Impoverished Miss, Convenient Wife. Michelle Styles

the threshold, she closed her eyes for a second, savouring the warmth. Hearing an impatient cough, Phoebe opened them and discovered she was staring into Simon Clare’s furious face. He had been handsome once, but one side of his face bore fierce red marks, and he had a blaze of white running through his hair. He leant heavily on a cane as if his side pained him. Antagonism bristled from every pore as he moved slowly to let her in. Phoebe revised her opinion—not a savage, but a pirate captain, someone who wanted to bend the world to his will.

      ‘I believe you said my sister sent a letter, explaining her reasons.’ He held out a stern hand. ‘I will have it now.’

      The ticking of a large clock filled the silence as she waited for Mr Clare to finish reading. With each ponderous tick, a little more of her easy optimism faded, vanishing until it became the merest wisp. This scheme was not going to work any better than the half-a-dozen plans she had rejected. She should never have attempted it. Mentally she tried to rehearse the words she would use when she returned to Atherstone Court and begged Sophia’s pardon. Her brief moment of triumph and independence was over before it had truly begun.

      Phoebe struggled to keep herself upright. She refused to give this pirate captain the pleasure of seeing her burst into tears. She would simply have to pretend; if she pretended long enough, everything might work out. ‘As you can see, Mr Clare, everything is straightforward.’

      ‘So you say.’ Simon Clare stared at the woman standing in front of him in the entrance hall and attempted to control his temper. Her cloak was fine, but worn, and her bonnet not of the best quality, but her voice held an educated tone. The woman was no demure and downcast servant. Instead she stood there, shoulders back and eyes blazing.

      Exactly where had his sister found this woman and why had she sent her when his instructions had been precise? Robert needed someone who would understand. The simple words resounded in his brain. I am unable to come. She is immensely capable. The truth hit him. Diana had refused his simple request. Simon ignored the pulling of his shoulder. The pain behind his eye rose to a blinding crescendo. He had had such hopes. Diana would have instinctively understood what to do with the boy. Once she’d arrived, everything would have gone back to normal. Only now he was faced with some harpy of a cousin. ‘Why did she send you?’

      ‘Lady Coltonby assured me she had put the details in her letter.’

      Simon glanced up at the ceiling, trying to regain control of his emotions. He hated being infirm, hated the indignity of asking for help, but most of all he hated that Diana had abandoned him. Abandoned him for her new husband and the bright lights of London. Even her letter was a single uncrossed sheet. He folded it and put it in his pocket. ‘I must wonder what part of my letter my sister failed to understand.’

      ‘Your sister indicated that you might be taken back, but you would see the sense of the thing in the end.’ The harpy calmly undid her cloak and her bonnet before handing them to Jenkins as if she were here on a visit rather than on sufferance.

      He revised his opinion. Not a harpy at all, but a woman who, despite being past the first blush of youth, radiated beauty. Although her gown hung like a sack, he could see that she possessed a magnificent figure— generous bosom, narrow waist and long legs. His jaw tightened. It was far worse than he had thought. Not a harpy, but some sort of faded débutante from the south. What ever had possessed Diana to send such an unsuitable creature? Had London turned her wits?

      ‘The sense of the thing eludes me,’ he said as they went in to the drawing room. ‘I will wish to understand precisely the terms on which you agreed to come up here.’

      The embers were dying, but the room remained pleasantly warm. The débutante went over to the fire and warmed her hands. The fire tinged her cheeks pink, and caused the golden highlights to stand out in her hair. Definitely a woman who belonged in the ballroom, rather than the sick room.

      ‘You make no answer, Miss Benedict. What have you agreed with my sister? Why precisely did she send you of all people?’

      She tilted her chin and her steel-grey eyes met his. ‘I agreed the terms with Lord and Lady Coltonby. You do not need to worry about being inconvenienced. Or out of pocket!’

      ‘It is not the money I am worried about. It is the boy’s reaction. He wants his aunt.’ Simon tried not to think about Robert’s increasing bouts of temper and the exhortations of his current nurse. Or the uproar that would ensue when Robert learnt about his aunt. Simon shook his head. Not an hour before he had been counting the minutes until Diana saved him once again, just as she had done when Jayne had died. How wrong he had been. ‘Robert has a forceful personality.’

      ‘It will be my pleasure to meet him. Your sister spoke fondly of him.’

      ‘What sort of condition prevents my sister from travelling? Is she ill? At death’s door?’ Simon glared at the woman, ignoring her polite smile. First Jayne and now Diana. How many more people would he lose? Could Coltonby be trusted to look after Diana properly?

      ‘You may ease your mind. Your sister is well. She is blooming. London agrees with her and she is in safe hands there.’

      ‘That is not what I am asking and you know it.’ Everything was conspiring against him today—the snow- blown weather, the sputtering fire in the grate of his study, and now his injuries from the accident last autumn were playing up. He wanted to sink down in his armchair, but he refused to show how weak he felt. ‘Tell me the truth. What are you hiding from me? What is wrong with Diana?’

      ‘The Countess is in a delicate condition.’ She said the words slowly as if speaking to a particularly dim-witted child. ‘The Earl refuses to risk her or her unborn child.’

      Diana pregnant? Simon’s head throbbed with fresh pain. He should have anticipated it. Another worry. He tried to put it from his mind. Diana had always been strong. Never ill. She would survive. And yet he found it impossible to fault Coltonby for being cautious. ‘Where is her maid? Robert appears fond enough of her. Surely Diana could have spared Rose.’

      ‘Lady Coltonby’s maid is about to be wed to Lord Coltonby’s valet and is therefore unavailable. Her brother has just returned to this country. He only has a short leave from the Navy. This scheme was discussed.’

      Simon regarded the gilt of the ceiling and regained some measure of control over his temper. Everywhere he turned, there was another excuse, another reason why he must yield and give way. Why he must accept this thoroughly unsuitable woman. ‘I suppose we must all bow in the face of love and romance.’

      ‘My cousin concurred with me about the solution, considering the Countess’s condition and her maid’s situation. Everyone was agreed that you would see the logic.’

      ‘Everyone neglected to consult me.’

      ‘Your letter stressed the urgency. I barely had time to scrawl three lines to my stepmother once the scheme was agreed.’

      Simon resisted the temptation to swear long and loud. As if forgoing letter writing to one’s stepmother was somehow akin to his situation. ‘You will be rewarded in heaven.’

      ‘There is no need to blaspheme, Mr Clare.’

      Simon pressed his lips together and held back a few more choice words. ‘And how precisely are you related to the Earl?’

      ‘As I’ve already mentioned, I am the Earl’s second cousin. Our maternal grandmothers were sisters. The connection sealed the matter. Your sister had no wish for some stranger to look after her nephew. I am not a stranger, but a relation.’ Her lips curved in a placating smile.

      Simon tightened his grip on this cane. Same obstinate arrogance as his brother-in-law. Same assumption that they ruled the planet and all must give way. He did not need arrogance; he needed help with Robert. ‘Let me see your bare hands.’

      She held out a delicate hand, long fingered and smooth without a callous or blemish. ‘I have no fear of work.’

      Simon resisted the urge to ask if she had ever lifted anything heavier