Married by may, p.1
Married By May, page 1
Married By May
Nadine Millard
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
The Hidden Prince Sneak Peek
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, business establishments, events, locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Nadine Millard
Ebook Edition All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
Prologue
“Another successful ball, my dear.”
Lady Beatrice Fortescue smiled at her mother as they made their way upstairs, arms linked together.
“Yes indeed, Mama,” she agreed. “And made so much better by the presence of Ben and Talia.”
Beatrice’s cousin Ben, the Earl of Trafford, and her best friend Natalia had married at her mother’s famed annual Christmas Ball just two years prior.
After living for a time in Russia, they had returned in time for this year’s ball with the news that they were remaining in England, and that they were expecting a child.
Given that Ben was like a son to Lady Fortescue and therefore like a brother to Bea, and that Talia had been her best friend since childhood, Bea could not be more excited by the idea of becoming an aunt to their child when the time came.
“Oh, what a thrill to have them here,” Lady Fortescue agreed. “And the news of their blessing is just wonderful.”
They had reached the landing of the family chambers, and Beatrice was looking forward to removing her restrictive gown and lying against her satin pillows. The ball had been exhilarating as it always was, but the stays she wore to contain her curvaceous figure were biting into her skin, and the white satin slippers upon her feet pinched her toes.
“Well, goodnight, Mama,” she said with a quick peck to her mother’s ageing cheek.
“Beatrice.”
She hadn’t gone but a couple of steps before Lady Fortescue called her back.
“Yes, Mama?”
“I spoke to Ben this evening about coming with us to London for the beginning of the Season.”
Bea’s stomach dropped to her toes.
It wasn’t even January yet, but she knew exactly where Mama was going with this particular conversation.
“He doesn’t want to be away from Natalia for long, preferring to stay close to home for the birth.”
Lady Fortescue didn’t sound all too impressed by Ben’s wanting to be with his much-adored wife for her lying-in and for the beginning of his child’s life. Still, times had been different when Mama was enceinte, Beatrice supposed. And Ben wasn’t a typical Society husband who left his wife to her own devices.
“So, we don’t have much time with him this year. And whilst I know we will do perfectly well without him, it would be so much better to have him there to escort you to events. Therefore, you must do your best to secure a match in the first few weeks.”
Beatrice felt her mouth pop open, though she shouldn’t be surprised by her mother's words.
“Mama, I can’t just catch a husband in a couple of weeks,” she insisted, though she knew it was no use. For three years her mother had been desperate to make Beatrice an Incomparable of the ton.
And for three years Beatrice had carried her mother’s disappointment like a weight on her shoulders. But she simply didn’t have the makings of an Incomparable.
She was short and curvaceous, with non-descript brown hair, and plain hazel eyes. She was also far too shy to make herself known anywhere. Nor did she want to.
“Of course you can, dearest,” Lady Fortescue said stoutly. She was a kind and generous mother, but her expectations of her only child were far too ambitious to Beatrice’s mind. “You just need to do exactly what I tell you. Act how I tell you. Say what I tell you. We have five months, Beatrice. Five months to whip you into shape. I am determined that this year you will leave London, if not married, then at least engaged to an extremely desirable man.”
Beatrice resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
She didn’t want a husband. She had almost reached her majority, meaning she could access her inheritance and live a very comfortable life. She could stay here if she wanted to. Or she could choose to live elsewhere. She could avoid Town forever more, which was undeniably appealing.
More importantly though, she could do as she’d promised Reverend Altmont in previous conversations. She could fund a school for the local children and set up a charitable endeavour for the poorest members of their society. It had always been a dream of hers to be able to help in a real way and soon, she would be able to do just that. A husband was the last thing on her mind.
“Mama – I don’t need a husband,” Beatrice answered Lady Fortescue, struggling to keep her tone even.
Without another word, she turned toward her bedchamber.
“Actually, darling,” Lady Fortescue’s voice drew Beatrice to a stop. “You do.”
Chapter One
Five months, as it turned out, was not a very long time at all. Or four to be precise.
Either way, Beatrice was now hiding in the gardener’s shed of all places, desperately seeking a break from Mama. Lady Fortescue had always been rather zealous about the Season and ton events. It hadn’t been so bad before Ben and Talia had married. Natalia had created such a stir wherever they went that Beatrice, curvaceous, non-descript Beatrice, was able to slink into the background. Which was exactly how she preferred it. And it appeased Mama to know that Beatrice was at least part of a group, even if she were on the periphery.
Beatrice went to all the right events, of course. She was, after all, the only child of the Widow Fortescue, and her mother was a pillar of the ton. She dutifully danced with those who wanted to pay respect to her family name, and fortune hunters who made very little effort to disguise their true intentions when paying her their regards.
