APretenseofLove Read online

  A Pretense of Love

  Aileen Fish

  Blush sensuality level: This is a sweet romance (kisses only, no sexual content).

  Twenty-two-year-old Miss Jean Seaton��s best chance of finding a husband is behind her. When her brother’s friend offers to pay for a Season in London in exchange for pretending to be his betrothed, she sees it as a miracle.

  Ben needs a fiancée to convince his dying grandfather that he has settled down and is capable of inheriting and running his business and estate. But he didn’t consider how spending six weeks with Jean would make her necessary to his happiness. Now she’s in London and he’s in agony. A gentleman never reneges on an agreement…unless his heart is broken.

  A Blush® Regency romance from Ellora’s Cave

  A PRETENSE OF LOVE

  Aileen Fish

  Prologue

  Fall, 1816, Hambledon, Hampshire

  “Yes, I will accept your offer.”

  The words slipped out so easily Miss Jean Seton feared Mr. Tilbury would know how often she’d practiced them. Never with him as the intended recipient, but for the moment that minor detail was unimportant.

  Mr. Ben Tilbury paced the small space between the seating area and the fireplace, a crease dividing his thick black brows. In his buff breeches, gold waistcoat and brown tailcoat, he appeared ready to ride, not discuss an arrangement such as this. “I suppose we must inform your mother of our plans too.”

  Rising from the faded settee, Jean smoothed the wrinkles from her worn muslin day gown. “Yes, she would question the propriety of our traveling together if we don’t.”

  “Of course. We must ask her to accompany us. Forgive me, but I hadn’t thought the entire scheme through. It wasn’t until I received Gilbert’s letter that it occurred to me to ask you.”

  She also forgave him the tactless mention of her not being his first choice. There was no pretense of a grand romance between them. There was barely an acquaintance. “When did you wish to leave for your grandfather’s estate?”

  “As soon as possible. The doctor said Grandfather doesn’t have long. I came straightaway in hopes you’d agree.”

  “As long as we are clear that I do not wish to marry you, I can accept your terms.”

  He held up his palms as if warding her off. “I have no intention of marrying, or I wouldn’t suggest this scheme.”

  “But surely you’ll marry one day, to beget an heir at least.”

  “I have many years before I shall require an heir. In the meantime, there are always women willing to provide comfort without the need for a commitment of long duration.”

  Her eyes widened as she grasped his meaning fully. That he would mention such a woman in her presence told her all she needed to know of his character. He might be a friend of her brother, but he was no one she needed to know better. She would accept his offer and play her part, and then be glad to be free of him.

  Jean’s mother bustled through the open doorway, reaching out with both hands to welcome Mr. Tilbury. “It is so good of you to come. Are you on your way from London?”

  “No. I came from Greater Yarmouth. My grandfather is dying.”

  Mrs. Seton lifted a hand to her lips as her smile retreated. “I am sorry to hear this. Whatever called you from his side?” She motioned for him to sit as she took the space next to her daughter.

  Jean perched on the edge of the settee once more, but Mr. Tilbury remained standing. She drew in a deep breath. “Mr. Tilbury has made me an offer, Mama.”

  Her mother’s smile lit her deep-brown eyes.

  Jumping in quickly, Jean waved a hand. “Oh, not the sort of offer you are imagining. It’s more a business proposition. If I will pose as Mr. Tilbury’s fiancée for a short time, he will provide me with a Season in London.”

  The familiar melancholic veil slipped back over Mama’s features, aging her instantly. “Oh, I see. But how can you expect to find a husband in London once word gets ’round of your betrothal? No one will want you if you cry off, and will want you even less if Mr. Tilbury does the leaving. As difficult as it is for a lady your age to find a husband, you make it impossible with this arrangement.”

