Книга - Miss Bradshaw’s Bought Betrothal

Miss Bradshaw's Bought Betrothal
Virginia Heath


She'd done it! Plain, invisible Evelyn had escaped…Fed up with being a doormat to her evil stepmother, heiress Evelyn Bradshaw pays a dissolute rake to pose as her betrothed so she can secure her freedom. But then her fake fiancé leaves her with his estranged brother Finn Matlock and disappears!Having withdrawn from the world the last thing Finn needs is the temptation of a woman, especially one like Evie. She has an irritating habit of causing chaos wherever she goes and being in places she shouldn't…including, as he soon learns, his heart!







She’d done it! Plain, invisible Evelyn had escaped...

Fed up with being a doormat to her evil stepmother, heiress Evelyn Bradshaw pays a dissolute rake to pose as her betrothed so she can secure her freedom. But then her fake fiancé leaves her with his estranged brother Finn Matlock and disappears!

Having withdrawn from the world, Finn knows the last thing he needs is the temptation of a woman, especially one like Evie. She has an irritating habit of causing chaos wherever she goes and being in places she shouldn’t...including, as he soon learns, his heart!


Finn wanted to tell her that she wasn’t plain at all, in his opinion.

She had beautiful eyes and a mouth that begged to be kissed. Not to mention that she had a body made for sin.

‘Surely you could do better than Fergus?’

There was a stubborn glint in her eye that made him wonder if Miss Bradshaw might actually have a spine after all—until she spoke and spoiled it.

‘I am content with Fergus.’

‘Oh, content, are you? I am glad someone is. Meanwhile, it is me who is now stuck with you! How typical of my brother to leave me with his problems while he swans off to have fun.’

She recoiled as if she had been slapped and Finn felt terrible. ‘I did not mean to refer to you as a problem, Miss Bradshaw, I merely meant that—’

She held up her hand to stop him.

‘You are quite right, Mr Matlock. Perhaps you would be good enough to arrange for the luggage to be transferred to Stanford House immediately so that you are not inconvenienced further?’


Author Note (#u3f657a6a-cac6-5ae1-b823-90d739ef5f17)

Who doesn’t love a Cinderella story? Ever since I was a little girl I have enjoyed every variation of the tale, in books or film. However, as I get older I cannot help but wonder about the way poor Cinderella really felt, being treated the way she had by her wicked stepmother and ugly sisters. Because if she were a real person that abuse would leave emotional scars, surely?

And as for Prince Charming—he’s always such a one-dimensional character. He comes to her rescue and falls in love with her. Yes, he goes on a quest to find her, but we learn so little about the real man she falls in love with and I find it difficult to feel any empathy for the guy.

This is my version of the story. Heiress Evie Bradshaw is my Cinderella. A woman who has been ground down by life, who lacks confidence and, to all intents and purposes, is a doormat to be trampled over. But Evie is desperate to reinvent herself and start her life afresh.

Her Prince Charming is definitely not charming. He is rude and embittered and has no intention of coming to anyone’s rescue. He wants to be left all alone to wallow in his personal pit of calm, ordered despair. Unfortunately the arrival of clumsy, vexing, enticing Miss Bradshaw makes that a very difficult thing to accomplish.

It was great fun following them on their path to happily-ever-after...


Miss Bradshaw’s Bought Betrothal

Virginia Heath






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


When VIRGINIA HEATH was a little girl it took her ages to fall asleep, so she made up stories in her head to help pass the time while she was staring at the ceiling. As she got older the stories became more complicated—sometimes taking weeks to get to their happy ending. One day she decided to embrace her insomnia and start writing them down. Virginia lives in Essex with her wonderful husband and two teenagers. It still takes her for ever to fall asleep…

Books by Virginia Heath

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

That Despicable Rogue

Her Enemy at the Altar

The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide

Miss Bradshaw’s Bought Betrothal

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


For my husband and best friend Greg.

You know why...


Contents

Cover (#u94423c49-bf1b-5944-876a-70cebff71692)

Back Cover Text (#ud4f482b4-0b23-5a0f-ae42-01077a20cbf0)

Introduction (#u024c9887-e78c-5f7b-99ec-1ea818ffc997)

Author Note (#u5e733b08-720a-5ef3-9bf4-413edcd1b0a2)

Title Page (#u1fd455c3-46b4-5166-9eb4-395b0ff4c078)

About the Author (#uc3b36a53-de85-5724-8fc9-f12f2b8a2d39)

Dedication (#ud6e4433d-397b-585b-be97-ec827ff24223)

Chapter One (#ua0c54644-a9dc-54ce-9800-4995925793c4)

Chapter Two (#uae356b95-b1d2-5d0c-bf53-bfcce86bf8ca)

Chapter Three (#u92b96c38-f6b4-564e-827e-52124857dd8a)

Chapter Four (#ue885fcb9-c7e6-5cb8-8394-a06021310dad)

Chapter Five (#udc370834-004c-5670-9d10-1fca989deca5)

Chapter Six (#u112336fc-6361-5f5f-a398-fb732d6bad6f)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_fd397bc5-ab97-5e71-8c58-5d812e9a7bed)

May 1816

There was no escaping the fact that the Marquis of Stanford was drunk. Although inebriation was a state that he was known for, even during daylight hours, the assembled guests were still surprised that he had chosen to be in that state today. While the older generation muttered that it was poor form and gazed at his new fiancée with outright pity, absolutely everyone knew that the only reason the handsome, if slightly dissipated, Marquis was marrying Evie Bradshaw in the first place was because he desperately needed her money.

Some of the younger guests, including Evie’s two stepsisters, found the spectacle hugely entertaining. It was hardly surprising, they had muttered maliciously behind their fans, because Evie was such a Plain Jane after all and so very dull. The poor man would need all of the Dutch courage he could consume just to kiss her and that was if he even saw her in the first place because she did have a tendency to fade into the background and become invisible.

What none of the roomful of guests knew, including her spiteful stepfamily, was that Evie was absolutely delighted that Fergus Matlock, third Marquis of Stanford, had turned up to their unexpected and impromptu engagement party completely foxed. For the sake of appearances, of course, she pretended to be crestfallen and embarrassed by her fiancé’s slurring and swaying. And best of all, she had not even asked him to arrive drunk, which was, for want of a better word, perfect. But inside her less than impressive, slightly plump exterior, Evie was dancing. And turning cartwheels. And positively whooping with joy.

Her spur-of-the-moment plan to escape her tedious, invisible life was working. In a few hours, she would finally leave Mayfair, ostensibly to ready the dissolute Marquis’s house for a wedding, but in reality she would buy her own house instead. Independent. Uncriticised and guilt-free. The hands on the ornate mantel clock could not turn quick enough.

The root of her current misery, her cold fortune-grabbing stepmother, marched towards her, disapproving lips more pursed than usual. Grabbing her by the arm she dragged her back into the alcove. ‘Evelyn, it is time that you put a stop to this sorry excuse for an engagement at once. Everybody would understand and your father, God rest him, would never condone it. Look at the state of that man—he is a disgrace. I simply cannot, in all good conscience, allow you to marry him.’

‘Fergus is probably suffering from wedding nerves. He is only a little bit drunk.’ No, he wasn’t. He was positively steaming. ‘He will not be like that for the wedding. He has promised.’ Not that there would be a wedding. This was a business transaction. Pure and simple. The five thousand pounds it had cost her was nothing compared to the price of her freedom.

Hyacinth Bradshaw’s lips almost inverted in protest as she looked down her nose at Evie. The woman hated being thwarted, especially by her disappointing stepdaughter, and would normally deal with her quiet acts of defiance with cold, vocal disdain. Unfortunately, Evie’s surprise engagement had pulled the rug from underneath her stepmother’s feet. Hyacinth was now painfully aware of her precarious financial situation, so she had stopped shy of her usual vindictiveness in an attempt to appear like a concerned mother who only wanted what was best for her daughter. It was a façade that really did not suit her. Ten years ago, Evie might have fallen for it—would have desperately wanted to fall for it—but too much water had gone under that particular bridge in the intervening years.

‘Your father, God rest his soul, would not wish for you to marry such a libertine. Surely you know that Stanford is only marrying you to get his hands on your money?’ The same money that Hyacinth was determined not to lose. Money that her father’s second wife firmly believed should be rightfully hers. The money she freely spent like water whilst constantly berating her stepdaughter for everything from her appearance to her dull conversation.

‘Fergus is very fond of me.’

‘Nonsense! You have always been such a silly girl, Evelyn. Why on earth would a handsome marquis...?’ Realising her mistake, Hyacinth bit back her usually cutting criticisms of her stepdaughter’s many shortcomings. The expression on her face made it plain how distasteful she found it. For several seconds her cheek muscles quivered before she forced an approximation of a smile that didn’t quite work. ‘Why on earth would a handsome marquis, who clearly enjoys the hedonistic delights of the gaming hells and brothels, want to marry anyone unless he was seriously in debt? I am sure that if you cast your net wider you will find a more suitable man to marry, given time. This has all been so very hurried. Perhaps I could help you find him? That is what your father would wish for if he could.’ Although up until this moment, Hyacinth had been most scathing about the chances of Evie finding anyone who was desperate enough to be prepared to marry her. She was too fat. Too plain. Too dull and far too old now for anyone to wish to be saddled with her. Evelyn should be content with the life she had and she would always have a home with Hyacinth. Of course, what she would have said to Evie, if she were being completely honest, was—you cannot leave because somebody has to pay the bills. ‘Besides, this is most improper, Evie. I do not like this silly idea you have to move to his estate before you are properly wed.’

‘It is hardly improper. Great-Aunt Winifred is coming with me, so I will be correctly chaperoned, and there is a great deal of work to do on poor Fergus’s estate to get it to a state in which it will be presentable for the wedding. He will be staying at the inn for the sake of propriety, so you have nothing to be worried about. Besides, he will probably have to return to London almost immediately so Aunt Winnie and I will be alone. In a month, or two, I am...’

‘Winifred is not a suitable chaperon!’

A little devil within her decided to have another poke to see if it could get a rise out of Hyacinth. ‘I have asked repeatedly if you and my sisters would accompany me—it would be so nice if you would. If Papa had still been alive, he would have insisted that we all travel together as a family.’ As if they had ever been a family.

