Read the book: «Beauty for Ashes»

Beauty for Ashes

Beauty for Ashes
Dorothy Clark

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my husband, Ralph—

because he’s my Justin.

Thanks, honey, for being my hero, now and always.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

Chapter One

New York

March, 1820

E lizabeth stopped outside the door of her father’s study to gather her courage. She was certain his summons was about her refusal to accept Reginald Burton-Smythe’s offer of marriage, and equally certain he would be very angry. There was simply no help for it. She couldn’t abide Mr. Burton-Smythe. His mere presence made her skin crawl. And no one, not even her father, could force her to speak words of acceptance to him.

Elizabeth pressed her hands to her abdomen, drew a slow, deep breath to ease the sudden, painful spasm in her stomach and opened the door—delay would only increase her father’s ire. She stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. The room smelled of smoke, after-dinner port and cigars. The combination did little to help the state of her stomach. “You wished to see me, Father?”

Ezra Frazier looked up, placed the paper he was reading on his desk and motioned her forward. “I understand from Burton-Smythe you refused his hand. Is that the right of it?”

His tone of voice did not bode well for her. Fear moistened her palms. Elizabeth pressed them to the soft velvet fabric of her long skirt. “Yes, Father, it is.”

His features tightened. “Tomorrow when he comes calling, you will ask his forgiveness and tell him you accept.” He lifted the paper from his desk and resumed reading.

She was dismissed. As easily as that her life was ruined—any hope for future happiness destroyed. Anger overrode the fear clamped around Elizabeth’s chest. She squared her shoulders and forced words out of her constricted throat. “I’m sorry, Father, I cannot…I will not…accept Mr. Burton-Smythe’s offer of marriage.”

Shock spread across her father’s face. The vein at his right temple pulsed. He rose to his feet. “You dare to defy me?”

The soft, icy tone of his voice made Elizabeth shiver in spite of the anger heating her blood. She searched for words to turn away his wrath. “It is not out of defiance I speak, Father. Rather, it is revulsion and fear of Mr. Burton-Smythe that gives me voice.”

“Make me no puling excuses, Elizabeth!” The flames of the fire glittered in her father’s cold, steel-gray eyes as he looked at her. “The betrothal agreement has been signed. When you wed Burton-Smythe the warehouse property he owns on South Street comes to me. My fortune will double—and more yet. I’ll not lose my gain because of your mewling fear.”

“But, Father, I—”

“Silence! I’ll hear no more excuses. I’ve long sought that property and it will be mine. Now go to your room and prepare yourself to accept Mr. Burton-Smythe tomorrow. The banns will be read on Sunday.”

Elizabeth’s stomach churned. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to cause you distress, Father—but I will not wed Mr. Burton-Smythe.”

The vein at her father’s temple swelled. He placed his hands on his desk and leaned toward her. “Do not stand stubborn in this matter, Elizabeth—there are ways to ensure your compliance. It would be well if you yield gracefully–but yield you will.”

Elizabeth stared into her father’s eyes and knew further protest was useless. He would not listen to her. Greed was his master, and she nothing more than chattel to him. It had always been thus. She swallowed back the bile rising into her throat, lifted her long skirts and walked to the door.

“Elizabeth.”

She paused. Took a breath. “Yes, Father?”

“I’ll hear no complaints from Burton-Smythe. When you are wed—be as other wives and suffer your fate in silence.”

Elizabeth shuddered and shook off the memory. She would not think of that meeting with her father two nights ago, or of the events that followed. Yesterday was a horror that must be forgotten. It robbed her of strength. She would think only of today. What would happen today?

Moisture filmed her eyes. Elizabeth blinked it away and stared at the carriage waiting on the cobblestone street below. He was going to do it. Oh, God, help me. Please help me!

The front door of the house opened and her father stepped out onto the stoop. Elizabeth yanked open the double sashes of her bedroom window. “Father, stop! I beg you—please don’t do this to me!”

Ezra Frazier halted.

Hope, born of desperation, trapped the breath in Elizabeth’s lungs. She braced herself on the sill and leaned forward, willing her father to heed her plea. He removed his top hat and tilted his head back until their gazes met. “Close the window, Elizabeth.”

Everything in her went still. The chill of displeasure in her father’s eyes was colder than the March air blowing in around her. A shiver slithered down her spine. Cold knots formed in her stomach. That was it then. He was going to meet with Reginald Burton-Smythe to complete the wedding arrangements, and nothing she could say or do would change his mind. He had coveted that waterfront property for too long to let it slip through his grasping fingers now.

Elizabeth straightened, clenching her hands into fists at her sides as she watched her father walk down the marble steps, cross the sidewalk, and climb into the waiting carriage. Money was her father’s god. His business properties all he cared about. He ruled over them and his household with an iron hand, showing no one love or mercy—and always he had his way. But not this time. No, not this time. This was about the rest of her life. And she would die before she would give herself to the man who had attacked her last night.

The driver cracked his whip.

Elizabeth flinched as if the lash had been laid against her own flesh. A sick emptiness replaced her vestige of last hope. She closed and latched the window sashes, then, lifted her chin and strode to her wardrobe. The sharp beat of the horse’s hoofs against the cobblestone street rang in her ears as she fastened her cloak around her shoulders. The rumble of the carriage wheels spurred her resolve. She dragged the large drawstring bag she had made during her sleepless night from its hiding place, put the possessions she had chosen to take with her inside, then pulled from her pocket the note she had written.

Father and Mother,

I cannot marry Mr. Burton-Smythe. I could not endure it. As you intend to force that union upon me, you leave me no choice. I must go.

Elizabeth

Her stomach churned. She swallowed hard, drew another steadying breath, and placed the note on her bed. It was done. She was ready to go. All she needed now was her money, and the key.

Elizabeth snatched up the few coins hidden in her sewing box, dropped them into her reticule, then stepped to her dresser. Her hands trembled as she unscrewed the base of the pewter candlestick and dumped the key hidden there onto her upturned palm. She curled her fingers tightly around the small, cold metal shaft. Thank God for Miss Essie. Oh, thank God her governess had hidden the key all those years ago!

