His Contract Bride (3 page)

Father pressed his lips together and crossed his arms as if he were in deep contemplation. She hated it when he did that. Likely, that unreadable stance was what made him a good banker. But she hated it when he did it to her. Especially right now when she wanted a real answer, not be made to play games.

“
Well?” she asked breathlessly. Her future hung on the answer her father had given the man, and it had better have been no.

“
Why would you want me to say no?” Father asked, his facial expression hadn't changed a bit.

Regina didn't bother to be embarrassed that she'd accidentally slipped and spoken her thoughts aloud, a habit she tended to have when vexed. “Because—because— I don't even know who it is,” she exclaimed.

“
Hmm. I can see where that might be a concern.” He raised his right hand up to his face and tapped one long, bony finger against his chin. “What if I were to tell you that I think you'll be satisfied with the match?”

She stared at him, perplexed. How on earth could he possibly know whether she'd be satisfied with the match or not? The two of them had never once spoken of her suitors, or lack thereof.

He continued to tap his finger alongside the rigid scar that marred his left cheek. “It's because I know you so well, my dear, that I accepted Lord Watson's suit on your behalf.”

Regina's mind raced. Lord Watson? Who was Lord Watson and when had they met? She racked her brain and images of stodgy, fat, bald, old lords with awful breath and cold, leering eyes flew in and out of her mind faster than a turtle could swim.

Lord Weston. Lord Rawlings. Lord Townson. Lord Halsey. Lord Danby—or Lord Dandy as she'd come to think of him due to his impeccable appearance. Lord Swatherson. Lord Drakely. Lord Ravenscar.

But no Lord Watson.

At least not that she remembered seeing. Not that that meant much. For all she knew, she'd either met him already at one of the finer balls she'd attended and just couldn't remember him, or she hadn't met him at all.

Frowning, she reached for her father's copy of
Debrett's
on the side table. Ignoring her father's curious gaze and her aunt's annoying tittering, she flipped through the pages. “Watson. Watson. Watson,” she murmured, flipping the page.

Ah, here he was.

Her heart pounded while her eyes skimmed the entry.

His given name was George.

His title was baron.

He was born in 1715.

The book nearly slipped right out of Regina's suddenly loose grasp. If he were born in 1715, that would make him—she'd never been terribly good with sums... She bit her lip.
Two minus five... No borrow from the eight to make it a seven...
Her teeth dug harder into her lip. “Sixty-seven.”

“
Dead, I'm afraid,” Father said; his voice solemn. “You're looking at an outdated version.”

This time, Regina did drop the book—right on her father's toe.

Paying no mind to her clumsiness, Father kicked the book away from his feet with the edge of his boot. “His son is who you'll be marrying.”

“
Well, that's a relief.”

“
Show some respect, Regina” Aunt Florence admonished.

“
Forgive me,” she murmured, her face heating with embarrassment.

“
Because I'm in a good mood, I'll let it pass,” Father warned. “As I stated already, it is his son you'll be marrying in a fortnight.”

Regina bit her lip and waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she said, “Does his son have a name,” she paused, “other than Lord Watson?

Father chuckled. “Indeed he does. In fact, he has one you just might recognize.”

She doubted that. “Oh?”

The laugh lines on the outside of his lips deepened and his eyes narrowed. “His given name is Edward. Edward Banks.”

For the second time in the span of no more than ten minutes, Regina's lungs were robbed of air. Edward?
Her
Edward? The Edward who'd accompanied Lord Sinclair to Sloan's School for Young Ladies last April and talked to her about turtles? Her heart hammered wildly in her chest. “Why?” she squeaked.

“
I'm assuming you're wondering why he came to request your hand in marriage.”

Too excited to speak, she nodded.
He'd actually requested her hand!

Father resumed his impassive face. “I don't know. Apparently, he took a fancy to you last year.”

“
Did he tell you that?” she asked. Only excitement could possibly make her brave enough to ask such a silly question.

“
Of course not. He might be besotted, but he does have his pride, Regina.” The mock indignation in her father's tone made her excitement grow all the more. “For the sake of protecting the man's pride, I shall only tell you what you need to know. He came by today to request your hand in marriage. Of course, I gave him my permission. Surely, if you'd made such an impression on him in one afternoon that he'd come to request your hand only a week after the ending of his mourning period, he must surely be taken with you.”

Regina nodded mutely, taking in everything her father had just said. The reason she hadn't seen him at all last Season was because he'd been in mourning. That also explained why he'd been dressed in solid black and didn't wish to participate in the games when he'd come to Sloan's.

“
You'll still need to honor the two invitations you've accepted for next week,” Aunt Florence said, reminding Regina of her presence.

“
Of course,” she murmured. She'd attend them or not attend them. She didn't care. All that mattered was that in two weeks she
would
be rescued from enduring another Season by Edward Banks.

“
And,” her father added. “Once you're married, you'll be expected to host such events, too. A breakfast would be a fine event to start with, wouldn't you agree?”

“
Of course,” she murmured again, barely paying him any mind. She was far too excited by the recent turn of events. The best part was that unlike all the other debutantes who'd made their come out with her, she—Regina Harris, the daughter of a cit in trade—was to have the most coveted thing of all: a love match.

~Chapter Two~

Two days later

Watson Estate

Edward Banks, Baron Watson, shifted in his seat to avoid the gaze of his fourteen-year-old brother, John. Which was ridiculous considering they were in
his
study, not John’s.

