Then the fear hit her. She would have to marry a complete stranger. But as she and Rebel raced across the meadow, she realized this change of plans might be a blessing in disguise because it was a quick, sure way of getting away from her family. She had been worried that she’d go to London and not fit in because she had so few social skills, that she might not find a man who would marry her. That worry was gone now.
In the end, the disappointment and the fear were still with her, yet she was hard-pressed to get a smile off her lips. She’d never before experienced such contradictory emotions, but she supposed her fear of this unknown man who would be “as likely to murder her as to bed her” and lived far away couldn’t cancel out her delight at leaving home. Being thrown to a wolf was not the escape she would have preferred, but anything was better than living with a family that didn’t love her.
She slowed her horse when she came to the woods and took the path she usually used when accompanying her maid, Alfreda, on an herb-gathering expedition. They’d created the path themselves on their many trips to the deepest part of the forest. Alone there in a small clearing flooded by sunlight, she dismounted and looked up at the sky and screamed her rage, then cried out her fear, and finally laughed with relief that she would be out from beneath the thumbs of the heartless people whose blood she shared.
God, she would not miss this place or these people . . . well, except for the servants. Alice, the upstairs maid, had given her a box of hand-embroidered ribbons for her Season. Brooke had cried when she realized how much time and love had gone into making them. Or Mary, the cook, who always had a hug and a pastry for her. Or William, her groom, who went out of his way to make her laugh when she was in a dismal mood.
But she would be inconsolable if her maid couldn’t go with her to Yorkshire. She would miss Alfreda Wichway too much. The maid had been with her since the week Brooke was born when Harriet’s milk had dried up and Alfreda, having just lost her own baby, had been hired as a nursemaid. Then Alfreda had become her nanny, then finally her maid. Thirty-three now and with black hair and eyes so dark they could be considered black as well, Alfreda was more a mother to her than Harriet had ever been. She was also Brooke’s dearest friend. Earthy, bossy, outrageously blunt at times, Alfreda wasn’t the least bit servile and considered herself the equal of anyone. Brooke spent much time tending plants in the conservatory so that Alfreda would have the herbs she needed year-round.
The villagers of Tamdon relied on Alfreda to cure their ills. They came to the kitchen and passed their requests through the kitchen staff to Alfreda, who then passed her herbal remedies back the same way in exchange for coin. Alfreda had been helping people for so long that Brooke imagined she was rich by now. Even though people called her a witch instead of a healer, they still came begging for her potions. Alfreda wasn’t a witch; she just had ancient knowledge of the medicinal properties of plants and herbs that had been passed down through generations of her family. Alfreda kept her healing skills a secret from Brooke’s family out of concern that they would accuse her of witchcraft and cast her out of their household.
“You usually have reason to rage and cry, but why are you laughing? What has pleased you, poppet? The London trip?”
Brooke ran toward Alfreda as the maid stepped out from behind a tree. “Not London, but a trip nonetheless. Come, I have somewhat good news to share.”
Alfreda laughed. “Somewhat? Have I not taught you the peril of contradictions?”
“This one can’t be helped. I am being given in marriage to an enemy of my brother’s, not by choice, of course, but by the Prince Regent’s request.”
Alfreda raised a brow. “Royals don’t make requests, they make demands.”
“Exactly, and threaten dire consequences if their demands are not met.”
“You would refuse to comply?”
“Not me, my parents. But they have decided not to see if the Regent is bluffing and will send me to this man instead. Robert thinks the man will refuse me, so I may not be forced to marry him after all.”
“You still haven’t said what pleases you about this arrangement.”
“I will marry him willingly if it means I will be done with my family for good. And he has one thing in his favor: he’s tried to kill my brother three times. For that I am already inclined to like him.”
“The recent duels your parents spoke of?”
“Yes.”
“Honor is usually satisfied with one duel. Did you ever find out why there were three?”
