‘You think to defy me, girl? But not for long, I assure you, not for long.’ Lady Calderwood paused to rearrange the generous folds of her amber silk gown. ‘You will be married within the month. And I shall warn your husband about the need to curb your rebellious nature, be sure of that. He will see that you abide by your vows of obedience.’
Jamie remained motionless, but her brain was churning. Who was this man who had agreed to marry her, a plain girl with no dowry? And why? She shivered again, but then she forced herself to straighten her back and stiffen her wobbly knees. Clearly her stepmother was determined not to give her a name until she asked for it. So be it. There would be a battle of wills.
For long moments, the two women stared at each other—one young, shabbily dressed but proud, the other somewhat past her prime and indulged in every way. The older woman broke first. ‘Insolent chit!’ she hissed. ‘Go to your room. I shall deal with you later.’
Head held high, Jamie left the room and returned to her own freezing chamber, where she threw herself on to the bed and thumped her clenched fists into the pillow. ‘The old witch,’ she muttered. ‘May she rot in hell!’
Much as she tried, Jamie was not able to prevent a few tears from squeezing their way out on to her cheeks. She despised her own weakness. But the thought of marriage to some unknown man—chosen by her stepmother, so bound to be utterly hateful— was horrifying. She would be completely in his power, forced to submit to his will in everything— until the day she died.
Not for the first time, Jamie was left alone in her room for hours with neither food nor company. She had known it would be so. However frightened she might be of the fate which awaited her, she refused to yield to her stepmother’s petty tortures. Dumb insolence was her only weapon and she was quite prepared to use it, at whatever personal cost. In this case, she knew she would win eventually, for she would have to be given the name of the lucky bridegroom sooner or later, even if only on the day of her wedding.
She huddled herself into a ball on the bed, wrapping every scrap of blanket around her in an effort to stop herself from freezing. Eventually, in spite of cold and hunger, she fell into a troubled sleep.
It must have been the sound of the door which woke her. Biddy was standing in the centre of the room with a gown draped over her plump arm. She looked uncomfortable. ‘Her ladyship sent me to warn you that your betrothed is arriving later today. You are to be ready to receive him.’
Jamie sat up immediately, her eyes wide with shock. She was still freezing cold, in spite of the blankets, but at least she was not shivering. She refused to appear as a quivering wreck in front of her old nurse.
But she was not too proud to ask Biddy for the man’s name.
‘I’m sorry, miss, but I’m afraid I don’t know. Nobody does—except her ladyship, and your papa.’ Biddy moved towards the bed. ‘Her ladyship sent this gown for you to wear to dinner this evening.’ Biddy sounded more confident now, moving on to practical matters.
It was a plain white muslin gown such as might be worn by a debutante from a family of modest means. ‘White,’ breathed Jamie bitterly, ‘as becomes the virgin sacrifice. How very appropriate. With my colouring, I shall certainly look the part.’
Her irony was lost on old Biddy. ‘White is the proper colour for a young girl such as you, miss. I’ll admit you do look better in colours, being as you’re so pale-complexioned, but you have no choice tonight. You have no other decent gown to your name. It’ll have to be this white muslin.’
Jamie got up, pulling the blankets from the bed and wrapping them round her shoulders. ‘When is he due to arrive, Biddy?’
‘Nobody is sure. He may be delayed by the weather, o’ course. It’s difficult travelling at this time of year.’ Biddy seemed to be trying to avoid the subject of Jamie’s future.
Jamie was not really surprised. Old Biddy had served the family for over twenty years as, first, Jamie’s nurse, then as her half-brother’s, and now Jamie’s three half-sisters’. Biddy would not dare to risk her place with the Calderwood family by taking Jamie’s part against the formidable mistress of the house.
Jamie forced a smile. She still had her pride. ‘Thank you, Biddy. I shan’t need you this evening. Go back to your little ones. They’ll be fretting for you.’ Biddy hurried away to the nursery where it was warm and cosy.
As Jamie began to change into the thin muslin gown, she heard the sound of wheels crunching across the drive. He was here! The ice on the window blurred her view, but she could just make out a gentleman’s travelling carriage and four horses. Her betrothed travelled in style to acquire his reluctant bride, it seemed. He must be wealthy—which might explain how he could afford to marry a girl with no dowry. What else might it mean?
She felt an overpowering desire to see what this man was like. Would she recognise him? Would he be one of her father’s gambling cronies? Hastily throwing her shawl around her bare shoulders, she crept down the stairs to find a safe vantage point on the landing. Kneeling behind the balusters, she peered through to get a glimpse of her fate when he was admitted through the great doors of Calderwood Hall.
But the gentleman who stood in the entrance hall to be relieved of his travelling coat was like no man she had ever met. Although he was dressed in deep mourning, to Jamie’s untutored eye he was tall, dark and unbelievably handsome.
She drew in a sharp breath and held it, waiting for him to speak.
‘My name is Hardinge,’ he said, in a deep, well-modulated voice that sent a shiver all the way down to her toes. She was transfixed by the sound. It set her mind spinning so much that, for several moments, she could not make out a word that was being said.
She came to her senses as the gentleman stopped speaking. The butler was glancing surreptitiously at the card in his hand. ‘Certainly, my lord. If you would kindly step into the saloon.’
Jamie watched as the noble visitor was bowed into the crimson saloon. The door closed on him, but his image remained before her. How could it be that such a man—a man whose mere presence could make her skin tingle and her heart race—should arrive at Calderwood now? He could not be her betrothed.
Could he?
Chapter Two
‘My name is Hardinge.’ Richard, Earl Hardinge, proffered his card to the butler. ‘Be so good as to take my card up to your master and beg him for the favour of a few minutes of his time, with my apologies for having arrived unannounced. It is a matter of some importance.’
Richard was content to wait in the saloon while his message was delivered. He looked carefully at his surroundings. So much for the rumour that the family was deep in debt. This elegant room was fairly recently refurbished, as far as he could judge from the sumptuous hangings. A pity the family’s extravagance did not extend to more than a tiny fire—the room was absolutely freezing. He was not altogether surprised, for he had heard nothing but ill about this family of wastrels. He would be glad when his business was concluded—provided, of course, that he was successful. He could not afford to fail.
Richard stood with his back to the fireplace, trying to get some warmth into his limbs after the long journey. He hoped his servants were receiving better hospitality in the kitchen than he was, for they must by now be frozen to the marrow.
Barely five minutes after the door had closed behind the butler, Lady Calderwood entered the saloon and extended her hand politely to her visitor. ‘Lord Hardinge,’ she said, with a hint of enquiry in her voice, ‘you have come on a matter of some urgency?’
‘Lady Calderwood.’ Damn the woman! The last thing he wanted was to discuss his business with Calderwood’s wife. Surely the man was not too cowardly to meet him? Richard managed to conceal his annoyance as he bowed over her immaculate white hand. ‘How kind of you to receive me, ma’am. I hope Sir John is not indisposed? I shall not take up much of his time, I assure you.’
Lady Calderwood