A rush of tears stung her swollen, burning eyes. She blinked them away, pulled on her kid gloves, then hurried to her bedroom door and pressed her ear against the flat center panel, listening for any sound of movement in the hallway beyond. She heard nothing.

Heartened by the silence, Elizabeth leaned down and fitted the key into the lock. The click of the bolt sliding back was loud in the silence. For a long moment she waited, then, grasping the knob firmly she turned it ever so slowly and eased the door open a crack.

There was no one in sight.

The air trapped in her lungs expelled in a burst of relief. She stepped into the hallway, locked her door, then tiptoed along the corridor to the top of the staircase. Footsteps sounded in the entrance hall below.

Elizabeth jolted to a stop. She whirled about and darted to the side of the stairs, pressing her body back against the wall where she would be hidden from view. Whoever it is, don’t let them come upstairs! Please, God, don’t let them come upstairs! Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs as the footsteps began to climb.

“Alice!”

Elizabeth gasped and squeezed more tightly against the wall at the sound of her mother’s voice.

“I want no one upstairs until Mr. Frazier returns! Go tidy the drawing room.”

The maid’s footsteps retreated. Doors closed.

Elizabeth sagged against the wall, then immediately righted herself and moved to the banister to peek down into the room below. It was empty. Thank heaven! If her mother should discover her— She jerked her mind from the debilitating thought, took a firm grip on the handrail and started down the stairs.

There was a loud creak.

Elizabeth’s heart leaped into her throat. She froze in place—waited. No one came to investigate. After a few moments, she tightened her grip on the railing and crept forward, her mouth dry as she tested each step, her long skirts sliding from tread to tread with a sibilant whisper that to her ears sounded like a roar. When she reached the solid floor of the entrance hall her heart was pounding so violently she felt giddy. She inched her way to the front door, eased it open and slid outside. The frigid air stung her face.

Elizabeth pulled her fur-lined hood in place, tucked the drawstring bag out of sight beneath her cloak, then rushed down the marble steps to the sidewalk and hurried away.

“Justin, do sit down! I hate it when you prowl about like a cat. Or should I say a nervous bridegroom?”

Justin Davidson Randolph turned and looked down into his sister’s upturned face—into long, heavily lashed blue eyes so like his own. “If that was an attempt at levity, Laina, it failed miserably. I suggest you save your humor for a more appropriate time.”

“But humor is appropriate at a farce.”

The barb hit its mark. Justin frowned. “Be careful, Laina. You go too far.”

“No, Justin, you go too far. ‘Widower’ and ‘Interested’ indeed! It’s like a child’s game.”

The muscle along his jaw twitched. Justin took a calming breath. “Laina Brighton, marriage hasn’t changed you at all. You can be a most provoking woman. I assure you it’s no game. I called myself ‘Widower’ to protect my identity from the women who answered my Article of Intent.”

“Which proves you know the character of the women you are dealing with! Including ‘Interested.’”

“Laina—” He put a wealth of warning in the growled name.

“I’m sorry, Justin. I don’t want to quarrel with you. But this plan of yours is ludicrous. I know you’ve been hurt. Terribly hurt. And I don’t blame you for feeling bitter. But please don’t do this to yourself. One rotten apple—”

His disgusted snort cut her off. “One?”

“All right, two. But Rebecca and Margaret were selfish, schem—”

“Laina, that’s all past. Please—don’t speak their names ever again!” The muscle at his jaw twitched again. Justin rubbed the spot, trying to ease the tightness away.

“Very well. I’ll not mention them again—except to say they are not worth what you are doing to yourself.”

He shouldn’t have told her. Maybe if he didn’t answer she’d give up. Justin shook his head and moved away to stare down into the fire. It didn’t work. She followed him. His back muscles tensed at the light touch of her hand on his jacket.

“Justin, forget this plan. Give yourself another chance. Give those chil—”

She stopped as he pivoted about to face her. “No more arguments, Laina. Granted, Rebecca and Margaret were less than admirable women. Is that not all the more reason to do what I am doing?” He lifted his lips in a cynical smile. “You can’t deny I’ve not done well choosing with my heart. It seems to have an abominable lack of good taste.”

Tears welled into her eyes at his words. She glared up at him. “I hate this change in you, Justin. You’ve turned into this cold, remote, untouchable stranger. I want you to stop this foolishness! I want my warm, gentle, loving brother back. You’re going to destroy your life.”

“Don’t cry, Lainy.” The old childhood name slipped softly from Justin’s lips. He drew his older sister into his arms and held her close. “I know a marriage of convenience is not ideal. But at least it will be an honest relationship.”

He held up a hand to forestall her comment as she jerked backward out of his arms and drew breath to speak. “Yes, an honest relationship, even if it will be based purely on greed. At least this time the avarice will be out in the open.”

Justin frowned, and turned away to put on his coat. Laina was right, he had changed—his voice sounded as cold and hard as his heart felt. He lifted her wool, fur-trimmed coat off the chair and held it for her. “We’ve talked enough. It’s time to go.”

He straightened the coat’s overcape about her shoulders, handed her the matching coal-scuttle bonnet and opened the drawing room door, stepping back to let her precede him into the entrance hall. “The Haversham Coach House is some distance from here. Surely you’d not have me keep my bride waiting?” His attempt to ease the tension between them with the light remark failed. He winced inwardly as Laina’s eyes flashed with anger. There was an audible snap from the bonnet’s satin chin ribbons as she yanked them into place and tied them.

“She can wait till the stars fall from the sky for all I care! And don’t call her your bride in my presence. I’ll never accept her as such.”

Justin’s heart gave a painful wrench as Laina snatched her fur muff from the seat of the chair and swept past him. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t let her dissuade him from the path he had chosen. He had been made a fool of twice. He didn’t intend that it should ever happen again. But he needed a suitable wife—a mother for the children.

Justin set his jaw in grim determination, grabbed his felt top hat from the chair and followed Laina out her front door and down the brick steps to the waiting cabriolet he had hired.