Brooke smiled because Alfreda knew of her proclivity for eavesdropping. “My mother asked Robert the last time he was home, but he fobbed her off, saying it was just a trifle, not worth mentioning. It was obviously more’n that, but when my father asked him today what had incurred this northern lord’s wrath, Robert claimed he didn’t know. But you and I are well aware that he is a liar.”
Alfreda nodded. “At least you have common ground with this man they will give you to. That is a good start.”
“Well, yes, we have in common a dislike of my brother, but I didn’t try to kill Robert as he accused me of doing when I was a child,” Brooke said adamantly. “I really did trip that day when I was trying to beat him to the bottom of the stairs and stumbled into his back instead. I was lucky and caught the railing, whereas he tumbled to the bottom. Yet he claimed I pushed him deliberately and my parents believed him, of course, as they always do. So I was confined to my room until he was hale and hearty again, but I swear he pretended to need an extra few weeks for his sprained ankle to mend because he knew I disliked being cooped up! But I don’t care what he thinks. He hated me long before then, as you well know.”
Alfreda put an arm around Brooke’s shoulder and hugged her close. “It will be good for you to not see that hateful boy anymore.”
Brooke would have included all of her family in that statement, but didn’t say so. “I may leave within the week. You will come with me? Please say you will!”
“Of course, I will.”
“Then let us spend the day stocking up on your supplies and gathering rooted herbs you can replant. We don’t know if we will be able to find in the north all the herbs you need.”
“Where in the north?”
“I don’t know. They haven’t actually told me any of this yet. I just—”
Alfreda’s laugh cut her off. “Yes, we know how you gather information.”
Chapter Three
HAVING SPENT ALL AFTERNOON helping Alfreda gather her favorite herbs, Brooke returned to the manor house at dusk. She intended to sneak up to her room, change out of her riding habit, and eat dinner before she made herself available to her family. If they had sent riders out to look for her, none had gone near the woods. But her parents didn’t need to speak to her immediately. It was more likely that she would hear of the arranged marriage the very day she was to depart and not sooner. That’s how little consideration her parents afforded her.
She hurried down the hall and passed the dining room where her parents and her brother were likely seated at that hour. She never ate in that room.
He doesn’t like to be reminded that you weren’t another son, so we shan’t remind him with your presence.
She had a vague memory of her mother telling her that when she was old enough to leave the nursery. It was one of the few kindnesses she could recall her mother ever doing for her, because she would not have had an appetite if she’d had to eat with them. She liked taking her meals in the kitchen with the servants where there was laughter and teasing and camaraderie. Some people in the house cared about her and would cry when she was gone. Just not her family.
As she started up the stairs, the third step creaked. With no one in the dining room talking at that moment, it was heard.
“Girl!” her father yelled.
She winced at the tone of his voice but immediately went to the dining room and stood in the doorway, her head bowed. She was an obedient daughter. At least they thought she was. She never broke
rules—unless she knew with absolute certainty that she wouldn’t be caught. She never argued, raised her voice, or defied an order, even though she wanted to. Her brother called her a timid mouse. Her father had made it clear she was to be seen, not heard, and preferably not seen at all. The few sparks of rebellion she’d had as a child had been met with slaps or harsh punishments. She’d learned quickly to appear docile even when rage boiled within her.
“Has it been so long since I’ve clapped eyes on you, Sister, or have you just grown up overnight? You certainly no longer look the mouse.”
She met Robert’s gaze. Him she could look at squarely. He didn’t deserve any deference from her and would never get any. But it was so galling that this entire situation, and the part she was going to be forced to play in it now, was Robert’s fault. He had done something horrid, she didn’t doubt, to get the northern lord enraged enough to demand a duel not once but thrice.
“I don’t recall seeing you for years either, so quite possibly you are correct that it has been that long,” she replied tonelessly.
