Just a Marriage of Convenience with the Duke by Hazel Linwood

Chapter 17

Bridget had only felt the depths of such despair one other time in her life, and that had been the day of her mother’s death. Now, though the children had been spared from the flames, the ruins of the school still lay charred and smoldering. The boys who had been taken from there had mostly found their way home, their parents unwilling to part with them even for a few measly coins.

“A school is more than a mere roof and walls,” Christina had promised her the following day as they’d sifted through the ashes for anything that could be saved. “So long as I have strength, I will continue to teach these children. If I have to walk the streets calling out their sums and waiting for their answers to be shouted from the open windows, then that’s what I shall do!”

Though Bridget admired her dearest friend’s fiery spirit, it was a sentiment she did not share. Though Lord Haskins had at least seemed to be apologetic—perhaps realizing what the punishment would be had two daughters of an earl been lost in flames that he had caused—Bridget did not trust his new sentiment a bit.

“I had no idea that you or anyone else was in there,” he had tried to persuade her to no avail. “As part of our contract, I purchased that property from your father. It needed to be razed in order for me to build there.”

“Oh, is that so?” Bridget had asked, seated between her father and Harriet as she stared down Lord Haskins in the family drawing room. “Then tell me, if you thought there to be no one inside, however did you manage to send the boys off to be apprenticed?”

Lord Haskins blanched, clearly in disbelief that a young lady would dare to question him.

“I thought them to be simple hooligans who were trespassing on my property,” he said, recovering quickly. “You can hardly blame me for not knowing that such a dismal, decrepit building as that old factory would actually have anyone inside, least of all children.”

“In the future, before you go setting your torch to any more properties, you might consider doing everyone a favor and knocking at the door first,” Bridget said icily.

Her anger was the only thing stronger than her grief, and it was the only emotion she could muster for Lord Haskins. Bridget noted with some satisfaction the look of pure loathing that Harriet wore the entire time the earl stood before them, having not been invited to sit.

“Certainly,” Lord Haskins replied with a brief bow, though when he looked up at Bridget again, she saw a flash of anger in his eyes as well.

Hmm, someone is clearly not accustomed to being chastised, she thought with some satisfaction. That knowledge may prove handy in the future.

For sadly, yes, there was to be a future for them. Not even such behaviors as arson and attempted murder could prevent this awful match, not when her family had so much at stake.

“You cannot possibly still be willing to marry him!” Harriet had cried out when Mr. Blake had announced Lord Haskins as a visitor.

“I must,” Bridget had replied, “though I am very fond of your outrage over these circumstances. Keep that fire about you for the rest of your life, Harriet, as well as your sense of right and wrong.”

Now, Bridget had devised a new plan, one that was sure to guarantee her freedom without bringing ruin to her family: to cause Lord Haskins to despise her in such a way that he could not possibly think to marry her.

Starting with the ball this evening that he still insisted they attend.

This event, hosted by the Duchess of Partridge, would be the ideal setting. It was sure to be filled with some of the most influential members of the ton, the sort of event that Haskins was positively drooling to show her off to. That was surely the reason that he couldn’t even have the decency to give her a day’s respite after the harrowing ordeal at the school. He was in far too great a hurry to show the ton that he had managed to win over the Duke of Lockhart’s fiancée.

“You are far kinder than I am,” Harriet stated disdainfully, “for I would never be so nice as to attend after what he did.”

“Nice has nothing to do with it. This is strategy,” Bridget said as she turned for Harriet to braid another strand of her hair. “And with any luck, your situation will improve when I am finished, too.”

“How will that even work?” Harriet asked, perplexed.

“I do not know, but I assure you, I will find a way. Now please, help me dress. I would be simply devastated if I kept Lord Haskins waiting,” Bridget replied sarcastically.

As part of his newfound attempt at civility following his dangerous activities, Lord Haskins agreed that Bridget would arrive at the ball without him, accompanied by Agatha and Camille. He would join her there in order to avoid talk of her reputation. That left Bridget free to arrive in ample time to speak with others before the earl came along to upset her evening.

“I intend to avoid all thoughts of Lord Haskins this evening, even if he is standing beside me,” Bridget told her friends when Agatha arrived to retrieve her in the carriage.

“Oh dear, I’ve seen that look on your face before,” Camille said, already fretting. “What are you scheming about?”

“Never fear, it’s nothing untoward. I just intend to make Lord Haskins very sorry that he sought to ruin my life by being the most unpleasant, miserable company he could have ever been cursed with. Only then will he learn that he is gaining a cranky, bitter wife and not the doting young lady he has possibly hoped for.”