Ora Scraggs gripped the sideboard of the wagon as it made its lumbering, lurching progress down the road toward New York. March 28, 1820—her wedding day. At least it would have been if it weren’t for that addlebrained, dim-witted coach driver. The grip of her hand on the edge of the board seat tightened as she glared down at the long, jagged tear in the skirt of the red wool traveling outfit she had stolen from her mistress. A pox on him! A pox on the driver and his whole family! If he hadn’t been going so fast he might have missed that deep hole, the wheel wouldn’t have broken and—

Oh, what was the use? Why mull it over? The accident had happened. She was beaten. And she had planned so carefully! From the moment she’d overheard her mistress and her friends reading and laughing about that Article of Intent, she’d been figuring her every move. Now, the splendid, genteel entrance she had planned for her arrival at the Haversham Coach House in the hired coach and fancy stolen clothes was ruined. The time of her marriage appointment with “Widower” long past. Now she had to think up a new scheme, find another rich man to diddle. And she would! Her plan to have “Widower’s” money might be denied her by today’s accident, but she was clever. She would think of something. There were a lot of rich gentlemen in New York. And meanwhile…

Ora cast a speculative glance at the farmer driving the wagon and her lips curved upward in a self-satisfied smirk. It was a bit of luck he had happened by and offered her a ride after the accident. She could cozy up to him until after he sold his grain in New York tonight—until he had all that lovely money she could steal. But she’d best get at it—it was already twilight. She smiled and slid closer to him.

Chapter Two

“O h!” Elizabeth stumbled over an exposed root, falling to her hands and knees on the hard-packed earth. The jar of her landing sent pain radiating throughout her bruised, exhausted body. She felt the jolt at every spot where Reginald’s angry blows had landed.

She struggled to her feet, brushed the dry dirt from her cloak, then reached for the drawstring bag. Sharp pain shot through the tired muscles along her spine as her abused body protested. She eased herself erect and walked on, stinging darts prickling her cold, aching, satin-slipper-clad feet with every step. If only her father hadn’t taken her shoes and boots!

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and set her mind against her discomfort. Ever since she ran away this morning she had been walking, searching for a way out of town, but soon she would be able to rest at the coach house that kind old man with the oyster barrow had told her of. It was only a little farther.

Rapid footsteps sounded behind her. Elizabeth started. Was that one of the servants Reginald had out searching for her? She’d managed to elude one of them earlier when she’d overheard him asking about her at The Black Horse Inn—but if she was caught out here in the open…

Panic seized her. She glanced toward the shadows at the side of the road but it was too late to hide. She swung the cloth bag in front of her, covered it with her cloak, then pulled her hood farther forward, ducking her head so her face would be fully hidden from view. Fear propelled her forward as the footsteps behind her grew louder; drew nearer. It took all of her inner strength not to look over her shoulder—not to drop the bag and run.

Please, God, don’t let it be one of Reginald’s lackeys! Please, God.

The footsteps picked up speed, then veered away down a narrow alley on her left. Elizabeth stopped. Dull fists of pain pounded at her temples. She set the bag on the ground at her feet and lifted her trembling hands to rub the pain away. A cat, prowling in the shadows, leaped to the top of a fence and yowled. Her frayed nerves jolted.

Oh, Lord, help me! I must find this Haversham Coach House, Lord. I must find a way out of town before—

What if she hadn’t enough money to hire a carriage? Elizabeth drove her hand into her reticule, then stood staring at the few coins on her palm as the throbbing in her temples increased. She’d had no time to plan—to think of anything beyond escape—and now it was too late.

She frowned, then drew her weary body fully erect. She had no time for such discouraging thoughts. The coins clinked together dully as she dropped them back into her reticule. She was free of Reginald Burton-Smythe, that was what mattered. She would simply go as far as her funds would take her.

“But first, I must find this Haversham Coach House.”

The sound of her voice startled her. Elizabeth glanced quickly up and down the street, but there was no one to overhear. She was all alone in the fading twilight. The thought brought a feeling of desolation so unexpected and powerful she gasped. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, picked up the cloth bag, and walked on.

Justin pushed aside the remains of his half-eaten meal and looked up at “Judge,” the man who had been a surrogate father to Laina and him since their own father’s death in 1812. “Well, Judge, it seems I owe you an apology for wasting your time. Considering the lateness of the hour I can only surmise that ‘Interested’ lost her interest, and has changed her mind about marrying ‘Widower.’ It seems I cannot even buy loyalty from a woman.”

“Justin!”

“Don’t sound so shocked, Laina.” He slid his gaze to his sister’s face. “I’m simply stating the truth.” He flung his napkin down on the scarred wood table and surged to his feet. “I’ll have the carriages brought round.”

“Not so fast, my boy.”

Justin glanced down at the age-spotted hand gripping his arm, then lifted his gaze to the judge’s face. “What is it?”

The elderly man dipped his head in the direction of the entrance. “As much as I wish it were not so—I believe that may be your intended bride.”

Justin turned. A woman in a blue wool, fur-trimmed cloak stood just inside the door looking about.

“Are you still determined to go through with this ridiculous marriage?”

The judge sounded less than enthusiastic. Justin nodded. “I am. As long as my conditions are met.”

The judge sighed. “Very well. I have said all that I can say.” He rose slowly to his feet.

Justin moved to join him.

The older man shook his gray head in negation. “You wait here. I want to talk privately with this woman to assure myself she fully understands the conditions of this preposterous union. Unless I do, I will have no part of it.”

Justin frowned. “You leave me no choice.”

“As was my intent.” The judge gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder and walked away.

“How may I serve you, madam?”

Elizabeth fastened a wary gaze on the proprietor. “You may tell me if a gentleman has been making inquiries about—that is, if anyone has inquired—”

“I believe I’m the one to answer that question.”

Elizabeth jumped and spun about. A portly, prosperous-looking older man of medium height gave her a brief nod. “I am here on behalf of the gentleman you were asking about. I am Judge William Braden.”

