A Hasty Betrothal. Jessica Nelson

life. Not his idea of a happy ending, but he could not leave his childhood friend in distress.

      He waited for her to respond, every muscle tight and clenched.

      Footsteps pounded down the hall. Bitt’s parents appeared in the doorway. Her father’s face wore somber lines as he advanced into the office. “Is it true, Hawthorne? Are you set to marry my daughter?”

      Bitt looked at him, a mix of fear and desperation plastered on her features. She gave him a slow nod, and he knew that she had accepted his terms without even knowing them.

      A stiff foreboding crawled down Miles’s spine. He bowed crisply. “Forgive me, Lord Dunlop. I meant to speak with you sooner. If you will allow so, I shall marry your daughter.”

      * * *

      “Why, Miles, this is positively insulting.” Elizabeth scanned the paper he handed to her. Ensconced in his barouche, they were to discuss the “business” of marriage while taking a trip to Gunter’s for ices.

      It was all very tedious and though she did enjoy sweets, she’d much rather be curled up on her bed with a good book than sitting in this rig, looking at a list of tasks she must accomplish in order to be considered suitable for marriage. How like Miles to create a list. So very methodical. She found the entire business humbling, for he was changing his life to accommodate her. She worked hard to squelch the irritation throbbing within.

      “You agreed to this arrangement,” he said, his voice unusually hard.

      Wincing, Elizabeth dipped her head in concession. “Quite right. I did. Though may I remind you that I was under a great deal of pressure at the time? Is this truly necessary? A house party? To celebrate our betrothal? That is farcical.”

      “You and I will have a marriage of convenience. Nothing more.”

      A pang hit Elizabeth square in the ribs. Indigestion, no doubt, brought on by the stress of her future being destroyed. She peered at the paper more closely, attempting to decipher his scrawl whilst acknowledging the terrible fact that due to her own irresponsible actions, she had given up her dreams of true love forever. A surreal realization, to be sure.

      “Instead of writing what you want from me in overwrought detail, you could have simply told me.” She handed the paper to him, thankful her fingers did not tremble. She had not slept well last night, strange dreams troubling her sleep. “Am I to understand that you ask only three things of me?”

      “That is correct.” He steepled his fingers, his face dark and brooding. “Are you certain you can do what I’ve asked?”

      “I said that I would.” She drew an unsteady breath. Miles had been backed into a corner. He had done an honorable deed, one she should be thankful for. It was her duty to make this as painless for him as possible. “Visiting your new factory shan’t be an issue, I’m sure. But planning a betrothal ball is a bit excessive. And I confess I fail to see why I should visit Vauxhall Gardens with you, as well. These are odd and unlikely requests. They will not make me a better wife.” The very thought filled her with dread. Her shoulders slumped. She could never measure up to Anastasia.

      How could a homely caterpillar ever compare to a fragile, colorful butterfly?

      He held up a hand. “Familiarity with my business and associating with others in social settings is something you may be called upon to do. If you can’t handle these situations gracefully, it is better to know now, before we are bound for life.”

      Elizabeth didn’t dare look at Miles. When he’d picked her up this morning, she’d felt the darkness of his demeanor. He was in a mood, to be sure, and it did not reassure her of their upcoming nuptials. It was no surprise that marrying her brought him great irritation. If she had any other option, she would not have accepted his reluctant proposal.

      The thought sparked her temper. “If marrying me is such a daunting task, why did you ever ask in the first place? I did not compel you to act the honor-bound gentleman.” She dared not go so far as to offer to back out of the nuptials.

      “I am still asking myself the same question.”

      His words sliced her. She was truly in a mess of her own making. Oh, why had a walk outside seemed like a good idea? That dreadful viscount had ruined everything.

      She swallowed hard, summoning the reserve she’d been taught to carry, the fortitude to face unpleasant situations with grace and regal bearing. “You’re avoiding answering me, but the truth is that your response no longer has any bearing on the situation we find ourselves in. There are three things you ask of me. I shall do them regardless of how I feel. And if I do these tasks, you will marry me and not break our betrothal?”

      “Yes,” he said.

      She found the courage to look at him. His eyes were unreadable, his jaw set in a stubborn line. It reminded her of the time he took the punishment for breaking cook’s favorite bowl when he and John were fighting over the last bit of dough. John had let him take the punishment, too, which she’d deemed quite dishonorable at the time.

      Miles would go through with marrying her, no matter how unpalatable he found the union. It was in his nature to fix situations and help others. She lifted her chin and met his troubled gaze.

      “This is not ideal for me either. I am giving up the possibility for true love. At least pretend that we are on somewhat good terms. I shall not bother you overly much, Miles. After these first few months, we may go our separate ways.”

      His brows lowered and if possible, his glower deepened. “Trust me, madam, I shall not forget that you are only marrying me out of desperation.”

      The barouche jolted to a stop just in time, for Elizabeth did not know how to respond. She had assumed he found marriage to her a cumbersome burden, but it almost seemed as though her first rejection had tainted his view of her. But how could that be? He was as resistant to marriage as she, though for quite different reasons.

      Befuddled by his response, she waited for the barouche door to be opened. She took the footman’s hand and descended. No matter. They had chosen their course, and there could be no turning back.

      She glanced around her. People crowded Gunter’s. It was April, after all. The start of a fabulous Season, and everyone who was anyone knew that ices on a warm day were a perfect opportunity to see and be seen.

      She braced herself for the stares and conversation, taking the parasol Miles so kindly handed to her. He had managed to wipe the moodiness from his face and looked the perfect gentleman with his chiseled features and neatly tied cravat. She half expected her skirts to be mussed, but no, as she glanced down, she saw that the silks were in perfect arrangement about her slippered feet.

      The purpose of their visit to Gunter’s was twofold. To discuss what Miles expected of her and then let all those who had read that unfortunate gossip see that Mr. Hawthorne was far more to her than an illicit liaison during an overcrowded ball.

      Her parents wasted no time in informing her that it was her duty to spread the word that she was betrothed, even if only by action. They were quite unhappy with her betrothal to a man of business but since she’d rejected Wrottesley, they had little choice in the matter. Unless they wanted to bring scandal on the family, her marriage to Miles was the only possible solution.

      Mother had refused to speak to her this morning.

      Wincing, she forced herself to take in her surroundings. Her windpipe shrank.

      Well-dressed ladies milled about the emerald grasses of the park, some carrying their own parasols, others wearing broad-brimmed bonnets. Gentlemen strolled beside them, using stylish canes and carrying ices. Servants darted back and forth, and even the waiters looked pristine in their uniforms as they brought treats to those who’d rather sit in curricles.

      Clouds provided the perfect shade for those who chose to walk the paths designed for couples and families. Not everyone wanted to be cloistered on such a lovely spring day. Elizabeth clutched her parasol closer, battling the urge to turn her head at an angle. Why had she agreed to