Rules of a Ruse (Regency Christmas Brides #2)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Alden was thoroughly irked. Miss Sidney hadn’t even truly considered his offer before dismissing it outright. Did she think she would receive a better offer from a Scotsman in this small village? He was the son of an earl, for heaven’s sake. Though he may not bear a title, he was determined to make something of himself. He had to. He refused to play second fiddle to his brother for the rest of his life.

Why couldn’t Miss Sidney see that this proposal was a solution to both of their problems? He would inherit the horse farm and she would have the protection of his name. Yet, she had turned him down flat. She claimed that she wanted love, but that was ridiculous. Love was elusive, an empty promise.

As he led Miss Sidney into the manor, he noticed her rigid back and her jaw was set in determination. Why was she so upset? If anything, he should be the one feeling insulted. He had never offered for a young woman before, but his offer was hardly objectionable.

The short, stout butler stood to the side as they stepped into the entry hall, ensuring the door was closed quickly to keep the cold out. “If you will follow me to the drawing room, Mrs. MacBain is expecting you. ”

Miss Sidney glanced over her shoulder at her lady’s maid, who was settling into a chair in the entry hall. They followed the butler into a modest drawing room with blue papered walls. There, Alden saw a beautiful blonde woman, wearing a black gown. Her hair was elegantly arranged in a chignon, and a bright smile appeared on her lips as her eyes landed on him.

Yes, she would do nicely, Alden decided.

Miss Sidney dropped her arm from his and went to create more distance between them. “Good morning, Gwendolyn,” she said. “I hope we did not come too early.”

Mrs. MacBain waved a dismissive hand in front of her. “Not at all. I am an early riser these days,” she responded.

Turning towards him, Miss Sidney offered the introductions. “Mrs. Gwendolyn MacBain, please allow me the privilege of introducing you to Mr. Dandridge. He is the great-nephew of Lady Edith.”

Mrs. MacBain’s eyes lit up. “I just adore Lady Edith. She has done so much for this village, including starting a girls’ school.”

“I hadn’t realized that she had done such a thing,” Alden admitted, somewhat surprised.

“Oh, yes. Lady Edith’s name is spoken with such reverence here,” Mrs. MacBain shared. “I have never met a more kind, considerate woman before, and she isn’t even Scottish.”

Alden realized he had perhaps underestimated his great-aunt. It was evident that she was well-loved in the village and made significant contributions.

Mrs. MacBain gestured to the two camelback settees. “Shall we sit and drink some tea?” she asked.

Alden put his hand out to Miss Sidney, indicating she should go first. Once she was settled into her seat, he claimed the seat next to her, trying to ignore the faint scent of lavender that wafted off her person.

A maid entered the room carrying a tea service. She placed it down onto the table and asked, “Would you like me to pour?”

“No, thank you,” Mrs. MacBain responded. “I shall see to it.”

The maid tipped her head and departed from the room.

Alden’s eyes roamed over the drawing room, taking in the thick maroon drapes framing the two long windows, the mantel over the hearth adorned with small trinkets, and the clock ticking softly in the background. The room exuded a cozy, welcoming charm.

Mrs. MacBain extended him a cup of tea, her gaze curious. “How are you enjoying our quaint village?”

“It is quite nice, at least the parts that I have seen,” Alden replied, accepting the cup with a polite nod. “I do wish to offer my condolences for your loss.”

A weak smile crossed Mrs. MacBain’s lips. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“May I ask how long ago your husband died?” Alden inquired.

Mrs. MacBain adjusted the sleeves of her black gown, a somber expression on her face. “Two months and three days,” she answered.

Alden’s brow shot up in surprise. “Two months?”

“Yes, but I intend to remarry, and quickly,” Mrs. MacBain insisted. “I do not like being a widow.” She flashed him a coy smile.

He cleared his throat. “Are you not worried about the gossip that will no doubt accompany marrying so quickly after your husband died?”

“It would be preferable to remaining a widow,” Mrs. MacBain said firmly.

The sound of a baby crying echoed from a distant room, and Mrs. MacBain turned her head towards the noise, a look of annoyance flashing in her eyes. “I do wish the nursemaid would keep Rowan from crying. That noise grates on my ears.”

Miss Sidney gave her an understanding look. “I do believe babies cry all the time.”

“Yes, but this particular baby cries incessantly!” Mrs. MacBain exclaimed. “It truly vexes me.”

“It is no bother,” Alden attempted to reassure her.

