His Contract Bride (4 page)

“
Edward, did you say anything to her?”

The seriousness in his brother's voice gave Edward pause. “Yes.”

John gave a stiff nod. “Was it about one of your plethora of experiments?” he asked, waving a hand at the large stack of notes Edward held.

Edward frowned at him. “For pity's sake, John. I know you may not think it, but I am capable of discussing other things.”

John looked doubtful.

“
We spoke of—” he mindlessly waved his hand through the air—
what else had they talked about?
“It doesn't matter. We're to be married within the fortnight and her father assured me she'd be there ready and willing. I need no further convincing than that and the betrothal agreement in the top drawer of this very desk to convince me all will be well.”

Chuckling, John's only response was, “If you say so.”

~Chapter Three~

“
You're not about to disgorge again, are you?”

Regina exhaled and pressed a damp rag against her forehead. “No.” At least she hoped not. She hadn't been able to eat for the past three days and would eat the stockings she'd worn yesterday if there was a single crumb left in her stomach.

“
Good,” Aunt Florence chirped. She hummed as she came into Regina's room. Wordlessly, she took the rag from Regina and ran it over Regina's forehead and then her neck. “You're just nervous. It'll pass. Every woman feels this way on the eve of her wedding.”

“
But it's not the eve of my wedding,” Regina pointed out. “It's my wedding day.”

Aunt Florence smiled. “Especially then.” She reached up and adjusted a hairpin in the side of her coiffed hair. “Once you see your groom, your nervousness will go away. I swear it.”

It would be rude to ask what made a widow who'd married a man forty years her senior so certain of this, so she kept her questions to herself and moved to a sitting position. Across the room from her, draped over the edge of one of the open wardrobe doors was the fanciest dress she'd ever seen. Made of purple silk with sleeves that reached her elbows then flared out in back to create tails, a square cut bodice, narrow waist and a full skirt intended to cover stays so wide she could hardly fit through a door. A diamond encrusted netting overlay was sewn over the skirt. Only the fanciest cuts and materials for her wedding, Father had said as he instructed her to choose five gowns to consign to help cover her “share” of the cost—it was she who'd be wearing them, after all.

The old clock in the corner of her room chimed the hour. It was time to get dressed.

“
Up you go, dear,” Aunt Florence encouraged. She resumed her humming and walked over to where that fancy gown hung, taunting Regina. “You don't wish to keep your groom waiting, do you?”

Of course she didn't. She bit her lip. “Aunt Florence?”

“
Yes, dear?” She retrieved the gown. “It's heavy,” she murmured.

It had hundreds of diamonds sewn into the fabric; surely Aunt Florence hadn't expected it to be light. Regina shook her head to dispel the thought before she made trouble by putting voice to it. “I have a question—”

“
Just lie still and it'll be over soon,” Aunt Florence interrupted.

“
Pardon?” Regina did her best to close her mouth. But for some inexplicable reason, it wouldn't stay shut.

Aunt Florence's face reddened, and she started blinking her eyes as if she'd turned around only to be greeted by the unexpected appearance of the sun. “It may have been more than twenty years—” she raised her chin a notch— “but I do remember my husband's visits.” She sighed. “There is nothing to the marital act, dear. Just lie there with your hands at your sides and let him be about his business. If he's foxed, he might try to kiss you. Let him. Just be sure to keep quiet and don't fuss—
count the ceiling tiles if you must
—and his pinching and groping will be over faster.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And do not forget, you are marrying a lord, a real gentleman, so remember that under no circumstances should you allow yourself to be seen naked in his presence. Only loose women such as prostitutes and mistresses remove their clothing in front of their bed partners. A wife stays completely covered so not to be confused with a whore.”

Now it was Regina who flushed with embarrassment. “Oh.” She twisted her lips. She wouldn't deny she was curious about such matters, but didn't dare ask her aunt anything further. “That wasn't what I intended to ask about.”

Aunt Florence breathed a sigh of relief and her face visibly relaxed. “In that case, what is it you'd like to know?”

“
It's just—” She idly drummed her fingers along her knees. Now would be her last chance before the wedding. “What if he isn't happy with me?” There, she'd said it.

Her aunt's hazel eyes softened. “How could he not be?”

Regina could think of a thousand reasons he might not be happy to have her as his wife, the most prominent being that he'd only ever met her once before, and he didn't really know a thing about her except that she'd once seen a turtle.

“
Regina,” her aunt's soft words put an abrupt end to her wandering thoughts. “As your father said, he must have liked something about you to request your hand so soon after his period of mourning ended.”

“
He could have asked to court me,” Regina pointed out.

“
Bah.” Aunt Florence twisted her lips into a frown and flicked her wrist. “The heart knows far more than the brain when it comes to matters like this. Besides, I think it's more romantic this way.”

She would. While it might be every young girl's dream to fall in love the moment she met the man she'd one day wed, it wasn't likely; and even less likely for it to be the gentleman who lost his heart upon their first meeting. Then for him to—

“
All right. Stop this sulking. You'll be fine as soon as you get to the church. Just you wait and see.” With that, her aunt helped pull her to a standing position then with the help of the housemaid they'd shared when getting ready for important events, got her into the monstrosity she had to claim as her wedding gown.

“
Let's go, Regina,” her father roared from down the hall.

