Rules of a Ruse (Regency Christmas Brides #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

England, 1814

Mr. Alden Dandridge was tired of being poor. That was the only reason why he was sitting outside his Great-aunt Edith’s solicitor’s office, hoping for good news. He had been waiting for what felt like hours, with only the incessant ticking of the long clock in the corner marking his misery.

Tick-tock.

When he had received word that Mr. Davidson wished to meet with him, Alden couldn’t help but wonder what Great-aunt Edith was about. She was kind but eccentric, a woman he had learned to avoid over the years. So why was he here? He was hardly close to her.

Tick-tock.

Alden ran a hand through his hair. He had more important things to do with his time. Although, even he couldn’t fathom his own lie. As the second son of an earl, he had no prospects, no title, and no land. His older brother, Alexander, was their father’s heir and he was living the life of leisure.

How was that fair that he had been born second? A spare, as his brother constantly reminded him. He wanted to make something of himself, but he didn’t even know where to begin. His studies in Latin at Oxford seemed useless now.

Tick-tock.

That blasted clock. Why did it have to constantly remind him that he was sitting here, twiddling his thumbs, while the world continued to go on turning? It was a world of happiness that he had never known.

His eyes roamed over the small area and he saw three of his cousins waiting for the solicitor. He met Colin’s eyes and tipped his head.

Colin leaned forward and asked, “Do you know what this is about?”

Alden shook his head. “I do not. I was hoping you did.”

Turning his head, Colin asked their other cousins, Rose and Richard, the same question. They both shrugged, equally clueless.

Botheration.

The door to the office opened, and a short man with a thin face stuck his head out, pushing back the rounded spectacles on his face as he announced, “I apologize for the wait. Do come in.”

“It is about time,” Alden muttered under his breath.

He followed his cousins into the small office and saw there weren’t enough chairs for him to sit so he opted to stand by the one lone window. The short man went around his desk, which was extremely meticulously tidy, with stacks of papers neatly arranged. He offered them a brief smile. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he started, “my name is Mr. Davidson. I am Lady Edith Walker’s solicitor.”

Colin spoke up. “Why are we here?” he demanded.

Alden bobbed his head in approval. He wanted the solicitor to get straight to the point so he could get on with his day.

Mr. Davidson didn’t seem perturbed by Colin’s direct question. If anything, he seemed to welcome it. “I’m afraid that I am the bearer of some bad news. Lady Edith is dying.”

Rose gasped. “Oh, dear,” she muttered. “How much longer does Great-aunt Edith have?”

“It is hard to say,” Mr. Davidson replied.

Alden stared back at the solicitor as emotions whirled inside of him. He may not have been particularly close to his great-aunt, but he didn’t wish her any ill-will.

Mr. Davidson continued. “I requested this visit because Lady Edith wrote each one of you a letter.” He picked up four letters from his desk. “She would like you to read them here, and I am available to answer any questions you may have.”

Rising, Mr. Davidson distributed the letters and returned to his seat.

Alden looked at the small, folded letter in his hand and wondered what Great-aunt Edith could have possibly wanted to say to him. He sighed. He might as well get this over with.

He unfolded the letter and read:

My Dearest Alden,

As you have heard by now, I am dying. But that is not why I am writing this letter. It is to inform you that I want you to marry for love. For without love, life is pointless. That is why I am giving you the opportunity to do so.

I have a horse farm in Kirkcudbright, Scotland that I intend to will to you, assuming you are married by the Twelfth Night. Furthermore, and most importantly, to inherit, you must marry a young woman from the village, particularly one that is fond of horses.

The manor at the horse farm is currently occupied by a young woman that is rather dear to me- Miss Elinor Sidney. She has been doing a splendid job of running the horse farm and you would be wise to seek out her assistance during this time .

I am sure you have many questions, and Mr. Davidson will answer them. I look forward to visiting you in Scotland with your bride.

With much love,

Edith

Alden lowered the paper to his side and let out a loud huff. He met the solicitor’s eyes and asked, “Scotland?”

