Page 1 of The Rogue’s Widow (Sweet Escapes Collection #3)

November 1812 London

E lizabeth Bennet shifted nervously in her chair. The gentleman behind the desk had little enough to say, but the weight of his pensive glances and oddly punctuated sighs was making her hands sweat. He frowned and tapped his quill on the page before him.

She cleared her throat. “Mr Darcy, I can provide another reference if you wish. Perhaps my former neighbours, Sir William and Lady Lucas, who have known me since my infancy?”

He raised a brow. “You need this position badly.” It was not a question.

A small part of Elizabeth’s heart died. She lowered her eyes and confessed, “I do. There were five of us sisters, and only one other has found work as a governess since my father’s death. I—I know I do not have the formal education typically required, and my connections are not—”

“You are perfect,” he declared, slapping his pen down on top of her references with finality. “You begin at once.” He pushed back his chair and stood, walking around the desk and passing by without a second glance. He stopped near the door, however, and looked back to her. “Are you coming?”

She rose less gracefully than she would have liked, still a bit dazed. “Forgive me, Mr Darcy, but are we not to discuss… ah… details?”

“Do you mean your pay? Naturally.” He opened the door and spoke to the footman just outside. “Parker, will you have Mrs Dobbs prepare Miss Bennet’s room? And send Martha in with tea.”

The footman left, and Mr Darcy walked out into the hall without another word to her. Elizabeth looked hesitantly about, wondering if she ought to follow.

“Miss Bennet, you really must keep up. You will be wishing to send word of your employment to your mother, and you may use the writing desk in the blue drawing room for your purpose while your room is prepared. Have you a change of attire?”

Elizabeth looked helplessly down at her best day gown. “Most of my other clothes have been sold. If these are not suitable, I do know how to make more.”

Mr Darcy waved dismissively. “They will do for now, but I had rather wished you had something else to change into, so these would not become soiled.”

She blinked. “Soiled?”

“Indeed, for the Marshalsea is not known for cleanliness. Ah, here we are. The writing desk is just there. Pens, notepaper, all in the drawer.”

“The Marshalsea! Forgive me, sir, but I thought I was to meet Miss Darcy and discover if I suited her.”

“Naturally. My sister is in Derbyshire, and we shall journey there on the morrow.”

“Then, I fail to understand…”

He bit back a sigh, as if explaining to a child. “First, your letter. Then tea, then we depart for the Marshalsea. After the ceremonials, I will have a seamstress come measure you for some new garments.”

“Sir, for what sort of post have I just been hired?” she demanded. “I answered an advertisement for a lady’s companion.”

“Indeed.”

She spread her hands. “Why am I to accompany you to a debtor’s prison?”

“Why, that is where you are to be married, of course.”

Elizabeth’s knees nearly buckled. “Married!”

“Naturally, for you cannot pass as a suitably respectable companion for a young lady unless you are married or widowed or something of that nature. I certainly cannot have a single gentlewoman living under my roof without—”

“Married!”

He rolled his eyes. “Did no one explain the conditions of the position to you?”

“Only what was in the advertisement. ‘A single young lady of gentle upbringing sought as a companion.’ That is what the advert said.”

“Why, yes, that is what it said. But did no one tell you what it meant? I shall have to speak to Mrs Dobbs about this. Come, Miss Bennet, your letter. We have an appointment to keep.”

“Mr Darcy!” Elizabeth’s temper flared, and she set down her foot. “I do not mean to put a single drop of ink on paper until I have had a clear explanation of matters. I begin to think this position cannot suit.”

He pursed his lips. “Have you a long list of other options?”

Elizabeth hesitated. “I could work as a seamstress.”

Mr Darcy snorted. “With fine hands such as yours? You would be turned out within a week for working too slowly. I offer you a perfectly agreeable situation suited to a lady of gentle birth, and a better you will find nowhere.”

“In marrying a man I do not know this very afternoon?”

“No one ever said you had to live with him. You needn’t even touch him if you do not wish. In fact, I would advise you to discourage any displays of affection—that sore on his lip has become rather ghastly.”