Her stepmother snorted and fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘I cannot drag the girls away from London now. Not while so much is still going on. Rose is fresh from her first Season and several eligible gentlemen are actively courting Iris. To take them away from all of the entertainments in town would be nothing short of cruel. We will come up for the wedding, of course, or when the ton retire to their country estates for the summer, although it is my sincerest wish that you will come to your senses first and call it off. You are simply being selfish leaving like this, with only three days’ notice, too! I have never known such a hasty engagement. Your dear father must be spinning in his grave.’

As Evie was a coward who never, ever argued back in case she did send her father spinning in his grave, she changed the subject. ‘This is a lovely party, Mother.’ The room was filled with Hyacinth’s cronies. Aside from Great-Aunt Winnie, Evie did not call a single person present her friend. All of her childhood friends were now married and had abandoned London years ago. Not that there had been many of them after her mother fell ill and Evie had been dragged from her own life to nurse her, then soon after had to become a nursemaid to her father as well. Clearly fate had always intended she be left gathering dust on the shelf.

‘It was the best I could manage on such short notice and on such a tight budget.’ Hyacinth loathed the very idea of a fixed budget. Up until Evie’s father had died, she had spent with impunity and found Evie’s control of the purse-strings galling. ‘I fail to understand why you would wish to penny-pinch for your own engagement party.’

‘I have hardly penny-pinched, Mother. There is plenty of everything and our guests do not appear deprived.’ And Evie could not quite bring herself to waste good money on this mockery; not when she had so many plans for her inheritance.

‘On the subject of finances,’ Hyacinth said too casually, ‘I am a trifle confused as to how all this is going to work, Evelyn. Running this house is expensive.’

How many times in the last few days had they had a version of this conversation? Living entirely rent free in what was now Evie’s house in Mayfair was never going to be good enough for her stepfamily. Her father had insisted that Hyacinth should keep everything that she had been bequeathed by her first husband and had left her several thousand pounds a year, so she was hardly on the cusp of entering the poorhouse. As far as Evie could recall, she had never seen the woman spend a farthing of her personal hoard. She much preferred to leech off Evie. ‘I shall continue to pay for the staff in my absence, so I doubt that you will have to dip into your own—’

‘It is not for myself that I am worried. My dear girls, your dear sisters, have grown up accustomed to a particular standard of living which has led them to expect a certain kind of future. I only hope that I can maintain it on my frugal allowance, I would hate to see their chances of making a suitable match quashed because we cannot afford to attend all of the right entertainments.’

Hyacinth’s definition of frugal left a lot to be desired. ‘Surely I am allowed to have a future, too?’ Evie even managed to look winsome as she said this, but perhaps the wistful sigh was laying it on a bit thick. Her stepmother’s lips pursed again and it took her a moment to choke out a reply.

‘Of course, my dear. You know that I wish you every happiness.’ Just in case Evie changed her mind and threw them all out of her Mayfair town house. ‘But I am neglecting our guests.’

Hyacinth wandered off, leaving Evie alone hiding in the alcove and watching the festivities from a distance, as usual. Theirs was, at best, a very distant relationship. Even though they had lived in the same house for ten years, any conversation between them longer than five minutes was intolerable for Hyacinth. Her stepdaughter was merely a means to an end. If she had not had substantial ‘means’, Evie was in no doubt Hyacinth would have happily severed all contact between them as soon as her second husband was in the ground.

‘Their’ guests were either friends of Hyacinth’s or people Hyacinth was keen to befriend. Her stepmother was determined to climb her way into the upper echelons of society by whatever means she deemed necessary. Unfortunately, the upper echelons were less keen on welcoming the social-climbing widow of a merchant into their ranks, but Hyacinth still persisted. Tirelessly.

Evie had no interest in the higher echelons, or the lower ones for that matter. To them, as she was to practically everyone, she was invisible. As a result, she had not bothered ordering a new gown for her final appearance in London society. What was the point? Hyacinth’s seamstress despaired of her drab and plump stepdaughter.

Evie couldn’t blame her. Her unfashionably generous figure was a difficult canvas. In fine fabrics, it resembled a bag stuffed full of onions and heavy wool just made her wideness wider. As much as Evie hated to agree with Hyacinth about anything, she did agree with her stepmother’s often lamented assessment of her unfortunate appearance and the fact that one could not make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, no matter how much money one paid the modiste.

Seeing her standing alone in the corner of the room, her awful fiancé raised his glass in the air in a silent toast, but made no move to come towards her. She waved politely for the sake of the charade and did her best to ignore the rising bile in her throat.

It was difficult to find anything to like about Fergus. He was a selfish wastrel with excessive spending habits. He was also entirely untrustworthy—character traits which had made him the perfect choice. He desperately needed some money and she desperately wanted to be free of Hyacinth, but lacked the courage to tell her. As soon as she had realised that he had a small estate in the north, a good week’s drive away from London and in a part of the country Hyacinth would never visit, she tentatively offered him a bargain. On the verge of bankruptcy and with debt collectors hammering on his door, the Marquis of Stanford was delighted to accept.

The house, a place to live whilst she bought one of her own, far, far away from all the awful memories of Mayfair, was the most important part of their bargain. A house. On her own. To do whatever she wanted. No longer the nursemaid, pitied old maid or the source of the funds. Or the dutiful daughter who had promised her father to treat his second wife as she had her own mother. This house was a painful reminder of that vow which Hyacinth took every opportunity to remind her of. The north was a place where she hoped she could reinvent herself, be happy and finally climb out of her chrysalis.

She did not expect to emerge like a butterfly—butterflies were far too lovely an insect for Evie to aspire to—but she was quietly confident that she could perhaps be a moth. In the dark, when nobody saw them, moths still flew. In the north, without all of the responsibilities and reminders of London, there were hundreds of things that she was desperate to do. Yes, indeed, Evie had great plans for the future. And they very definitely did not include the Marquis of Stanford. Fergus could pickle his organs back in London after she was safely ensconced in the north, with her blessing. Quite frankly, she did not care if she never saw the dreadful man again.

Thus she would finally leave this house that held so many bad memories and would start a new chapter in her life. It was time to say goodbye to Miss Evelyn Bradshaw, eternal spinster, wallflower, over-generous benefactor and doormat. Evie had no idea what her future held, but one thing she was entirely certain of. When she drove out of Mayfair later, she was never, ever coming back.

* * *

The journey north had been interminable. Never a good traveller, Evie had spent the duration of the five-day trip either ill or on the cusp of being ill. Fortunately, Aunt Winnie, who had always been a force to be reckoned with, had insisted that the journey be broken up with restorative overnight stays at strategically placed coaching inns so that they could regain some of their equilibrium. She and Aunt Winnie retired to their room every evening after supper and Fergus enjoyed the taprooms until the small hours. Judging by the sorry state of him most mornings, Evie wished she had had the foresight to supply him with his own coach.

It had been dark by the time they finally arrived at Fergus’s Yorkshire estate and although she was wilting with exhaustion, Evie had been pleasantly surprised by the place. She had expected neglect and dilapidation, but the Palladian manor house was anything but. They were immediately greeted by an ancient butler who appeared totally astounded to see them. Fergus swiftly ushered Evie and her aunt into a well-appointed drawing room while he spoke to the butler and housekeeper alone. Soon a fortifying tray of tea was brought to them which they sipped while their rooms were prepared and luggage carried in. Too tired to explore the house or to socialise, Evie had retired as soon as she was able and her vile fake fiancé and carriage left to settle in the local inn.

* * *

Several hours later, Evie found herself wide awake and staring at the strange ceiling more than a little overwhelmed. She had done it! Quiet, plain, invisible Evelyn had done the unthinkable and escaped. Two hundred miles of relentless road now separated her from her awful stepfamily and the life she had once led. It was like having the weight of the world lifted off her shoulders and everything she had dreamed of, so despite the lateness of the hour and the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, Evie felt giddy with success. Sleep would be impossible now, yet it was still far too early, or late depending on your point of view, to wake the servants. There was nothing to stop her exploring the house, though. If this place was to be her temporary home, she might as well find out where everything was.

* * *

Finn wearily finished brushing down his horse and then led it into the stall. He was not angry that there had been nobody waiting in the stables to greet him because nobody had expected him tonight. As far as the staff were concerned, he was supposed to be staying overnight in York and travelling back tomorrow. It had been a last-minute decision to travel home this evening. The noise in the inn and the over-familiarity of the crowded occupants had become cloying and he had needed to escape. Almost two aching hours later and he still did not regret that decision. It might well be two in the morning, but at least he could sleep in his own bed, as far away from people as was humanly possible.

Outside the kitchen door, he pulled off his boots. Stowers, his butler, was too old to be getting out of bed in the small hours and Finn knew that if he got the first whiff he had returned early, the faithful old retainer would insist on attending to him. As he had expected, the house was shrouded in darkness and not a single lamp was lit to ease his way, but he did not bother lighting one. He knew the layout of the place so well he could probably traverse it without incident in his sleep. At the foot of the stairs, something caught his eye and he peered down the hallway. A weak strip of light bled out from under the closed door to the small library. Odd. Perhaps the servants had forgotten to extinguish the light.

The door swung open silently on its well-oiled hinges and the sight beyond rendered him temporarily speechless. A strange woman stood in front of the roaring fireplace, staring into the flames and smiling. Whilst that was shocking in itself, the glow from the fire rendered her billowing nightgown almost translucent and awarded him the wholly unexpected, but not wholly unwelcome, view of her voluptuous figure beneath. It was almost a perfect hourglass. A deliciously rounded bottom, a nipped-in waist and, if he was not mistaken from this odd angle, a magnificent bosom. The sort of figure that would earn her a small fortune as a tavern wench. To torture him further, she bent down to throw more wood on to the flames and the thin fabric moulded to her behind like a second skin, highlighting the way those hips flared and then tapered as his eyes travelled down a shapely pair of legs. After two hours on the road, this unexpected stranger was indeed a sight for sore eyes. Aesthetics aside, she still had no place being where she was.

‘Who are you?’


Chapter Two (#ulink_b7f0855c-5aa0-5a8f-9367-e3e483a22daf)

Her head whipped around and with it a thick, dark plait swung off her shoulder and fell almost to her bottom. One hand automatically went to her heart in shock, drawing his gaze to the magnificent bosom that was indeed there, then her expression changed to annoyance.

