The Earl's Marriage Bargain (Liberated Ladies)

‘Gentlemen.’ Jane smiled and they bowed.

‘So!’ Lord George was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. ‘Congratulations are in order, it seems. When is the happy day?’

‘It was just a mis—’ Jane said and clashed with Ivo.

‘It is not what—’

At which point the two men waved at another who was balancing several brown paper bags in his arms. ‘I say, Pennington!’ Lord George hailed him as he crossed to their side, limping heavily. ‘Come and meet Miss Newnham who is about to make Kendall a far happier man than he deserves! Miss Newnham, ma’am, this is Captain Henry Pennington.’

They were attracting attention now and Jane realised that a service must have just finished at the Abbey, for a stream of ladies was emerging from that direction, some with gentlemen by their side, some with maids in attendance.

‘Oh, Lord, there’s Mama with Lady Tredwick,’ Lord George muttered as two fashionably dressed matrons crossed to join them. ‘Never mind, Kendall, she’ll hear sooner or later, can’t keep news of nuptials from her for long. Mama! Lady Tredwick, ma’am. We were just congratulating Kendall here. This is Miss Newnham, his intended, the lucky dog.’

He continued to prattle on, introducing Jane to the ladies, reminding them—quite unnecessarily, it seemed—that they’d known Ivo since his cradle and commenting happily on what a lark it was that he and Bailey and Pennington should encounter their old comrade in arms in Bath of all places.

‘Sold out, the lot of us,’ he finished by way of explanation to Ivo. ‘Pennington’s leg’s not up to it any longer, Mama wants me home now Papa isn’t so hale and hearty and Bailey’s inherited that pile in Northumberland from his great-uncle.’

The ladies ignored him; both had their attention on another victim entirely. Jane swallowed and managed a polite bob of a curtsy, realising what a field mouse watched by an owl must feel like.

‘Miss Newnham?’ Lady Tredwick said. ‘One of the Norfolk Newnhams?’

‘Of Dorset, ma’am.’

‘Oh. Felicitations.’ Her smile was frigid. ‘This is a surprise. I had thought Kendall... But never mind that,’ she added hastily.

‘Er... That is... We are...’ She caught Ivo’s gaze, saw the almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders. This was all too public. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘Indeed, thank you for your good wishes, Lady Tredwick,’ Ivo said. ‘We are intending to keep it private at present. My father, you understand.’

‘You are not in mourning, however, Kendall,’ the other matron observed. She lifted her eyeglass, quite unnecessarily in Jane’s opinion—however short-sighted she was, she could not fail to see that Ivo was wearing buff breeches, white linen and a deep blue coat.

Jane decided that she really must learn how to do that with her eyebrows. Lady Merrydew managed to combine disbelief, disapproval and reproof all in one elegant arch.

‘My grandfather’s wishes, Lady Merrydew.’

‘No doubt we will have the opportunity to see more of Miss Newnham in due course. You are staying in Bath?’ Lady Merrydew’s gaze seemed to assess, price and judge everything from the crown of her bonnet to the tips of her practical boots.

The owl was about to swoop. Jane swallowed. ‘No, ma’am. With my cousin, Miss Lowry, in Batheaston.’

Why couldn’t I think of some convincing lie? Too late now.

‘Miss Lowry? I do not think that I have the pleasure of her acquaintance. I regret that we are due elsewhere and cannot continue this enlightening discussion. George, you will accompany us.’

‘Mama.’ With a jaunty wave Lord George followed his mother, his friends at his heels.

Jane looked around and found they were alone again outside the shoe shop. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘That hardly begins to cover it,’ Ivo said grimly. ‘We need to talk and the urge to dive into the nearest inn and drown myself in gin is too strong. Respectable tea will have to do.’

He raised his cane and gestured to a pair of chairmen. ‘The Assembly Rooms.’ He handed Jane into the chair and the door was closed before she had the opportunity to say more. Jane sank back against the rather lumpy upholstery as the chair lurched and then settled and the men set off on the long uphill climb.

This was a hideous situation, there was no pretending otherwise. No gentleman could have stood there in public, in the presence of the lady concerned, and announced that he was not betrothed to her—it was up to the lady to laugh lightly and explain that it was all a foolish misunderstanding or a joke. If she’d had rather more social experience, she could probably have pulled it off, Jane knew. As it was, she had hesitated and stammered and had presumably looked the picture of a lovelorn young woman whose secret had been discovered.

The ladies would probably not waste an instant in finding a copy of the Landed Gentry and scouring it to see just who this Miss Newnham of Dorset was, she who had so improbably captured the heir to a marquess.

It was her fault that Ivo was in such a fix and it was up to her to repair the damage, because the thought that he might find himself honour-bound to make the betrothal real made her feel quite ill with embarrassment. He must despise her and she could not blame him. In fact, she decided, plunging into total gloom as the chairmen paused to cross George Street and tackle the final climb up Bartlett Street, Ivo probably suspected she had been planning something like this from the moment she discovered who he was.

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