She kept her facial expression devoid of all emotion. It was easy to do when she had mastered the art of deception. Her unloving family never guessed how much pain they had caused her over the years.
Although her father had called her into the room, he hadn’t spoken yet. Perhaps he, too, was surprised that she was no longer the little girl he’d occasionally spotted in passing. She took pains to stay out of his sight. It was a big house and easy to do when she knew his routines. Like Robert, Thomas used to spend a lot of time in London until the last few years, when his joints had started aching him. Her mother hadn’t always gone to London with him. When she and her mother were alone in the house, Harriet had taken an interest in her and would talk to her as if they had a normal relationship. She had found her mother’s behavior confusing and assumed Harriet was just lonely when Thomas and Robert weren’t around, or maybe she was a bit loony, because as soon as Thomas or Robert returned, Harriet acted as if Brooke had ceased to exist again.
Robert stood up and tossed his napkin down on his plate, saying to Brooke, “I will speak with you later. There is a strategy you might employ to come out ahead in this endeavor.”
Him help her? She would sooner hug a poisonous adder than trust any offer of assistance from her brother. But since no one had actually told her yet why she’d been called into the dining room, she said nothing and just waited for her future to be unfolded for her.
Her mother began, explaining everything that Brooke already knew. A daughter would normally ask dozens of questions, might even protest. Not her.
“Why did you not say she had reached the age to marry?” Thomas interrupted his wife at one point. “We could have arranged a betrothal to someone of our choosing, then we wouldn’t be in this preposterous dilemma now.”
Brooke smiled inwardly. Her mother had taken steps to prepare her for marriage because she didn’t want Brooke to shame the family by being a complete imbecile. Although she wasn’t included in her family’s social activities in London, she’d had all sorts of teachers—for riding, music, dance, language, and art, as well as for rudimentary reading, writing, and arithmetic. No one ever praised her for doing well since she wasn’t expected to excel at anything, but she did well nonetheless.
“Since she will be eighteen next month, she was going to have a Season this summer in London,” Harriet explained. “The offers would have poured in for her. I did tell you, Thomas. You have merely forgotten.”
He grunted in response. Brooke figured he probably forgot a lot of things at his age. He was old enough to be her grandfather. He winced whenever he moved. Alfreda could have eased his pain with an herbal remedy but would probably have gotten dismissed for even offering. Brooke could have eased it, too. With Alfreda as her constant companion, she’d learned about herbs and their wonderful uses. A kind, decent man could have been helped, even if done secretly by adding beneficial herbs to his food or drink. Cold, heartless men deserved what nature dealt them.
Harriet was staring pointedly at Brooke, waiting. She realized that Harriet might expect a response from her to the mention of the London trip. Although she already knew the disappointing answer to the question she was about to ask, she asked it anyway. “Then there won’t be a Season in London?”
“No, this marriage is more important. The servants have already begun packing for you. You will depart in the morning at first light with an escort and chaperone.”
“You?”
“No, your father is doing poorly so I need to stay with him, and Robert is likely to get challenged to another duel if he accompanies you, so that is out of the question. Dominic Wolfe comes from an eminent family of means that has been based in Yorkshire for centuries. I know his mother socially, but not very well. I’ve never met her son. He bears the title Viscount Rothdale, but that’s all I know about this belligerent man who seems to prefer the wilds of Yorkshire over London society. If he refuses you, all the better. The ax will then fall on his head, as it were, and you may then return home and we will go on as before. But in no way can you refuse him. All Whitworths will comply with the Prince Regent’s request so he can find no fault with us.”
“A viscount is beneath us,” Thomas grumbled. “But pay heed, gel. It would be madness for you to refuse to marry the wolf. If you did so, I would have to have you locked away as a lunatic for the rest of your life.”
Brooke found it incredible that, apparently, she held her family’s future in her hands, but her father’s threat made her shudder inwardly. She didn’t doubt he’d do exactly that if his title and lands were lost because of her. But this was her escape from them. She wasn’t about to refuse Lord Wolfe.