‘Oh, Fergus! You gave me a fright.’

‘Fergus?’ If his brother was here, then his first assumption was correct. She was a tavern wench. ‘I am not Fergus.’

The woman had a heart-shaped face which was not classically beautiful, but certainly striking. Her mouth was a little too large for classical proportions, her nose a little too strong, but her eyes? Her eyes were quite lovely. Then they narrowed.

‘Are you drunk, Fergus?’

‘I am not Fergus.’

‘Of course you are and this silly game is not at all funny.’

As Evie said those words she began to feel uncomfortable. The more she looked at the man staring at her in the doorway, the more convinced she became that he might, indeed, not be Fergus.

Although he was the spitting image of Fergus.

Except his features were not as soft. The dark hair similar, but the style different. Fergus’s locks were always ruthlessly pomaded to maintain the fashionable à la Brutus style that was favoured by the majority of the ton. There was no evidence of pomade in this man’s hair and, now that she thought about it, it was longer. It flopped over one eye quite rakishly and had a windswept quality that Fergus would never allow. Dark stubble covered his chin. Another thing that Fergus would never be seen dead with. Even in the worst state of inebriation Fergus still managed to shave. The clothes were all wrong as well. Her fiancé was a bit of a dandy and had a tendency to wear lace and intricately folded knots at his collar. This man’s clothing was more austere with a distinct absence of any froth. And his eyes were slightly darker, his body slightly larger, his posture more commanding. But his gaze was equally as cold. Filling the doorway in his billowing greatcoat, he looked positively menacing.

‘If you are not Fergus, who are you?’ Her voice was pathetically small and uncertain once again.

‘I am his brother. His twin brother. Finnegan.’

Fergus had mentioned in passing he had a married brother, but he had neglected to tell her that he was one of twins. He had also apparently neglected to tell his brother about their visit, hence his unexpected appearance in the middle of the night. ‘Although this is quite unorthodox, Lord Finnegan, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I am Miss Evelyn Bradshaw, Fergus’s fiancée.’

His eyebrows lifted and his eyes insolently swept slowly from her face down her body. They lingered on her chest blatantly for a second before they travelled back up to her eyes again. ‘You are not his type.’

As far as Evie was aware, she was not anyone’s type, but that was by the by. She was not going to get into that sort of discussion with a stranger. ‘I can assure that we are engaged to be married, Lord Finnegan. And as such, for the duration of my stay here and for the sake of propriety, Fergus has taken residence in the local inn.’

His features remained deadpan, but his arms folded across his chest. ‘Has he?’

Evie smiled in a vain attempt to soften the blow she was about to deliver. She did find it very difficult to be assertive, but in this instance she had to do it. ‘I hate to inconvenience you after your late journey, but for the sake of propriety I must insist that you also take yourself directly to the inn as well. My great-aunt and I will be staying here in Stanford House.’

Nerves made her voice wobble and she had the overwhelming urge to curl up into a ball, but, remembering that she was resolved never to be Invisible Evelyn again, she pulled her shoulders back proudly and forced herself to meet his gaze. Several awkward seconds ticked by.

‘He didn’t tell you, did he?’

‘Tell me what?’ Fergus’s double now appeared to be amused and shook his dark head as he stared up at the ceiling, as if he were seeking strength from the lord.

‘This is not Stanford House. This is Matlock House.’ He folded his arms over his impressively broad chest. ‘My house.’

Lost for words, Evie gaped back at him. When she found her voice it came out in a squeak. ‘I have been led to believe that this is my fiancé’s house! He brought me here this very evening and made no mention of the fact that this was your house.’

‘Yes. Well, in my experience, Fergus’s relationship with the truth has always been rather tenuous. He probably brought you here because Stanford House in is no fit state to be inhabited. No doubt he will have constructed a perfectly reasonable-sounding explanation when I confront him about it in the morning. However, right now I am going to bed.’

He turned and, to her utter chagrin, headed directly for the stairs, clutching his boots. ‘You cannot mean to stay here!’ Now the squeak was so high pitched that she sounded like a mouse.

Evie watched him drop the boots loudly and spin slowly to face her as he walked back into the library, his expression part confusion, part outrage. ‘This is my house, madam.’

‘But for propriety’s sake you cannot stay under the same roof as me!’

His hands came up to rest on his hips this time and his dark head tilted to one side insolently. The combative stance made him seem bigger. ‘Why ever not?’

Unsure of how to explain why his presence was outrageous, she managed to stutter something incoherent while he glared at her as if she was mad. In the end the best she could manage was one word.

‘Because!’

‘Because what? Are you afraid that at some point during the night my manly urges might get the better of me? Do you fear that I might hammer down your door and ravish you, Miss Bradshaw?’ Evie nodded weakly, painfully aware of the ferocious blush that had now swamped her face and chest. To her complete mortification he laughed bitterly at the implication. ‘If I was a man prone to being unable to control his urges, madam, I doubt I would wait until later to act on them. Especially since the firelight is doing a wonderful job of turning your nightdress transparent and giving me a perfectly unencumbered view of your naked body beneath.’ Automatically, she used her arms to cover herself and her mouth hung slack in shock. He, on the other hand, regarded her with polite indifference.

‘I am dead on my feet and I have absolutely no intention of leaving my house now or at any time in the future. Goodnight Miss Bradshaw. Don’t bother locking your door. Your precious virtue is perfectly safe with me.’

* * *

‘As he is not your fiancé, is already married and there are plenty of servants here as well as me, I do not think that there is any danger of your stay here being misconstrued as improper. In fact, it rather legitimises you staying here in the first place.’ Aunt Winnie nibbled on the tiny triangle of toast that she had procured from the extensive breakfast buffet laid out on the sideboard. Evie stared down at her matching toast mournfully and tried to ignore the tempting aroma of bacon wafting towards her nose.

‘That is as maybe, but now I am gravely concerned that Fergus has lied to me. His brother stated that Stanford House was uninhabitable and I have no intention of staying here for the duration.’ Although the house was quite lovely, she had hoped that she would be all alone. Being a guest rather put a dampener on things, especially as their unexpected host appeared to be quite rude. Seeking alternative accommodation that quickly was not something that she had planned for, not that she really had a plan.

‘We will make the best of it my dear. And think about it this way—if he has been fibbing it gives you another believable reason to call off your engagement when the time comes.’

Aunt Winnie did make a valid point, she supposed. Her sham betrothal to Fergus was only a temporary means to an end. She got her freedom and he got five thousand pounds for the year she anticipated they would need to maintain their charade. The important thing was Fergus had agreed to those terms. In the grand scheme of things, she would have still made the bargain if she had known that his house was uninhabitable—only she would have instructed her attorney to find a suitable cottage for herself and Aunt Winnie immediately before announcing her engagement to Hyacinth. In many ways, if Stanford House was a complete wreck, then it stood to reason that it would take ages before it was in a fit state to hold a wedding. Evie could delay telling Hyacinth the truth for years—pathetic coward that she was.

You see, Stepmother, I loathe my life with you almost as much as I loathe you. You are a mean, money-grabbing bully and I am tired of being your victim and of being Invisible Evelyn. Pitied, shapeless, plain and dull Invisible Evelyn. I feel as though I am dying inside.

No matter how many times Evie had thought a version of those words they had never seemed quite right so she had bitten them back. Hyacinth was her father’s second wife. He had loved her, perhaps, and he had made Evie promise to be a good daughter to her. Unfortunately, if he had made a similar request to Hyacinth, her stepmother did not feel duty-bound to honour it. This separation would give her the distance she needed to pluck up the courage to say them. Probably by letter. Almost definitely by letter. One day...

Out in the hallway, she heard the distinctive sound of a male voice and steeled herself to greet her fake fiancé’s rude twin brother. Under the circumstances, she had no choice but to rely on his hospitality until she had sorted out the mess, if the gentleman in question was prepared to extend his hospitality that was. Last night he appeared to be as enamoured of Fergus as she was, which was a worry and made her new situation precarious.

He strode into the room looking just as dark and foreboding as he had last night and regarded his uninvited guests with an air of disgusted resignation. ‘Good morning, ladies. Miss Bradshaw.’ His eyes flicked from her face to her plain green frock and then back again shamelessly, making no attempt to disguise his disappointment with what he saw. Evie felt the blush creep up her neck and suffuse her face as she recalled his ridiculous claim to have seen through her nightgown and wondered if his disappointment was merely because she was intruding on his privacy or because he really did know what lay beneath the yards and yards of silk. He inclined his head towards Aunt Winnie and took her proffered hand. ‘I am Finnegan Matlock, Fergus’s brother. I have not yet had the pleasure of your acquaintance.’

‘This is my Great-Aunt Winifred. She has accompanied me as my chaperon.’ Even as she said it Evie could see the disbelief in his dark eyes. He was probably wondering what use an eighty-nine-year-old woman with a walking stick was as a chaperon, but then again, as Evie was highly unlikely to ever need the true services of a chaperon to protect her virtue, she tried not to be offended. Aunt Winnie was her only living blood relative and, despite the innate difficulties of transporting an octogenarian with rheumatism across the entire length of the country, Evie could have hardly left the poor woman alone with Hyacinth. Even though Winnie always gave as good as she got.

‘Welcome to Matlock House, madam.’

‘You are better looking than your brother, sir.’

One eyebrow quirked with what she assumed was amusement at Aunt Winnie’s forthrightness, although he did not smile. ‘As we are identical twins, madam, I find that highly unlikely.’

Aunt Winnie would not be swayed. ‘Yes, yes. I see the similarities well enough, young man. I am old, not blind. But there are distinct differences. I have always thought your brother looks untrustworthy. His eyes dart around too much when he talks. Yours are steady. And you wear your breeches better. Do you like to ride, Lord Finnegan?’

Evie’s level of mortification ratcheted up a notch and she gave Fergus’s brother an apologetic smile. ‘Aunt Winifred is very outspoken.’ Her plain face was very probably glowing scarlet and that was a colour that had never suited her. Typically, like most people, he ignored her.

‘Yes, I do ride. Aunt Winifred—would you care to take a gallop over the fields with me?’ Although his face remained impassive his eyes appeared to be smiling. He definitely had better eyes than Fergus. Clearer. Not bloodshot. A little intriguing. The old lady giggled and swatted him with her hand.