  The room grew quite warm and Jean fought the urge to fan herself. She avoided looking at Mr. Tilbury, not wishing to see his pity, or whatever emotion he might feel toward a plain, dowerless woman such as she. “I am only two-and-twenty, not a spinster yet. And no one will know of our betrothal. If you will accompany me to Sir Waldo’s home, Mr. Tilbury can present me to his grandfather and we can slip away before anyone’s suspicions have been raised.”

  He cleared his throat and tugged at his heavily starched cravat. “Your presence might be required a bit beyond the introductions. Grandfather wishes to see for himself that I am settling down, so we will have to play the merry couple. But I fear he’ll not be with us for longer than a fortnight, at most a month. He has no one calling on him, so no one will know of our charade.

  “I will introduce you as the family of my comrade at arms, Gilbert, should anyone visit. I’m certain my aunt will agree to sponsor Miss Seton next Season, if I tell her of some great service your son did me on the battlefield. You see, this will work to everyone’s benefit. I will get my inheritance without being leg-shackled, and Miss Seton will have her Season.”

  She was to have a London Season. Jean held her breath in anticipation of Mama’s agreement. Although she knew Mr. Tilbury only a little, from his visits with her brother in recent years, she trusted him to protect her reputation in such an arrangement. Visiting Sir Waldo’s estate would be a holiday of sorts, a chance to live in the comfort she hadn’t known since she was a child.

  Truthfully speaking, she’d never known the sort of comfort Sir Waldo must live in. His income was said to be far above any her father could ever have claimed. And the meager inheritance Father had left them meant she’d have to work, or marry a local man, if there had been any men nearby she would consider. Hambledon didn’t have a lot to offer no matter how pretty or accomplished a young lady was.

  “Mama, will you allow it? May we tell Sir Waldo we are engaged?”

  At her mother’s quick shake of her head, her dark ringlets bounced about her neck. “I do not like this. There are too many ways it can go wrong, and it could ruin you if it did. Then there are the specifics. Your wardrobe. You do not have enough fashionable gowns to dine at Sir Waldo’s table for weeks on end. He will wonder why his grandson has chosen someone beneath his notice.”

  Mr. Tilbury approached in long strides. “I will buy Miss Seton some gowns, if she needs them, and anything else either of you require. But Sir Waldo doesn’t leave his bed, so we needn’t dress as formally as he might expect. I daresay Miss Seton is beautiful enough that my grandfather won’t notice her attire.”

  “But the servants will notice. And the servants will talk.”

  “I will inform his butler to expect the mother and sister of my dear friend, who have come to enjoy the sea air while recovering from an ailment. If Sir Waldo says differently, it can be blamed on his feeble mind. But he isn’t able to speak clearly, so it’s unlikely he’d contradict anything we say.” Mr. Tilbury remained standing in front of Mama, watching her response.

  She looked at Jean for a long moment. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”

  “It would mean so much to me to have a Season, Mama. And as your father was a gentleman, no one would look askance at Mrs. Granderson sponsoring me. I will have the chance, at last, to change our circumstances by being exposed to such gentlemen as we might meet. Do say we will go with Mr. Tilbury to Three Gables.”

  Her mother’s features softened as she let a sigh escape her. “If it’s what you truly wish, I will go along with you.”

  Jean grinned
and turned to Mr. Tilbury. “When do we depart?”

  Chapter One

  May 1817, Greater Yarmouth, Norfolk

  Ben stared past the trees skirting the walled garden, watching a bird float on a current. Its wings spread, it hovered in the sky as if held there by some invisible hand.

  That same hand pinned Ben to a piece of linen under glass. An insect to be examined, a lifeless shell with no purpose other than to be displayed when the right callers visited.

  Such was his life since taking over Sir Waldo’s enterprises six months earlier. Ben was a figurehead, leader in name only. No one cared to hear his opinions on how the end of the war might influence the fishing market, or whether they should consider diversifying in shipping. He might as well be carved from wood and bolted to a ship’s bow for all that was required of him.

  Boot heels clambering on the marble floor outside Ben’s study announced his friend Viscount Ringley’s approach. Ben stiffened, expecting a continuation of their rather loud discussion over breakfast.