Judge? The law! Reginald had set the law on her to force her to honor the betrothal contract her father had signed! Elizabeth darted a panicked glance at the door beyond the judge, gauging the distance to freedom. It was too close to him. She’d never get the door open before he seized her. She looked back at the elderly man, who was still talking.

“The gentleman you were asking after has engaged my services to handle the legalities of this…er…situation. And, as the matter is of a delicate nature, we have arranged use of a private room. If you will come with me?”

Elizabeth cringed as the man picked up the bag that had fallen from her suddenly nerveless fingers, then grasped her elbow. Her stomach roiled. He’d found her. Reginald had hired a judge and—Reginald. She gazed frantically about as the judge ushered her into a small room. There was no one waiting there.

Relief stole the strength from her legs. She collapsed onto a hard wood chair, watching as the judge closed the door. There was no bolt. She might yet make good her escape. Oh, if only she weren’t so weary! If only she could think!

Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin as the judge came to stand in front of her. One thing she knew. She would not go back. Jail would be better than marriage to Reginald Burton-Smythe.

“To begin, let me say that I do not approve of the action being taken by my client.”

The judge’s deep, authoritative voice cut across Elizabeth’s dark thoughts. Her heart leaped with hope. If he didn’t approve, would he help her escape?

“However, such actions are perfectly legal.”

The abrupt words plunged her back into despair.

“As for you, I want to be certain, in my own mind, that you fully understand the seriousness of what you are doing before this…this escapade goes any further. In light of that, I feel it best if I review the circumstances of your position. After I have done so we can discuss any consequences that might depend from it.”

Consequences? Shock streaked along Elizabeth’s nerves. Perhaps she would go to jail. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to hide their trembling.

“Shall I proceed?”

She gave a polite nod.

“Very well.” The judge clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “As you know, my client stands ready to marry the woman that meets the qualifications set forth in his published Article of Intent.” His voice sharpened. “My purpose, is to make certain those qualifications are understood and met. The first being, of course, that you agree to a marriage of convenience only.”

Elizabeth lifted her head and stared at the man standing before her. Whatever could he be talking about?

“Well? You do understand what is meant by a marriage of convenience, do you not?”

The words cracked through the air. Elizabeth jumped. “I believe I do.” Her cheeks warmed. “However, I’m not certain—”

“A marriage of convenience is one in which both parties agree to fulfill all the duties and responsibilities of a marriage except those of an intimate nature. It is a marriage that is never consummated.” The judge scowled down at her. “Now, do you understand?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth’s cheeks burned. She could not force herself to meet the judge’s direct gaze. She took a deep breath and focused her attention on his chin. Her pulse quickened as he reached for a chair, then sat facing her.

“You would agree to such a marriage? A marriage of convenience?”

“Yes, I would.” Elizabeth made her voice very firm. She didn’t understand why he should be asking her opinion, but after last night that sort of marriage sounded wonderful to her.

“Very well. My client has signed a legal document outlining such a stipulation. If all other particulars are met, his bride will be required to sign also.”

It was a mistake! The thought sizzled through Elizabeth’s mind, stiffening her back. It had to be a mistake. Reginald Burton-Smythe would never countenance such a situation or put his signature on something she’d see before a wedding. Last night proved that. Clearly, this matter had nothing to do with him—or her.

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath as the tightness in her chest released. She had only to explain the misunderstanding and she would be free to flee the city. “Sir, I believe you have made an— Oh!”

The judge reached out and pushed the hood back from her face. Elizabeth recoiled, turning her head so the bruising on her left cheek wouldn’t show.

The old man’s expression softened as her hood fell away. “How old are you, child?”

“E-eighteen.”

“Eighteen. And you would be willing to enter into a relationship without intimacy for the rest of your life?”

“I would.” Elizabeth winced at the soreness in her shoulder as she reached up and pushed at the curls that had popped free of her hair combs. How unkempt she must look. She pulled her hood back in place. “I don’t care about intimacy. And I don’t want to…to be consummated. Ever! But I—”

“That is sufficient answer. I do not wish to hear intimate details.”

“But, sir, you don’t understan—”

“Not another word! We shall proceed.”

Elizabeth stared at him, taken aback by the sharp, censorial tone in his voice.

“What of children?”

“Children?”

“Yes, my client has young children. Babes really. Do you get on with them?”

“Of course. I love children. But, sir, truly I must explain—”

“No need. That is sufficient answer. And the last condition that must be met.” The judge locked his gaze on her eyes. “That leaves only the settlement to be arranged before I call in my client and perform the ceremony.”

“Ceremony!” Elizabeth leaped to her feet.

“Of course, ceremony. I told you this is to be a legally binding union.” The judge leaned back in his chair, studying her. “This will be a true marriage in all but intimacy.” His voice emphasized the point quietly. “I thought you understood that. If you did not—it’s not too late to refuse my client’s offer.”

Elizabeth’s mind reeled. He was offering her this strange marriage proposal from a man she had never met. Had never even seen! Why, such a deed was out of the question. And yet—he’d said it would be a legal marriage without consummation. She would be protected from Reginald and her parents by— No! She couldn’t possibly. Could she?

Elizabeth sank back down onto the chair. If she accepted this strange offer of a marriage of convenience she would be safe. She would be legally protected from Reginald Burton-Smythe by marriage. Safe! Her mind locked on the word.

“Do you wish to refuse my client’s offer?”

Elizabeth stared down at her trembling hands, then, aghast at what she was about to do, lifted her gaze to the judge’s face and shook her head. “No.”

“Very well. Then let us get on with the matter. There is still the settlement to discuss.”

“The settlement?”

“Yes. The generous provision my client agreed to bestow on the woman that met his qualifications. He wishes the matter settled before the ceremony, and has empowered me to discuss it with you to decide upon an amount that is mutually acceptable.”

Elizabeth gaped at him. This situation was becoming more and more confusing. She had heard of a bride’s dowry, but she had never heard of a groom’s settlement. She went very still as a glimmer of suspicion flickered through her mind. “Tell me, sir, is this ‘groom’s settlement’ customary?”