‘And you are more charming than your brother. Talking of which, where is Fergus?’

‘As it is still morning and I dare say he has enjoyed his evening at the inn, unless he has changed his ways in the three years since I last saw him, I assume that he is still asleep. He never was one for daylight.’

Three years? That seemed an excessively long time for any siblings to have not visited one another, let alone twins. ‘I take it that you and Fergus are not close, Lord Finnegan?’

He answered with his back to her, more intent on loading his plate with the delicious steaming bacon than being polite to Evie. ‘To be honest, Miss Bradshaw, we are virtual strangers. Even as children we had vastly different characters. The only thing we have in common is the same face and the fact that we once shared the same womb.’ He balanced a piece of toast on top of his mountainous breakfast and carried it back towards the table. ‘Our parents often commented that we were as different as chalk and cheese.’

Which probably accounted for the fact that Fergus had never mentioned that he was one of twins. Finn ate his breakfast heartily, but suddenly paused his fork halfway to his mouth as he noticed Evie’s slice of toast. ‘Are you not eating?’

The familiar lie spilled out. ‘I am not particularly hungry.’ In fact, she was starving. She spent a great deal of her life starving in a pathetic attempt to become slimmer and thereby miraculously more attractive. Her excessive weight was one of the many things Hyacinth was merciless about. Unfortunately, even if Evie did manage to reduce her figure by a few inches, the moment she succumbed to temptation and ate a cake she was right back where she started. And she so loved cake.

‘Then why you are staring at my bacon so intently? You do not look like a woman who could survive on one piece of toast.’

Horrified and mortified in equal measure, Evie stared back at her toast and tried to think of a pithy retort. As usual, none came so she sat silently and wished she really was invisible as she squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.

‘Tell me how you came to be engaged to my feckless brother.’

Evie focused every bit of her attention on the rapidly cooling and unappealing piece of toast and trotted out her practised line. ‘We collided at various functions last year, found that we rubbed along well enough and, after a few months, he proposed.’ The story was purposefully short and dull because that was easier. Besides, everyone expected Evie to be dull so few asked for further clarification. Lord Finnegan tilted his head to one side and simply stared.

‘Are you sure?’

Nobody had ever queried the tale before and it flustered her. ‘Well, of course I am sure. Do you think that I would make something like that up?’ Already her palms were moist and her heart was racing guiltily. No doubt her neck was already blooming in unbecoming pink blotches. She never had been a particularly convincing liar.

‘To be perfectly frank, Miss Bradshaw, I have no idea. You completely bewilder me. You are definitely not Fergus’s usual type and the brother I know is about as likely to settle down into marriage of any sort as I am to suddenly sprout wings and soar majestically through the clouds.’

‘You, yourself, said that you had not seen your brother in three years. People can change a great deal in three years.’

He snorted his disbelief. ‘The sort of change you are suggesting would take a miracle to achieve. Fergus likes to drink, gamble and whore. You do not strike me as a woman who fits any of those criteria. That leads me to believe that there is only one reason why he is marrying you and that reason has to be money. Are you obscenely rich, Miss Bradshaw?’

Her mouth hung slack. Had he just used the word whore in front of a lady? And more importantly, he had just insulted her in the most horrendous manner. Nobody had ever spoken to her quite like that, apart from Hyacinth. Evie’s gaze flicked to the fork lying on the table to her left and for a moment she considered picking it up and using it as a weapon. Perhaps Lord Finnegan’s manners would improve if he suddenly found himself with a piece of cutlery embedded in his hand. Or his forehead.

‘That is none of your business, sir!’

‘So you are obscenely rich.’ He calmly popped another piece of bacon into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. ‘You must be scraping the bottom of the matrimonial barrel to have agreed to marry him.’

The man was insufferable. Fortunately, Aunt Winnie was never short for words.

‘You are a very rude man, Lord Finnegan.’

‘I agree.’ Was that really the best set-down she could manage? Evie had promised herself that she was not going to be a doormat any more and as this man was unspeakably rude, it could hardly hurt to practise the new Evie on him. ‘And I do not need to sit here and listen to your insults.’ At least that sounded more assertive although saying it aloud had now terrified her.

He shrugged and munched more bacon. ‘You are quite right, Miss Bradshaw. Should you wish to leave this house immediately, I would completely understand.’

Her lush mouth hung slack again and Finn felt a stab of guilt for being so obnoxious. It was hardly the poor girl’s fault that his brother was a scoundrel and that he was a miserable curmudgeon who would rather be left alone than suffer company of any sort. With a sigh of resignation, he put down his fork.

‘I am sorry, Miss Bradshaw, my rudeness was uncalled for. It has been some time since I have entertained guests and I am out of practice.’ He offered her his best approximation of a smile by way of an apology, although he doubted that it looked like one. Smiling was not something he had much call to do any longer. Besides, it would feel much better to take out his anger on his brother. And his brother would get both barrels. ‘What time will Fergus be returning?’

She worried her bottom lip, drawing his attention to it. She really did have a very diverting mouth. ‘I am not altogether sure. We had made no firm plans.’

Well, that was odd. But then again everything about Fergus’s engagement struck Finn as odd. The oddest part was his unexpected choice of fiancé. He might not have a great deal to do with his brother, but he knew him inside and out. If Fergus was going to take a bride, and that was a very big if indeed when one considered his lifestyle choices, then it would be a lady who was more ornament than actual woman. A stickler for the latest fashions, Fergus would never condone the drab, shapeless dress Miss Bradshaw was wearing. Finn was no expert on ladies’ fashion, but from neck to hem that gown was a disaster. Why the woman would want to disguise the shapely figure he had seen was a mystery to him. The yards of unnecessary fabric formed one solid, shapeless block that did nothing for her. Nor did the severe hairstyle. The lovely thick, chestnut hair he had seen shimmering in the firelight was so ruthlessly styled that it had lost all of its lustre. If ever anyone was hiding their light under a bushel, it was Miss Bradshaw.

‘Never mind. If he fails to materialise any time soon, I shall take myself to the inn later and speak to him.’ There were a great many things that Finn had waited three years to say. None of them was pleasant.

This statement appeared to fluster her. ‘As I suspect it might take him several hours to materialise after he lied to me last night, I should like to accompany you, sir.’ He was sir now, he noted the censure in her voice, but she stuck out her chin proudly even though her expression suggested she would likely bolt at any moment, given half a chance.

It was on the tip of Finn’s tongue to tell her to get used to it. Fergus was a consummate liar. It was one of the few things his twin excelled at. But he stopped himself. If she was not aware of that fact already, she would come to know it soon enough without his help. Instead he nodded and took a swig of his coffee.

‘Before we leave, it is only right and proper that I introduce myself to your wife.’

Finn nearly choked. Just the mention of Olivia brought it all crashing back when he preferred to remain numb.

‘Where might I find her?’

‘Where she always is.’ Finn stood and ruthlessly quashed all of the unwelcome emotions that swirled in his gut. ‘In the cemetery.’


Chapter Three (#ulink_b6529d8a-b00f-58b6-9914-328a203468cf)

By late afternoon, it had become apparent that Fergus had no immediate intention of visiting Evie at all. She was desperate to track him down at the inn and ask him what he thought he was about or what he intended to do about the awkward situation he had placed her in. But after spectacularly putting her foot in it with his brother, she was reluctant to seek the man out so that they could go visit her fiancé together. She had not seen hide nor hair of the other Matlock since breakfast, when he had marched out of the breakfast room with a face like thunder and slammed the door behind him.

No doubt her crass mentioning of his wife had upset him and for that she felt horribly guilty, even though she found the man himself most disagreeable. Evie absolutely hated hurting another’s feelings. It went completely against her nature. Her own were hurt so often that she knew very well how awful it felt and would never intentionally do something like that, even to a nasty piece of work like Finnegan Matlock. It was yet another thing she intended to take Fergus to task for when he finally deigned to make an appearance. It was bad enough pretending that your brother’s house was yours, but to neglect to tell your fiancée that your twin brother was also a recent widower was unforgivable.

‘Would you like some more tea, Miss Bradshaw?’ a maid asked politely and Evie shook her head.

‘No, thank you.’ Already she was positively swimming in the stuff. Another cup might well cause it to seep out of her ears. ‘Do you know where I can find Lord Finnegan?’ Sitting around and waiting for one of the Matlock brothers to come to her was becoming very tiresome. Even Aunt Winnie had given up and taken herself off for an afternoon nap.

‘I have no idea, miss. Lord Finnegan went out hours ago. He tends to come and go as he pleases so I could not hazard a guess as to when he will return.’ The maid bobbed a curtsy and scurried away, leaving alone Evie to wait some more.

This was ridiculous.

She had come to Yorkshire to escape having her life controlled by others, to climb out of her suffocating chrysalis and breathe, not to allow two obnoxious men to step into Hyacinth’s shoes and force her to dance to their tune. If Fergus was too cowardly to face her here, then she would go and track him down herself. She was the new Evie Bradshaw after all, no longer a convenient doormat, and she was intending to be more fearless and independent. Feeling suddenly decisive, she stood and went off in search of the stables. She would avail herself of Lord Finnegan’s carriage and take herself to the inn.

But there was no carriage in the stables. Lord Finnegan, she was reliably informed, had no use for one. They would, however, saddle a horse for her should she require one or she could walk the two miles to the village seeing as it was a lovely day. As there was no way Evie was going to climb on to the back of a horse, she set off across the pretty meadow in the direction that had been pointed, ignoring the early summer heat and the inappropriateness of her footwear. Half a mile on and her thin slippers began to rub and Evie found herself becoming quite hot in the long-sleeved dress she had stupidly chosen to wear. Far off in the distance she could just about make out the spire of a church nestled amongst the gently rolling hills, which meant that she probably still had a good thirty minutes of walking ahead of her. Thirty more minutes of perspiration and foot pain.

With a sigh she flopped down into the grass. Perhaps going off to visit Fergus alone was not such a good idea. She would probably lose her nerve the moment she laid eyes on him, anyway, and any reprimand would come out sounding squeaky and pathetic. She should probably just return to the house.

