The Bargain Bride by Bárbara Metzger Page A

room.
    She did not appear as tired as he felt, with her hair held back with a yellow ribbon that matched the color of her gown. The day was overcast and damp, but Penny looked like sunshine. She had the usual pucker between her eyes, however, which deepened when she saw him, also as usual. Whatever ground he’d gained last night, West knew, had been lost with her remembering that he was a profligate London beau, sleeping half the day. The prickly female was determined to remember that, but not the dog, the late-night meal, or her own appeal, which had kept him awake. He wondered how long she was going to blame him for everything from the bad weather outdoors to the price of corn. Forever, he thought with a sigh, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
    â€œI do not suppose you dreamed of me last night,” he said, hoping for a smile, something to brighten the gloomy day besides the color of her gown.
    â€œWhy should I dream of you, with no wedding cake under my pillow? Besides, that is for unmarried girls. I already know who my husband is.”
    He thought she might have muttered, “Unfortunately.”
    â€œAh, but there is no rule saying a woman cannot dream of her wedded spouse, is there?”
    She ignored his flirtatious tone. “Did you dream of me?”
    If waking up in a state of half arousal counted, yes. “In fact, I did. And wished you were beside me instead of George.”
    If he could not get a smile, he could get a blush. He laughed at how his bride was so mature and efficient, and yet so like a schoolgirl. He liked the combination much better than he would have enjoyed a silly young wife with more hair than wit who was wise only in the ways of the world. Penny must hate her telltale coloring, he thought as she hid her face behind her pages of notes. She would lose that touch of innocence soon, he knew, when she faced flattery and flirtation as a steady diet in London. Now, that idea did not please him, anyone else bringing an embarrassed flush to his Penny’s cheeks. Or flirting with his wife. Lud, married a day, by law if not biblically, and he was jealous already. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee without thinking and burned his tongue.
    Penny ignored his cry of pain, and his later attempts at polite conversation. Yes, the day was gloomy; no, she did not think she would be ready to set out before the end of the week.
    He had left London, his appointments, his investments, his duties at Parliament, within a day of her father’s visit to his town house. He could not see why she needed so much time.
    â€œYes, but you had no one but yourself to think of,” she said, a world of meaning in her words.
    â€œTrue, but you have servants to obey any orders you might give. You can have them pack up your clothes, or whatever it is you think you need, and ship them to London. That should not amount to much, since you can purchase everything else there new, your wardrobe, household items, even your grandfather’s paints.”
    She blew out a breath of air. “That shows how much you know about artists. Grandpapa has his paints specially compounded for him by a chemist in York. He would never leave without them, or his brushes and canvases and props and costumes. Besides, you forget I am a banker’s daughter. Why buy new when we already have what we need?”
    Once again, what she did not say was evident in her voice, that West was a spendthrift wastrel just like his father, ready to toss his money around on foolish ventures.
    â€œI stand corrected, but you will find that London fashions have changed.”
    â€œI am not speaking of gowns and slippers. I know my country-made gowns are not suitable for a viscount’s wife.”
    â€œBut they are lovely,” he told her, trying to sweeten her mood. He might as well have poured more sugar in her tea.
    â€œAside from the monetary aspect, I do have a sentimental attachment to a few belongings of my mother’s, a