A look of disgust passed fleetingly across the judge’s distinguished features. “No, it is not. My client is making the settlement as a token of his good faith.”

“I see.” A sick, sinking feeling hit the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach. It all made sense now. The judge’s client—whoever he was—was buying a wife. And they thought she was that woman.

Elizabeth swallowed hard, bowing her head and fighting back tears of shame. She would have to allow the misconception to continue, but at least she could refuse the man’s money. She lifted her head. “If this is not customary, sir, but is merely a gesture of your client’s good faith, then I shall accept it as such—as a gesture.”

“Of course. And the amount?”

She shook her head. “You mistake me, Judge Braden. There will be no amount. Your client has made a gesture which I have accepted. The money is not necessary. The offer of it is sufficient to establish good faith.”

The judge’s features went slack with shock. Elizabeth sat up a little straighter. “I understand that your client had no knowledge of the manner of person with whom he would be dealing. But—” Her voice broke. Tears of humiliation flooded her eyes. She lifted her chin and spoke with quiet dignity. “But I do not wish to feel purchased.”

Her words faded away. There was dead silence in the room. It was broken by the sound of the judge’s chair scraping backward on the floor as he rose to his feet. He inclined his head.

“My dear, I pray you will accept my apology on behalf of my client and myself. It was not our intent to insult you.” He straightened and smiled down at her. “You are correct in your assumption. We had no idea of the manner of person with whom we would be dealing. You are a very pleasant surprise.”

Elizabeth managed a shaky smile. “I pray your client may find me so.”

The judge smiled and crossed to a small writing desk by the window. Elizabeth watched with trepidation as he removed some papers from his waistcoat pocket, spread them out, then selected a quill and dipped it into the ink pot. “Your full name, my dear?”

She took a deep breath. “Elizabeth Shannon Frazier.”

The judge’s hand froze in midair. He swivelled his head around, giving her a piercing look. “Did you say Frazier?”

Did he know her father? A spasm of fear closed Elizabeth’s throat. She gave him a tremulous smile and nodded. For a long moment he studied her, then, to her immense relief, he turned, inscribed her name on one of the papers and reached for another.

She began to breathe again.

“What is he doing in there?” Justin drummed his long fingers on the table. “If he thinks he is going to keep me from—”

“Oh, hush!” Laina threw him a withering look and banged the teapot down onto the table. “I’m weary of hearing about this. What you’re doing is wrong! You are a coward, my brother. You’re willing to risk your money, but not your heart. Well, you’re welcome to do so. But remember—if you can buy her, she will not be worth the price!” She slammed his cup down in front of him. Tea sloshed over the rim into the saucer and splashed onto the table.

Justin grimaced and reached for his napkin to mop it up. “Laina, I know you feel strongly about what I am doing, but—”

“But you are determined to ruin your life. I know that, Justin. I know, also, that you are far too stubborn to listen to me.” Laina’s face tightened. Her gaze shifted to a point somewhere over his right shoulder. “The judge is beckoning.”

“Finally!” Justin dropped his napkin onto the table and rose, stepping over to assist his sister from her chair. She laid her hand on his arm.

“Justin, I’m asking you one last time—I’m begging you—for your own sake, do not do this! It’s not too late to change your mind. Give this woman whatever amount of money she and the judge have agreed upon and send her on her way. You can well afford to—”

“Buy an open, honest relationship based on greed.” Justin heard the cold harshness in his voice and made an effort to soften it. “We’ve discussed this already, Laina.”

“So we have.” She drew herself up to her full height. “Very well, since you are determined to play the fool, Justin, do it quickly. I’m at the end of my patience!”

With a swish of her long skirts, Laina whirled about. Her boot heels clicked angrily against the wide plank floor as she walked across the common room.

Justin took a deep breath and followed her. He hesitated for a moment in the doorway of the little room as he caught sight of the hooded, cloak-draped figure of his intended bride standing in front of the judge, then, squaring his shoulders, he stepped into the dimly lit room and walked forward to take his place at her side.

Chapter Three

E lizabeth sat alone in the cabriolet absently twirling the gold band upon her finger. What had she done? She was married! To a total stranger! There had been no introduction, no exchange of pleasantries, nothing but the speaking of the vows.

A nervous giggle escaped her as she looked down at the ring. He had certainly been prepared. A careful man, her husband. Husband! Oh, my! She clamped her teeth down firmly on her lower lip as it started to tremble. Crying would help nothing; the deed was done.

The thought made her ill. Elizabeth took a deep breath and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the padded seat. Had she lost her wits placing her life in the hands of a complete stranger? She didn’t even know what the man looked like! She had been so nervous, frightened and ashamed during the brief ceremony, she had not once dared lift her head to look at him. Another nervous giggle burst forth. Perhaps that was just as well. Perhaps he was homely as a toad! Oh, what did it matter? She didn’t care if he was the ugliest man in the world if he would take her away from here—if he would take her to a place where her parents or Reginald Burton-Smythe would never find her.

Approaching footsteps startled Elizabeth to attention. The why didn’t matter, as long as he was honorable and kept his word. But if—

“Oh, God, this thing that I’ve done… There was no other way. I have to escape Reginald Burton-Smythe. Please, don’t let this man be like him. Oh, God, please don’t let him be like Reginald Burton-Smythe!”

The carriage leaned to one side, then quickly righted itself as the driver climbed aboard. Elizabeth’s heart leaped into her throat choking off her whispered words. With horrified fascination she stared at the door handle as it dipped downward.

The door opened.

Her new husband tossed in a pile of lap robes, then climbed inside. For a moment, in the confined space, he loomed over her. Elizabeth shrank back against the seat, biting down hard on her lower lip to stop the scream clawing at her throat as her heart pumped wildly and her lungs forgot to breathe. From somewhere beyond the edge of a swirling darkness she heard him speak to her, and then there was nothing—nothing at all.

The horses’ hooves clattered against the frost-hardened ground. The cabriolet lurched and rolled ahead. His bride jerked and sagged forward. “Madam?” No answer. Justin raised his voice. “Madam, I brought lap robes for your comfort.” Still no answer. The woman was a sound sleeper. An unexpected blessing—there’d be no need for small talk on the journey to their night’s lodging place.

