The Brambleberry Bride, page 1
The Brambleberry Bride
HAYLEY ANN SOLOMON
KENSINGTON e-CLASSICS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
Copyright Page
ONE
“Miss Anastasia Richmond is receiving morning callers in the cherry salon, Captain. May I take your hat?”
Captain Bertram Ralston was looking particularly dapper in a cheerful riding coat of bright periwinkle blue. His hat—a quixotic creation that just passed for a curly beaver—was of an equally jaunty style. This he handed over with an air of gloom that was sadly at odds with his character.
“Is she?”
“Indeed. Lady Richmond is attendant upon her. They have been expecting you all morning, if I may say so, sir.”
Captain Bertram avoided, with difficulty, pulling a rude and thoroughly disgruntled face. Instead, his hands slid into his pockets and his shoulders drooped ever so slightly as he nodded his thanks.
“Shall I escort you up, sir?”
“Gracious heavens . . . Porter, is it? I think I can remember my way about! It has not been so very long, after all!”
“Five years, sir. And may I be the first to welcome you back?” The butler’s face creased, momentarily, into an infinitesimal smile.
“Thank you.” Bertram longed to ask whether Mistress Anastasia had changed much. She’d been such a timid little thing when they had played together all that time ago. A small snip of a girl with mousy hair and a slight lisp. Now he had been informed, on returning from the Peninsula, that his brother considered her an entirely eligible match.
That was the Viscount Waverley all over! Thoroughly autocratic and entirely too overbearing by far. Still, he had the annoying knack of being almost always perfectly right as well as holding the much-coveted distinction of being absolutely top-of-the-trees. A member of the Four Horse Club, he drove to an inch, was an arbiter of all matters of fashion, and, unfortunately, was dearly beloved of his younger brother.
That was why Bertram was standing here now, rather foolishly toying with his cravat and fighting the craven desire to take heel and return immediately to London. As far as he was concerned, matrimony was one of those unpleasant states one contemplated only far into the distant future. It was not the sort of thing that should hover menacingly over one’s head like the sword of Damocles. He had not known a moment’s peace since his brother had announced this latest whim. And for what? For an heir to Waverley! That was absurd, since his brother was in prime twig and perfectly capable of getting shackled himself.
A shadow crossed the Honourable Bertram’s face. Andrew, Viscount Waverley, had been crossed once in love. It was too much to hope he would allow the same to occur twice. No, if the line was to continue, it would, unfortunately, have to be through him. That much had been made transparently clear. Bertram sighed. Sometimes he wished he had been born plain Tom Thumb rather than second in line to a venerable peerage. Still, duty called, and the route to the cherry salon was through the gallery, if he remembered aright. With a quickening of his step and a straightening of those expressive shoulders, he waved airily to the butler and started up the great marble stairs.
He did not hesitate on the landing but passed through a gallery of rather garish portraits, hastily introduced by Lady Richmond in an effort to be “civilised.” All the fittings were of bright gold and glared out at Bertram as he took step after step on piled carpet in the Egyptian mode. As usual, no expense had been spared in these renovations. Lady Richmond—previously the daughter of a rich city merchant—could well afford them. Unfortunately, her taste, though expensive, could not always be described as pleasing. Bertram thought this an understatement as he finally rounded the corner and found the cherry-salon door. It was open, so he gulped a little, breathed deeply, fiddled with gleaming brass buttons, and reminded himself firmly that he had made Andrew no promises beyond agreeing to “look the chit over.”
He stepped forward, then gasped for another breath of air. Not, this time, for fortification of the spirits, but in outright surprise. True, there was a lady occupying the room, but she was not seated demurely by a tea tray as he had expected. Neither was she blessed with mousy hair, and as for a small snip of a thing, well! Miss Anastasia Richmond had truly grown, and in the nicest of places. Bertram could tell, for she was dancing with abandon across the length of the room. There was no orchestra, of course, so she was improvising with a merry whistle and the odd interpolation of a hum. Bertram could not tell by the hum whether she still lisped, but he did not care. In that moment he knew that Andrew, as usual, had been strangely, extraordinarily, and unequivocally correct. He must marry Miss Anastasia and marry her at once. Just as soon she set down the ridiculous broomstick she was waltzing with. Where had she acquired such an object? Surely she hadn’t thieved from the scullery maid? But there! If she could dance with a mop, she could do anything.
He was just clearing his throat to make his presence known when she compounded her undoubtedly error-filled ways by executing a cartwheel. The captain regarded her with no small interest, for the exertion tipped her clean upside down and afforded him a hitherto undreamed-of view of mountains of petticoats and the shapeliest pair of legs he had ever had the bountiful good fortune of observing. These, it might be added, were encased in pantalets. Common in France, but still shockingly fast in England, of course.
“Oh!” The young lady had tipped herself the right way up and noticed, for the first time, that she was not alone.
Bertram watched with amusement for the crimson that must inevitably suffuse her face as she realised her horrible predicament. He waited in vain, for, far from blushing, the lady emitted a gurgle of laughter and patted down her petticoats with all the aplomb of the perfectly at ease.
