The Offer

Book 2: Brides of Beadwell

by Sara Portman

Genres: Regency Romance

Synopsis

The award-winning author of The Reunion continues her sexy Regency romance series with a novel of one woman’s fall from saint to sinner.

Lucy Betancourt’s future looks bleak. The daughter of an ailing vicar in a village with no eligible bachelors, her only hope is to find employment as a governess or companion. As she helps her childhood friend, the new Duchess of Worley, through her pregnancy, the ever-practical Lucy makes her plans. But life—in the way of the dashing Bex Brantwood—has something else in store for Lucy . . .

Upon meeting the duke’s cousin Bex, Lucy offers herself up to him. But Bex is no family man looking for a governess. And Lucy is not exactly mistress material. Still, the misunderstanding ends in a kiss neither can forget . . .

Bex finds the proper vicar’s daughter and her most improper proposal endlessly amusing—and attractive. But, saddled with debt, he’s in no position to keep a woman, much less marry one, which is what a woman like Lucy deserves. Little does he know that even with her reputation at stake, Lucy will take the biggest gamble of her life by following her heart—straight into his arms . . .

Release date: October 24, 2017

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 320

Sample

Chapter One

February 1818

There were times in which one could be cognizant that one’s perspective on a situation was at once both absurd and entirely sensible. As Lucy watched her dearest friend retch violently into a chamber pot, she held back pangs of envy even as she held back her friend’s thick, plaited hair.

Lucy did not normally desire to toss up her breakfast, of course, but Emma’s uneasy stomach was in fact an unmistakable sign that she was expecting her first child. Envy, as it happened, was an unfamiliar and awkward-fitting cloak for Lucy. She flushed with shame for the feeling, grateful Emma could not see her face and, as dear friends are capable, divine her thoughts.

No matter how much one envied the situation of another person, Lucy reminded herself while handing her friend the damp cloth she held at the ready, one should always be conscious that no situation was entirely free of difficulty. Certainly, this wisdom applied most fittingly at the present. Just as dismal circumstances often held silver linings, so did the sunniest of situations possess the occasional black cloud. Were these black linings?

Perhaps.

Emma was recently married, and to a duke, no less. She was deeply in love with her husband, she was the mistress of a stately manor, and she had recently learned she was expecting the first of likely many children from her marriage.

She was also violently ill on a daily basis, and the illness had not subsided as her pregnancy progressed.

Black linings.

Lucy, by contrast, was unmarried with no prospects and no connections other than the recent elevation of her childhood friend to the rank of duchess. The plans she was currently making for her future meant she would likely never know motherhood. She did, however, feel quite well at the present. She’d only moments ago been contemplating her delicious morning repast. Breakfast at the vicarage with her parents was usually quite simple: strong tea, toast, a boiled egg. The elaborate meals served at the London residence of the Duke and Duchess of Worley had proven one of the great delights of the visit.

Silver linings.

It was as simple as that. She was ashamed to have experienced even a moment of jealousy. For all of Emma’s happiness today, she had paid dearly for it, suffering the loss of her parents and the shame of society for a broken engagement. Lucy had never before compared her friend’s circumstances, good or bad, to her own situation.

She should feel nothing but joy for her friend’s expectant state and empathy for her present discomfort. And she did feel all of those things, but there was a tiny seed of a sinful voice that whispered, This will never be me.

She studiously ignored it.

“Oh, Lucy,” Emma croaked. “I am so sorry.” She rocked back on her heels and exhaled heavily.

“Do not apologize again,” Lucy chided, taking back the cloth. “I shall be horribly offended if you believe we are not dear enough to witness the contents of each other’s stomachs.”

Emma grimaced toward the metal pot. “Will you help me to bed, Lucy?”

Lucy assisted Emma in rising to her feet and supported her as she walked unsteadily to the stately four-poster bed. Still holding Emma with one arm, Lucy used her free hand to pull back the delicately embroidered coverlet and plump the soft pillow in preparation for her friend.

“You are such a sport to care for me this way,” Emma said with a sigh as she lowered herself into the spot Lucy had prepared. “I fear I am building a debt I shall never repay.”