But Talia had been the diamond. Talia had been the darling of ton events. Beatrice had merely kept her friend company. It had been enough, though, to satisfy Lady Fortescue, who had rather bizarrely convinced herself that her daughter was a popular debutante.
Now that the buffer of Natalia had been removed and Ben was settled with thriving estates, Lady Fortescue was free to pin all her expectations, hopes, and attentions on Beatrice.
The tutor in comportment that Mama had asked to come and stay with them would no doubt be out here soon, his little rat nose sniffing Beatrice out.
When the weaselly little man had arrived a se’nnight past, Beatrice had been prepared to listen to his lectures on decorum along with having her walking, her movements with a fan, her very existence scrutinised.
But the experience had been even more humiliating than she’d been dreading.
The Frenchman had walked in, studied her in silence for what seemed like an eternity, then shrugged his slight shoulders and turned to face Mama with a sneer.
“This is what you expect me to work with?” he’d asked, whilst Beatrice’s cheeks had burned with humiliation. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Beatrice had been forced to blink back tears as her mother, instead of throwing the brute out on his backside, had pleaded with him to help, lauding his many wonderful talents and pandering to the man’s oversized ego.
Lord, but it was embarrassing. Beatrice had long been well aware of her faults. To find that they horrified a stranger so much stung.
And it wasn’t that Lady Fortescue was cruel. At least not on purpose.
If she were, if she were a wicked parent like those in Beatrice’s much-adored novels, then she’d at least have an interesting, tragic past.
But, no. Mama loved her and wanted the best for her. She thought that having one’s faults laid bare to be demolished by a little French rat was a good thing.
She wanted Beatrice married. Settled and happy.
And Beatrice wanted that, too. But where she would be happy to marry for love, Mama wanted glory. A match befitting the Fortescue name and fortune.
Unfortunately for them both, Beatrice didn’t have the ability or even the desire to secure such a match.
And time was running out. The conversation with Mama after her Christmas Ball was at the forefront of Bea’s mind, as it had been since they’d had it.
Beatrice had always believed that her money would be hers to control upon reaching her majority. Had made the grandest of plans. Had made the most wonderful of promises.
Only to find out that her money couldn’t be secured until she was married.
Beatrice knew that her mother was fond of such deals, given the agreement she’d made with Ben before his marriage to Natalia. But though Beatrice had no memory of her father, he’d always sounded like a sensible man. Not given to ludic rous deals about marriage.
Beatrice had always known she would be pursued by the very worst sort of fortune hunter because of her overly generous dowry. Now she found herself in the awful position of needing to marry, just so she could have access to her own funds!
The sound of footsteps outside the shed snapped Bea out of her maudlin thoughts, and she hurried over to peer through the cracked, wooden door.
Just as she’d feared, Monsieur Bisset was scurrying around the garden paths, his beady little eyes searching her out.
He turned toward the walled rose gardens, only just beginning to bloom now as the weather was warming for spring, and Beatrice seized her opportunity.
She opened the shed door and darted out, lifting her muslin skirts and running in the opposite direction.
She would stay in the small woodland area that bordered their estate for a while then come back at luncheon to deal with the consequences of skipping her dance lessons.
The whole thing was pointless, in any case, Bea told herself as she scurried toward the iron gate that would lead to the wooded area. She’d spent years in finishing school learning all this stuff. It hadn’t made her a diamond of the first water then, and it certainly wouldn’t now.
The life of a spinster, which Mama seemed to think of as worse than death itself, actually rather appealed to Beatrice.
She was too shy to imagine herself ever feeling comfortable in a man’s company.
And while her inheritance was almost obscenely large, it hinged on her being married. Beatrice would far rather live alone and modestly than have to marry just to live in luxury for the rest of her life.
And yes, Mama wanted grandchildren, but Ben and Natalia could provide them. Technicalities aside.
None of this seemed to get through to her mother though, Bea reminded herself as she entered the woods and drew to a breathless stop. She’d been trying for years. Season after failed season, she would sit in the drawing room watching Mama’s face fall in disappointment as afternoons went by with no posies sent to her, no invitations to ride in the park, and only a smattering of visitors who were either there from a sense of duty or because they were within an inch of debtors’ prison.
If only Lady Fortescue could accept her daughter’s limitations, they’d both be better for it.
Some girls, like Natalia, were built for romantic stories. Why, she and Ben had fallen in love pretending to be engaged, for goodness sake!
And then there were girls like Beatrice, who would never find themselves in a romantic –
“Ouch.”