For several minutes Evie just sat there, until a pretty butterfly floated passed. Only then did she remember why she had come here in the first place. Freedom. She had intended to enjoy and embrace life on her own, not sit around waiting for life to come to her. Here she was, sat in a beautiful meadow. The sun was shining and she was all on her own. Instead of feeling miserable she should be revelling in this. Why was she in a hurry to seek out Fergus when he was clearly in no hurry either? Aside from five thousand pounds, she owed Fergus nothing.

And as there was nobody to see her here, why was she suffering? Feeling emboldened, Evie yanked off her silly slippers, then rolled off her stockings. She could put them back on nearer to her destination, but for now she would enjoy the pleasant sensation of the air around her bare legs. It was delightful. So delightful that when she had her own house she would never wear stockings in summer. Or corsets.

Feeling a little naughty and rebellious at such scandalous thoughts, she wiggled her toes and then unbuttoned the high neck of her dress all the way down to her collarbone before rolling up her sleeves as well. It was too hot for buttons and sleeves. For good measure, she took off her big straw bonnet and stuffed her discarded clothing into it, then tied the ribbons to make a carrying handle before she set off again at a much more leisurely pace. Already that all felt so much better and unrestricting. She would embrace the inevitable freckles joyfully. She had long ago accepted spinsterhood, so why should she care if her skin was not fashionable? If she had not been on her way to visit Fergus, she would have also unpinned her hair. Perhaps, when she bought her own house here, she would ensure that it also had a secluded meadow so that she could go completely wild and strip off to just her shift while she cavorted amongst the flowers like that butterfly?

From then on her little walk was like an adventure. Evie stopped to watch the different birds as they went about their business, stared at the shapes made by the clouds and picked some of the prettier meadow flowers, even tucking a vibrant, fat dandelion carelessly behind her ear. When she found her path blocked by a wide stream it did not faze her as it normally would. At most, the crystal-clear water was barely five inches deep and, because she was now at one with nature, Evie decided to wade through it rather than find a way around it. Except, the moment her toes came into contact with the refreshing water, she could not find the motivation to move from that perfect spot.

As a child she remembered paddling in the sea on a trip to Brighton and that memory took her back to happier times when there had just been Evie and her parents. Mama was in fine health, laughing and holding her hand, and Papa was threatening to splash them both. How long ago had that been? Too long, she realised with a jolt. Almost fifteen years since she had enjoyed the joyous pleasure that came from simply splashing in the water.

On a whim, Evie tossed her bonnet basket back on to the bank and then bent down to knot her skirt above her knees. This afternoon, she would splash again. Simply because she could.

* * *

Finn was seething as he crested the hill, an emotion that he did not experience often but one that his brother almost always managed to rouse. Why did Fergus always do exactly as he wanted without any thought to the consequences? And how wonderful must it feel to selfishly skip through life without the burden of even a modicum of guilt for the chaos that you left in your wake? Once again Fergus had made a mess and left Finn to clear it up. What he expected him to do with his new fiancée, Finn had no clue. The small, loyal part of him wanted to make excuses for his brother, but his conscience would never allow that. It would be the kindest thing all around if he told her the truth. Yes, it would break her heart in the short term, but in the long term she would be spared the awful reality of being shackled to Fergus for all eternity. Nobody deserved that. The sooner he appraised Miss Bradshaw of the truth, the better. With her gone, life would return to normal and he would have peace and quiet again.

Horatio, his favourite horse, meandered towards the stream. They usually stopped there on their way back from the village so that the old boy could take a drink and a rest, and despite his bad mood, Finn could not quite bring himself to deprive the animal of that tiny pleasure. It was hardly Horatio’s fault that Finn’s brother was a scoundrel of the first order. Besides, the longer it took him to get back to Matlock House, the longer he could delay having to tell his brother’s future bride that the reliably unreliable Fergus had disappeared.

But as they got to the stream, fate decided that the bad news could not be put off any longer. Miss Bradshaw was there. Not that she had seen him yet, which was no surprise since she had her back to him again. Finn would have called to her, but she was having far too much fun kicking water into the air like a child. Despite his foul mood, there was something sweet and arresting in the sight of her so easily content which made him pause and simply watch her. Her ugly dress was hoisted above her knees to keep it out of the water. She had managed to get it soaked regardless, so it clung heavily to her shapely legs as she dragged her feet aimlessly through the water.

Finn quietly slid off of his horse and began to walk towards her. As he got closer it became apparent that Miss Bradshaw was also singing—although her voice and choice of song were surprising. For a woman who squeaked and blushed at everything, that voice was surprisingly strong and earthy as she sung some song about a highwayman who was wooing two women simultaneously. If she had of been a tavern wench as he had first thought, that voice, like her figure, would earn her a small fortune.

She must have heard him because she suddenly stopped and whipped her head around. A cheerful yellow dandelion hung listlessly from her hair and her mouth formed an ‘o’ of surprise at being caught. Thanks to the open buttons, Finn got to witness the ferocious blush as it spread up her neck and bloomed over her face, and found himself inexplicably charmed by the sight.

‘Lord Finnegan!’ Her hand came up to her throat and denied him the view of the hint of cleavage he had spotted under the blush, and then as an afterthought, she snatched the lolling flower from her hair and held it limply in her hand. ‘I was heading to the inn to see Fergus.’

‘Then I shall save you the journey. He’s not there.’

Miss Bradshaw bent slightly and wrestled with the wet knot in her skirts and the hint of cleavage came back into view, reminding him that he was a man and that he had not seen that particular part of a female in a while. Finn felt a pang of guilt at the temptation to stare and forced his eyes to focus on the top of her head.

‘Perhaps he has headed to Matlock House and you missed him.’ The knot was finally worked free and her heavy skirt fell back to her ankles and floated on the top of the water.

‘He is gone, Miss Bradshaw. He apparently left first thing this morning.’

She stared back at him in shock. ‘Gone where?’

‘He left you a letter which I have in my saddle bag. I dare say that might give us some clue as to his destination.’ Finn gestured back to his horse with a shrug and then started back along the bank to fetch it. Miss Bradshaw followed, although she chose to still wade parallel through the stream, apparently oblivious to the fact that her petticoats were now absorbing it.

When he handed it to her, she hastily broke the seal and scanned the contents with a look of pure irritation, then refolded it and stuffed it into a hidden pocket in her skirt. ‘He says that he has gone further north, but does not state how long for or why he has gone there.’

Which left Finn with an uncomfortable dilemma. Should he tell her what he suspected or pretend that Fergus would return presently? In the end, lying seemed futile. He owed Fergus nothing and the very last thing he wanted was a pair of uninvited houseguests for a prolonged period of time. ‘Did you give him any money, Miss Bradshaw?’

Her eyes widened and he realised that they were quite an unusual shade of brown. The golden flecks in the irises gave them a feline quality. ‘I did give him a little.’

‘How much did you give him?’ Because that dictated how long he would leave the poor girl stranded. Fergus got through money as though it was going out of fashion.

‘Oh, dear.’ She stared down at the dandelion in her hand and Finn experienced a trickle of unease.

‘How much?’

‘A thousand pounds.’

‘A thousand! Are you mad? Fergus will only gamble it away.’

Her dark eyebrows came together and her plump lips flattened. ‘At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do.’

‘Well, congratulations, Miss Bradshaw. With a thousand pounds in his pocket, I doubt you will see your beloved for months.’

She took this news remarkably well. ‘He will have lost it all in a few weeks, not months. Fergus is not a particularly talented gambler.’

Which begged the obvious question. ‘If you knew that, why on earth would you give him the money?’

She turned away from him then and idly swished her foot from side to side in the water. ‘He is my fiancé and it is only money.’

‘But it is your money, Miss Bradshaw, and you seem to be forgetting the fact that he has dumped you in my house and then abandoned you as if you are of no consequence while he goes off to spend it.’ Harsh words, but the truth none the less.

She was quiet for a long time, aside from the incessant swishing of her foot as she stared off into the distance, and then he watched her inhale slowly and straighten her shoulders. ‘I suppose this all appears a trifle odd from where you are standing, Lord Finnegan, but it is what it is and I shall make the best of it.’

Did the woman have no pride? ‘And that is it? You have been abandoned without so much as a by-your-leave, one thousand pounds poorer, but that is of no matter? I can only believe that my original assessment of you must be correct, because only a woman who is, indeed, scraping the bottom of the matrimonial barrel would accept such shoddy behaviour just to get wed.’ She turned to him then and he saw the flash of pain in her eyes at his cruel words.

‘I am scraping the bottom of the matrimonial barrel, Lord Finnegan. Of that fact, I am painfully aware. I hold no illusions that your brother holds me in any regard whatsoever because you summed up my situation perfectly. I am a plain spinster who has been left on the shelf but I am, as you so crudely put it, obscenely rich and we both know that Fergus is in dire need of money. Beggars cannot be choosers. It might not be the most romantic of arrangements, but your brother is agreeable to it and I find that it suits me well enough.’

Finn wanted to tell her that she wasn’t plain at all, in his opinion. She had beautiful eyes and a mouth that begged to be kissed. Not to mention that she had a body made for sin, but saying that felt disloyal to Olivia. ‘Surely you could do better than Fergus?’ There was a stubborn glint in her eye that made him wonder if Miss Bradshaw might actually have a spine after all, until she spoke and spoiled it.

‘I am content with Fergus.’

‘Oh, content, are you? I am glad someone is. Meanwhile, it is me that is now stuck with you! How typical of my brother to leave me with his problems while he swans off to have fun.’

She recoiled as if she had been slapped and Finn felt terrible. ‘I did not mean to refer to you as a problem, Miss Bradshaw, I merely meant that—’ She held up her hand to stop him.

‘You are quite right, Lord Finnegan. He has shamelessly foisted my aunt and I upon you and for that I am sorry. Perhaps you would be good enough to arrange for our luggage to be transferred to Stanford House immediately so that you are not inconvenienced further?’ She stood proudly, her elegant hands clasped in front of her, the whimsical dandelion now dropped into the water and despondently floating away much like all broken dreams did eventually.

It was the matter-of-fact stoicism that undid him, almost as if she was quite used to being considered an unwelcome burden and treated with a lack of respect, and for some reason that bothered him. ‘There is no need. Stanford House is a wreck and there are no servants there to attend you. You can stay at my house while I make the necessary arrangements to return you to London while you wait.’