“Nonsense.” Lucy helped Emma the rest of the way into bed and pulled the coverlet up to her gently rounded middle, smiling as she did so. “It’s the reason I’m here, isn’t it?”

Emma rolled onto her side and drew up her knees. “It was supposed to be a ruse. When I invited you to come, I knew you wouldn’t agree unless you thought there was some greater purpose to your visit. I never truly expected to need so much help. I just wanted your company. The sickness was supposed to have ended weeks ago.”

Lucy stepped back and stood, arms crossed, assessing her patient. “You are not as sly as you might think. I knew you were planning more for a companion than a nursemaid, but you will accept both graciously or I shall feel horribly manipulated.”

Emma placed one hand on her stomach while she sucked in and expelled heavily a deep breath of air. “I daresay it’s beginning to pass now.” She took two more similarly deep breaths, as though testing this declaration, then rolled gently onto her back again, keeping her knees in their bent position. “Would you mind propping me up a bit? I seem to do better that way than lying flat.”

Lucy obliged her. “Take care for your stubbornness, Emma. There is no need to push yourself to recover instantly.”

Emma flashed Lucy a wide-eyed look of innocent confusion.

Lucy responded with a chiding grimace. “Do not pretend you’ve no idea what I’m about.”

“Oh, be fair, Lucy, you’re no less stubborn and independent than I,” Emma said, beginning to regain her color as though by force of will.

“But I am not the one applying that trait to defy a present ill state,” Lucy said, pulling the bell to have the soiled pot removed. “I’ve had no less than three letters from your sister-in-law insisting that I be particularly vigilant for your overdeveloped sense of independence.”

Emma’s eyes lifted heavenward. “It’s lovely of Charlotte to be concerned, but she’s just as mule headed as the two of us. She says she detests London so much, she will not come until I’ve provided a niece or nephew to visit, even though we have seen neither her nor Hugh since their wedding.”

“With or without a visit, she has very strong opinions on the attention and care you are to receive and I will be quite unable to face her if I fail,” Lucy said with a teasing smile.

“You are a tyrannical caregiver, Lucy, and I love you for it. I’m certain I shall be well by dinner. I was reckless to choose cake at tea. I’ve had a very tenuous relationship with sweet things of any kind. They always look so appealing, but are absolutely certain to turn my stomach of late.” She released a wistful sigh. “It really is a wretched tease. I have never craved sweet things before. Now I want them more than ever, but am not allowed to partake without dire consequence.”

“It is cruel, isn’t it?” Lucy asked, taking a seat in the small chair nearest Emma’s bed. “I promise you, once you have delivered this child into the world, you shall have all the cakes and sweet things you desire. For now, I shall kindly request your cook help you avoid temptation.”

Emma reached out and placed a warm hand over Lucy’s. “I am fortunate in my choice of caregiver, it would seem, even if it was not my intention that you should be called into service.”

Lucy clasped her hands in her lap and spoke firmly. “I’m glad you think so, as I’ve made a decision, Emma, and I will need your help.”

Emma’s hands paused in the motion of smoothing her coverlet over her lap and she peered at Lucy. “What sort of decision?”

Lucy straightened her shoulders and fortified herself against Emma’s disapproval. “A decision about my future,” she said, with what she hoped was a convincingly decisive dip of her chin.

“You were always one for making plans, Lucy, so I cannot say I am surprised, but I will caution you, with myself as an example. You cannot always plan what your future will hold.” She patted Lucy’s hand. “But I am rambling. Go ahead, please. What have you decided?”

“I have decided that you have done me a great favor by bringing me to London as your companion. The particular recommendation of the Duchess of Worley will be invaluable in gaining another post as a companion or governess after the baby is born and you are no longer in need of my help.”

Emma’s distaste for the plan was evident a full breath before the peppering of questions began. “But what need have you of a post? Why would you want to be a governess? Has something happened to your father?”

Lucy shook her head. “Perhaps I should not have upset you while you are still recovering. We can discuss this later.”

“Nonsense. You cannot make such an announcement and simply leave it alone. We’ll discuss it now,” Emma said, regaining possession of the full imperiousness that allowed her to appear every bit a duchess when she so desired.