Beatrice’s thoughts came to a crashing halt at the same time she crashed into something big and solid, something that shouldn’t have been in the path in the first place.
She landed in an undignified heap and glared up at whatever it was she’d bumped into.
A horse stood placidly eating grass at the side of the road. Not moving. Not tied up. Just eating.
Beatrice stared at it in surprise before looking around for an owner. It seemed the beast was quite alone. And yet, he wore a saddle and bridle.
How strange.
She scrambled to her feet and slowly approached the animal, not wanting to spook it.
In truth, Bea had never been fond of horses. They had scared her witless as a child and even now, though she could ride if needs be, she wasn’t a fan.
She was too short, that was it. And being as small as she was, when she was atop a giant horse, she felt far too removed from solid ground for her peace of mind.
“What are you doing here, hmm?” She kept her voice low and soothing, making sure she stayed in the creature’s line of vision. “Have you lost your owner somewhere along the way?”
Beatrice looked around again. She bit her lip, not quite sure what to do.
If this horse had thrown someone then he or she could be quite seriously hurt.
Whilst Beatrice stood there agonising, another sound caught her attention, and suddenly a man came bursting through the trees, his Hessians stomping on the ground, twigs snapping and squirrels dashing out of his way.
“Ares! There you are. What are you bloody well playing at?”
Beatrice felt her jaw drop as the angry stranger approached. Her eyes widened as they took in his dark-green superfine covered in leaves and twigs, his fawn breeches, along with his highly polished black boots.
He didn’t wear a hat, but had one clutched in one hand, a riding crop in the other.
She didn’t know if he’d noticed her yet, given that she stood on the other side of his marvellously unperturbed horse.
Maybe she could sneak away –
“Don’t expect any oats when we get back you overgrown—“
The man came to an abrupt halt, and Beatrice guessed that he’d seen her. Or parts of her, in any case.
“My apologies, miss. I did not see anyone standing there.”
She stayed stock still and completely silent, not knowing if she should run or introduce herself.
One didn’t introduce oneself to strange men in the forest; she didn’t need Monsieur Bisset to tell her that.
“Miss?”
Beatrice called herself every sort of dolt for standing there mute while the man tried to speak with her.
Taking a deep breath, she peeked out from behind the horse.
Lord, but he was handsome!
Her jaw dropped once more as she stared up at the stranger before her. A lock of dark, chestnut hair fell across his brow as deep blue eyes gazed down at her.
He smiled as he sketched a bow.
“I am sorry for my conduct. I did not see you there. I hope I haven’t offended you?”
“N-no, not at all,” she managed to sputter.
“My horse sometimes has a mind of his own. I only turned my back for a second.”
He stopped suddenly and stepped around the animal, who was still happily munching on the grass before him.
“You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked as his gaze raked over her. Beatrice was shocked as her entire body heated under his careful scrutiny.
“N-no,” she said again, cursing her own shyness. “I did fall but –“
“You are hurt.” His face lit with concern, and Bea felt a blush stain her cheeks.
Nobody ever really showed concern for her. Certainly nobody outside of Mama, Ben, or Talia.
“I’m not, I assure you.” She rushed to put his mind at ease.
They stood in a silence that grew steadily more excruciating for Beatrice.
“Well, I shan’t delay you any longer, miss. I’ll take my unruly mount and be on my way.”
Beatrice couldn’t help but respond to his grin, though of course she shouldn’t.
“G-good day, then.” She bobbed a quick curtsy then turned to hurry back to the house.
“Miss?”
His voice called out softly and though Beatrice knew she should ignore it, she turned back round nonetheless.
“Yes?”
“Might I be so bold as to ask who you are? Just in case my horse tries to knock you over again. I’ll need to know who to direct his apology to.”
Beatrice laughed.
“His apology?” she asked.
“Indeed,” he answered with mock solemnity. “After all, he is the one who caused the fall, not I. It’s only right that he should be the one to atone for it.”
Beatrice laughed again at the man’s outrageousness.
And even though she knew he was a scoundrel for asking for it, and that she shouldn’t encourage such things, she found herself wanting to prolong their strange meeting.
“I am Lady Beatrice,” she answered shyly. “My mother is Lady Fortescue.”
She watched as the man’s eyes widened in surprise.
“My lady.” He bowed deferentially. “I apologise for not addressing you in the correct manner. It seems both my horse and I have a lot to apologise for this morning.”
Beatrice couldn’t believe how much she was enjoying herself.
“That is quite alright,” she answered, shyness quite forgotten. “I forgive you. Both of you.”
“You are too magnanimous, my lady,” he took her hand and pressed the most fleeting of kisses against the back of it. But it was enough to have Beatrice’s heart racing and cheeks scalding.