“I knew the pantalets would come in handy! It would have been a shocking thing, would it not, had I heeded Lady Richmond’s advice and cast them into the fire?”
Bertram nodded solemn agreement, though his errant mind could not help conjuring up the image she provoked.
“Shocking,” he said. “More shocking, in fact, than mentioning your unmentionables to an unknown gentleman.”
“For which I will no doubt be sent to bed without dessert for a week if you were so disobliging as to mention it.”
Bertram feigned indignation. “I am not, I hope, such a mawworm.”
“Good! I suspected as much the moment I saw you. But you are not, you know, unknown. I have the advantage of you, sir. You must be the Honourable Captain Bertram Ralston, late of the Sixth Hussars.”
“And I fancied I had changed much in five years.”
“Your smile gives you away, though you do look very grand!”
Bertram was diverted. “I do, don’t I? Had the coat fashioned by Weston, and the boots, of course, are by Lobb.”
“You are the very pink, my dear sir! ” The lady bestowed such a dazzling smile upon him that Bertram, if he’d been entertaining the slightest smidgen of doubt, found that it melted away upon the instant. He was charged with marrying this girl, and marry her he would! For an instant, he wondered whether he ought to formally speak to her parents. In his annoyance, he had forgotten to inquire of such details.
He looked into her bright, merry eyes and decided that such niceties could wait. She was, after all, primed for a proposal. Consequently, he dropped to one knee, quite oblivious of the dust on the appalling strawberry red pile.
“If you agree to wed me, you shall have lashings of plum pudding and I swear I shall insist on the wearing of pantalets at all times.”
The lady’s mouth twitched. “At all times, sir?”
Bertram grinned. “There might be exceptions!”
“Sir, that is the most splendid proposal. Not at all stuffy, like one expects. If ever I merited one, I should hope it is framed in just such a way.”
Bertram blinked. “What the devil do you mean? This is not a dress rehearsal, my dear. I am perfectly sincere.”
The lady cast him a wistful glance, strangely out of keeping with the conversation so far.
“I expect I should have told you sooner. I believe you mistake the matter, Captain. It is not I, but Anastasia you have come to offer for.”
Bertram looked as though he had been struck.
“And you are not Anastasia?”
“No, I am merely her paid companion. Miss Richmond awaits you in the cherry salon. In high fidgets, I can assure you! Her mama, I am sorry to say, is in fine fettle.”
Bertram cast his eyes heavenward.
“Exactly so! It is all perfectly ghastly. If I did not utterly adore Anastasia, I would commend you to run a mile.”
Captain Ralston made a disgraceful face. Lady Richmond’s vulgarity was one of the prime reasons he had damned Andrew to perdition for thinking of such a match. He stubbornly persisted. “But this is the cherry salon.”
The lady’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “No, sir! This room is pink, a very different thing, I assure you. Lady Richmond has been at great pains to impress the difference upon us. She will be mortified that you don’t immediately make the distinction.”
“A pox on Lady Richmond! And my offer stands.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, sir! You have not the slightest notion of my name, never mind my eligibility!”
“You are not married, are you?”
“No, but I am confoundedly poor.”
“Well, I am confoundedly rich. Tell me your name.”
“It is Vivienne. Miss Vivienne Townsend.”
“Well, Miss Vivienne Townsend, I ask you again—will you marry me?”
“I cannot, not on so short an acquaintance!”
“Yet I collect Miss Richmond told you of my smile?”
“ ‘Roguish,’ if I recall her words correctly.”
Bertram grinned. “May I at least pay you court?”
“I think not, Captain. Lady Richmond would undoubtedly turn me off without a character. Here, let me help you to your feet. I would hate those excellent-fitting doeskins to become creased at the knees.” She extended her hand, and Bertram took it as naturally as if he had been doing so for years. When he sought to retain it, however, she frowned at him severely. “Let go, Captain! I may be an intolerable hoyden, but I will do nothing to hurt Anastasia. Despite the disparity of our natures, I think the world of her.”
“Would she countenance my suit?”
’She is certainly prepared for it. But you will have to ask her that question yourself.”
“I dare not, lest she say yes!”
“Dare, lest she say no!”
“You give me hope.”
“I give you nothing, Captain. If you are to wed, I shall wish you joy from the bottom of my heart and endeavour to be pretty behaved at the nuptials.”
“A first for you, I will warrant! ”
Miss Townsend peeked at him cheekily. “Very likely, though I do try. It is just that I somehow always contrive to land up in a fix.”
“Like?”
“Like the time I wished to save Lord Richmond the expense of a hack. I drove his Tilbury into town and somehow landed up on the wrong side of the park. The next thing, I was dashing up St. James’s Square, clear in front of Boodles.”
Even the suave Bertram had to gasp at this example of social folly. “I am surprised you are still received!”
“Fortunately, I was wearing an enormous chip straw hat with three ostrich feathers and a very fetching veil. Lady Richmond lives in daily dread the world shall discover it was me! Though why they should care, I cannot conceive. The odds are about that it was Princess Caroline, so I believe I am safe for the moment. I got a thundering scold, I can assure you! Which is why I am kicking my heels in the pink room whilst you, my dear sir, ought to be proposing to Anastasia.”