The flash of temper was so sudden and unexpected that it shocked him. ‘I will not be returning to London!’ By the stunned look on her face it had also shocked her. She sucked in a deep breath, blinked twice and then continued. ‘I am resolved to live in Yorkshire from now on, sir, and nothing with dissuade me.’

‘Fergus could be gone for months! And I am to be inconvenienced in the process? Until yesterday I had no idea you even existed and now I am expected to be responsible for you and your aged aunt, while Fergus goes off and enjoys himself at cards. Or whoring as he usually does?’ He watched her face pale, but ploughed on. It was better that she knew what she would be getting into with his twin before the wedding. At least then Finn’s conscience would be clear. ‘I owe my brother nothing, Miss Bradshaw, and my charity only extends so far.’ And more importantly Finn wanted to be left all alone. Away from people and their lives and hopes and dreams. The last thing he needed was this voluptuous creature, who sang bawdy songs and paddled in streams, and reminded him that he was a man.

‘As I have already stated, Lord Finnegan, I have no desire to inconvenience you any further and would prefer to remove myself to Stanford House presently.’

‘I keep telling you that house in uninhabitable—’ That delicate hand cut him off again.

‘Stanford House will do well enough until Fergus returns—and he will return. So do not trouble yourself on my behalf. I have no need of your charity, sir. I am an independent woman, Lord Finnegan, with independent means. A vast amount of independent means! I shall hire my own servants and make the house habitable. And because I have no desire to be considered as one of your problems, we will leave tomorrow and gladly so.’ She thrust her chin out and glared down her nose at him imperiously with outrage shimmering in her eyes. And managed to look quite splendid as she did it. ‘Good afternoon to you, Lord Finnegan, I shall not inconvenience you any further.’

With that she turned and stubbornly waded up the bank towards her discarded bonnet and shoes. She picked them up and began to march barefoot back across the meadow without giving him a backwards glance, the sodden heavy skirts slapping against her legs loudly. He could tell, by her posture, that she was indignantly proud of herself. The beginnings of a smile nudged at the corners of his mouth.

Underneath all of that awkward exterior, Miss Bradshaw had some gumption. It was obvious that she was not usually a person who took someone to task. Throughout the whole exchange her voice shook nervously and her neck bloomed with angry red blotches, but she persevered. Once she got started, there had been no stopping her. Most people just tolerated his brusqueness nowadays.

Poor Finn Matlock. All bitter and twisted. Even his wife could not stand to live with him.

It was quite refreshing to have been called on it for once. He actually admired her determination to stay at Stanford House just to spite him, although Finn doubted she would be quite so determined once she saw the place.

He swung himself back on to Horatio and nudged the beast to wander slowly in Miss Bradshaw’s irate footsteps, while he watched her delectable, wet, rounded bottom sway as she stomped purposefully ahead a few yards away, resolutely pretending that he no longer existed at all. He doubted she would be quite so enamoured of the idea of marrying his dissolute brother when she saw his home. The only thing that would make Stanford House habitable would be to raze it to the ground and start again. Once she saw it, she would have to back down and return whence she came, and that actually did make him smile. Would she be all indignant and blotchy or would the squeaky, nervous Miss Bradshaw return? Either way, it would be entertaining to watch. For the first time in a very long time, Finn found himself actually looking forward to something.


Chapter Four (#ulink_90f5da4f-3a9e-5688-92cd-38236e013f29)

Evie had gone to bed feeling very proud of herself and then slept like the dead. The other Matlock, with his cutting words and his brooding, insolent eyes, had brought out a side to her character that she never knew that she possessed. For the first time in her life, she had stood up to someone and it had felt marvellous. He had made it plain that she was unwelcome in his house and she had made it equally as plain that she had no intentions of staying there or of being shipped back to Hyacinth and her malicious daughters. The very last place she would ever want to stay was with another obnoxious and nasty person who underestimated her and undermined her at every opportunity. Not after she had spent ten long years living with Hyacinth, having every ounce of joy and confidence gradually chiselled away until there was nothing left but the doormat she hated.

Of course she was angry at Fergus. The shoddy behaviour of that vile wastrel was beyond the pale—however, it was not wholly unexpected. Not really. Not when one considered his weak character and intrinsically selfish nature—the two character traits that she had needed him to possess in order for her escape plan to work. She had not expected him to stay long in Yorkshire and in all honesty would have been glad to see the back of him had it not been for the fact that he had left her in the lurch as an unexpected and unwelcome guest of his brother.

But she had not anticipated that he would bolt within a few hours of her handing over the first instalment of his payment. Fortunately, she had had the good sense not to give him the entire five thousand pounds in one go—the rest of the money was safely stored in a locked box amongst her small things in her trunk—although he had become quite unreasonable when she had explained this to him. In fact, just before he had left for the inn he had thrown quite a tantrum, but Evie had held firm. Two staggering examples of new-found assertiveness in less than twenty-four hours! Who’d have thought it? But one thing that she had learned from her stern father, and his many years of business, was that you never paid up front for goods or services you had not yet received. While Fergus might well have delivered her to the north, he still had to uphold the rest of their bargain. That meant, from time to time, he had to play the role of her fiancé for as long as she deemed it necessary.

His curt letter had given her an address where she could reach him in York as well as a reassurance that he would go nowhere near London until Evie was satisfied that he could return without raising too much suspicion about their engagement. He made no apology for disappearing nor for failing to appraise her of the fact that he had left her at the wrong house, but he had been adamant that ‘good old Finn’ would look after her in his stead until he returned, which just went to show how little Fergus actually knew about anything.

‘Good old Finn’ could not wait to see the back of her and that feeling was quite mutual. The man was viler than his brother, but for completely different reasons. The fact that Fergus had apparently declined to tell his own brother the truth about their situation had given her pause and stopped her from sharing the contents of the letter. If Fergus did not wish his brother to know about their arrangement, there was probably a very good reason. It was obvious his twin was no fool, nor did he strike her as the type to suffer fools like Evie gladly. She sincerely doubted such an outspoken man would have a great deal of sympathy for her inability to stand up for herself in her own house. Selfishly, Evie had kept quiet because she had feared that she would be cast out on her ear if ‘good old Finn’ realised that the engagement was a sham and it was obvious he had little time for his wastrel brother.

He had said that he and Fergus were as different as chalk and cheese. Now that she had some experience of both of them that really was a very apt description. Like chalk, Fergus Matlock was weak and slowly eroding away, while Finnegan definitely left a sour taste in the mouth, just like rancid cheese. What gave him the right to say such hurtful things to her anyway?

‘You do not look like a woman who could survive on one piece of toast...’

‘Scraping the matrimonial barrel...’

‘Your precious virtue is perfectly safe with me.’

All she had spent was a few scant minutes in his company and already she wanted to kick him. He made her so nervous. During each of their brief, tense exchanges, her heart had positively hammered against her ribs and her mouth had filled with cotton wool. His twin did not have that effect on her. With Fergus, Evie felt in control. But then she held all of the cards. He was a means to an end and theirs was a business transaction. While Finnegan looked almost exactly like Fergus, she certainly did not react to his presence in the same way. The man was so vexing and disagreeable. And unfortunately, he possessed all of the intelligence that Fergus lacked. She got the distinct impression that those mesmerising dark eyes saw right through her and her veil of lies. Under those circumstances, it was actually a good thing that he wanted her out of his house.

This morning, Evie intended to move into Stanford House whether there were servants there or not. As if living in less than luxury would bother her! She who had slept for more hours than she cared to remember in a chair at an invalid’s bedside, doing all of those intensely personal and demeaning tasks that one did in a sickroom in order to spare her parents the indignity of being attended to by a servant. No, indeed, she would happily attend to both her own and Aunt Winnie’s needs for as long as it took to find some staff and she would even enjoy it. For too many years Evie had dreamed of escaping the shackles of her old life and, now that she had, she was damned if she was going to let either one of the Matlock twins spoil it for her. Especially not the one who wore his breeches better, or who had floppy dark hair and soulful, insightful, mesmerising, dark eyes.

To that end, she was already up and dressed and it was barely past dawn. The first thing she was going to do was take herself to Stanford House and prepare a couple of bedchambers for herself and Aunt Winnie. Once that was done, later this morning she would oversee the removal of their luggage from Lord Finnegan’s fine house and would never darken the man’s door again.

Charity!

Hah! He could go to hell.

Feeling empowered and invincible, Evie stomped downstairs in her most sensible gown and walking boots.

‘Good morning Miss Bradshaw! Are you looking forward to your move?’

He was leaning against the doorframe of the breakfast room with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. Smiling. As Evie had never seen him smile, she was not fully prepared for the effect it would have on her. Those dark eyes were dancing with mischief, one of them slightly hidden behind a lock of hair that her fingers wanted to push back, and just like the first time she had seen him his chin bore the evidence of fresh stubble. But that smile did funny things to her insides and made her suddenly twitchy and self-conscious. She felt every inch the fat, frumpy, plain spinster she was up against his artless attractiveness. It was intimidating. However, the new improved Evie Bradshaw would not invert with shyness, no matter how much she wanted to. No, indeed! The foundations of their acquaintance had already been laid and this morning she was invincible.

‘It is a good morning, Lord Finnegan. I find myself quite delighted to be leaving.’ Her heart practically skipped a beat and her palms grew hot, but she managed to look directly at him as she spoke. Unfortunately, her voice wavered a little on the ‘Lord Finnegan’ and his clever eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he heard it. Almost as if he were looking forward to seeing her falter and he was just waiting, like a predator, to pounce.

‘But not before breakfast, I hope. You can hardly ready an uninhabitable house on an empty stomach.’ The forced joviality worried her. He was definitely up to something, she was certain. But then the inevitable insults came out and they forced her to put some steel in her spine. ‘My cook has ensured that there is plenty of that delicious bacon that you were eyeing so covetously yesterday. I know you don’t eat much, but I am sure you can choke down a few bites in the spirit of politeness. And I am quite I sure that you would hate to offend my cook by only partaking of toast when she has organised a breakfast banquet in your honour.’

Evie had hoped to be eating alone. Now he had stepped out of the doorway and was welcoming her into the room with his outstretched arm.

‘Stowers, would you be so good as to bring Miss Bradshaw a hot beverage? Is it tea or coffee you prefer?’