She bowed and left the room, and only then could she breathe freely again. Tomorrow. She hadn’t anticipated leaving this soon, but the sooner the better suited her just fine.
Chapter Four
“MAKE HIM LOVE YOU, precious. Make him fall deeply in love and you will have a good life with him,” Brooke’s mother whispered to her before Brooke stepped into the coach.
It took hours for Brooke’s shock to wear off. Her mother had called her “precious” and given her advice? She had already been surprised that Harriet had come outside to see her off, when last night Harriet had sent the butler up to Brooke’s room to give her money for the trip instead of coming herself. Those words, however, had almost sounded as if Harriet cared about her, but Brooke’s entire life vouched otherwise. Why couldn’t her mother be consistent? Why did Brooke only ever get these confusing glimpses of the mother she wished Harriet could be, but so rarely was?
If the wolf of the north became besotted with her, then he’d leave Harriet’s darling Robert alone and stop trying to kill him. Brooke was no fool. Only one child had ever been loved in her family, and her parents would do or say anything to protect him, including lie to their daughter about her chances of charming a man who hated her family as much as she did!
The family-crested coach had pulled up to the front door for her. Her parents’ pride demanded that she arrive at the enemy’s door in style, she supposed. Besides the driver, two footmen escorted her. Earlier that morning, she’d gone to the stables for one last visit with the horses. She’d informed the head groom that she’d be taking Rebel with her. If she was not coming back here, and she truly hoped she wasn’t, then she didn’t want to leave behind anything that she cared about.
Most of the staff came out to bid her good-bye.
She didn’t think she would shed tears for this place, but she did for the people she’d grown up with, servants who actually cared about her. Her groom, William, even handed her a wood carving he’d made of a horse, telling her he hoped it reminded her of Rebel. It didn’t—he wasn’t good at carving—but she would cherish it anyway.
The servants accompanying her had their instructions. They were to bring her straight back home if the wolf didn’t allow entrance into his lair. Otherwise, the servants, except for Alfreda
, were to return to Leicestershire with the coach. Brooke hoped she gained entrance. She hoped she would find something to like about Dominic Wolfe other than their mutual dislike of her brother. But it was possible she wouldn’t, and possible, too, that she wouldn’t get through the door.
The emissary had come to the Whitworths first. From Leicestershire it was half a week’s ride by coach to Lord Wolfe’s home near York. The Regent’s man was only a day ahead of them on the road, which meant Lord Wolfe was still blissfully unaware of any of this. If he was going to be enraged when he was told—and rightfully so, Brooke thought—she wished he could have more than just one day to calm down before she arrived.
It would have been logical for her family to wait until they’d learned his reaction to the Regent’s demand before sending her north. To dispatch Brooke so soon smacked of fear. They might have raged and railed about this, but they would never have called the Regent’s bluff. The consequences meant too much to them to do so.
And her brother, what a blackguard! When he’d come to her room last night, he’d had a calculating look in his eyes that warned her she wouldn’t like the “strategy” he had mentioned in the dining room.
“Marry him first, then poison him,” Robert had simply stated. “We can claim half his lands or all of them, if he has no other relatives. I know he had a sister who died, but no one knows much else about Dominic Wolfe.”
“And what if I like him instead?” Brooke had replied. It could happen. She wasn’t hopeful that it would, but it could.
“You will not. You will be loyal to your family and despise him.”
She might end up despising Dominic Wolfe, but it certainly wouldn’t be out of loyalty to her family. She hadn’t said that, though. She had kept her incredulity over Robert’s suggestion to herself. She knew he was mean and spiteful, even cruel, but murderous, too? Yet he was so handsome! He had so many blessings, was even an earl’s heir. There was no excuse for him to have turned out as he did, except that he was his father’s son. “Like father like son” had never been so true as it was in the Whitworth family.