The Reluctant Bride. Meg Alexander
do not feel embarrassed,” the maddening voice continued. “It is not a fault. Often I have observed that tall women have a certain elegance and style which must be the envy of their shorter cousins.”
“You are too kind!” India gritted out. “Have you other views on my appearance, sir? My nose, is perhaps, a little too long, and my mouth too wide?”
He was beside her in an instant. Then, to her horror, a large hand cupped her chin and turned her face to his, “No, no! Don’t underestimate yourself. Those eyes are well enough, and your skin is flawless. As to the hair? Well…not quite in the common way, perhaps…”
India struck his hand away, “I could always wear a wig,” she cried in fury.
“That’s better!” Isham was laughing down at her. “Now you are more yourself. We shall deal well together, my dear, but only if we are honest with each other. I can’t bear missish ways.”
India did not answer him. This interview was not going as she’d planned. He’d teased her into losing her temper and shedding her cool composure.
Now she tried to remember what she had meant to say. “You go too quickly, my lord,” she murmured. “I do not know you.”
“But you know of me, do you not? Now where is the stumbling-block? Is it the gambling, or the opera-dancer?”
It was too much. India rose to her feet and faced him squarely. “Are you trying to be offensive, sir? If so, I must wonder why you are here.”
“I’m here to offer for you,” he grinned. “Will you take me, ma’am? I promise to forget the opera-dancer.”
His tone had changed, but India would not be mollified. Even so, she chose her next words carefully.
“My uncle mentioned certain arrangements, sir. May I hear them from your own lips?”
Isham’s expression hardened. “If you will have it then, here is what I propose.” In a cool tone he listed details of the marriage settlement. “Is that satisfactory?”
“Perfectly, I thank you. And your own requirements?” India was aware that her apparently mercenary attitude had angered him, but she did not care. He himself had proposed this contract. In effect, he was buying her as a man might buy a slave in some Eastern market. She would not pretend that anything other than this settlement would persuade her to accept him.
“I need an heir.” His bluntness now matched her own. “I must also have a hostess, as I intend to enter politics. My wife must be able to receive the highest in the land and entertain them royally.”
India felt a little flicker of interest. “Shall you go with the Whigs or the Tories?”
“With the Whigs. I take it you have no objections?”
“Not in the least.” Secretly India was pleased. The policies of the Whigs were much more to her taste.
“Then we are agreed?” Isham held out his hand.
“Not yet, my lord. I need more time to consider your proposal…”
“Nonsense!” he said roughly. “Had you not made up your mind you would not be here. Pray spare me these attempts at maidenly convention.”
India hesitated.
“Come!” he continued. “You make your decision now, ma’am, or my offer does not stand.”
“But where is the need for haste?”
“I have my reasons. I do not propose to burden you with them at this present time.”
“Then perhaps an engagement…?”
“Which you would seek to break at the earliest opportunity? No, my dear, you must give me credit for some intelligence. If you accept we shall be wed by Christmas.”
“So soon? It is but weeks away…”
He smiled at her discomfiture and it infuriated her further. She had suspected him of being ruthless. Now she was sure of it. She was in no position to refuse him and well he knew it. He must have guessed at the pressure which had been brought to bear on her. Now he had added to it with his threat to withdraw.
“Let us understand each other,” he said at last. “I shall keep to the terms of our agreement if you will keep to yours. Your feelings towards me need not signify…”
India glared at him and he laughed.
“Will you deny that you detest me, ma’am? I should not believe you. If looks could kill I should now be lying at your feet.”
India was reduced to silence. She had never met a stranger character. What other man would offer to wed a woman who disliked him? She should have refused him there and then, but something held her back, and it was not only the thought of material advantage. With this man her life would most certainly not be dull, and what was the alternative? Letty would marry and she herself would wither on the vine, reduced to caring for a petulant invalid who gave her neither thanks nor affection.
Suddenly she held out her hand, rather to her own surprise. “We have a bargain, sir.”
Isham took her hand and kissed it, and as he did so she felt an odd little frisson of excitement. Those warm lips seemed to burn her skin and she drew back quickly.
“Shall we tell Mama?” she asked.
As she had expected, Mrs Rushford was overcome with joy. She would have embraced Lord Isham, but to India’s amusement he managed to avoid this fate.
Her sister was her main concern. Letty looked stricken to the heart.
India made as if to go to her, but Isham forestalled her, taking her sister to one side. It was to be some months before India discovered what was said on that occasion, but whatever it was removed the troubled look from Letty’s brow.
Oh, he was clever, India thought bitterly. He knew exactly what to say to ingratiate himself with every member of her family.
Later she tried to question Letty, but for once her sister was reticent.
“You have not even reproached me,” India murmured in surprise. “I thought you were against this match.”
“I was.” Letty’s look was positively smug. “But you know best…”
India could not help but wonder. Had Isham promised to help Giles, or Oliver? She would not put it past him to rally support in every way he knew. She tried to question the uncommunicative Letty further, but without success.
From then on she found herself with little time to think. Preparations for the wedding came upon her thick and fast. Isham would not hear of a delay, in spite of Mrs Rushford’s half-hearted protests that it was already late November.
In spite of her dislike of Isham, India could only admire the way in which he handled her mother’s objections. She noted wryly that he stifled possible argument before it could begin. Mrs Rushford was given no opportunity to insist upon her grandiose plans for an elaborate ceremony.
“I would not place such a strain upon you, ma’am,” Isham murmured smoothly. “Your health must be our first consideration…”
India almost giggled. For once her mother’s hypochondria had been cleverly used against her.
His lordship was not finished. “Time is short, as you have pointed out. I should not have ventured such a brief engagement except that of necessity you will wish to observe the proprieties…”
Isabel Rushford stared at him.
“I see that you agree with me,” he continued. “Owing to your recent loss we cannot celebrate in the style we might have wished. Otherwise the marriage might have taken place in London. As matters stand a simple ceremony would be best.”
It was a statement of intent, rather than a question, and India could not forbear to smile. It was what he