“
You didn't even bother to go see her while you were in London?” John repeated.

“
No. Her father said she wasn't home.”

John shook his head. “Edward, I swear you are hopeless.”

Frowning, Edward spun the empty snifter on his desk. “I did fund a Season for her,” he pointed out before he could stop himself.

“
Yes, you did,” John conceded. “Though why you did that, I'll never understand. It's not as if you were there to dance with her or call upon her.”

Edward swallowed the lump of raw emotion that had settled in his throat. “I wanted her to have something to do while I was in mourning.”

John nodded and wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.

Of the two, Father's death had been harder on Edward than John. Perhaps it was because he'd been older and had spent more time with their father before he'd lost interest in anything but drinking. Or perhaps it was because Edward had grown up knowing that one day his father's title and all the responsibility that went along with it would one day be his. Either way, despite the two not being on the best of terms at his death, Edward still had moments where he fought to breathe under the crushing weight of responsibility on him now and wished his father had given him more advice on matters of importance.

“
I suppose I see the sense in that,” John said a moment later. “But I still don't understand why you didn't at least try to meet her while in London. At least that way, if she's as attractive as Aunt Mildred, you'll know to double the amount of spirits you order for the wedding party.”

Edward pursed his lips at his brother's remark. Thank the good Lord that John’s latest suspension term from Eton was almost to a close and John would be returning to school again soon. Otherwise, Edward might throttle the insolence right out of the boy himself since obviously John had more than any birching by Mr. Sweeny could knock loose.

“
I did meet her once. Last April I went to the girls' school she attended, and I can tell you, there will be no need to overindulge at the wedding.”

John's eyes widened. “You always did have an incredible amount of luck,” he said, shaking his head and falling into what Edward knew to be one of the two most uncomfortable chairs to ever be manufactured. “What of her personality? Is she a dragon in disguise, or is she as agreeable as her looks?”

“
More so.” An image of Regina Harris wearing a blue muslin day dress and a white bonnet, grinning in his direction, flashed into his mind. Like John, he hadn't expected her to be so attractive and was pleasantly surprised when he first saw her. No, there would be no need to overindulge.

John's boyish laughter filled the room. “She must be attractive, indeed. I do believe that is the first time I've ever seen you grin so boldly about something that didn't have to do with acceleration or procreation.” He paused, then frowned. “You're not marrying this woman just for the purpose of procreating, are you?”

Edward stopped spinning his glass and snatched up the stack of notes he’d been studying before
Trouble―also known as John―had come in to bother him.

“
No.” He mindlessly flipped through the pages. The undeniable truth was the day he'd made the journey to London to speak to her about when their wedding would take place, the pressing fact that he needed to secure an heir had been a large part of his motivation to go see her that day. He might have only been nineteen, but it was up to him to secure an heir or, heaven have mercy, John would inherit. But once he got there and saw her... Well, his heir was still important, but how he'd acquire said heir didn't seem to be the daunting task he'd once thought it might be.

“
Then why are you marrying her?” John challenged.

Edward studied his brother. From his light blond hair to his pale blue eyes, and even the slightly crooked smile on his face, they looked nearly identical. Their interests, however, were not. Edward enjoyed logic and science. He liked to take things apart, discover how they worked then put them back together, or to spend time growing plants and flowers to see if he could get them to change properties with the next generation. John could care less about such interests, because as he claimed, they made for boring conversation.

He was right, of course. To most, Edward was a bit of a bore. Even so, John had tolerated him fairly well, and though he didn't share in his boring interests, he never condemned Edward for having such interests.

Odd. His betrothed, Regina Harris, seemed similar to John in that regard. Clearly she had no real knowledge of science or she wouldn't have mistakenly categorized a reptile such as a turtle as an amphibian. But she'd made an effort to stir his interest nonetheless, and perhaps it was because of that that he knew they'd suit just fine.

John cleared his throat, bringing Edward from his fog.

“
Right,” Edward clipped, brushing a swath of imaginary dust from his desk. “I think we'll suit.”

“
You do, do you?” John asked; his brows lifting slightly. “And does she agree?”

Edward dropped his gaze and shook his head. Why was he even having this conversation with a boy whose voice still cracked mid-sentence—and not from emotion? His courtship with Regina was none of John's concern. The fact was the two had been betrothed longer than he could remember. Why did it matter if he spoke to her about their impending marriage? He'd tried the day he'd gone to her school in London. He wanted to explain about his father's recent death and tell her that as soon as he was out of morning, he'd marry her.

“
You didn't speak to her that day, did you?”

Edward started and then scowled at his brother. “Of course I did.” Just not about their marriage. He waved his hand through the air. “It's inconsequential, anyway. The ink on our marriage contract dried before I even knew what an amoeba was.”

“
You didn't say
that
to her, did you?”

“
Of course not,” Edward said with a chuckle. “I might have never courted a young lady before, but even I know not to say that to her.” Truthfully, when he'd first learned of his prearranged betrothal agreement to Regina, he'd been relieved that he'd never have to court and woo a young lady into giving him her affections—or at least her hand in marriage. This way, all he had to do was arrive at the church and repeat his vows. It was all very simple. As for his brother John... He shuddered at the thought of what he'd have to do to secure a wife.