  “Rather pleasant out today, isn’t it?” Ringley stopped at the desk and shuffled through the latest issue of The London Gazette that arrived in the morning post.

  “I’m certain the breeze is as cold and damp as always.”

  “No worse than the one indoors,” muttered Ringley. “Well then, when do you leave?”

  Ben spun around. “Leave? For where?”

  “London, of course. That’s where you said Miss Seton is. Didn’t you have some urgent news for your dear Aunt Granderson?”

  “I have no such news, urgent or otherwise. What do you go on about, man?”

  Ringley sank into a chair and snapped the newspaper open. “The reason for your trip to London.”

  “I am not having this discussion.”

  “No, it is much wiser to remain in the country and brood like a lovesick swain than actually pay a call on the lady in question.”

  “I am not lovesick,” Ben barked. When his words echoed off the glass doors of the bookshelves, he ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck. Ringley was quite accurate in his description, whether Ben wanted to admit it or not. The brooding portion, not the lovesick claim. Ben hardly knew what love looked like, much less how it felt. Never had the thought of love arisen in those weeks Miss Seton spent at Three Gables. Nor would he call his feelings for Miss Seton lust. “It’s this foul weather we’ve been suffering. I miss the warmth of Spain.”

  Chuckling, Ringley shook his head. “You may make all the excuses you wish, but I believe your best remedy is a trip to London.”

  “London? During the Season? Don’t be daft. I should no more enjoy myself there than I do those soporific board meetings at Tilbury and Company.” He left the window and sat before the pile of papers awaiting his perusal.

  “I shall join you there. We’ll spend some time in the clubs, and you may find your Miss Seton and beg her to end your misery.”

  “I might, if I were at all miserable. Or had I any interest in a wife.”

  “End my misery, then. Your manner is lacking.”

  Ben snorted. “If you find my company dull, you are welcome to depart at any time. No one is holding a knife to your throat.”

  “Go now, when the plot is getting interesting? You jest.”

  “There can be nothing interesting in watching me read business letters. And I’d finish much sooner if you’d leave me to it.”

  “I shall do so. Just as soon as you name the date for our journey.”

  Dropping the papers he’d been trying to read, Ben combed his hair back with one hand. “If I agree to travel, will you allow me to finish my business in peace?”

  “Of course. The sooner you finish, the sooner we may away.”

  Emitting what came awfully close to a growl, Ben went against his better judgment. “If you’ll leave me to my work, I can be ready to go by week’s end.”

  Ringley’s chuckles echoed in the hallway as he sought his entertainment elsewhere. Ben shook his head. Admittedly, a short stay in London might relieve some of the tension that had taken residence in his shoulders ever since he’d come to stay at Three Gables. He’d never been close to Grandfather. The man’s cool demeanor didn’t encourage affection. But watching the old man fade into his feather mattress had tugged at Ben’s gut, and attempting to learn what was necessary to tend the running of the business left him drained.

  Miss Seton’s sweet voice had carried him through those weeks when Sir Waldo lay dying. Perhaps just the sound of it was all he needed to clear this gloom and focus on business again. Or perhaps he would find a mistress in London to tend to his needs, and leave Miss Seton to her search for a husband.

  An image of her on the arm of another man filled his head and he snarled. What if the man was a rake? She was so innocent of society, with her country upbringing, she might easily be led into a compromising situation. She needed her brother in Town with her, or since he was in Spain, a good friend of Gilbert’s. Ben should offer his services to his aunt, of helping to determine which men were worthy of Miss Seton’s heart.

  Miss Seton’s heart. Did any man deserve it? No man of his acquaintance was good enough for her. She deserved only a strong man of high morals. One with a country house, where she would feel at home. Income adequate to buy her fine gowns to enhance her beauty, and fill a library with books to enjoy so she no longer had to borrow them.

  Yes, a generous soul, a man who could look at no other woman having rested his eyes on her heart-shaped face. Those peach-colored lips, soft and full and begging to be kissed.

