The Husband Campaign. Regina Scott

he stood taller and inclined his head in greeting. Some of his coal-black hair fell across his forehead. He must have been in a hurry, for he hadn’t even given his greatcoat to their servants. She remembered the soft wool that had covered her that night in the abandoned stable.

      She hadn’t realized she’d be trading it for a wedding ring.

      “Good evening, my lord,” she said, following her mother into the room.

      “Yes, good evening,” her mother said, as if remembering her own manners. She hovered around as Amelia seated herself on the sofa, asking about refreshments, his activities in London, the state of his stock. Odd. She had never known her mother to chatter.

      When she stopped for a breath, he said, “I’d like to speak to Amelia. Alone.”

      Her mother visibly swallowed, skin paling. She was afraid! Her stubborn, demanding mother was afraid to see her plans dashed. Pity stung her, and Amelia put a hand on her arm.

      “It’s all right, Mother. I’m sure Lord Hascot simply wishes to speak of things that will follow our wedding.”

      Now her mother’s color came flooding back, and she hurriedly excused herself.

      “Nicely done,” Lord Hascot said as the door shut behind her.

      Amelia managed a smile. “Thank you. But I wasn’t trying to mislead her. Why else would you come but to tell me your expectations?”

      He licked his lips. Like the rest of his features, they were firm and sharp, as if chiseled that day from fresh marble. But what surprised her was that she saw a sheen of perspiration under the fall of his black hair.

      “Are you certain you want to go through with this?” she marveled.

      She wasn’t sure how he would respond. Perhaps some part of her hoped for a declaration of secret devotion. The rest of her could only pray she’d given him license to beg off. Instead, he motioned her to the sofa and came to sit next to her, so gingerly she wondered if he thought he might stain the white upholstery.

      “I’m not in the slightest certain,” he told her. “But I see no other way. I have given my word.”

      Could it be so easy to rid herself of this stone-cold lord? Amelia found it hard to breathe with the possibility. “If you don’t wish to marry me, sir, simply tell me.”

      He took a deep breath as if he fought for air, as well. “It is not what I wish, but what you wish.”

      The statement was so far beyond anything she had ever experienced that Amelia blinked. “What?”

      He rubbed his hands along his coat, gaze on the movement of his fingers. “I never planned to marry. I have no time to be a doting husband. But if you wish to be my wife, you are welcome at Hollyoak Farm. I will keep the stables and the horses. The house will be yours to command. And I will expect you to manage any visitors who come merely to look.”

      He made it sound as if she was accepting a position. “And the payment for my services?” she couldn’t help asking.

      He frowned as if he didn’t understand her. “You will have a home, the funding to furnish and decorate it as you like and as much as you could want for dresses, though I can’t imagine you will need many out in Derby. Know that I will honor my vows, and I will treat you with respect.”

      Respect. Not love, not devotion. It was less than what she’d prayed for, but the new woman who was emerging seemed drawn to it. It was something she’d never had after all. And if he intended to honor his vows, then someday she might hope for children.

      Something fierce and strong rose up inside her. She would have children to love, to dote upon as surely as if she had wished it for herself. That would be the good to come from this marriage, that would be God’s blessing for her trials.

      “Very well, my lord,” she said. “I accept your offer. We will marry in the morning. And may God smile upon our union.”

      Chapter Five

      And so she was married. She stood before the rector, her parents and a few friends among the dark wood paneling and soaring stained glass windows of St. George’s Hanover Square. She repeated her vows and listened to John repeat his in that gruff voice. It wasn’t until she said, “Till death do us part,” that a tremor ran through her. She could only hope no one else noticed.

      She continued smiling as they returned to her parents’ home and the receiving line down the corridor as guests progressed to the wedding breakfast at tables her mother had had erected in the withdrawing room. She accepted congratulations, thanked the noble guests for their good wishes. She counted three dukes, two marquesses and an earl who was related to the king. And all of them seemed far more interested in making her husband’s acquaintance than in wishing her well.

      John did not appear the least bit humbled by the attentions paid him. He stood beside her, nodding, exchanging few words. His sharp features and hooded gaze reminded her of a falcon she’d seen once. That bird had been wary, gaze sweeping the grassy lands for prey. She didn’t like the thought that perhaps this time she was the mouse.

      “Well done,” Lord Danning said, next in line to congratulate them. A tall man with golden hair, his ready smile to her and John eased her tension. But it was the sight of Ruby beside him that truly raised her spirits.

      Marriage obviously agreed with her friend, for Ruby’s green eyes positively sparkled, and her mouth was stretched wide in a grin. Her red hair was tamed under a fashionable chip hat, an ostrich plume curling down around her ear to tease her cheek.

      “As soon as you’re finished,” she said, giving Amelia’s arm a squeeze, “come find me. I can’t wait to hear all.”

      Amelia wasn’t sure how much she dared relate with so many other people about. But after the guests had been seated for the wedding breakfast, she managed to slip away with Ruby into the gardens behind the house.

      “I know the two of you met when you were up at Fern Lodge with us, but I won’t believe it was love at first sight,” Ruby declared in her forthright manner. She linked arms with Amelia as they strolled the white-rocked paths among the low boxwood hedges. “So what happened? Did he follow you to London? Plead his case on bended knee?”

      “Not quite,” Amelia admitted, going on to explain the situation. When she finished, Ruby’s face tightened.

      “Not the most auspicious of beginnings,” she agreed. “Do you at least admire him?”

      Amelia thought hard. He was cool but generally considerate in a rough sort of way. He was not much of a conversationalist. He did not seem to be particularly devoted to family.

      “He is by all accounts good with his horses,” she finally said.

      The faint praise hung in the sunny morning air a moment. She glanced at Ruby, and suddenly they were both giggling.

      “He looks presentable in a jacket and trousers,” Ruby offered.

      “His nose is not offensive,” Amelia countered.

      “He does slip out of services on Sunday to race his carriage,” Ruby assured her.

      “And he isn’t an avid fisherman,” Amelia proclaimed triumphantly.

      Ruby hugged the sides of her emerald gown as if to hold in her laughter. “Oh, so true! You are very fortunate there, you know. On my honeymoon, I learned fifteen different ways to entice a trout to rise. Who would have thought the silly things so fussy!”

      “Or so determined,” Amelia agreed.

      Ruby sobered. “Indeed. I never thought I’d give the time of day to a trout other than to gobble him down for dinner. But I have come to care about such things as fishing because he cares about them. I’m sure it will be the same with you and Lord Hascot.”

      Amelia could only hope her friend was right. In truth, she’d always enjoyed