Mrs. MacBain’s face softened. “You are very kind, sir,” she said. “Dare I hope that you like children?”

Alden nodded. “I do.”

Miss Sidney turned to face him and shared, “Mrs. MacBain has six children, including a newborn.”

“Six children?” Alden repeated.

Mrs. MacBain grinned proudly. “Yes, and they are all girls. Little redheaded girls that will be educated right alongside my sons, assuming I am blessed with more children.”

“That is admirable,” Alden said. “I believe an educated young woman wields quite a lot of influence.”

“My husband would have ardently disagreed with you,” Mrs. MacBain remarked, a hint of bitterness in her tone. “He was of the mindset that females were useless. Fortunately, his mistress had two boys so that took some of the pressure off me.”

Alden felt deucedly uncomfortable and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Mrs. MacBain shook her head. “You misunderstood me. I did not mind my husband taking a mistress. It kept his hands off me, even for a moment.”

Taking a sip of his tea, Alden wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Mrs. MacBain was pretty enough, but he did not think he wanted to take on the responsibility of six girls. Not that he was opposed to having children, but in due time.

Miss Sidney spoke up, addressing Mrs. MacBain. “How is your mother?” she asked .

“She is well,” Mrs. MacBain said. “She moved in with me after my husband died and she loves doting on her grandchildren.”

Shifting her gaze towards Alden, Miss Sidney explained, “Gwendolyn’s mother was on her death bed just a few years ago, but then she made a remarkable recovery. It baffled the doctors.”

“It is true,” Mrs. MacBain said. “I do think my mother almost lost her will to live after my father died.”

“They must have loved each other very much,” Alden remarked.

Mrs. MacBain let out a bark of laughter. “No, they hated each other,” she declared. “My mother had married him when she was six and ten years old and she wasn’t sure how to go on without him. But there was no love lost there.”

Alden glanced down at his tea, feeling awkward. “I see,” he muttered.

“But enough about me,” Mrs. MacBain said. “I would much rather learn more about you.”

Leaning forward, Alden placed his nearly full cup and saucer onto the tray. “I am the second son of an earl…”

Mrs. MacBain interrupted him, pointing towards his teacup. “Are you going to finish that?” she asked.

“Um… yes,” he replied. He didn’t quite understand the urgency of finishing his tea right at this precise moment.

“It is all right if you don’t,” Mrs. MacBain said. “I will just pour it back into the teapot so we can use it for later.”

Alden studied Mrs. MacBain, wondering if she was truly serious.

Miss Sidney handed Mrs. MacBain her teacup. “I am finished,” she said.

Mrs. MacBain accepted her cup and poured it back into the teapot. “There. Waste not, want not,” she declared as she placed the empty teacup down onto the tray. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Mr. Dandridge was telling me about himself.”

“Yes, as I was saying…” Alden began.

Bringing a hand to her forehead, Mrs. MacBain interrupted again, “I am sorry, but I can’t focus on anything but that incessant crying.”

“It isn’t so bad,” Miss Sidney attempted to reassure her.

Mrs. MacBain abruptly rose, causing Alden to stand, as well. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said before she exited the drawing room.

Shifting on the settee towards him, Miss Sidney asked, “What do you think about Gwendolyn?”

What did he think? He was beginning to think he wanted more than just someone who had a pretty face.

His thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. MacBain shouting, “Shut that baby up! I am trying to secure a marriage proposal from the son of an earl!”

Alden had heard enough. He didn’t want to marry Mrs. MacBain. At first glance, she had seemed perfect, but he couldn’t tie himself to this woman for the remainder of his days.

“Shall we go?” Alden asked, extending his arm to Miss Sidney.

Miss Sidney furrowed her brow. “Already?”

“I do not think that Mrs. MacBain and I would make a good match,” Alden admitted. “I would like to meet the other young women that you mentioned.”

Rising, Miss Sidney accepted his arm and they walked towards the main door.

Mrs. MacBain met them in the entry hall, a pout on her lips. “Are you leaving so soon?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Miss Sidney replied. “We have some urgent business at the horse farm that we need to tend to.”

“Very well, but I do hope Mr. Dandridge calls upon me again,” Mrs. MacBain said as she batted her eyelashes at him. “I just had some mistletoe put up.”

Not wanting to dignify her words with a response, Alden bowed. “Mrs. MacBain, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

Mrs. MacBain took a step closer to him and ran her hand down his sleeve. “Miss Sidney told me that you are looking for a wife. I do hope you will consider me. I can promise that I would make you very happy.”