Justin leaned forward to ease the slumped form of his new wife into the corner where she would have more protection from the bumps and jolts of the ride. The papers in his waistcoat pocket crackled. He curved his lips into a tight smile and gave his pocket a satisfied pat. There it was, his future, all safely planned out and committed to parchment. The marriage certificate, the bonded marriage agreement, and the financial settlement.

He frowned and reached for a lap rug. There had been no time to read the papers. What had he paid for her? Whatever the amount–and he had no doubt it was considerable–it was worth it. There would be no unpleasant surprises for him this time. He tucked the fur rug around his new wife. “If you were thinking of playing games with my money, madam, you would be wise not to try. I’m more than a match for a scheming female now.”

Laina could not bear to watch the departure of her brother and the woman he had married. She turned her back on the hired cabriolet and faced the judge. “Well, he did it.” She made no attempt to hide her angry astonishment. “He actually carried out that foolish plan and married a woman that would—would—” She bit off the rest of the irate words, curled her hands into fists and buried her face against the old man’s shoulder.

“There, there, my dear.” Judge Braden absently patted Laina’s back as he stared after the departing cabriolet. “Don’t despair, matters may well work out for the best.” He chuckled softly. “Yes, indeed, matters may well turn out for the best.”

“Judge!” Laina jerked her head back to look up at him. “I thought you loved Justin. How can you stand here and…and… Oh, words fail me!” She gave the elderly man a look that would have shriveled a lesser man and headed for his carriage.

“Laina, wait!” With a last, quick glance at the departing cabriolet, the judge hurried after her. “Let me explain, Laina. I— Here, let me do that.” He removed her fingers from the handle and pulled open the carriage door. She refused his hand and climbed inside. The judge sighed and got in beside her.

The carriage lurched forward, then dipped and swayed as it crossed the courtyard and entered the rutted road. Laina jerked to one side, then held herself stiff and aloof, refusing to allow the motion to cause her body to come into contact with the judge.

“Laina, my dear, you are going to be terribly weary by the time you reach home if you do not relax. Besides, anger does not become you. Some women may look beautiful when they are angry—though I, personally, have never met one—but you…” The judge’s infectious chuckle floated through the darkness to her. “You just turn red!”

Laina laughed in spite of herself. “Trying to get back into my good graces with flattery, Judge?” She relaxed back against the cushioned seat and glanced toward his dark form. “Very well, I forgive you. But all the same, I am hurt by your laughter.”

“I know, my dear. But if you will permit me to explain, you will understand.” The judge shook out a lap robe, spread it over her legs, then shook out another for himself. “Tell me, Laina, why did Justin devise this plan for a marriage of convenience?”

“Why? You know why. Or perhaps— Oh, Judge. Surely you weren’t bamboozled by all those reasonable excuses Justin offered. Surely you knew…” She dismissed the excuses with one disparaging flick of her hand. “He was looking for a way to protect himself from further hurt and disappointment.”

“Precisely! Your summation is correct, my dear. Justin needed a mother for those two children—but his main motive is to be safe from emotional entanglement. And, my dear Laina, your brother has never been farther removed from safety!”

Laina stiffened, and stared toward the judge. He was actually chortling with glee! “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“No.” The judge choked back his laughter. “It’s only that I’ve been holding that back since the ceremony. Oh, Laina! That young lady—and I do mean lady, for there is breeding in every inch of her—is lovely. Absolutely lovely.”

“No!”

“Yes.” The judge wiped at his watering eyes. “Didn’t you think it strange there was so little light in the room for the ceremony? I snuffed all but one candle! I was afraid if Justin had a good look at her he would refuse to marry her and try again with someone less appealing. The boy’s only human after all.”

“Why you wily, old— Is that why you had Thomas spirit her from the room so quickly? I thought you simply could not bear the sight of her any longer. I know I couldn’t.”

“No, no. Believe me, I found her lovely of face and character.”

“Character?” Laina all but snorted. “I expected better of you, Judge.” She threw a cool look his direction. “You are far too experienced to have your head turned by a pretty face. A woman of character does not blatantly sell herself.”

“She refused the money.”

“Refused it?” Laina gaped through the darkness at the judge’s dark form. “She refused the settlement?”

“Indeed she did. And with such dignity and grace I felt the worst sort of bounder for having offered it!”

Laina burst into laughter.

“You find that amusing?”

“Amusing? No, not really.” Laina yanked her hand out of her muff and grabbed for the hold strap as the carriage bounced over a deep rut in the road. “It’s only that, for all your age and experience, you are still a man.”

“And what does that mean?”

He sounded a little huffy. She smiled. The judge did not take kindly to truth he perceived as criticism. “It means you are sweet…and protective…and, sometimes, manipulated by cunning women with pretty faces.” She put a teasing note in her voice. “I should know.”

“That is different!”

Now he sounded defensive. “It may be.” Laina made her tone placating.

The judge crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat. “She refused the money.”

He obviously thought that was a strong point in the woman’s favor. Laina sighed and leaned down to tuck the lap robe more closely about her boots. “That was quite clever of her. What better way to get into Justin’s good graces? Any fool would know the generous settlement he offered is but a small portion of his wealth. And if she can make him trust her…” Laina straightened up and tucked her hands back into her muff. “Well—we both know what can happen.” There was bitterness, fear and undeniable logic in her words.

The judge sighed heavily. “We must pray, Laina. We must continue to pray for Justin.”

She shot a look his direction, then turned and stared straight ahead. “You pray if you wish, Judge, but I will not.” Her voice was sharp with hurt and anger. “I prayed that God would keep Justin from ruining his life by marrying another low, greedy, scheming female and look what has happened. He’s married to that—that strumpet!” She withdrew her hand from the muff and wiped sudden tears from her eyes. “God does not answer prayer. And I won’t waste my time again!”

