tilted her head to the side. “I don’t need a viscount or even a baron, Miss Martindale.” She pulled her lip between her teeth. “I think I would be quite happy with a barrister or solicitor.”

Miss Martindale’s eyes widened again. It seemed the lady found their entire conversation unbelievable. “Of course you do.” Her shoulders relaxed, and she pushed out her lips in a look of sympathy. “Dearest Grace, with your father having been a stable master and your brother barely better, the task falls to you to elevate your family’s fortune and standing in society. You must marry well, else no one in society will condescend to even speak to you.” She looked from one side to the next as if she were about to tell a great secret. “And that should be a great sorrow for me. You see, I think it likely Lord Haversham will propose to me before he quits the country.” At Grace’s raised brows, Miss Martindale preened. “He is an earl, and while there is little chance you will secure such an advantageous match—given your family’s condition—I’m certain I can steer a few gentlemen of lesser title your way. You need only call on me in London.”

“Do you think it’s possible, Miss Martindale?”

“I shall be Lady Haversham before the month is out. Perhaps you should grow accustomed to using my title, Grace.”

Grace nodded. “I beg your pardon, Miss?—”

Miss Martindale shook her head with a look of irritation.

“Lady Haversham,” Grace said, and Miss Martindale smiled.

“Your brother might not be much more than a stable master, but he at least provided you with a sizable dowry. With that and your moderately pretty face, I think you have great potential for marrying better than your station. Unless,” she leveled her gaze at Grace. “Unless, of course, you begin discoursing on plants, as you are wont to do.”

Grace’s smile slipped slightly. Miss Martindale’s words might sound harsh to those who did not know her. But Grace knew she meant them to be kind.

“Then I should decline his offer?” Grace winced. It sounded so harsh when she said it aloud.

“Of course you should decline!” Miss Martindale screeched.

Grace pulled back. “Then I shall. I’ll visit him at Briarcliff and give him my decision.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Miss Martindale chided. “If you go to his home to speak with him, he will only convince you of his case. You would do well to write him a letter and give him your answer.”

“A letter…” Grace trailed off. It felt so impersonal and slightly improper. Mrs. Bootle had been emphatic that a proper lady never wrote letters to a gentleman. “I didn’t think proper ladies?—”

“There is nothing improper about you writing to give him your answer. It’s not as if you will ever write to him again.” Miss Martindale tsked, and she glanced toward the door. “Oh, good,” she smiled. “Tea is here.”