* * *

Patrick felt himself sinking into his usual foul temper, made worse by the fact that he was once again standing idly at yet another opulent ball. He felt as though everyone was staring at him, though even he knew in truth that they were consumed with their own conversations.

“You’re in good cheer as usual, I see,” Edward said, coming near before speaking to a young lady whose back had been to Patrick.

Patrick did not answer. Edward was already consumed with their talk, an impossible feat considering Edward had only arrived at the ball a few minutes ago. His friend turned back to him and said, “May I have the pleasure of making an introduction?”

With a deep but silent sigh, Patrick turned around and attempted to look inviting and pleasant. The young lady in question was certainly nice enough to look at and did not seem to be very stupid, at least not from his first glance at her.

“Your Grace, this is Miss Violet Yardley, sister to the Viscount of Merville,” Edward said formally. “Miss Yardley, this is Patrick Arnold, Duke of Lockhart.”

“Your Grace,” the young lady said politely as she curtseyed.

Patrick bowed politely, then mumbled some sort of appropriate greeting. He caught Edward’s eye and gave him a warning glance as if to caution him against further introductions for the rest of the evening.

To his dismay, Patrick did not have to say anything else. Edward’s frozen gaze told him everything—that Lady Bridget must have just walked into the ballroom somewhere behind him.

“How bad is it?” Patrick whispered. “How does she look?”

“She looks perfectly marvelous, as always, but more importantly she looks to be alone,” Edward answered, his brow knitting as he watched the crowd. “Oh, my apologies. The cad was just blocked from my view.”

“I have to go. I can’t be here to witness their happiness again,” Patrick said mournfully. “Please make my apologies to whomever that lovely creature was just now, I did not set out to be so rude this evening.”

“I understand, as will she. But are you not concerned that turning and fleeing every time you see her will only give Haskins cause to gloat? The man could now chase you from a raft in the middle of a stormy sea. Is that what you want following you?”

Patrick was still. Of course, that’s not what he wanted, but it did not appear as though he had much choice. Edward pressed on with his cause.

“Besides, are you not the slightest bit curious about what made Lady Bridget prove to be so unfaithful? Do you not even wish to ask her?”

“I’m already resigned to the knowledge that I may never know,” Patrick said. “Though it would be some comfort to hear the words from her lips.”

“Go out to the terrace then, and I’ll take the chance to work a bit of magic,” Edward said, pushing Patrick slightly in the direction of the far door.

Though he was uncertain about the soundness of Edward’s antics, Patrick waited in the doorway and watched the room, never taking his eyes off of Bridget. He only saw flickers of movement from the corner of his eye when Edward worked his way through the crowded room. He stopped once to speak to a handful of young ladies, whispering something to one of them that made her laugh.

For her part, Bridget looked miserable, nearly on the verge of fainting. What was she doing here if she felt ill? But why would she be feeling poorly if she had intentionally come with Lord Haskins, of all the wretched fools?

In an instant, their eyes met. Bridget’s uneasy look turned to one of horror, and before Patrick could offer her a kind though quizzical smile, she shook her head slightly and wiped at her eye discreetly.

Something was terribly wrong. But what?

Just then, Edward reached Lord Haskins’ side. Patrick watched as his good friend greeted Haskins like a long-lost brother, grinning and gesturing and talking rapidly. This went on for nearly a minute before a group of ladies came around Bridget’s other side and spoke to her. Patrick watched as they pulled her away with them, then he suddenly understood Edward’s scheme.

“Excuse me, I must get through,” Patrick said to several guests standing around near him. “Forgive me, I must get some air.”

The guests moved aside and afforded him ample room to wind his way towards the terrace. He looked to his left before darting outside and saw that Bridget was being pushed out of the farthest set of doors herself, shielded from view by the ladies who’d come for her.

“Don’t speak, fool, not yet,” he whispered to himself. He looked down the length of the terrace and saw Bridget standing by herself, seemingly unaware of what was happening.

Patrick let out a low whistle, one that the other guests meandering about the terrace might mistake for an evening bird calling out from its nest. Bridget turned and saw him, then made as though she might run towards him. He held up one hand to stop her, his heart faltering at the wounded look on her face. Instead, he cocked his head slightly and turned to walk in the opposite direction, gesturing with a flick of his hand down at his side that she should follow.

Without daring to look back to ensure that she was coming after him, Patrick walked down the terrace steps to the darkness of the garden grounds below. He looked around for anywhere that he and Bridget might not risk being seen together, but he found nowhere secluded enough to protect them. At long last, Patrick spied a small shed where the gardener might keep his implements, then looked up to where Bridget still stood on the steps.

“Come this way,” he urged in a whisper, his voice so quiet he wondered if he’d spoken aloud at all.

Bridget nodded but cast one glance over her shoulder to where others were waiting. Still, she followed after him, clearly trusting that he would keep her safe.