Chapter Four

T he cabriolet swept smartly into the courtyard of the Wetherstone Inn and rolled to a halt opposite the entrance. At last! Justin stretched the travel stiffness from his body, tossed his lap robe aside, and glanced at his bride—she was still sleeping. “Madam, wake up—we have arrived at our destination.” The carriage swayed as the driver climbed from his seat. The horses snorted. “Madam?” There was no response.

Justin grasped his wife’s shoulder and shook her lightly. Her head, hidden by the fur-lined hood, lolled forward onto her chest. A scowl creased his forehead. No one slept that soundly. The woman must be ill. Footsteps signaled the driver’s approach. A blast of cold air hit him as the door was opened.

Justin scooped his new wife’s limp body into his arms, climbed from the carriage and hurried toward the inn. With one booted foot he gave the door a solid, satisfying kick.

“Breams? Josiah Breams! Open the door!”

There was a protesting squeak of cold hinges. The door opened.

“Good evening, sir. We’ve been expecting you and your— Good heavens, sir!” The proprietor of the inn stared down at the cloak-draped body hanging across Justin’s arms. “Has there been an accident, sir? Is your wife injured?”

“No, there’s been no accident—she’s taken ill.” Justin pushed past the portly proprietor and headed for the stairs. “Have you prepared the room?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” The little man closed the door and scurried forward, hurrying to get ahead of Justin’s long-legged strides. “It’s all exactly as you asked.” He puffed his way up the long flight of stairs, using the banister to pull himself upward. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased. I laid the fire and—”

“Save your air. You’ll have an apoplectic fit.” Justin followed the puffing, panting little man down the hall to a small, corner room.

“Yes, sir.” The corpulent proprietor gasped out the words and opened the bedroom door. Justin brushed past the little man’s protruding paunch and headed for the bed.

“There!” He deposited Elizabeth on the quilt-covered mattress and turned toward the proprietor who was busily poking up the fire. “I’ll do that. You go get your wife to—What is it?” His eyes narrowed as he peered down at Josiah’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“My wife’s not here.”

“Not here? Then who is going to tend my wife?”

“Perhaps I might be of some assistance.”

Justin pivoted. A tall, thin man with dark, penetrating eyes and brown hair stood in the open doorway. There was a black leather bag in his hand. “And who might you be?”

“Thaddeous Allen…at your service.” The man gave a small, polite bow of his head. “I am a physician with the Pennsylvania Hospital.”

“Come in, Dr. Allen, come in!” Justin crossed the room in three long strides and waved the doctor inside. “I would be most grateful if you would tend my wife. She has collapsed, and I am at a loss as to what to do for her.”

“Yes. I witnessed your arrival. You seemed in need of aid, so I went for my bag.”

“In need of aid?” Justin’s left brow lifted. “You are a man of great tact, Doctor. I freely admit my helpless state.”

“Then, if you will permit me?” The doctor’s gaze slid past Justin to Elizabeth’s still form as Josiah Breams left the room. At Justin’s answering nod he crossed to the bed and placed his black bag on the nightstand. “Tell me, Mr. Randolph, when did your wife collapse?”

“You know me, Doctor?”

“Indeed. All of Philadelphia knows of Justin Randolph—especially those of us who have occasion to visit the waterfront.”

Justin dipped his head. “You’re too kind, Doctor. Now, about my wife…” He scowled at the inert form on the bed. “Perhaps collapse was too strong a word. She fell asleep while traveling and I was unable to rouse her upon our arrival.”

“I see. I have one more question before I proceed. Is your wife with child?”

“With child? Of course not. We—” He stopped, staring at the doctor in sudden, stunned silence. How could he know? It was certainly possible. With child! Justin gave a short bark of laughter. So much for his clever plan. He had been tricked again. Made a fool of by a…a—

By sheer dint of will, Justin forced down the anger surging through him. “I cannot answer that question, Doctor. But, if you should find that to be the cause of her collapse, I would be most grateful if you would inform me at once. You see, we were married this evening.”

There was a knock on the door. Justin whipped around and yanked it open. “What is it?”

“I’ve returned, sir. Josiah sent me. He said your bride’s taken ill and you had need of me.” The proprietor’s wife glanced toward the bed.

“I do indeed.” Justin stepped to one side allowing the woman entrance. His gaze swept to Thaddeous Allen. “Daisy will assist you in anything you require, Doctor. I shall be downstairs, awaiting your diagnosis.” With a curt bow of his head he left the room.

The doctor whistled softly as the door clicked shut. “That is one angry man.”

“He has a right. Likely he didn’t plan on a weddin’ night like this.” Daisy Breams trudged to the bed and began to undo the fastenings on Elizabeth’s cloak. “Likely she didn’t either.” She pushed the cloak off the young woman’s shoulders and the hood fell away. “Here now, what’s this?”

The doctor stepped closer. There was a large purple bruise swelling the left side of Justin Randolph’s bride’s face. He grabbed a spill from the box on the mantel, lit the candle on the nightstand, then slid it closer to the bed, studying the discoloration. He frowned and stepped back out of the way. “Remove her gown, Daisy. But proceed carefully—I expect she has other injuries.”

Justin sat alone at a table in the common room of the inn. His face felt as if it were carved of stone. Every few seconds he lifted the fingers of his right hand slightly, then dropped them back. The measured thumps were the only sound in the room, save for the crackle of the fire and an occasional snore from one of the patrons that had disdained the use of a bed upstairs and fallen asleep sprawled in his chair, or across a table.

The fire belched a puff of smoke into the quiet room that spread itself across the low, beamed ceiling adding its acrid smell to that of hot candle wax, potent libations, stale food and unwashed bodies.

Justin frowned and waved the smoke away. How had such an obvious thing escaped his attention? His offer was the perfect answer for a woman who had gotten herself into a compromising situation and had no way out. And he—fool that he was—not only had he offered such a woman the perfect solution to her dilemma, he had paid her to accept it! What an idiot he was, thinking he could buy honesty. He had put his trust in the larcenous streak he had fallen prey to with the other women in his life, and now this!