The little devil inside her spoke up. ‘I prefer chocolate in the mornings, Lord Finnegan. If it is not too much of an inconvenience.’ Reluctantly she entered the lion’s den and sat down primly as far away as it was possible to sit from the master’s chair. To her horror, he began filling a plate for her. Eggs, bacon, sausage, more bacon and finally a piece of toast formed a mountain on the plate which he put it before her with great ceremony. Then he did the same for himself and sat next to her rather than at the head of the table. Just to intimidate her further.

‘I thought I would accompany you this morning, in the spirit of being a good host.’

Evie’s spirits sank. ‘There really is no need, Lord Finnegan, I am sure that you have much better things to do with your day.’ The smell of bacon was making her mouth water and reminded her that she was ravenous. Demurely, she cut off a tiny piece and popped it into her mouth and tried not to sigh at the sublime savoury taste.

‘Oh, I insist, Miss Bradshaw. In fact, I am rather looking forward to it. Do you ride, Miss Bradshaw?’

‘I do not, Lord Finnegan, I intend to walk.’

‘How splendid. A brisk walk across the parkland will be most invigorating. Perhaps we could take the time to get to know each other a little better? I feel as though we have got off on the wrong foot. In fact, perhaps we should start now?’

In answer, Evie shoved an enormous piece of sausage into her mouth that prevented any further conversation and took for ever chewing it. She had no desire to know Finnegan Matlock any better than she did his dissolute brother. She followed the sausage with a healthy chunk of bacon. After the second forkful, he got the message and concentrated on his own breakfast, but he did it so smugly that she found herself frowning. He probably thought that she would faint dead away at the sight of Fergus’s dilapidated house. Frankly, she did not care if it was overrun with vermin and as damp as Scotland in winter. At least she would be on her own, aside from Aunt Winnie, of course, and then she could set about starting again. Tomorrow she would visit the attorney that her own solicitor had recommended and instruct him to begin searching for suitable properties immediately. The sooner she found her own house, the sooner she could end the charade with Fergus and live the sort of life she had always dreamed of. Free. Happy. Not a doormat. What was the point of having a fortune if you never got to enjoy it?

* * *

Miss Bradshaw remained stubbornly mute for the duration of the meal, which Finn found surprisingly amusing. Even more amusing was the way she closed her eyes in sheer bliss every time she put a new morsel of food into her mouth when she assumed that he was concentrating on his breakfast. This was a woman who enjoyed her sensual pleasures. Splashing water, joyous singing, hot, crisp bacon...everything she did when she thought nobody was looking, she did with such passion. It made him wonder what she would be like in the full throes of it, until he ruthlessly dismissed the errant thought when the usual guilt began to niggle. He had no right to be thinking such things. Not after Olivia.

Except he had been thinking them. Suddenly he could not stop thinking about them. For two nights now, he had lain awake not thinking about his darling wife, but about the woman who had suddenly invaded his quiet life. It was difficult to get the image of her silhouetted body in that oh-so-proper nightgown out of his head. Or the way the firelight and sunlight had made the copper strands in her thick chestnut hair glow. Or the earthy beauty of her voice as she had sung in the stream. Even in her current shapeless dress, there was something about his brother’s fiancée that intrigued him and called beneath the dead exterior he shuffled around in, to the remnants of the man that still, miraculously, lurked beneath the surface.

* * *

Once the meal was finished, she did her best to dissuade him from accompanying her. ‘There is no need for you to come. I would prefer to go alone.’ The pink blotches creeping up her neck bore witness to the effort it took her to be impolite. Instead of making Finn feeling awful, her discomfort spurred him on.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Bradshaw. For the moment, at least, you are still my guest and I do feel responsible for you.’

‘Then perhaps you should ride to Stanford House later. I am certain that you will find the walk with me dull.’

No, he wouldn’t. There was nothing dull about her, aside from the dreadful dress. Finn had never seen quite so much fabric in one garment in his life. It must weigh a ton. ‘Nonsense. We are to be brother and sister, Miss Bradshaw. I am keen to further our acquaintance, aren’t you?’ Because he knew that it would vex her, Finn held out his arm. For a few seconds, she simply stared at it as if it were something distasteful, until her innate good manners forced her to take it. But she stared resolutely ahead as they set off towards his childhood home and she made no attempt at making conversation.

It was probably just as well. The moment they set off, Finn became painfully aware of her hips. They seemed to undulate as she walked, in a graceful figure of eight, and with each alternate step they lightly brushed his thigh. After a few yards, it was torture, so he stopped to pretend to check the time just so that he could sever the contact.


Chapter Five (#ulink_aa0bf662-e405-594f-af19-9b6559e6a8ee)

Taking Finnegan Matlock’s arm was not to be recommended. The moment she had threaded her own through his, Evie quickly learned two things. Firstly, he had the body of a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors. Not that she had a great wealth of experience of the male form to draw upon, but he certainly did not feel anything like her occasional dance partners or her fiancé, whose arms were quite soft in comparison to his irritating brother’s. And secondly, and perhaps more importantly, just the feel of that solid, muscled, male appendage did funny things to her.

Instantly, Evie felt warm, her heart began to flutter in her chest and her fingers desperately wanted to run themselves all over the muscles to trace every intriguing plane and bulge. She was excessively grateful when he checked his pocket watch and then failed to offer out the offending arm again.

‘Stanford House is about a mile away,’ he said without any trace of his usual sarcasm or surliness. ‘Just over that hill.’

The gently rolling landscape of the Dales was spread out before her and Evie could not help smiling at the sight. ‘It is beautiful here.’

‘I have always thought so. Quite a change from London, I suppose?’

Good grief—were they actually exchanging pleasantries? ‘Indeed, Lord Finnegan, the only opportunity to see nature at all is in the parks and they are always so crowded.’

‘I cannot imagine that. I find York stifling enough.’

‘Have you never been to London?’

‘I have never had cause to go there, thank goodness. I am certain that I would dislike it immensely.’

‘I loathe London.’ Had she just said that out loud? By the way he turned to look at her, his dark head slightly tilted to one side and his expression curious, Evie realised that she had. And to him, of all people.

‘Why?’

How to explain something that she had never verbalised before? ‘It is crowded and unforgiving.’ Perhaps not the best choice of words, but fitting.

‘Unforgiving?’

Oh, dear, definitely not the best choice of words. Now she had to explain herself and he would no doubt think her pathetic. ‘Even though it is filled with people, the society there is very close-knit. Everybody knows everybody else’s business.’

‘It is like that in the countryside also.’

‘Yes—but...’ Evie sighed, becoming increasingly aware of his intense gaze. ‘In London, everybody is judged. And once judged, it is impossible to be anything other than what you are perceived to be.’ She really should not have said that. Except, that was how she felt. Bottled, labelled and displayed on the shelf. In London, she was Evie the spinster. The plain wallflower with the dull personality. A woman whose ship had not so much sailed, but failed to leave the harbour. A nobody. A nothing. She doubted this splendid-looking man would understand how draining it was to be of no consequence.

‘And how are you perceived to be, Miss Bradshaw?’

The question startled her and she blushed ferociously. She could hardly admit to the truth—but then again, she already had, she supposed. ‘I am perceived exactly as I am, Lord Finnegan. A plain, plump wallflower who has been so long on the shelf that she is almost a part of it.’

‘How old are you, Miss Bradshaw?’

Goodness, the man was rude. Nobody asked a lady’s age. ‘Almost six and twenty.’

‘That is not old. You still have plenty of child-bearing years left.’ Another thing that, frankly, should never be discussed, especially as Evie’s heart lurched at the mention of the children she would never have. ‘And you are neither plain nor plump.’

‘You do not need to spare my feelings, Lord Finnegan.’

The corners of his mouth curved up as he stared straight ahead. ‘I believe you know enough about me, Miss Bradshaw, to know that I am not a man to spare anyone’s feelings. If you want me to be completely honest, I believe that your choice of attire and matronly hairstyle make you appear plain and plump. And old, Miss Bradshaw. Far too old.’

‘You are a very insulting man, Lord Finnegan.’

‘Yet a moment ago you accused me of sparing your feelings?’ Evie could not think of a quick enough answer to that so marched on ahead to the crest of the hill. When she got there, and stared down, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Ahead of her was what she assumed was Stanford House. Like Matlock House, it was Palladian in style and perfectly symmetrical. Unlike Matlock House, it appeared to be missing a roof.

‘I did tell you that it was uninhabitable.’ He came level with her and then jauntily bounded down the hill with a definite smug spring in his step, leaving Evie to trail despondently behind. Insufferable man.

By the time she caught up with him he was a few yards from the shell of a house with his arms folded. It was obvious by the lack of glass in several windows, and the black stains that blotted the pale stone above those gaping holes, that there had been a horrendous fire. A horrendous fire that Fergus had neglected to tell her about during their hasty negotiations. Was nothing about her move to Yorkshire going to go to plan?

‘What happened?’

‘About three years ago, my dear brother had one of his house parties. I have never really got to the bottom of who did what and when, Fergus never invited me to any of his many entertainments and I would never have gone even if he had. Suffice to say, at some point during the night someone set fire to something. Because it had been a particularly hot summer and because they were all so deep in their cups that nobody had the good sense to throw water on the flames quick enough, the place went up like a firework. You might have noticed that the roof is missing. If you go inside, and I do not recommend that you do, you will also discover that the entire upper floor has collapsed as well. You could always pitch a tent in the grounds.’

‘You are enjoying this, aren’t you, Lord Finnegan.’

His mouth curved upwards again and he nodded. ‘So—it’s back to London for you, I suppose.’

The rush of pure, unadulterated fury was so sudden and so visceral, Evie quite forgot herself. Of their own accord, both of her hands shot out and pushed him firmly in the chest, sending him backwards so that he landed unceremoniously on his bottom on the ground. He stared at her in shock.

‘I am never going back to London! I do not care if I do have to pitch a tent! I am never, ever going to live with Hyacinth again! I hate that woman. I hate the way she makes me feel. And I hate her stupid, spiteful daughters. And most of all, I hate the way that I am when I am around them!’

Evie covered her mouth with her hands and simply stared at him, shocked at her own lack of control. The anger on his face, changed to bewilderment. ‘Who’s Hyacinth?’

