Prologue
Fall, 1816, Hambledon, Hampshire
“Yes, I will accept your offer.”
The words slipped out so easily Miss Jean Seton feared Mr.
Tilbury would know how often she’d practiced them. Never with him as the
intended recipient, but for the moment that minor detail was unimportant.
Mr. Ben Tilbury paced the small space between the seating
area and the fireplace, a crease dividing his thick black brows. In his buff
breeches, gold waistcoat and brown tailcoat, he appeared ready to ride, not
discuss an arrangement such as this. “I suppose we must inform your mother of
our plans too.”
Rising from the faded settee, Jean smoothed the wrinkles
from her worn muslin day gown. “Yes, she would question the propriety of our
traveling together if we don’t.”
“Of course. We must ask her to accompany us. Forgive me, but
I hadn’t thought the entire scheme through. It wasn’t until I received
Gilbert’s letter that it occurred to me to ask you.”
She also forgave him the tactless mention of her not being
his first choice. There was no pretense of a grand romance between them. There
was barely an acquaintance. “When did you wish to leave for your grandfather’s
estate?”
“As soon as possible. The doctor said Grandfather doesn’t
have long. I came straightaway in hopes you’d agree.”
“As long as we are clear that I do not wish to marry you, I
can accept your terms.”
He held up his palms as if warding her off. “I have no
intention of marrying, or I wouldn’t suggest this scheme.”
“But surely you’ll marry one day, to beget an heir at
least.”
“I have many years before I shall require an heir. In the
meantime, there are always women willing to provide comfort without the need
for a commitment of long duration.”
Her eyes widened as she grasped his meaning fully. That he
would mention such a woman in her presence told her all she needed to know of
his character. He might be a friend of her brother, but he was no one she
needed to know better. She would accept his offer and play her part, and then
be glad to be free of him.
Jean’s mother bustled through the open doorway, reaching out
with both hands to welcome Mr. Tilbury. “It is so good of you to come. Are you
on your way from London?”
“No. I came from Greater Yarmouth. My grandfather is dying.”
Mrs. Seton lifted a hand to her lips as her smile retreated.
“I am sorry to hear this. Whatever called you from his side?” She motioned for
him to sit as she took the space next to her daughter.
Jean perched on the edge of the settee once more, but Mr.
Tilbury remained standing. She drew in a deep breath. “Mr. Tilbury has made me
an offer, Mama.”
Her mother’s smile lit her deep-brown eyes.
Jumping in quickly, Jean waved a hand. “Oh, not the sort of
offer you are imagining. It’s more a business proposition. If I will pose as
Mr. Tilbury’s fiancée for a short time, he will provide me with a Season in
London.”
The familiar melancholic veil slipped back over Mama’s
features, aging her instantly. “Oh, I see. But how can you expect to find a
husband in London once word gets ’round of your betrothal? No one will want you
if you cry off, and will want you even less if Mr. Tilbury does the leaving. As
difficult as it is for a lady your age to find a husband, you make it
impossible with this arrangement.”
The room grew quite warm and Jean fought the urge to fan
herself. She avoided looking at Mr. Tilbury, not wishing to see his pity, or whatever
emotion he might feel toward a plain, dowerless woman such as she. “I am only
two-and-twenty, not a spinster yet. And no one will know of our betrothal. If
you will accompany me to Sir Waldo’s home, Mr. Tilbury can present me to his
grandfather and we can slip away before anyone’s suspicions have been raised.”
He cleared his throat and tugged at his heavily starched
cravat. “Your presence might be required a bit beyond the introductions.
Grandfather wishes to
Fall, 1816, Hambledon, Hampshire
“Yes, I will accept your offer.”
The words slipped out so easily Miss Jean Seton feared Mr.
Tilbury would know how often she’d practiced them. Never with him as the
intended recipient, but for the moment that minor detail was unimportant.
Mr. Ben Tilbury paced the small space between the seating
area and the fireplace, a crease dividing his thick black brows. In his buff
breeches, gold waistcoat and brown tailcoat, he appeared ready to ride, not
discuss an arrangement such as this. “I suppose we must inform your mother of
our plans too.”
Rising from the faded settee, Jean smoothed the wrinkles
from her worn muslin day gown. “Yes, she would question the propriety of our
traveling together if we don’t.”
“Of course. We must ask her to accompany us. Forgive me, but
I hadn’t thought the entire scheme through. It wasn’t until I received
Gilbert’s letter that it occurred to me to ask you.”
She also forgave him the tactless mention of her not being
his first choice. There was no pretense of a grand romance between them. There
was barely an acquaintance. “When did you wish to leave for your grandfather’s
estate?”
“As soon as possible. The doctor said Grandfather doesn’t
have long. I came straightaway in hopes you’d agree.”
“As long as we are clear that I do not wish to marry you, I
can accept your terms.”
He held up his palms as if warding her off. “I have no
intention of marrying, or I wouldn’t suggest this scheme.”
“But surely you’ll marry one day, to beget an heir at
least.”
“I have many years before I shall require an heir. In the
meantime, there are always women willing to provide comfort without the need
for a commitment of long duration.”
Her eyes widened as she grasped his meaning fully. That he
would mention such a woman in her presence told her all she needed to know of
his character. He might be a friend of her brother, but he was no one she
needed to know better. She would accept his offer and play her part, and then
be glad to be free of him.
Jean’s mother bustled through the open doorway, reaching out
with both hands to welcome Mr. Tilbury. “It is so good of you to come. Are you
on your way from London?”
“No. I came from Greater Yarmouth. My grandfather is dying.”
Mrs. Seton lifted a hand to her lips as her smile retreated.
“I am sorry to hear this. Whatever called you from his side?” She motioned for
him to sit as she took the space next to her daughter.
Jean perched on the edge of the settee once more, but Mr.
Tilbury remained standing. She drew in a deep breath. “Mr. Tilbury has made me
an offer, Mama.”
Her mother’s smile lit her deep-brown eyes.
Jumping in quickly, Jean waved a hand. “Oh, not the sort of
offer you are imagining. It’s more a business proposition. If I will pose as
Mr. Tilbury’s fiancée for a short time, he will provide me with a Season in
London.”
The familiar melancholic veil slipped back over Mama’s
features, aging her instantly. “Oh, I see. But how can you expect to find a
husband in London once word gets ’round of your betrothal? No one will want you
if you cry off, and will want you even less if Mr. Tilbury does the leaving. As
difficult as it is for a lady your age to find a husband, you make it
impossible with this arrangement.”
The room grew quite warm and Jean fought the urge to fan
herself. She avoided looking at Mr. Tilbury, not wishing to see his pity, or whatever
emotion he might feel toward a plain, dowerless woman such as she. “I am only
two-and-twenty, not a spinster yet. And no one will know of our betrothal. If
you will accompany me to Sir Waldo’s home, Mr. Tilbury can present me to his
grandfather and we can slip away before anyone’s suspicions have been raised.”
He cleared his throat and tugged at his heavily starched
cravat. “Your presence might be required a bit beyond the introductions.
Grandfather wishes to
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