Women are not even honorable in their dishonor. The incongruous thought brought a bitter smile to Justin’s lips. One thing was certain. There would be no friendship with this lying, scheming woman. He wasn’t that big a fool.

He lifted his hand, raked his fingers through his hair, then resumed his intermittent thudding. He had acquaintances who used their money to purchase love—or what passed for love in their eyes—from both wife and mistress. And with his wealth he had any number of women eager to marry or serve him in that manner, but something inside him shriveled at the thought. He wanted no part of it. He’d had his fill of phony affection turned on to coax a gift, or money, from him. A marriage of convenience had seemed the perfect answer.

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Justin’s mouth. At least in that he was right. This woman didn’t have to pretend to love him. All he required of her was that she sign a paper, take her settlement, and follow the rules of the agreement. But to do so while carrying another man’s child! A scowl knit his brows together. This was worse than Margaret. At least Margaret had told him about the baby she carried before their marriage. Of course he had already been well and fairly caught, playing knight in shining armor to her helpless maiden.

Helpless maiden? “Hah!” The bark of scornful laughter burst from Justin’s throat. He grasped the glass beside his hand and drank the contents swiftly, hoping to rid himself of the flat, metallic taste of bitterness in his mouth. He stared down at the glass, wanting to smash it. It was empty—like his life. His hand tightened.

“Mr. Randolph? I have finished my examination of your wife.”

Justin set the glass on the table and looked up at the doctor. “And?”

“Let me begin by saying that I spoke in haste earlier, not knowing of your very recent marriage. I had no wish to malign your wife’s character. It is a simple fact of my profession that most often when I am confronted by a married woman in a swoon, the diagnosis is that she is with child.”

“I see. And am I to understand by this explanation, Doctor, that you have eliminated that possibility as far as my wife is concerned?”

“Not entirely. But, in light of the situation, I believe my assumption was wrong.”

“Ah!” Justin’s left brow raised. “I am astonished at your naiveté, Doctor. I would not expect a man of your profession to rule out the possibility of a woman carrying a child on the basis of her marital status.”

“Your wife’s marital state has nothing to do with my diagnosis, Mr. Randolph. I am hardly naive, sir.” The doctor’s voice hardened. “Neither am I easily fooled.”

“Fooled?” Justin’s eyes narrowed. “You mean she was shamming?”

“No. Her unconscious state is real enough. I meant your…confusion…as to its cause may not be.”

Justin rose to his feet. “Would you care to explain that statement, Doctor?”

Thaddeous Allen glanced quickly around the room—everyone was sleeping. “Your wife’s unconscious state is the result of extreme physical and emotional fatigue brought on by very rough handling.”

Justin’s brows shot skyward. “Rough handling?”

The man slumped over the table next to them snorted, lifted his head, gave them a bleary-eyed look and dropped his head back down onto his arms. His heavy snoring resumed. Justin lowered his voice. “What ‘rough handling,’ Doctor? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your wife’s condition. Someone has handled her very roughly indeed. She is considerably bruised. I’m certain her collapse is a mental, physical and emotional result of the mistreatment she—”

Justin didn’t wait for him to finish. He strode across the room and started upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

Justin shoved open the bedroom door, crossed the room and grasped the bedcovers, flinging them back from his bride’s prostrate form. His brows lowered in a dark scowl as he swept his gaze over her. The evidence of the claimed mistreatment was there—dark, ugly bruises marred the flesh of her upper arms, and a raw, jagged scratch ran from the slender column of her throat to the top of her shift. The vivid red color of the wound stood out in startling contrast to the creamy perfection of her skin.

Justin’s jaw tightened. He flicked his gaze upward to his wife’s face and, though it was turned away into the shadows, a discolored swelling along the clean, firm line of her jaw was visible to him.

“Those bruises were made by a man’s hands, Mr. Randolph. A large man’s hands.”

Justin glanced at the doctor who had followed him into the room, then leaned forward and pulled the covers back over Elizabeth’s slender form. “I am a large man, Doctor.” He turned and faced the physician. “Be done with innuendo—do you accuse me?”

For a moment the two men studied each other and then the doctor shook his head. “No, Mr. Randolph, I do not.” His voice was noticeably warmer. “I confess that was my first thought, but, having witnessed your reactions, I am now convinced it was not you that harmed your wife.” He stepped forward and nodded toward the still figure on the bed. “There is further evidence of mistreatment. Her right wrist is swollen and discolored, and there is a nasty lump on the back of her head.”

He picked up his black bag and started for the door. “Her right knee is badly bruised also, but I do not believe the injury is serious.” He reached for the doorknob.

“Doctor, wait!”

Thaddeous Allen stopped and turned to look at Justin.

“You haven’t told me what is to be done for her.”

“Only that.” The physician gestured toward the bed. “She needs rest. In these situations of cruel treatment I have often found there is great stress placed on the nerves and emotions. Unfortunately, we know little about such things.” He glanced over at his patient and then returned his gaze to Justin’s hard, set face.

“It has been my experience, Mr. Randolph, that when a person is subjected to treatment such as your wife has obviously suffered, it leaves a bruise on the soul that takes much longer to heal than the physical ones. You may need to give her a good deal of love and understanding to bring that healing about.”

The doctor shifted his black bag to his other hand and pulled the door open. “Good evening, Mr. Randolph. May God grant your wife a speedy recovery.” The door closed with a soft click behind him.

Justin stared at the closed door. Love and understanding, indeed! He turned and looked down at the slight rise in the coverlet that was caused by Elizabeth’s body. One bruised, creamy-white shoulder was exposed to the cool night air. He walked to the bed, pulled the coverlet over her shoulder and gently tucked it under her swollen jaw. What had happened to her? Why had—? Abruptly, he chopped off the thought, spun on his heel and strode to the door. He had been ensnared by compassion once—he would not allow it to happen again. Never again!

The fire flared brightly in the draft as Justin yanked the door open and stepped into the hallway. It flickered wildly as he slammed the door closed again, then settled to a steady burn that warmed the room with soft golden light and lent radiance to the pale face of the young woman lying comatose on the bed as his angry footsteps faded away.