Mr. Davidson tipped his head. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “Your great-aunt has a thriving horse farm in Scotland.”

“Yes, but it is December. The roads will be treacherous during this time of year,” Alden responded.

“Lady Edith has arranged for her finest coach to take you to Scotland, at your convenience,” Mr. Davidson shared.

Richard brought his head up from his letter. “Great-aunt Edith cannot be serious?” he asked, his voice rising. “She wants me to be wed before the Twelfth Night? That is a little more than a month away.”

“That is correct. And Lady Edith is aware of the time restraint,” Mr. Davidson said.

“It is impossible!” Richard exclaimed.

Alden folded the note. “At least you don’t have to marry a chit from a small village in Scotland,” he muttered.

“What of me?” Rose asked. “I am supposed to attend a house party for Christmas.”

“A house party? That doesn’t sound like you,” Alden remarked.

Turning towards him, Rose replied, “It is at my family’s behest.”

Alden shook his head. What his great-aunt was asking of him- of all of them- was ridiculous. How was he supposed to find a bride in a small village of Kirkcudbright? Much less, fall in love and marry her. It was ludicrous to even think of. Great- aunt Edith was just playing a game and he refused to be part of it.

“That coach will not be necessary,” Alden said. “I have no intention of going to Scotland for Christmas.”

“But…” Mr. Davidson started.

Alden put his hand up, stilling the solicitor’s words. “I agree with what Richard said. What our Great-aunt Edith is asking of us is impossible.” He walked purposefully to the door, casting a farewell nod to his cousins. “I wish you luck, but I want nothing to do with this charade.”

Leaving the office, Alden descended the steps and climbed into his waiting coach. The thought of living in Scotland, much less running a horse farm, was entirely unappealing. No, he wasn’t about to sacrifice his life, his friends, or his freedom for a chance to inherit a horse farm.

As the coach rolled away from the solicitor’s office, Alden’s mind raced. Perhaps he was being too rash. If he inherited the horse farm, he could sell it quickly and use the proceeds to purchase land in England, which was a far more desirable location. However, there was the matter of the stipulation. He would need to marry a young woman from that village. A marriage of convenience was not ideal, but it was a price he might be willing to pay.

Alden gazed out the coach window, contemplating his next move. He would find the most beautiful young woman in the village and marry her. Hopefully, she would have a fondness for horses, making the arrangement somewhat tolerable.

The coach came to a stop in front of his familial townhouse. He waited for the footman to come around to open the door. Once he exited the coach, he approached the main door.

The butler promptly opened the door, standing aside to allow Alden entry. As he stepped into the elegant entry hall, his brother’s condescending voice echoed through the space. “What did our great-aunt want with someone like you? ”

Alden looked heavenward. “It is rather early for insults, is it not?”

“Is it?” his brother asked, his tone dripping with smugness. “Did Great-aunt Edith need a Latin tutor?”

“No,” Alden responded curtly. “She offered me a horse farm in Scotland.” He didn’t bring up his Great-aunt Edith’s dire health, knowing Alexander’s disdain for their great-aunt. He no doubt would only delight in her circumstances.

“Scotland?” Alexander asked. “That freezing, barren wasteland?”

Despite himself, Alden felt a spark of defensiveness. “Scotland is not a wasteland,” he argued.

Alexander’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Well, I suppose that is a good opportunity,” he hesitated, “for someone like you.”

Alden had never shared a close relationship with his brother, but time only seemed to make their relationship worse. Alexander’s pretentious nature and relentless reminders of Alden’s perceived inferiority gnawed at him. He wanted to prove Alexander wrong. He wanted to prove everyone wrong.

“I think I will take it,” Alden said, intentionally withholding the specifics of the inheritance condition. Alexander didn’t need to know everything.

Alexander placed a hand on his shoulder. “Dress warm, Brother,” he mocked. “I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

Alden stood in the entry hall, watching his brother walk away. He resolved to go to Scotland, marry and inherit the horse farm. With the money from selling it, he would prove to Alexander and everyone else that he was not merely a spare. He was worth so much more. He knew he was capable of great things, but he just needed a chance to prove himself.

