Miss Bradshaw's Bought Betrothal. Virginia Heath

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

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      May 1816

      There was no escaping the fact that the Marquis of Stanford was drunk. Although inebriation was a state that he was known for, even during daylight hours, the assembled guests were still surprised that he had chosen to be in that state today. While the older generation muttered that it was poor form and gazed at his new fiancée with outright pity, absolutely everyone knew that the only reason the handsome, if slightly dissipated, Marquis was marrying Evie Bradshaw in the first place was because he desperately needed her money.

      Some of the younger guests, including Evie’s two stepsisters, found the spectacle hugely entertaining. It was hardly surprising, they had muttered maliciously behind their fans, because Evie was such a Plain Jane after all and so very dull. The poor man would need all of the Dutch courage he could consume just to kiss her and that was if he even saw her in the first place because she did have a tendency to fade into the background and become invisible.

      What none of the roomful of guests knew, including her spiteful stepfamily, was that Evie was absolutely delighted that Fergus Matlock, third Marquis of Stanford, had turned up to their unexpected and impromptu engagement party completely foxed. For the sake of appearances, of course, she pretended to be crestfallen and embarrassed by her fiancé’s slurring and swaying. And best of all, she had not even asked him to arrive drunk, which was, for want of a better word, perfect. But inside her less than impressive, slightly plump exterior, Evie was dancing. And turning cartwheels. And positively whooping with joy.

      Her spur-of-the-moment plan to escape her tedious, invisible life was working. In a few hours, she would finally leave Mayfair, ostensibly to ready the dissolute Marquis’s house for a wedding, but in reality she would buy her own house instead. Independent. Uncriticised and guilt-free. The hands on the ornate mantel clock could not turn quick enough.

      The root of her current misery, her cold fortune-grabbing stepmother, marched towards her, disapproving lips more pursed than usual. Grabbing her by the arm she dragged her back into the alcove. ‘Evelyn, it is time that you put a stop to this sorry excuse for an engagement at once. Everybody would understand and your father, God rest him, would never condone it. Look at the state of that man—he is a disgrace. I simply cannot, in all good conscience, allow you to marry him.’

      ‘Fergus is probably suffering from wedding nerves. He is only a little bit drunk.’ No, he wasn’t. He was positively steaming. ‘He will not be like that for the wedding. He has promised.’ Not that there would be a wedding. This was a business transaction. Pure and simple. The five thousand pounds it had cost her was nothing compared to the price of her freedom.

      Hyacinth Bradshaw’s lips almost inverted in protest as she looked down her nose at Evie. The woman hated being thwarted, especially by her disappointing stepdaughter, and would normally deal with her quiet acts of defiance with cold, vocal disdain. Unfortunately, Evie’s surprise engagement had pulled the rug from underneath her stepmother’s feet. Hyacinth was now painfully aware of her precarious financial situation, so she had stopped shy of her usual vindictiveness in an attempt to appear like a concerned mother who only wanted what was best for her daughter. It was a façade that really did not suit her. Ten years ago, Evie might have fallen for it—would have desperately wanted to fall for it—but too much water had gone under that particular bridge in the intervening years.

      ‘Your father, God rest his soul, would not wish for you to marry such a libertine. Surely you know that Stanford is only marrying you to get his hands on your money?’ The same money that Hyacinth was determined not to lose. Money that her father’s second wife firmly believed should be rightfully hers. The money she freely spent like water whilst constantly berating her stepdaughter for everything from her appearance to her dull conversation.

      ‘Fergus is very fond of me.’

      ‘Nonsense! You have always been such a silly girl, Evelyn. Why on earth would a handsome marquis...?’ Realising her mistake, Hyacinth bit back her usually cutting criticisms of her stepdaughter’s many shortcomings. The expression on her face made it plain how distasteful she found it. For several seconds her cheek muscles quivered before she forced an approximation of a smile that didn’t quite work. ‘Why on earth would a handsome marquis, who clearly enjoys the hedonistic delights of the gaming hells and brothels, want to marry anyone unless he was seriously in debt? I am sure that if you cast your net wider you will find a more suitable man to marry, given time. This has all been so very hurried. Perhaps I could help you find him? That is what your father would wish for if he could.’ Although up until this moment, Hyacinth had been most scathing about the chances of Evie finding anyone who was desperate enough to be prepared to marry her. She was too fat. Too plain. Too dull and far too old now for anyone to wish to be saddled with her. Evelyn should be content with the life she had and she would always have a home with Hyacinth. Of course, what she would have said to Evie, if she were being completely honest, was—you cannot leave because somebody has to pay the bills. ‘Besides, this is most improper, Evie. I do not like this silly idea you have to move to his estate before you are properly wed.’

      ‘It is hardly improper. Great-Aunt Winifred is coming with me, so I will be correctly chaperoned, and there is a great deal of work to do on poor Fergus’s estate to get it to a state in which it will be presentable for the wedding. He will be staying at the inn for the sake of propriety, so you have nothing to be worried about. Besides, he will probably have to return to London almost immediately so Aunt Winnie and I will be alone. In a month, or two, I am...’

      ‘Winifred is not a suitable chaperon!’

      A little devil within her decided to have another poke to see if it could get a rise out of Hyacinth. ‘I have asked repeatedly if you and my sisters would accompany me—it would be so nice if you would. If Papa had still been alive, he would have insisted that we all travel together as a family.’ As if they had ever been a family.

      Her stepmother snorted and fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘I cannot drag the girls away from London now. Not while so much is still going on. Rose is fresh from her first Season and several eligible gentlemen are actively courting Iris. To take them away from all of the entertainments in town would be nothing short of cruel. We will come up for the wedding, of course, or when the ton retire to their country estates for the summer, although it is my sincerest wish that you will come to your senses first and call it off. You are simply being selfish leaving like this, with only three days’ notice, too! I have never known such a hasty engagement. Your