The Rogue’s Widow Launch Day!

Well, the lady I’ve been silently dancing with this winter has shown her face–and isn’t it a lovely face? Janet Taylor has taken my breath away  yet again. I can’t get enough of this pretty lady. She has this wonderful mixture of mirth and sadness in her eyes and she looks exactly like I imagine Elizabeth might. What do you think?

Last week, I posted a sneak opening scene here. 

She had spirit, that much was obvious. And enough dignity to baulk at the notion of wedding a stranger for his inheritance, which spoke well of her character. Moreover, he was quite taken with her looks—that was to say, she would present well in Society, once she had a new wardrobe and a few good meals. Judging by the way her gown fitted about the bodice, it had been some while since she had enjoyed a proper board.

She was silent and grim now, avoiding his gaze across the carriage. She seemed as if she wished to speak with Martha, sitting beside her, but each time she drew a breath, her eyes flicked toward him and then she subsided. Darcy mentally added another virtue to her account: she did not talk overmuch.

What she did say, however, tended to be rather bold and contrary.

“I still do not understand,” she spoke abruptly after some silence.

“What do you not understand, Miss Bennet?” he asked with affected weariness.

“Why not simply let the brother inherit?”

“You will meet him at length, I should guess. I will permit you to answer that question yourself.”

“But, then—” she gestured in exasperation. “Why me?”

He frowned, cast his eyes up to the roof of the carriage, and then lifted his shoulders. “Why not?”

“You know nothing of me, my character, my experience.”

“I thought you a suitable companion for my sister. Be assured that I am more selective of her company than Bernard’s.”

“But how do you know I will not find some way to take advantage of the situation?”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Pray, when you do find a way, be my guest. I have tried to turn my hand to a better circumstance and failed. The ‘inheritance’ you are to receive is no gift, madam. The house and property are in complete disrepair. It is sufficient for you to shelter your mother and sisters, and as we discussed, your ‘pay’ as Georgiana’s companion is to be the upkeep on the house until the property can support itself again.”

“But it makes no sense—that is outrageously extravagant!” she cried.

“I know it is, but I have my reasons. I can see that you are practiced in the art of economy.” At this, she reddened and glanced self-consciously down at her apparel.

He continued. “Your family will have a modest allowance, and I trust you will exhort them not to spend through it too quickly. Three hundred pounds between them ought to be sufficient for their expenses, I should think.”

“Three—” She coughed. “Three hundred is more than we have seen in better than two years, and many times what a lady’s companion makes.”

“I cannot very well expect four women to go about without respectable attire or manage a house without a sturdy maid and a reliable man of all work. My own steward has long overseen Corbett’s rents and income, so there is no need to concern yourself with those affairs. And I will cover the necessary repairs to the roof. It ought to have been done when Bernard first inherited the land, but it was not. Ah, here we are, and I see the parson is already arrived. Welcome to the Marshalsea, Miss Bennet. What do you think of the new building?”

She looked dubiously out the window, her complexion picking up a faint hint of yellow. “Are you certain of this, Mr Darcy?”

“You will suit my needs perfectly, Miss Bennet.”

The young lady shot him a look that could have scalded ice. “And I have your word as a gentleman that you will treat me with dignity?”

“Miss Bennet! What do you take me for, your future husband? I assure you, we are not cut from the same cloth. Disguise is my abhorrence; my offer is genuine.”

She looked only somewhat mollified and heaved a shaken breath. “Then let us get on with it.”

***

Bernard Wickham did not enjoy the favour of the guards. While some of the prison’s inhabitants possessed charm or agreeable visitors, Bernard regularly incurred the disdain of all by his filth, his vulgar ways, or his incessant snivelling. Thus, when they filed into Bernard’s cell, they found the dying man with no attendant to minister to his wants. Only the provisions supplied by Darcy himself lent him comfort, and half of those looked to have been bartered away for drink.

“Darcy,” Bernard rasped. “Is that you?”

Miss Elizabeth stirred beside him. “Bernard has lost his sight,” he muttered quietly. “The final stages of his disease.”

“But not my hearing. Have you brought me a woman?”

“I have brought a lady.”

Bernard tried to sit up on his stained mattress. “Is she blonde? You know I will only have the blondes. Does she have wide hips? A man likes a handful—”

Miss Bennet gasped beside him, her hand to her mouth. Darcy turned to her with a placating expression and a soothing gesture, then spoke again to Bernard.

“I daresay you had a few too many handfuls in your day. Miss Bennet is trim with dark hair, and far too good for you in any case.”

“Come, Darcy, if I am to marry the wench, she can at least keep me warm.”

“That was not our agreement. Are you ready? I will call for the parson.”

Bernard coughed into a bloody cloth and then spat on the floor. “Curse you, Darcy. Call him and be quick about it lest I die before it is done.”

Darcy opened the door and invited the parson in. The man of God looked doubtfully about the chamber, glancing between bride and groom with raised brows. “A word, please, Mr Darcy.”

Darcy walked with the man to the corner. “Is something amiss?”

“Sir, the license is in order and I see that you have even drawn up the proper settlement papers, but this ceremony you ask me to perform is a mockery to the holy institution of—”

“Does not your scripture command us to look after widows and orphans in their distress?”

The parson narrowed his eyes. “It does.”

“And that is no less than my friend wishes to do in his last days. Would you begrudge him the chance to carry out one redeeming act at the end of his life?”

“Mr Darcy, a marriage requires consummation to be recognised as complete, in the hopes that there be symbolic union and some issue.”

“And how do you know there will be no such thing?” Darcy asked in a low voice that Miss Bennet would not overhear. “It is not for me to interfere in the affairs between a man and his wife.”

The parson scowled for a full minute, glancing back and forth between Darcy and Bernard. “Very well.” To the couple, he spoke next. “Mr Wickham and Miss Bennet, are you prepared?”

Darcy looked to the lady and saw her countenance was now a nauseated shade of green. She was curling her lip in distaste as Bernard sat up and made some crude reference to her chastity.

“They are both ready,” Darcy answered for them. The look in Miss Bennet’s eyes spelled murder, but she held her tongue.

“Miss Bennet, will you stand here? And you must take your betrothed’s hand. I absolutely insist upon this much.” The parson turned a stern look on Darcy as Miss Bennet shrank from Bernard’s diseased flesh.

“Here.” Darcy produced a handkerchief and wrapped it over her fingers as she stared open-mouthed back at him. “I am a man of my word, Miss Bennet.”

She took it with a last scathing glare, and a few moments later, Mrs Bernard Wickham tossed the handkerchief back in his face with a vengeance.

Spirited, indeed.

Well, there’s the second bit! The Rogue’s Widow went live today on Amazon,  available for purchase or download through KU. I hope you enjoy this bit of frivolity. I certainly had fun writing it!