Regina jumped at the sharpness in her father's tone. “I'm coming, Father.” Picking up her fan, reticule, scarf, and anything else she might need, she darted out the door and scampered down the hall. More than anything, Father hated to be late. He thought it made them appear ill-bred, which of course, by the
ton's
standards, they were. But also by the
ton's
standards, it was fashionable to be late... Perhaps that was the only commoner's habit Father wished to maintain.

Dismissing the inane thought, she descended the stairs where her father then helped her ascend into the freshly waxed carriage.

Thirty excruciatingly long minutes later, the Harris family carriage pulled to a halt in front of the church. As always, her father descended first, then made a show of helping the ladies in his company. Regina fought to keep the scowl off her face as she took his hand. While she didn't doubt her father held his family in some regard—love might be too strong of a word, but high regard seemed to fit better—he was never one to physically show signs of affection in private, only in public. She hated it when he pretended to be the doting father for the sake of appearances; it always made her ill at ease. But she wouldn't dare embarrass him by not allowing him to publicly display his affection.

“
Smile,” he whispered in her ear, squeezing her trembling hand a little tighter than was comfortable.

Regina forced a smile and descended, willing herself not to squirm in response to her father's unusual demeanor.

Father led her and Aunt Florence inside the church and back to the bridal chamber to wait for his return.

His return came quickly. Too quickly for a nervous bride. And now it was time to walk down the aisle to the mysterious man who'd soon become her husband.

Regina's slow steps led her to nearly stumble and fall on her face when she caught a glimpse of her groom. Her heart leapt into her throat. Tall, high cheekbones, a lopsided grin, clear blue eyes... She blinked. Then again. Even wearing a curly wig filled with powder, she recognized him immediately. What's more, though a year had passed, the same warmth and excitement she'd felt the first time she'd seen him coursed through her.

Unable to control herself, she grinned. After all those months apart with nothing more than a fading memory of their talk, he still stirred an excitement in her no other gentleman had been able to duplicate.

Father leaned in to press a cold kiss devoid of any love or emotion to her cheek, momentarily ending her glee before regaining it at the realization that the man who stood across from her
did
love her. They may have only met once, but perhaps even for him that was all it took.

***

Edward couldn't contain the smile that bent his lips as he admired his grinning bride. He'd thought her attractive a year ago, but now she was beautiful. So radiant with the way her brown eyes crinkled around the corners and a glow lit her face as she smiled.

He reached for her hand, then brushed his thumb across her row of trembling knuckles as she put her hand into his.

To his right, the vicar began talking. He spoke of being faithful—something Edward had no qualms about promising the breathtaking creature in front of him. He spoke about life, death, love, and plenty of other nonsense he barely heard over the pounding of his blood in his ears at the sight of his bride. If he didn't know any better, he'd wager that she wanted to be here, and for a reason he couldn't comprehend, he was quite pleased that she wanted to be here and marrying him.

In what felt like only a brief moment, he was now staring into the eyes of the new Lady Watson.
His
Lady Watson.
His
baroness.
His
wife.

“
Ahem,” the vicar cleared his throat.

Edward snapped his head to the right. “Yes?”

The vicar nodded from Edward to Regina, whispering. “Kiss her.”

Too excited by being granted such permission, Edward felt not a hint of embarrassment or unease as he leaned forward and pressed his eager lips to hers. Though their lips met only for a matter of seconds, that was all it took to make him crave more. He pulled back in time to see the pink flush that was coloring her cheeks in response to his kiss. He straightened and reached for her hand again. Tonight could not come soon enough.

The ride to the Harris' townhouse where the wedding breakfast was to be held was nothing short of torture for Edward. If not for the fact that his new bride still needed to look presentable when they arrived, he might have attempted to kiss her again in the carriage. She had perfect, full lips that were made for kissing.

The wedding breakfast held in their honor was to be a simple affair, but of course nothing in his life could ever be termed simple, and in an attempt to meet Mr. Harris' demands, the guest list had quickly spiraled out of Edward's control.

He glanced to his new wife. She didn't seem to be enjoying this any more than he was. He nudged her with his elbow and grinned at her. He was rewarded by her returning his grin with one of her own.

“
I'm sorry,” she whispered, setting her fork down. “Father likes...”

Edward nodded once. She didn't even have to finish that sentence. He could finish it for her. In less than the hour he'd spent in Mr. Harris' company, he'd surmised that his father's assessment of the man was true: Mr. Harris loved attention and would do whatever it took to gain invitations, including giving his only daughter's hand in marriage to a titled man's son in hopes of gaining better placement in Society.

Thinking of it that way, he actually felt a little sympathy for her plight. While he might not have married without his father's interference. Regina, with her auburn hair and gentle looks, could have had a chance at a successful match were she to have had a real Season, and not one funded under the guise of giving her something to do. A knot fisted in his gut. He knew the real reason Mr. Harris had suggested Edward fund a Season for her; he wanted to take advantage of as many invitations as he could.

Edward turned his eyes back to his wife. He may not know much about her, but one thing was certain: she did not share in her father's quest for recognition and social acceptance. He grinned. She was more like him than he'd have ever guessed she would be.

“
And what of you, Regina? What do you like?”

“
All the usual things,” she said dismissively.

“
The usual things?” What the blazes were those?

She swiped her napkin across her lips. “Pianoforte. Watercolors. Sewing. Embro—”

“
Stop, I pray you,” he said with a scowl. “While I have no doubt you are skilled at all of those pursuits, I'd rather know what you enjoy doing, and I know better than to believe it is any of those things you listed.”