“Who is this person to whom you would so blithely wed a complete stranger?”

He stared and crossed his arms. “You really heard nothing of this?”

“No, and I am not certain I wish to.”

“But you just asked me. Come, Miss Bennet, you must speak more plainly.”

Elizabeth clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, counting to three before she lost her temper with her prospective employer. “What I meant, sir, is that these details you take for granted are vital to my decision about accepting the position. They ought to have been disclosed before, and I am suspicious about why they were not.”

“Yes, yes, very well. The man you are to marry was my father’s ward. He has a substantial inheritance that will pass to his brother upon his death, which, I daresay, is imminent. For numerous reasons, I prefer that some other will receive his endowment, which is why I took it upon myself to secure for him a bride.”

“But I could not inherit! Surely you do not mean for me to bear this man an heir!”

“Did I not explain you needn’t touch him? Be easy on that score, for there is no entail to prohibit the widow inheriting. It is a modest estate—Corbett Lodge—worth a little more than one thousand per annum in its present state. It is large enough for five or six ladies and a few servants, I should say, but do not set your hopes on carriages and finery. I am afraid he spent the coffers dry before I had him thrown into debtor’s prison, but the land itself should begin to restore—”

“Forgive me, Mr Darcy,” she interrupted, “but did you say that you had this man thrown into prison?”

“Who else would have done it?” he asked reasonably. “I assure you, it was a kindness to everyone concerned.”

“I do not…” Elizabeth shook her head and started again. “I expect he must have no fond feelings for you.”

“Bernard? He despises the very air I breathe. Miss Bennet, do you mean to write your letter to your family or not?”

“I have not decided! Answer me this, sir. Why would this… this Bernard person permit you to choose a bride for him for the sole purpose of diverting his inheritance, if he hates you so much?”

Mr Darcy smiled. “Because the one person in this world Bernard Wickham detests more than myself is his younger brother George.”

S he had spirit, that much was obvious. And enough dignity to baulk at the notion of wedding a stranger for his inheritance, which spoke well of her character. Moreover, he was quite taken with her looks—that was to say, she would present well in Society, once she had a new wardrobe and a few good meals. Judging by the way her gown fitted about the bodice, it had been some while since she had enjoyed a proper board.

She was silent and grim now, avoiding his gaze across the carriage. She seemed as if she wished to speak with Martha, sitting beside her, but each time she drew a breath, her eyes flicked toward him and then she subsided. Darcy mentally added another virtue to her account: she did not talk overmuch.

What she did say, however, tended to be rather bold and contrary.

“I still do not understand,” she spoke abruptly after some silence.

“What do you not understand, Miss Bennet?” he asked with affected weariness.

“Why not simply let the brother inherit?”

“You will meet him at length, I should guess. I will permit you to answer that question yourself.”

“But, then—” she gestured in exasperation. “Why me?”

He frowned, cast his eyes up to the roof of the carriage, and then lifted his shoulders. “Why not?”

“You know nothing of me, my character, my experience.”

“I thought you a suitable companion for my sister. Be assured that I am more selective of her company than Bernard’s.”

“But how do you know I will not find some way to take advantage of the situation?”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Pray, when you do find a way, be my guest. I have tried to turn my hand to a better circumstance and failed. The ‘inheritance’ you are to receive is no gift, madam. The house and property are in complete disrepair. It is sufficient for you to shelter your mother and sisters, and as we discussed, your ‘pay’ as Georgiana’s companion is to be the upkeep on the house until the property can support itself again.”

“But it makes no sense—that is outrageously extravagant!” she cried.

“I know it is, but I have my reasons. I can see that you are practiced in the art of economy.” At this, she reddened and glanced self-consciously down at her apparel.

He continued. “Your family will have a modest allowance, and I trust you will exhort them not to spend through it too quickly. Three hundred pounds between them ought to be sufficient for their expenses, I should think.”

“Three—” She coughed. “Three hundred is more than we have seen in better than two years, and many times what a lady’s companion makes.”