Lucy, who had played with Emma as a girl and helped the woman after tossing up the contents of her stomach mere moments ago, was not so susceptible to the intimidating tone. “Don’t play duchess with me,” she said, leaning forward in her chair. “I’ll have your rooms littered with cakes and see where you are then.”

“But why, Lucy?” Emma asked, ignoring the teasing threat. “What has happened? Is your father ill?”

Lucy felt a pang of guilt at the worry that once again depleted the color in her friend’s face, when she had only recently recovered it. “My father and mother are both well enough. There is no cause for concern.”

“Then whatever has prompted this…this…preposterous idea?” Emma lifted her arms and dropped them to the bed again in a huff to punctuate her statement. “Positions as governesses and companions…these are for women in need of a position—women with no family support. You are not without a home. You are not without friends.”

“The idea has been prompted by good sense,” Lucy explained pertly. “My father is not ill, but he is aging. He has decided he is no longer able to proceed without the assistance of a curate. That will mean extra cost for wages, not to mention the addition to the household. It is past time I ceased to be a burden to my parents.” She swallowed heavily. “And my father will not live forever. He will be gone someday.”

My, but it was disturbingly final to say it aloud. She’d thought of it, of course, but when given a voice, it seemed so much more…imminent.

“Well, all men will someday be gone,” Emma declared. “That was true of your father before you were even born.”

“But he is older now,” Lucy said with quiet resolve, “and I am grown. I cannot pretend that my future life has not arrived. I am four and twenty this year. My father will be nearly sixty years. One day, my father will be gone and there will be a new vicar, and he will live in the parsonage house with his family. I cannot remain there.”

“Of course not. You will be married with a brood of children by then,” Emma declared.

That seemed very unlikely to Lucy, as she had received no offers, nor encountered any likely prospects, in all her twenty-four years. Though her parents had not said as much, Lucy knew the decision to employ a curate changed their situation considerably. The expenditure would gradually whittle away any funds set aside for supporting Lucy or her mother once her father was gone. How could Lucy in good conscience accept a dowry of any amount if it left less for her mother in the event of her father’s death?

She did not burden Emma with these details, but instead said, “Perhaps,” with a shrug of her shoulders. “Taking a position as a companion or a governess does not prevent me from marrying someday, it simply provides a safeguard against the possibility that I do not.”

Emma speared Lucy with a dubious expression. “You are not likely to meet any eligible gentlemen from a position caring for children too young or ladies too feeble to be out in society.”

Lucy laughed. “I am no less likely to meet a man as a governess than I am hiding away in Beadwell, where all the gentlemen are either far too young or far too old.”

Emma sighed, but she did not dispute Lucy’s rationale. Both women knew well there were no eligible men of any station in the little village.

There was a knock on the door followed by the entry of a maid who, at Lucy’s nod toward the offending pot, hurried to collect it and left the room with a promise to return shortly with a clean replacement.

“Still,” Emma said once the maid had gone. “I repeat my point. All men will someday be gone. What has created the present urgency?”

“It is not so much urgency, as opportunity,” Lucy explained. “Serving as companion to a duchess during her confinement will serve as a very high reference. Especially,” she added, her eyes wide with meaning, “if I may rely upon said duchess to make a few useful introductions to those families who may be in need.”

Emma sighed. “I’ll grant your rationale is not entirely illogical. Still, I find I don’t want to go along with it. Any of it. In fact, at the moment, I rather dislike this penchant of yours for forward planning.”

Lucy stood and placed closed fists on her hips. “Must I remind you again you are being stubborn?”

“But I am stubborn for good cause, Lucy,” Emma said from her bed, not in the least quelled by having to look up from her supine position. “I understand your desire to take responsibility for your future, but I don’t believe you’ve sufficiently thought this through.”

“But I have,” Lucy insisted. “My circumstances are exactly the sort that lead a woman to take a position of employment. I am gently bred, but of little means. My prospects for marriage are slim, but I am respectable and well read. I’ve benefited from lessons alongside the daughter of an earl,” she said with a pointed look toward Emma. “I am capable of conducting myself properly with the highest levels of society, and I play both the pianoforte and harp.” Lucy lifted her chin. “When viewed objectively, I have excellent qualifications.”

Lucy waited for Emma to rise to their debate, but she did not.