Evie’s voice was shaking and so were her hands. She had just pushed a grown man, a very big, solid, hateful grown man, to the ground and she had no idea whether to be mortified or exulted. ‘She is my stepmother.’

His dark head tilted to one side again as he assessed her from his seat upon the ground. ‘Why do you hate her so much?’

A painful knot formed at the base of Evie’s throat and for a few moments she was certain that she might cry. ‘This is really not what I had hoped for when I came to Yorkshire.’

In resignation, she lowered herself to sit on the ground as well, where she took several calming breaths. ‘My stepmother married my father for his money. When he died, the only reason she kept me on was because my father had left the bulk of his fortune to me, not her. But she resents me for it and spends every minute of every day reminding me of my shortcomings, making me miserable while she happily spends my money on her life and all I get to do is watch. In London, I am a doormat. An invisible nobody. I came here because I wanted to stop being a doormat. I am running away, you see, Lord Finnegan. I know that you probably think me over-dramatic or lily-livered for not standing up to Hyacinth, but if I stay there I will continue to fade away until there is nothing left of me but an outline. I cannot go back there; no matter how awful things are here.’

* * *

Finn did not want to feel sorry for her, but he did. He could see the tears shimmering in her pretty eyes that she would not allow to fall, saw the light of hope in them dull and hated the sight of it. He knew how painful it was to have all hope die. But she had misguidedly put all of her hope in Fergus so she was already doomed to be disappointed. ‘I doubt your life will be any better here with my brother, Miss Bradshaw. He will spend your money, too, and probably a darn sight quicker than this Hyacinth woman. And he will never be here. Already he has abandoned you for the gaming tables and I fear that he will always do so.’

‘I do know that, Lord Finnegan. It was one of the reasons why I became engaged to him.’

Now Finn was truly baffled. ‘You willingly became engaged to a man who will make you miserable and ignore you, just as you claim this Hyacinth woman does?’

‘I suppose, to you, that does sound silly, but I have no desire to spend any more time with your brother than he does with me. I came here to live my own life, Lord Finnegan.’ She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, and in doing it was almost as if she was repairing herself. When those eyes opened again there were no more tears there. ‘I shall buy a house, Lord Finnegan. A fine house. And I shall live in it. I am not a doormat any longer. The new improved Evie Bradshaw is resilient and determined. This is only a setback—not a defeat. In the meantime, I shall take rooms at the inn.’

She stood up then, smoothed down her skirts and started to walk back towards the hill. Whilst he admired her tenacity, her lofty plan was flawed. ‘It could take many weeks, months even, to find a house and complete the sale. Your aunt cannot stay all that time in an inn.’

‘My great-aunt is made of stern stuff, Lord Finnegan. We will do well enough whilst we wait. Besides, I would not send her back to Hyacinth. That woman is a nasty bully.’

A nasty bully? The way she said it suggested she had been on the receiving end of such harsh treatment. A new knot of guilt was forming in Finn’s gut.

‘There is no need to send your aunt back to Hyacinth Whoever-She-Is.’ Good heavens, what was he saying? ‘And there is no need for either of you to go to the inn. Under the circumstances...’ Stop, man—before you say something that you know you will regret! ‘...and as we are to be brother and sister, I would prefer it if you stayed at Matlock House while you search for a new home.’

Finn stared at the sky and cursed his parents for bringing him up to have good manners.

She stopped walking and turned to face him. ‘I do not wish to inconvenience you, Lord Finnegan.’ But there was hope sparkling in those golden-flecked eyes again and he did not want to be the one to dash it.

‘It is not an inconvenience, madam. Just do not expect me to be a good-humoured host.’

When she rushed at him and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek in gratitude, Finn had the overwhelming urge to respond in kind. Except it was not her cheek he wanted to kiss. Instead, he stood stiffly and hoped that the sale would go through more swiftly than any sale had ever gone through before. ‘I suppose we should head back.’ His voice sounded gruff and she disentangled her lush body from his. Instantly, he had the overwhelming desire to pull her back, but resisted.

They set off up the hill and his brother’s fiancée could not stop smiling. And perhaps smiling was contagious because Finn felt the urge to smile back at her. Clearly doing good deeds warmed the heart and his cold, shrivelled heart felt inordinately pleased with itself.

‘Now that you are no longer a doormat, what will you do with your days?’

‘I intend to do whatever takes my particular fancy rather than Hyacinth’s. I am tired of being dragged around town while she makes endless calls on people who are always glad to see the back of us. I hate balls and parties and sitting with the wallflowers. So you see, Lord Finnegan, by contrast this place is paradise. I shall paint outdoors, sing folk songs loudly, wear unsuitable gowns...’

‘The one you are wearing is quite unsuitable enough. It does not fit and it is ugly.’

‘You are a very rude man, Lord Finnegan.’ But she was smiling as she said it.

‘Perhaps. Would you prefer me to lie to you with idle flattery? I assumed that the new and empowered Miss Bradshaw would have the gumption to insist on complete honesty.’

‘I do not have the right figure for gowns to fit properly.’

‘Any decent dressmaker could make you a gown that fits properly. That abomination is shapeless and far too capacious.’

She stiffened in outrage but the faint blush that stained her cheeks was actually very becoming and certainly something that she should do more often. ‘More fabric is flattering to someone with a more generous figure!’

Knowing full well what lay under all of those acres of stiff fabric, Finn was inclined to disagree. ‘Is that one of your awful stepmother’s pearls of wisdom?’

She paused thoughtfully before answering. ‘Yes, it is! And as I am no longer a doormat, I should probably ignore all of her advice going forward. I shall find a new dressmaker as well as a new house.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ Her good mood was infectious. ‘Perhaps you should find a new fiancé while you are about it?’

She simply grinned at that and chatted about everything and nothing all of the way home while she idly picked wild flowers that he wanted to weave into her hair.


Chapter Six (#ulink_5ce81ce3-1f16-5bec-ad9f-71982f7a3cb8)

Over the course of the next week, Evie fell into a new routine which she rather enjoyed. Because she was an early riser, most mornings she collided with her surly host over breakfast. Usually he was gruff and forthright, occasionally sarcastic, but he never failed to look at whatever gown she wore with utter disgust. This appraisal was always accompanied with one cutting word, although the choice of word varied. Yesterday it had been dull, the day before it had been foul. Hideous, matronly and only one two-word insult—good grief!—had also featured in his daily criticism.

Yet those cutting words somehow spurred her to be the better, braver Evie Bradshaw. The no-longer-a-doormat Evie Bradshaw that she wanted to be. Yes, he criticised her appearance much like Hyacinth had, but her stepmother had criticised Evie personally: her face, her figure, her hair; his criticism was directed solely at the awful gowns Hyacinth had chosen for her. Gowns that Evie had always hated, but had been conditioned to believe were the best she could expect when she was as unfortunately shaped as she was—Lord Finnegan, in his own curt, unfriendly manner, made her wonder if perhaps Hyacinth might have dressed her like that on purpose, which, strangely, motivated her to undo that damage.

Underneath all of that surliness, he was occasionally uncharacteristically considerate, although he did his best not to show it. If he saw her nibbling on toast he put bacon on her plate; he was kind to Aunt Winnie, even though he pretended to be completely put upon. Aunt Winnie insulted him playfully and he gave as good as he got. But even when he was being sociable he never laughed and even the rare approximations of a smile were few and far between. At all costs he avoided them.

Aside from breakfast, the only time Evie got to see him was in passing because he gave his guests a very wide berth. He never ate dinner with them, preferring to take a tray into his study rather than sit down with them, and he apparently never ventured into the bright and airy drawing room at any time of the day. Whether that was because he really had no desire to have anything more to do with them than was necessary, Evie could not say, but she much preferred those few minutes with him in the breakfast room to the hours she sat in the drawing room with Aunt Winnie.

The housekeeper had explained her master’s reluctance to go into that room was because it reminded him too much of his beloved wife. Hardly a surprise when the room was dominated by a large painting of a lovely blonde-haired young woman with a butterfly perched in her open hands.

His wife.

Olivia Grace Matlock.

Perhaps it was the butterfly, when Evie was merely a moth, or perhaps it was the fact that the ethereal beauty of the woman made Evie feel plainer than usual, or perhaps it was the fact that she suspected that this woman still haunted this house and its surly owner—whatever it was, the drawing room was intimidating. And she quite missed his company there.

When their paths did cross, he would engage in brief, usually curt, conversation and then he would take himself off to his study and she would not see him again until the following morning. Though as silly as it was, Evie really looked forward to those mornings. Later in the day, when he was tired, there was an air of sadness about him, almost as if he was already quite done with the day and the effort of being part of it. But in the mornings, he seemed less burdened, much as Evie was feeling decidedly less burdened with each day that passed that she was not in London. Already she had made inroads into the huge task of restarting her life.

The same day that Finn had agreed to allow her to stay had been the very same day that she had made an appointment to visit a dressmaker.

All on her own.

The dressmaker, a lovely woman with a brash northern accent and enormous, coarse hands, had stared at the frock she was wearing in disbelief and asked if the woman who had made it had had the cheek to want paying for such a disgrace to the profession. Then she had gone about draping all the soft and floaty fabrics that Evie had always been told to avoid over her body and dismissing all of Evie’s panicked comments to the contrary.

Some of her assertions had made Evie blush, especially her recurring compliment of, ‘You have a wonderful pair of bosoms, Miss Bradshaw, you really should show them off.’ But as the dressmaker also made dresses for the vicar’s wife, Evie was trying not to panic about how revealing the finished garments would be.

Later today, the first new gowns would finally be ready and, fear of showing too much of those bosoms aside, already Evie was brimming with excitement and looking forward to wearing one of them to breakfast in the morning to gauge Finn’s opinion. The change of appearance somehow signalled the start of her new life. A life that she was determined to grab with both hands.

Her new attorney was already hunting for suitable properties and as soon as he forwarded his findings to her, then Evie could start to look at them and decide where she was going to live for the rest of her days. But until then, she would enjoy doing what she had been doing since her arrival in this stunning part of the country. After breakfast, she would spend a few hours chatting and reading to Aunt Winnie. When her aunt went for her afternoon nap, Evie would take a walk over the meadow, paddle for a while in the stream and then go to the village. Going out on her own, whenever and wherever she wanted, was a novelty that she doubted she would ever grow tired of.





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