Miss Elinor Sidney walked down the aisle of the stables, her gaze moving from one horse to the next with a sense of pride. Each Galloway pony under her care represented a legacy she was determined to uphold.

She stopped before a stall where Skye, a bay-colored mare, greeted her with a soft nicker. Elinor laughed. “Do you want an apple?” she asked.

Skye nickered again, seemingly in response.

Reaching into a nearby bucket, Elinor retrieved an apple and extended it towards Skye. “Here you go,” she said.

Without hesitation, Skye accepted the treat eagerly.

Elinor ran her hand down the mare’s neck, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for her life in moments like these. If it hadn’t been for Lady Edith, she might have been relegated to a life of a governess.

Approaching her was Calen, a tall and lanky groom who had been a guiding hand since she had first arrived. He had assisted her in learning the ropes of managing a horse farm.

“How’s Skye daein’ today?” Calen asked, coming to a stop nearby.

Elinor dropped her hand and turned to face him. “She appears to be doing quite well,” she said. “I just gave her an apple.”

Calen chuckled. “Ye spoil her, Miss.”

“It is hard not to,” Elinor responded. “And how is your wife?”

A proud smile spread across Calen’s face. “She’s daein’ well. She’s with bairn again,” Calen announced.

Elinor smiled. “That is wonderful news.”

Calen’s chest puffed out in pride. “I’m hopin’ for a lad this time, especially since we’ve already got two lassies.”

“There is nothing wrong with girls,” Elinor countered gently.

“Aye, true enough,” Calen agreed. “Though it does get a bit much now that the lassies outnumber me. ”

Elinor’s smile grew at that thought. “I am sure you will survive,” she retorted. “If you will excuse me, I should be heading back for breakfast.”

Calen tipped his head. “Good day tae ye, Miss.”

As she exited the stables, Elinor pulled her cloak tighter around herself. The Scottish winters were harsh, and she knew firsthand the fortitude required to endure them. The manor stood ahead, its roof dusted with a fresh layer of snow, a serene backdrop against the chilly morning.

She approached the main door and was met by Bryon, the duteous, white-haired butler, who promptly opened it for her with a courteous nod. “Good morning, Miss Sidney,” he said, his words holding the kindness she was all too familiar with.

Stepping into the warm embrace of the entry hall, Elinor unclasped her cloak, feeling the thaw of the chilly outdoors. “It is rather cold this morning,” she remarked, handing her cloak to Bryon.

“That is to be expected,” Bryon responded as he accepted the cloak. “It is winter in Scotland.”

“Has my aunt come down for breakfast yet?”

“Indeed, she has. She is in the dining room,” Bryon confirmed.

“Thank you, Bryon,” Elinor acknowledged gratefully before making her way towards the dining room.

Entering the dining room, she found Aunt Cecilia seated at the long, rectangular table, a stack of letters spread out in front of her. Cecilia looked up from her reading as Elinor approached, offering her a warm smile. “Good morning, Dear. I was wondering when you would join me for breakfast.”

Elinor pulled out a chair and settled into it gracefully. “I just came from the stables.”

“Ah, your daily ritual,” her aunt said with a grin. “I do worry you will catch cold and die. ”

“Why must everything end in death with you?” Elinor asked, amused by her aunt’s dramatic flair.

Cecilia shrugged nonchalantly. “It is the truth, is it not?”

“I am only one and twenty years old. I daresay that the cold air is refreshing,” Elinor contended.

“That is only because you have young lungs. I am old and could die any minute now,” her aunt declared with a flourish of her hand.

As the footman placed a plate of food before Elinor, she leaned to the side, studying her aunt’s silver-haired countenance. The lines etched around Cecilia’s eyes and mouth were starting to deepen, a reminder of her advancing age. Elinor felt a pang of worry but quickly brushed it aside, not wanting to dwell on such thoughts.