“I shall think on it,” Alden said.

Taking a step back, Mrs. MacBain turned her attention towards Miss Sidney. “Elinor,” she started, “as always, it was a pleasure.”

Alden led Miss Sidney out of the manor and into the awaiting coach. Once the door was closed, he said, “Please say the next young woman doesn’t have any children.”

Miss Sidney smiled. “ Miss Isobel Fraser has never been married before and has no children.”

“Good,” Alden muttered, turning his attention towards the window. That meeting with Mrs. MacBain had been a disaster. Surely it couldn’t get any worse than that.

Elinor sat in the study, her brow furrowed as she reviewed the accounts. She was doing her best to avoid Mr. Dandridge, that familiar twinge of guilt gnawing at her. She knew he would have no interest in Mrs. MacBain. But to keep this horse farm, she had to maintain the ruse.

Her aunt stepped into the room with an unusually solemn look on her face. In her hand, she held up a letter. “Your uncle has written to you again.”

“Toss it into the fire,” Elinor remarked without looking up.

“It is not that easy this time,” her aunt said, her tone heavy with concern. “A messenger delivered the letter and has been instructed to wait for a response.”

Elinor’s mind was racing as she asked, “How did my uncle know where to find me? I do not think Lady Edith would have betrayed my confidences.”

“She wouldn’t have, but it matters not. He knows where you are and that could pose a problem for us,” her aunt said as she approached the desk.

“Where is the messenger?” Elinor asked, feeling the weight of the situation settling on her shoulders.

“In the kitchen,” her aunt replied.

Elinor sighed, extending her hand. “I will read the letter, but I suspect I already know what is in it.”

Her aunt handed over the letter, and Elinor unfolded the piece of paper with a sense of foreboding. She read the contents quickly, her face tightening as she crumpled the paper in her hand.

“What did it say?” her aunt asked.

“My uncle has threatened to send me to an asylum if I don’t marry the Duke of Mardale,” Elinor said. “He claims that my behavior could only be construed as hysteria since I am refusing to marry a duke.”

Her aunt lowered herself down onto a chair. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Elinor replied. “I refuse to marry the Duke of Mardale. He is old enough to be my grandfather.”

“I do not fault you for that, but your uncle is not one to make empty threats,” her aunt pointed out.

Elinor dropped the crumpled letter onto her desk. “I do not know why my uncle entered into a contract with the aged duke. If Uncle Matthew had only asked me what I wanted, I would have told him that I wasn’t interested in marrying him.”

“I don’t think he is interested in what you want, my dear,” her aunt remarked .

Leaning back in her seat, Elinor said, “I could always leave the horse farm.”

“And where would you go?”

Elinor grimaced slightly, the idea of leaving the horse farm tearing at her heart. “I could become a governess and disappear.”

Her aunt gave her a knowing look. “You wouldn’t be happy with that alternative,” she said. “You love this horse farm.”

“I do, with my whole heart. But being a governess would only be until I can access my dowry at six and twenty years,” Elinor acknowledged.

“We will find another solution,” her aunt said, rising. “Perhaps I will write to Lady Edith and see if she can help us.”

Elinor didn’t like that option. Not because she didn’t think Lady Edith would help her, but because she had already done so much for her. She couldn’t keep relying on the woman. She needed to find a way to solve this problem on her own.

The sound of the dinner bell echoed throughout the main level, interrupting her thoughts.

Her aunt walked over to the door. “I need to retrieve my bagpipes,” she informed Elinor. “I shall meet you for supper.”

Elinor’s brow shot up. “Your bagpipes?”

“Yes, I am planning on serenading you both over dinner,” her aunt replied. “You are welcome.”

“I am not sure if ‘thanking you’ is what I will be doing once I hear your performance,” Elinor said with a smile.

Her aunt laughed. “I have gotten much better.”

“But you only just started.”

“Exactly! I have nowhere to go but up,” her aunt said, walking to the door. “I shall inform the messenger that you have no intention of marrying the Duke of Mardale.”

Elinor rose from her seat. “Thank you. I know I am risking my uncle’s ire, but I can’t marry the duke. ”

“Nor do I blame you,” her aunt said. “No doubt the duke just wants to marry you to produce an heir.”

Elinor shuddered at that thought. “I recall meeting him and he smelled so awful that I grew nauseous.”

“I suspect it is the medicine he uses to help his gout,” her aunt said.