“I don’t want to propose to Anastasia!”
“You will, when you meet her. She is truly the dearest, cleverest, most capable young lady of my acquaintance.”
“Does she tumble into scrapes?”
“Almost never.”
“Does she dance with broomsticks?”
“Definitely never.”
“Does she hum like a spinning top and whistle through her teeth?”
“No, but she sings like a nightingale, and her brush strokes are exquisite.”
“Then we shall never get along. I deplore birdsong and despise samplers.”
Miss Townsend’s lips quirked delightfully, but her tones were severe. “You are simply being contrary. Go, before we are discovered together. I should undoubtedly be dismissed for keeping you so long from your purpose.”
“And you are unchaperoned!”
“That’s to no purpose! I am only, after all, a paid companion.”
“Ah, but a very beautiful one.”
Vivienne giggled. “If that doesn’t beat all the odds! You must be blind, Captain, not to note my lamentable freckles.”
“I have committed each one to memory. And they are not so much lamentable as . . . as . . . kissable!”
It was on this triumphant note that the door was flung wide upon its hinges and Lady Richmond made her entrance.
“Well!” She glared at Miss Townsend.
The captain bestowed his most raffishly charming smile upon her plump person.
“Lady Richmond, how very kind of you to rescue me from my folly. I am afraid five years has addled my wits and rendered me quite incapable of finding the cherry salon. I am not altogether sorry, though, for my error has led me to discover this simply exquisite pink salon. Your taste in such matters is quite famous about town.” This last was true, although “infamous” would probably have been a more accurate choice of words. Still, he offered her his hand and one of the blandest smiles Vivienne had ever had the pleasure of witnessing. “Miss Townsend has been urging me this age to cross the hall to the cherry salon, but I find it difficult to tear myself away. The beauty in here is exquisite.” The said Miss Townsend very nearly disgraced herself by snorting into her handkerchief at this double entendre, but fortunately averted such a crime by looking piercingly out the window.
Lady Richmond was like clay in his hand. She lost a good deal of her bluster and simpered quite coyly, a sickly noise that made Bertram blanch, all the more determined not to have her for a mother-in-law.
“You have such refined tastes, Captain. No doubt your time abroad has furnished you with a little town polish. So civilised.” Then, as an afterthought, “I take it you have made the acquaintance of Miss Townsend? She is the paid companion, you must know.”
“Is she really? ” Bertram extracted the monocle he had sworn he would never find a use for from his waistcoat pocket. He eyed Vivienne quizzingly for a moment, then languidly extended his hand in the grand style.
“How do you do, Miss Townsend? Awfully glad to make your acquaintance.”
“Captain.” She curtsied, but the laughter lines that crinkled her eyes were evident. Lady Richmond eyed her suspiciously before commending her dryly to the resumption of her duties, for Anastasia had been “waiting this age for her company.” Bertram was surprised by how tightly his fists clenched at this cavalier treatment. Miss Townsend, however, offered him a deplorable wink which quite restored his spirits. Fortunately, Lady Richmond was too occupied in dragging him through the sumptuous gallery to notice any untoward goings-on, the likes of which she must surely have disapproved.
“My daughter is in a fever of anticipation to renew her acquaintance with you, Captain. She prattles on forever about how you carried her home when she grazed her knee falling off her pony. But I doubt you would remember such little attentions, so gallant as you are!”
“Oh, but I do! Unfortunately, that particular kindness cannot be attributed to me. It was my brother, if I recall, who carried her home. I, if I remember, was sent home in disgrace for letting go of the training reins.”
“Tush! It was you, for the viscount was already buying his colours.” Lady Richmond wagged her finger playfully in his face. “You cannot gammon me, Captain!”
Bertram left it be. He had no wish to become embroiled in a pointless tousle about who did what so many years ago. And since when did Anastasia prattle? She must have changed vastly if she did now, for she had always been such a shy, retiring thing. He wondered, fleetingly, whether she had changed much. And then the moment was upon him.
A footman guarding the door of the cherry salon bowed and swung the door upon its hinges.
Miss Anastasia Richmond took a step forward hesitantly. Her smile was like a moonbeam, shy but bright nonetheless.
“Bertram! Captain Ralston I should say.”
“I hope you need never be so formal with me, Anastasia, or shall I say Miss Richmond?”
“Oh, no call for such niceties! After all, you are here to declare yourself, are you not?” Lady Richmond bustled into the room and practically pushed poor Bertram into a chair. Anastasia coloured in embarrassment, and Vivienne shot him a triumphant I-told-you-so look.
“Well, madam, not exactly! Miss Richmond has first to discover whether I have any admirable qualities, and that, I can assure you, will not be an easy task.”
He smiled as he stood up, took her hand, and placed it to his lips. She deserved that consideration, at least.
“Mama—”
“Oh, don’t be so missish, Anastasia! We all know that Bertram has not come upon us merely to sample my tea, though it is an excellent flavour if I say so myself. No”— Lady Richmond settled her ample body comfortably into a crimson wing chair—“The Viscount Waverley and I have settled things nicely between us. Is that not so, Bertram, dear?”
