The Borrowed Bride

Why was he not fighting harder for her?

She tumbled off him and knelt on the floor by his feet. “Tell me what troubles you, prove to me that your love is genuine. Treat me like your wife and share everything with me, as you should, tell me. I know you are keeping something back from me.”

She held her breath, her hands clasped together.

Matthew dragged himself upright and clutched the arms of the rocker with white-knuckled fingers. “Lord Coleman... Henry Coleman is my half-brother.”

“What! You’re a bastard?”

He glared at her, indignant at her swift accusation. “I am not a bastard. My parents were married.” He leaned forward, his eyes bright and piercing. “Henry’s father died when he was young and his mother, Grace, was expected to marry again. Her father would choose, just as he chose the Colemans. She took to taking long rides, escaping her responsibilities, hoping to stave of the inevitable. Henry was already being raised by nurses and tutors; he was a boy, after all, what could he possibly learn from a woman.”

“Where did she ride?”

“To this farm, like you, and she met my father. And they fell in love.”

Dara smiled. “Like us.”

“And like us, such a poor match is contemptible to the nobility. You see, Grace was a Barraclough, the daughter of the duke—”

The nameplate in the book was his mother’s name; the Barracloughs were one of the most esteemed families in the country. “I assume permission was not granted.”

“No. But my mother, disgraced by her request to marry beneath her, and having been cast out of Willowby Hall by Henry’s ageing grandmother, instead of returning to her family home, came here and stayed. They married in secret. Both Colemans and Barracloughs were furious when they found out. Grace, wanting to protect my humble father from the recriminations of more powerful families, struck a bargain. They’d simply live a quiet life as farmers, and say not a word about her origins. Other than the books, she took nothing with her, no fine gowns, or jewels, nothing—”

“Your mother taught you French and—”

“Aye. She tempered my wilder ways. She was wily, my mama. She insisted that they had more land. The farm was a tenancy of the Colemans. The Barracloughs bought it out, plus extra land and gave it to her. The deeds are safe in a bank deposit.”

“To buy her silence?”

“I don’t think my mother would ever had said anything to provoke a scandal, but the threat was useful, and the land brought her freedom from an awkward tenancy. However, she wanted to protect me more than anything. She died when I was fourteen. Before she departed, she made me promise not to mention her name or the Colemans to anyone. She wanted me to have this farm and make a life for myself. I was angry. Still am, that she was denied the chance to live openly as a happy married woman. Her father was vicious, far more than the Colemans.” Matthew gazed over Dara’s shoulder to the window.

“Do you hate my husband?” She touched his sleeve. It was sinking in. Matthew’s maternal bloodline was nobler than Dara’s own and her husband’s. The title of master more than suited his personality; it was fitting and warranted.

“I thought I did. I’m certainly jealous that you’re his and not mine. But in truth, I can’t blame him for what happened. He was a boy when she was forced to give him up. I know she thought upon this often and told me of her wish that her two sons might one day be better acquainted. I’ve never met Henry, and he knows only what his grandmother, a Coleman, had told him before she died. I suspect her opinion wasn’t generous in spirit,” said Matthew dryly. “As for Grace’s whereabouts, I don’t think he knows where his mother went. The duke arranged everything.”

Henry was perhaps a victim of the duke’s schemes as much as Grace had been. His mother forced to abandon him and leaving him alone in his mansion, he’d been driven by a restless spirit to travel and never settle. “How awful... did your mother not try to make contact with him?”

“The duke sent men, the worse kind, and they threatened her, brandished fire sticks at the farm and promised to exact a terrible revenge if she went near her son.”

“Her own father did this?”

“As I said, vicious. He cared only for his name. He’s dead now. Thank God. But, so is my mother.”

History need not repeat itself in quite the same way. “I shall stay with you, like your mother—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Except we’re not married. The circumstances aren’t the same.”

She shook her head free. “Would the Barracloughs care? Time has passed and Henry is a grown man. Shouldn’t he have full possession of the facts?” She closed her eyes. It was a stupid idea. “He would not look upon us kindly.”

“No.”

“He would ruin me, like you said...”

“For years, she lived not ten miles from him. His grandmother brought him up to despise his own mother. Your fate is now wrapped up in mine. Say nothing about meeting me, for tis bound to cause him great anger, and I fear he’ll take it out on you.”

“I promise.”

Matthew took both her hands in his sturdy ones and held them. “There might be a way to resolve this, but you must go back to him until I can think of what to do.”