Once her aunt had departed from the study, Elinor smoothed down her pale yellow gown and approached the mirror. It shouldn’t matter to her that she looked presentable, but it did. It irked her greatly. Why did it matter what Mr. Dandridge thought of her? It didn’t. But even she knew that she couldn’t believe that lie. Mr. Dandridge was far too handsome for his own good.

Elinor headed towards the entry hall and saw Mr. Dandridge. His eyes crinkled around the edges when their gazes met, a subtle sign of warmth that made her heart flutter despite herself.

She stopped a short distance from him. “Good evening, Mr. Dandridge,” she said, her voice steady.

“Good evening, Miss Sidney,” he responded with a slight bow. “How was your rest this afternoon?”

“I’m afraid I got distracted by the accounts,” Elinor responded.

He took a step closer to her. “Your dedication to this horse farm is quite impressive.”

“It is all I have,” Elinor admitted. “Besides, what is not to love? The Galloway ponies are impressive creatures, and they quickly claimed my heart.”

Mr. Dandridge grinned. “I do enjoy how your eyes light up when you become passionate about a subject.”

“Do they?” Elinor asked, slightly surprised by his observation.

He nodded. “They light up a lot, considering you are a very passionate person,” he said. “I don’t meet a lot of young women that speak their minds so freely. ”

“Then you must not be associating with the right women,” she joked.

Mr. Dandridge chuckled. “I would agree with that statement,” he said. “Young women of my acquaintance tend to tell me what they think I want to hear, not their true opinions.”

“That must be rather lonely.”

The humor left Mr. Dandridge’s face. “It is,” he admitted. “I prefer honesty above all else.”

Elinor felt a stab of guilt, knowing she wasn’t being entirely honest with Mr. Dandridge. But she couldn’t let him know that.

Mr. Dandridge took another step towards her, causing her to tilt her head to look up at him. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I do consider you a friend.”

Friend .

That word echoed in her mind. She was not his friend, knowing she was hoping- and waiting- for him to fail.

Mr. Dandridge continued. “I hope it is not too presumptuous of me, but I would like for you to call me by my given name.”

Elinor blinked, surprised by his request. “I have never called a gentleman by his given name before.”

A smirk came to his lips. “I assure you that it isn’t difficult,” he said. “You just open your mouth and say ‘Alden’.”

“Alden?” she repeated.

Mr. Dandridge’s smirk grew. “You said it correctly, but you might want to work on the delivery.”

Elinor laughed. “I can do that, but it is only fair if you call me Elinor.”

“I would like that, Elinor,” Alden said. The way he said her name caused a fluttering in her stomach. An unwelcome fluttering. Why did this keep happening? She had no interest in Alden .

“Alden is not a common name, especially for the son of an earl,” Elinor remarked. “May I ask where it is from?”

“It has ties to Old English and can be traced back to the given name Ealdwine, which translates to ‘old friend’,” Alden shared. “My mother heard it once and she thought it was a fitting name for me.”

Elinor held his gaze as she admitted, “I think it fits you.”

“You do?” he asked. “Because when I was younger, I would have given anything to have a common name like Matthew, Alexander or John. It would have stopped the teasing I was forced to endure at Eton.”

“Not everyone is meant to fit in. Sometimes it is far better to stand out,” Elinor said.

Alden cocked his head. “Do you wish to stand out?”

Elinor winced. “I did, at one point,” she said. “But I attracted the attention of the Duke of Mardale.”

“Is that the person you were supposed to marry?” Alden asked gently.

She nodded. “It was.”

He leaned closer and said, “I can see why you ran away, especially since his person gives off an offensive odor.” He paused. “That, and he is fifty years your senior.”

“Thank you,” she said, relief in her voice.

“For what?” Alden asked, his expression puzzled.

Elinor smiled. “For understanding,” she said. “Many people thought I was foolish to run away from a marriage to a duke.”

Alden returned her smile. “I am not one of them. In fact, it only confirms to me that you are indeed brave.”

Before she could respond, Bryon stepped into the entry hall and announced, “Dinner is ready.”

Alden glanced at the stairs. “Should we wait for your aunt?”

“I don’t rightly know,” Elinor replied. “She went to retrieve her bagpipes for the purpose of serenading us. ”

“Now you have me intrigued,” he said, offering his arm. “I think it would be best if we waited for your aunt in the drawing room.”

As Elinor accepted his arm, she felt a sudden jolt of awareness. She realized she had made a crucial error. She had developed feelings for Alden- feelings that she knew she had to push aside because they would do her no good.