Cecilia held up a letter to her. “You received a letter from Lady Edith,” she revealed. “Would you care to read it?”

“I would,” Elinor replied eagerly. It wasn’t often that she received correspondence from Lady Edith, but she always delighted in reading her letters.

Cecilia leaned forward and extended the letter. Elinor accepted the letter and unfolded the paper with anticipation. As she began to read, her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Is something the matter?” her aunt asked, concern evident in her voice.

Elinor didn’t answer immediately. She dropped the letter onto the table, stunned. Finally, she spoke, her voice trembling. “Lady Edith is dying,” she said, feeling an immense sadness washing over her.

Cecilia gasped. “That is awful news.”

Tears flooded Elinor’s eyes, and she reached for a white linen napkin to wipe them away. Lady Edith was very dear to her, and the news was devastating.

Her aunt stood up and came to sit next to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dear. I know how much Lady Edith means to you,” she said. “Did she say anything else?”

Elinor blinked back her tears and picked up the letter again. “She intends to will the horse farm to her great-nephew, Mr. Alden Dandridge, assuming he is married by the Twelfth Night.”

“What if he isn’t married by then?” Cecilia asked.

Lowering the letter, Elinor replied, “Then the ownership of the horse farm and manor will fall to me.” Even as she said the words, she still couldn’t quite believe it.

Cecilia lifted her brow. “That is rather extraordinary,” she said. “What does Lady Edith say about Mr. Dandridge?”

Elinor flipped over the paper but sighed. “She said nothing about him, other than the fact that he is traveling here to inspect the horse farm.”

“That doesn’t tell us much then,” Cecilia remarked.

“What are we to do?” Elinor asked. “If Mr. Dandridge gets married, we will be forced to leave the manor. Where will we go?”

Cecilia frowned. “We will think of something.”

Elinor placed the letter onto the table, her mind racing. “I could always reach out to Mr. Treanor and ask if I can access my dowry, considering the circumstances.”

“I doubt he will agree to it since your father wrote in the will that you had to be six and twenty years to access it, assuming you were still unwed,” Cecilia said.

“Well, we must think of something,” Elinor asserted. “I do not think I could bear going to my uncle for help. He would no doubt force me to marry that insidious man.”

Cecilia gave her a knowing look. “Lord Inglewood was your guardian for many years,” she said.

“Yes, but he had no issue with trying to marry me off at his first opportunity,” Elinor said, attempting to keep the bitterness out of her tone. “If it wasn’t for Lady Edith’s generosity, I might have been forced to obtain work as a governess.”

“It will work out,” Cecilia said, trying to sound reassuring.

Elinor rose from her seat, her heart heavy. “I wish I shared your optimism. All I feel is dread,” she said. “Lady Edith is dying, and with it, all my dreams.”

“You are being quite the pessimist.”

“Quite frankly, I don’t know what to feel,” Elinor responded, her voice tight with emotion. “I need a moment alone to think.”

Just then, Bryon stepped into the room and met Elinor’s gaze. “A Mr. Alden Dandridge has come to call and has requested a moment of your time.”

Cecilia shoved back her chair, her expression determined. “Go greet Mr. Dandridge and I will be down in a moment. I have an idea that might help our situation.”

Elinor looked at her aunt expectedly. “Which is?”

“Just trust me,” Cecilia replied before she departed from the room.

Turning towards the butler, Elinor asked, “Do you have any idea what my aunt is about?”

Bryon maintained a stoic expression, but his eyes crinkled around the edges in kindness. “If I were you, I would be worried,” he said lightly.

“My sentiments exactly,” Elinor sighed. Her aunt was many things, but being predictable was not one of those things.

Elinor picked up the letter and gently folded it, placing it into the folds of her gown. She knew she needed to go speak to Mr. Dandridge, but a part of her wanted to send him away. However, she couldn’t do that. He was Lady Edith’s great-nephew and should be treated with kindness.

But this was her home. She had lived here for two years, and this horse farm was important to her. She had to fight for it.

Surely this Mr. Dandridge would be reasonable and recognize that.