Instead Emma gazed up at her with such sorrow, Lucy could have just as well announced the death of a beloved mutual friend. “I beg you to reconsider. It is a lonely position in which to be in any household, Lucy. You will be neither family nor staff. Do you really want to take all your dinners on trays sent to your room and be left to yourself for long stretches of time when the family have no need of you?”

“I believe most women in service would consider long stretches of time to themselves a rather luxurious perquisite,” Lucy pointed out.

Emma shook her head, having none of Lucy’s rationalizations. “What a waste of your endearing personality, Lucy, to be shut up in a room and no one upon whom to bestow it.”

“But you make it sound as though I shall be caged,” Lucy said on a laugh. “I’m sure if I’ve the benefit of free time, I shall be allowed to leave my room.” She put one hand to her mouth and whispered loudly, “They may even task a maid to walk me now and then. Pets do benefit, I understand, from the fresh air.”

Emma pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Do not tease, Lucy. My concerns are for your happiness. I only mean to caution you of the consequences of your choice.”

Lucy sat again. “And so you have, dear. And I am grateful for it, but I have been considering this with great care. It truly is the most sensible thing for me to do. You have provided me with an opportunity too convenient to dismiss.”

Emma pouted. “I would much rather spend this time in London introducing you to eligible gentlemen.”

Lucy laughed again. “Aren’t we disregarding a rather obvious impediment to your sponsoring any debutantes this coming season?” She glanced meaningfully at the recently replaced chamber pot.

Emma scrunched her lips together. “Well the timing is poor, I’ll grant you. , but Aunt Agatha could do it.” She shrugged her shoulders. “And I would be there to…advise you.”

Lucy laughed. “But you had a horrid debut season!” She sat down next to her friend. “Emma, your willingness to disregard all obstacles in pursuit of my happiness is why you are the very best sort of friend.” She smiled, dreading Emma’s disappointment. “You know this cannot work. Presenting me at society events full of lords and ladies will not make me any more likely to be married than I am today. I am not a worthy match for the sort of society you and the duke keep. I will be tolerated as your friend, but will otherwise be entirely out of place. That is all. No one would be queueing up to pay calls or make offers to me.”

Emma opened her mouth, but Lucy stilled her friend’s objection with a hand on her shoulder. “Besides,” Lucy said, “Aren’t well-bred ladies supposed to retire to their country houses when they’re increasing?”

Emma sniffed. “Not this well-bred lady. John is anxious to take his seat in the House of Lords and do what good he can in furthering the reform agenda. And I am not keen to be apart from him. I can be perfectly respectable remaining here, in London. Besides,” she said, displaying the first bright smile since she’d become ill that morning, “I’ve discovered the benefit of my rank is that I am less likely to be deemed ‘not respectable’ and much more likely to be considered merely peculiar.”

“If London society considers you peculiar for preferring the company of your husband, I daresay I won’t fit in at all.” Lucy paused. She regarded her friend thoughtfully. “You know, I am rather surprised you would even propose I seek a husband here. You were miserable in your first season and you never seemed particularly complimentary of the set.”

Emma nodded. “There are sharks in these waters, to be sure,” she said, finally testing the strength of her legs to hold her upright. “But there are good people hidden amongst the awful ones. I was there all along. My aunt and uncle were there. So were several other friends who proved quite supportive and helpful when Charlotte needed them.”

“Yes, well I am unlikely to marry any of the people you’ve just listed.”

Emma reached out a hand to Lucy and spoke quietly. “Is it a matter of the dowry, Lucy? Because if it is, I know that John would not hesitate to—”

“No, Emma,” Lucy interrupted. “You know it is not a matter of a dowry—not only. I would have to be an heiress of grand proportion for any of the titled gentlemen in your set to look my way. I love you, but you cannot find me a husband. And you cannot convince me that taking a post as a governess is the end of my happiness in life.” She smiled to soften the rebuke. “Let us be reasonable, now, and talk about Lord and Lady Ashby, shall we?”

“What about them?”

“They are coming to dinner this evening, correct?” Lucy prompted.

“Yes.”

“And you did say they have daughters, do they not?”

“You don’t mean to find yourself a post now,” Emma said, dropping back onto the bed to gape at Lucy. “The baby will not arrive for months.”

