How to Woo... A Reluctant Bride Read online

  “What’s wrong, lad?”

  Heaving a sigh, Evan threw himself into a chair. “She said the most incredible thing. I still can’t believe…” Harry had said Lydia was a sensible girl, but this was carrying sensible entirely too far.

  His uncle said nothing, just sat across from him and waited patiently.

  Evan drained his snifter and set it on a nearby table. “She said she didn’t expect fidelity in our marriage. That it was all right if I took a mistress.”

  Frederick merely raised an eyebrow. “Many men do, you know.”

  “Wait, it gets better. Then she went on to say she’d no intention of being faithful either. Not after she’d produced an heir and a spare. Is that the way the aristocracy thinks?”

  Frederick nearly choked on a sip of brandy. “I’m afraid so, lad, some of them, but I agree it’s a bit shocking coming from a virtuous young lady. I imagine she is just reflecting what she has seen her parents and their friends do.”

  “Remind me again of why I’m doing this.”

  Uncle Frederick smiled. “One of us has to marry, and since I’m a confirmed bachelor, it is up to you to carry on the family name. Unfortunately, it’s rather too late to back out now.”

  Evan jumped to his feet and started pacing the library. “I don’t wish to back out. But I swear to God, if another man touches her—”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with the girl.”

  Evan’s pacing came to an abrupt halt. “Bloody hell, is that possible? No, of course not. I’ve only met her twice.”

  His uncle grinned. “I saw you kiss her. You can’t deny you have feelings for her.”

  “Desire, passion, infatuation? Yes, of course. In fact, up until our little talk, I was more than eager for the wedding to take place. But love? Impossible.”

  “It hits a man that way sometimes. Out of the blue.”

  Evan sank into a chair and ran a hand down his face. “Bloody hell, I am about to marry a complete stranger. What on earth was I thinking? Is there any hope for us?”

  Frederick chuckled. “You just have to make sure she falls in love with you. Woo her.”

  Evan looked up. “But how? Love isn’t something we can control.”

  His uncle stood, strode to his desk and removed a package from the middle drawer. “No, but sometimes we can help it along a bit. I was saving this for your wedding, but I think you might need it now.”

  Handing the package to Evan, he said, “Here you go, lad, advice for the lovelorn.”

  Puzzled, Evan took the package from his uncle’s hand and realized it was a book. He pulled off the paper wrapping and read the title. “What in hell is the Kama Sutra of Vatsayana?”

  “The wisdom of the ages,” his uncle said. “An ancient Sanskrit sex manual, written thousands of years ago. I imagine our grandmother’s ancestors read it ages ago. And now it’s been translated into English, thanks to Sir Richard Burton and the Kama Shastra society.”

  “How can a book written thousands of years ago help me now?” Evan asked, staring at his uncle in perplexity. “What could the ancients possibly know that modern man does not?”

  “Human nature doesn’t change. Arranged marriages have been around for centuries, and for a good reason,” Frederick pointed out. “They often work as well, or better, than a love match.”

  Evan snorted. “That’s rich coming from a man in love with his Indian mistress.”

  His uncle laughed. “So it is. But you’ll find some ideas in there about how to woo a reluctant bride, as well as techniques to keep her satisfied once you’re wed.”

  Evan stood, book in hand, and shook his uncle’s hand. “Thanks. At this point I welcome all the help I can get.”

  Chapter 2, Courtship

  “Women, being of tender nature, want tender beginnings.” —The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana

  Lydia awoke the next morning, bleary-eyed after a restless sleep. She’d lain awake for hours, alternately ashamed of her rudeness to Evan and reliving the passion of his kiss. She touched her lips, remembering. Had his passion been real? She didn’t think something like that could be faked, but she was so ignorant of the ways of men and women. She’d never been really kissed before, certainly not so thoroughly.

  Sitting up in bed, she wrapped her arms around her legs, rested her head on her knees and sighed. She owed Evan an apology. However realistic, the expectation of infidelity was no proper way to begin a marriage.

  At a knock on her door, she looked up and called, “Come in.”

  Tess Iverson, the young ladies’ maid, appeared carrying a bouquet of pink roses. “These just arrived for you, miss.”

  Lydia jumped out of bed and accepted the bouquet, burying her nose in the fragrant blossoms.

  “They’re from Mr. Channing.”

  “Yes, I rather assumed they were.” Lydia found a card, opened it and eagerly read the message.

  My dearest Lydia,

  Please forgive my importunate behavior last night. Perhaps we can blame it on the impatience of an eager bridegroom. May I take you to dinner tonight to make up for my bad manners?

  Yours, always,

  Evan

  P.S. The color of these roses reminded me of your sweet lips.

  E.

  A laugh burbled up from her throat and her cheeks warmed at the reminder of his kiss. She hadn’t expected such a romantic gesture from him. It wasn’t as if he were born a gentleman. Perhaps she needed to change her assumptions. She’d expected boorishness from him simply because of his birth, not taking into account that he’d been educated in the same schools as her brother. She’d best start thinking of her prospective bridegroom as a social equal.

  Lud, was she such a snob?

  She sat at her desk to pen an acceptance. The sooner they became better acquainted, the better.

  *

  Lydia was the last one down to breakfast, but her mother and sister were lingering over their tea.

  “Ah, there you are,” her mother said. “I thought you were going to sleep the morning away.”

  “Were you dreaming of your handsome groom?” Phoebe asked with an arch look.