“I cannot very well expect four women to go about without respectable attire or manage a house without a sturdy maid and a reliable man of all work. My own steward has long overseen Corbett’s rents and income, so there is no need to concern yourself with those affairs. And I will cover the necessary repairs to the roof. It ought to have been done when Bernard first inherited the land, but it was not. Ah, here we are, and I see the parson is already arrived. Welcome to the Marshalsea, Miss Bennet. What do you think of the new building?”

She looked dubiously out the window, her complexion picking up a faint hint of yellow. “Are you certain of this, Mr Darcy?”

“You will suit my needs perfectly, Miss Bennet.”

The young lady shot him a look that could have scalded ice. “And I have your word as a gentleman that you will treat me with dignity?”

“Miss Bennet! What do you take me for, your future husband? I assure you, we are not cut from the same cloth. Disguise is my abhorrence; my offer is genuine.”

She looked only somewhat mollified and heaved a shaken breath. “Then let us get on with it.”

B ernard Wickham did not enjoy the favour of the guards. While some of the prison’s inhabitants possessed charm or agreeable visitors, Bernard regularly incurred the disdain of all by his filth, his vulgar ways, or his incessant snivelling. Thus, when they all filed into Bernard’s cell, they found the dying man with no attendant to minister to his wants. Only the provisions supplied by Darcy himself lent him comfort, and half of those looked to have been bartered away for drink.

“Darcy,” Bernard rasped. “Is that you?”

Miss Elizabeth stirred beside him. “Bernard has lost his sight,” he muttered quietly. “The final stages of his disease.”

“But not my hearing. Have you brought me a woman?”

“I have brought a lady.”

Bernard tried to sit up on his stained mattress. “Is she blonde? You know I will only have the blondes. Does she have wide hips? A man likes a handful—”

Miss Bennet gasped beside him, her hand to her mouth. Darcy turned to her with a placating expression and a soothing gesture, then spoke again to Bernard.

“I daresay you had a few too many handfuls in your day. Miss Bennet is trim with dark hair, and far too good for you in any case.”

“Come, Darcy, if I am to marry the wench, she can at least keep me warm.”

“That was not our agreement. Are you ready? I will call for the parson.”

Bernard coughed into a bloody cloth and then spat on the floor. “Curse you, Darcy. Call him and be quick about it lest I die before it is done.”

Darcy opened the door and invited the parson in. The man of God looked doubtfully about the chamber, glancing between bride and groom with raised brows. “A word, please, Mr Darcy.”

Darcy walked with the man to the corner. “Is something amiss?”

“Sir, the license is in order and I see that you have even drawn up the proper settlement papers, but this ceremony you ask me to perform is a mockery to the holy institution of—”

“Does not your scripture command us to look after widows and orphans in their distress?”

The parson narrowed his eyes. “It does.”

“And that is no less than my friend wishes to do in his last days. Would you begrudge him the chance to carry out one redeeming act at the end of his life?”

“Mr Darcy, a marriage requires consummation to be recognised as complete, in the hopes that there be symbolic union and some issue.”

“And how do you know there will be no such thing?” Darcy asked in a low voice that Miss Bennet would not overhear. “It is not for me to interfere in the affairs between a man and his wife.”

The parson scowled for a full minute, glancing back and forth between Darcy and Bernard. “Very well.” To the couple, he spoke next. “Mr Wickham and Miss Bennet, are you prepared?”

Darcy looked to the lady and saw her countenance was now a nauseated shade of green. She was curling her lip in distaste as Bernard sat up and made some crude reference to her chastity.

“They are both ready,” Darcy answered for them. The look in Miss Bennet’s eyes spelled murder, but she held her tongue.

“Miss Bennet, will you stand here? And you must take your betrothed’s hand. I absolutely insist upon this much.” The parson turned a stern look on Darcy as Miss Bennet shrank from Bernard’s diseased flesh.

“Here.” Darcy produced a handkerchief and wrapped it over her fingers as she stared open-mouthed back at him. “I am a man of my word, Miss Bennet.”

She took it with a last scathing glare, and a few moments later, Mrs Bernard Wickham tossed the handkerchief back in his face with a vengeance.

Spirited, indeed.