“But you said just last week that Lord and Lady Ashby were seeking a governess,” Lucy said with a gentle laugh at her friend’s dismayed expression. “It was that conversation that prompted the idea. Of course I will stay with you until your child is born, but there is no reason why I cannot have an arrangement settled in advance for where I shall go next. You have always spoken so highly of Lord and Lady Ashby.”

“I do think highly of them,” Emma admitted, “but it is premature to begin pursuing posts right this minute.” Lucy opened her mouth to respond, but Emma shook her head. “No, Lucy, I am quite firm on this. I know you are usually the practical one, but I am being practical in this instance. We have only just discussed this. The baby will not arrive for another five months and, frankly, you can stay on with me indefinitely after that. There is no need for haste. We should think on this more thoroughly before taking action.”

Lucy sighed, recognizing the resolution in Emma’s tone. The matter might wait for the present, but it would not wait long.

Chapter Two

Having instructed her friend to rest before the guests arrived for dinner that evening—advice Lucy was certain would not be followed—Lucy returned to the drawing room to recover both the book and shawl she had abandoned there prior to Emma’s sudden malady. As she made her way through the halls of Worley House, she lamented the loss of the opportunity to apply for the position of governess to the Ashby girls. She had never met Lord or Lady Ashby, but if Emma considered them friends, they were surely good, decent people. Though Lucy was reconciled to taking a position, she most definitely wished to avoid one in which she would be ill treated.

Several days had passed since Lady Ashby had mentioned to Emma her intent to employ a governess. She may well have already begun assessing potential candidates. If Emma insisted upon waiting much longer to aid Lucy in finding a position, this particular post was sure to be already taken.

Lucy sighed loudly as she turned the handle and pushed open one of the painted paneled doors that led to the drawing room, noting that the household staff had efficiently whisked away the remnants of tea and closed up the room after she and Emma had fled so suddenly earlier. She crossed the room to retrieve the shawl and book and, as she did so, walked through a slanted column of light caused by the late afternoon sun shining through the windows. Each of the three tall windows opposite the door created such a column, giving the room odd, striped bands of shadow and light.

Lucy had not seen the room in such a state before. Sunlight saturated the room at midday, when it was commonly used, and by dinnertime lit tapers in the sconces would provide a weaker but equally warm source of light.

The household staff saw it this way. They saw it striped in fading afternoon sun, or fully engulfed in darkness before the sun rose or fires were lit. The tentacles of this thought took an odd, fixating hold on her. Was Emma right to caution her so sharply? Was she entering an entirely new realm? Lucy had never lived a life of privilege or luxury, but neither had she ever been a servant. Modest living and domestic service were two very different things.

It was only common sense to understand the lives of some occupants in this house would be unrecognizably different to the others depending on their station. Same house. Entirely different worlds.

She shook her head at the silly thought. She was already in a different world. She was a simple vicar’s daughter. She was no duchess, nor the daughter of a peer. Her life would not be unrecognizable because she came into a household like this one at a lesser station. Life at the parsonage house had never been so segmented. She was both family and domestic there, as were her mother and father.

As she picked up the book and shawl, she looked down and noted how the line between light and dark slashed across the front of her dress.

Where had all this fanciful thinking come from? Emma, well intentioned though she might be, was wrong—Lucy was perfectly suited to a position as a governess. Yet, after one pleading conversation, here she stood, dancing in shadows, questioning her entire future.

My goodness. She shook her head. She was too practical for that.

She stared unseeingly at the shadow-striped floor and tapped her fingers on the cracked spine of her book. Emma would come around. She always eventually came around to Lucy’s sensible view of things. It was one of Emma’s best attributes, really. But would it be too late? Here—this evening—was a very good opportunity with a very good family.

Hmmm. She shifted her weight between her feet and continued the rhythmic tap of her fingers along the book in her hands. Perhaps all was not lost and she could at least build some sort of a start. She could not very well introduce the topic of needing a position at dinner, of course, but perhaps she could offer to play—exhibit her qualifications in pianoforte. Then the evening would not be a total loss.

“Are you lost?”

Good heavens.