  Blast and bollocks!

  He should be the one kissing those lips, not some titled peacock seeking a brood mare to provide his heir, spare and nursery full of little lords and ladies. The very thought of another man being intimate with her had his blood boiling.

  The only way to assure himself of Miss Seton’s future well-being was to be present in it. To be the one providing that happy state.

  All he needed to do was convince her he was what was best for her.

  * * * * *

  Jean stepped off the path in Hyde Park to let a governess with a brood of enthusiastic youngsters pass, then returned to Miss Agnes Sunderland’s side. “Do you think Lord Milford will be at Lady Reddingham’s ball this evening?”

  Agnes brought her gloved hand to her lips to soften her giggle, glancing over her shoulder at her much older, spinster sister, who trailed behind. “I do hope so. I wish he would attend me, not you. But no man will so much as speak to me while she is hovering about.” Her sigh overflowed with melodrama.

  “Plenty of eligible and handsome men have danced with you.”

  “But none quite as good-looking at your Lord Milford.”

  “He’s not my lord, and you know it. I shall not argue should he wish to become so, however.”

  They laughed together and Agnes took her arm as they approached the Serpentine. A pair of gentlemen strolled in their direction some distance away, and the sight of the taller one took Jean’s breath away. She clutched her throat with a gasp.

  “What is it? Did you swallow a fly?”

  “No. I’m fine, truly. But I’m suddenly feeling ill. May we return to Mrs. Granderson’s home now?”

  Agnes’ delicate red brows drew together. “Of course. Shall I fetch us a carriage?”

  “No, no. I’m quite capable of walking.” Just so long as they walked quickly. What was Mr. Tilbury doing in London? Even had he come on business, he would never be strolling in Hyde Park at this unfashionably early hour. In the six weeks she’d spent at Three Gables, not once had she seen him idle, or stroll about with no direction.

  She’d mistaken a stranger for him, that was all. Easily done, with his just-above-average height and common black hair. Had she been closer, she might have seen this man’s eyes were not the shocking, expressive blue of Mr. Tilbury’s and his hair not so unfashionably long and unkempt. Mr. Tilbury’s visage hovered just beyond sight in her mind, sending an odd warmth curling
through her.

  Forcing the hazy vision away, she picked up her pace. Mr. Tilbury was not the man for her. She wanted a husband who was hers alone, not one she’d have to share with assorted mistresses. One who would love and cherish her. Want only her company, in the bedchamber and elsewhere.

  Mr. Tilbury was not that man.

  She was silly to even think Mr. Tilbury would have come to London, much less be looking for her. They’d agreed, should they somehow cross paths in the future, to act as indifferent acquaintances. He would not let on they shared any connection other than the wartime one with her brother, Gil. She had nothing to fear. No one would learn of her pretend betrothal.

  Stepping a bit more lightly, she lifted her face to the sun before remembering her mother’s admonitions about freckles. “I cannot wait to see who fills our dance cards tonight, Agnes.”

  Her friend sighed. “Why should tonight be any different from the others? We’ve seen all the available men this Season. Now we simply wait for an offer.”

  “And that, my dear, is precisely why you are unmarried still. I understand enjoying the first Season with little regard to actually accepting an offer, but this is your third go-round. One mustn’t wait for a husband to appear, one must hunt for the right one.”

  Agnes hurried to keep up with Jean’s quick pace. “I don’t want to appear too forward—”

  “What is forward about placing oneself in the path of the preferred gentleman? Letting him see how well you would entertain guests in his home and how desirable your company is?”

  “If I had your knack for witty conversation, I might have already found a husband. My looks are pleasing enough, I’m told. I do not understand why I must sing well, unless my future husband wishes to father an opera performer.”

  Jean laughed. “One must not only sing, but be artistic, well read and beautiful. Never fear, once those five accomplished young ladies are betrothed, there is hope for the rest of us.”