“Bridget, you’re safe,” Patrick whispered when she approached, so overcome with relief at seeing her that he threw his arms around her and held her close. “I heard about the fire and was fearful for your safety.”

“Oh Patrick!” she replied, weeping with the release of long-held emotion. “You must truly hate me.”

“Hate you? I could never!” he replied urgently, stepping back to take in the sight of her. “Why would you think I hate you?”

“For proving to be so unfaithful,” Bridget explained, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips. “You can never know how sorry I am, Patrick.”

“But what has happened? Explain it to me so that I can finally understand,” he continued, grasping her hands in his insistently though his voice was gentle.

“My father… he’s forbidden me to tell anyone, even you,” Bridget said, looking ashamed. “But I find that I cannot live this lie anymore. Lord Haskins has bought up all of my father’s debts and now holds them over his head. He has insisted that I marry him, despite the fact that he so clearly despises me. If I do not marry him, he will send my father to the debtors’ prison… and then will marry my poor sister instead. I simply cannot have that!”

“Bridget, how horrible! But why would he do this?” Patrick demanded, his anger burning at the earl’s villainy.

“He has not made it clear, though I do know it has something to do with you. He cares not about me, but rather sought an opportunity to hurt you and found an avenue in me.”

“This is truly despicable, but you must promise me you will not be fearful,” Patrick said, staring deeply into Bridget’s eyes. “I will find a way to resolve this, even if I must pay your father’s debts myself.”

“You would do that? For me?” She looked up at him with a mixture of adoring confusion.

“Of course, I would, Bridget. I have already determined in my heart what my head was too foolish to know all this time… I love you,” he said, pressing his lips to the backs of her hands.

“I love you as well, Patrick. That is why I cannot marry you.”

“What? But I don’t understand,” he replied, a hitch of desperate suffocation in his voice.

“I have already been seen alone with Lord Haskins, without a chaperone anywhere in sight. By that single act of trickery, he has all but guaranteed that I am ruined. If I marry anyone other than he, then I will be banished from polite society and my husband will be a laughingstock,” Bridget explained, looking away as though ashamed.

“I care nothing about that,” Patrick insisted. “These past few weeks, I have witnessed firsthand how our ‘lofty society’ is made up of nothing but gossip-mongering and scandal. I will not cast you aside for something that you had no hand in, and I care not who receives us for it.”

“I also cannot allow you to take on my father’s problems,” she said in a sad, far-off voice. “Lord Haskins will only contrive some other way to hurt us, all of us, and your goodwill will have been in vain.”

“Bridget, no. Let me concern myself with that, you must only think of your own wellbeing,” Patrick insisted. “I am more than prepared to take on that scoundrel, though I have no knowledge of why he wishes me ill-will.”

“None at all? Nothing you can think of that would cause him to target my father in this way, all in order to upset you?” Bridget asked, looking equally confounded.

“No, I hardly know the man. I cannot think where—”

Patrick stopped. Now he remembered, all of the visions from that day flooding his mind at once.

“It cannot be,” Patrick whispered, looking away and pondering the memory.

“What is it?” Bridget pressed, growing concerned.

“Something so ludicrous that I’d almost forgotten it had ever happened,” Patrick conceded. He shook his head as though he could force the images from his mind. “But I will see to it that this matter is resolved. Please believe me.”

“I do believe you,” Bridget said sweetly, looking grateful and relieved, as though an unbearable burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

“We must return to the house, but Bridget, I need you to know that I will not let any harm come to you. I love you more than anything in the world,” Patrick said urgently, planting the thought in her mind so that it might take hold.

Bridget looked up at him with an expression of pure, innocent happiness, a look that told him she trusted him implicitly. He was moved by the knowledge that she believed him, longed for him, and was grieved by the thought of never becoming his wife.

“Bridget, I…” Patrick began, but he stopped, suddenly aware that mere words were insufficient. There was nothing to be said that could convey how his heart ached for her.

Hesitantly, he stepped closer, close enough to place his arms around Bridget’s shoulders and hold her. She fit in the space of his arms so perfectly, yet there was something utterly fragile about her. It was as though his strength alone would never be enough to protect her. He had to offer her something more.

Patrick leaned down, the darkness hiding his nervousness as his lips found Bridget’s for a brief, yet passionate kiss filled with hope and yearning. Rather than pull away from his advance in disgust, Bridget moved closer until she could wind her hands behind his neck, holding him to her.

Too soon, their kiss ended, interrupted by the sound of footsteps scuffing the terrace steps. Bridget turned to see who approached and Patrick instinctively turned to the side to shield her, but it was too late.

Lord Haskins had found them.