Lucy spun about to discover she was not alone in the drawing room. She blinked. A man rose from a chair in the shadow-shrouded corner of the room and took several steps toward her. She could not make out all the details of his features, but he was tall and finely dressed.

She blinked again and looked back at the doorway through which she had come. Had he been there the entire time and she’d not even noticed him?

A heavy weight began to congeal inside her. She’d been staring at shadows and daydreaming like a ninny and had made a perfect idiot of herself in front of none other than Lord Ashby.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said in her most sensible tone, rushing to repair his impression that she must be a half-wit. “I was just retrieving my things. I had not realized the dinner hour was so nearly upon us.”

“Oh, I don’t believe it is upon us quite yet,” he said. “Worley summoned me early so that we might meet before dinner.”

His response was not unkindly given, and the tightness that had bunched around Lucy’s neck and shoulders upon his greeting unwound a bit—though not entirely. Of course he had come early to meet with the duke. They were political allies, were they not? They must meet regularly. Where was her head? If Lord Ashby had arrived only for dinner, he would be accompanied by his wife.

“It appears His Grace is a bit delayed, however,” he said, stepping forward into the slash of light.

She couldn’t help but notice he was younger than she’d expected. How old were his daughters? Perhaps his wife was determined to raise virtuosos and wanted musical instruction to begin very early. All the better, she thought, to secure a position for years to come.

She smiled pleasantly at him. “I’m very sorry you’ve been made to wait, my lord. No doubt the delay was quite unexpected, as I’ve always observed His Grace to be quite considerate.”

“Indeed,” was his only reply.

“I apologize for disturbing you,” she said, nodding politely and gathering her book and shawl more tightly to her. She was conscious of wanting to make a positive impression with Lord Ashby, but how precisely did one go about doing such a thing after he had caught her woolgathering?

“I have the sense it is I who has disturbed your private thoughts, rather than you disturbing mine.”

Lucy groaned inwardly and felt the flush rising in her cheeks. “I do beg your pardon, my lord. It seems I was preoccupied.”

“No apology is necessary.”

He smiled at her. It was not a dismissal. It was…kind. Perhaps she hadn’t disturbed him. Perhaps he had waited some time and was happy for the distraction, however insignificant. He stepped back slightly and, even in the dim light, Lucy could see it was to allow his eyes to drop all the way to her feet before returning to her face as he took in her full measure. She squared her shoulders and did her best to appear both pleasant and deferential, as she presumed one should when being evaluated by a prospective employer.

“Are you always such a daydreamer?” he asked finally.

“I am not,” she assured him firmly. “I am usually quite sensible, as a matter of fact. I have always been reliable, I assure you. My mother has relied upon me from a very young age in aiding her in her work with parishioners in my village. I was never wayward or flighty as a child.”

A smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “No?”

“No, my lord, not at all.”

His only response was a mildly dubious lift of one brow. How was it that lords always managed to seem so…lordly? Lucy had simply stopped gaining height at the age of thirteen. She had felt small compared to nearly every person she had ever met, but compared to this broad-shouldered man who towered over her in heavy boots and dark coat, she felt positively elfin. How did one project competence and sensibility under these conditions? Heavens, but this was an unfortunate beginning. She had to salvage this somehow.

“You are probably wondering who I am,” she said. “My name is Lucy Betancourt. I am…” She paused. She had begun to say she was a friend of the duchess, but amended her words. “I am at Worley House as companion to the duchess during her confinement.”

“I am sure she is quite grateful for your companionship.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Perhaps because he seemed so kind, or perhaps because his expectant look demanded some continuation of the conversation, she added, “I am sorry to have intruded upon your wait, my lord, but perhaps it is fortuitous that I have done so.” Lucy smiled brightly at him, then faltered. Would Lord Ashby would prefer a stern governess? She amended her expression to a more neutral, less happy one. It would not do to appear overeager, after all.

She thought idly as she stood, not quite smiling at the man, that Lady Ashby must be a particularly lovely woman. He was handsome enough to have set thousands of lashes fluttering across London before he was married, and with his title to match, he would have had his pick of ladies. His eyes were the dark gray of smoldering coals.

Those eyes, she realized, were staring at her in patent confusion. “Fortuitous in what manner?” he i. . .