  “Good morning,” Lydia said. Pointedly ignoring her sister’s question, she filled a plate with eggs, ham and toast. After picking at her dinner last night, she’d awoken ravenously hungry.

  She sat and applied herself to her breakfast, listening to Mother and Phoebe chatter about the latest fashions.

  “Lydia, dear, have you and Evan talked about a date?” her mother asked, picking up her teacup.

  Lydia put down her fork. “Yes. He’s going to speak to the vicar about having the banns read beginning this Sunday. Once ’tis done, we can wed right away.”

  Her mother nearly dropped her cup, spilling tea onto the tablecloth. “Have you lost your senses? No one who is anyone will be in town in July. Besides, I can’t plan a wedding in less than a month.”

  “Yes, you can. I don’t want a big affair. Just a quiet ceremony with family only. No fuss and bother, please.”

  “But what will my friends think?” Phoebe wailed.

  “They will think I am marrying beneath me regardless of the size of the wedding.”

  When Phoebe did not deny her statement, Lydia looked at her mother. “Please spare me the humiliation of a public spectacle.” She knew she didn’t fit the proper notion of the happy bride. But how could she? Not when she’d been all but sold in marriage to a stranger.

  Her mother turned to Phoebe. “I need to speak to Lydia alone, dear, if you are finished.”

  “Why must I always leave the room when things start to get interesting? It is not as if I am still a child! I am almost one and twenty!” Phoebe huffed a sigh, her mouth in a pout, but rose and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

  After she’d gone, her mother asked, “Are you ashamed of your groom?”

  Lydia shook her head. “No, but I am ashamed our family has fallen on such hard times I must marry a social climber. Evan Chann
ing seems like a good enough fellow, but let’s be honest. Despite him being Harry’s friend, he’s not someone you would have encouraged, did we not need his money.”

  There, it was out. The unspoken truth that had hovered over every conversation for weeks now.

  Her mother took her hand. “Oh, Lydia, dear, forgive us. I did not want this burden to fall upon you. But you are the eldest daughter.”

  Lydia swallowed hard. “And the plain one. So it is my duty to sacrifice myself for the good of the family. And so Phoebe can marry a lord.” It was not as if Lydia had taken in the two seasons she’d had before they’d had to rent the London townhouse to make ends meet. She certainly hadn’t received any advantageous offers. Not even a disreputable one, for that matter.

  A tear trickled down her mother’s cheek. “Perhaps it will not be so bad, dear. Some arranged marriages work out very well.”

  “Like yours and Father’s?”

  Her mother stiffened but didn’t look away. “I hope you are not judging your own chance at happiness by our example.”

  “Forgive me,” Lydia said. “That was unfair. I know any problems were caused by Father’s gambling and womanizing.” And when her father had died suddenly in the arms of his mistress, there had been no covering up the truth, even from his daughters.

  Her mother sighed. “You’re a woman now, Lydia, so I may speak more frankly. Some men, like your father, are incapable of fidelity. I do not think young Mr. Channing is like him. All I ask is that you give him a chance.”

  “Of course,” Lydia agreed. “He deserves no less.”

  Her mother squeezed her hand and let go. “Good. Now let’s plan a wedding.”

  *

  Evan sat in his office above the London docks, lost in thought. It was early evening now and most of the workers at Channing and Sons had gone home, leaving the building unusually quiet. For days now, he’d ignored his work to alternately brood about his upcoming nuptials and explore the book his uncle had given him.

  The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana was more than a sexual manual, though it listed a variety of different positions, some of which obviously required more agility than he possessed. It was also an ancient etiquette manual, though how much good some of the suggestions in it would do him in these modern times was doubtful.

  He shook his head in wonder. And the behavior “recommended” for young women seemed unbelievably childish. He’d no more want a wife who threw tantrums like a two-year-old than the proverbial hole in the head. Perhaps people married younger in those days.

  Thank heaven he was marrying a sensible, intelligent, modern girl. However, she’d made it clear he would have his work cut out winning her over.

  He studied the two pages of notes he’d made, one labeled “useful,” the other “nonsensical.” On the useful list, he’d noted ideas such as getting to know the woman’s likes and dislikes. To that end, he’d ordered a new piano delivered to the house. Harry had said she liked to play and was actually quite good.

  Just thinking about the rest of the items on the list made his cock harden. It included “Fluttering Butterflies,” a method of kissing the woman’s yoni, the name used for the female private parts. “Yoni,“ he whispered. It sounded much nicer than the Anglo-Saxon word he’d heard in the brothels, and he suspected his new bride would find it less offensive. She didn’t seem the type to enjoy dirty talk, but one never knew. He’d find out soon enough.

  He groaned out loud and rested his head on his hands. This waiting was killing him. He’d been flogging the bishop regularly for weeks now. Then he’d fall asleep and dream of Lydia, her pale body lying nude in his bed, her legs parted to receive him. And he’d wake up hard as a pikestaff again.

  Thank heaven his wedding was only a few weeks away. He just hoped he didn’t embarrass himself by being too eager.

  The door to his office opened and Uncle Frederick entered. “I thought I heard you in here. Working late?”

  Evan shrugged. “Not working is more like it. It’s hard to keep my mind on business right now.”

  His uncle smiled. “I understand. Zahra told me to invite you to dinner tonight. She would love to see you.”

  “I can’t. I’m taking Lydia to dinner tonight.”

  “Bring her along,” his uncle suggested. “Zahra would love to meet your bride. It is not as if she will be invited to the wedding.”

  “Introduce my gently born bride to a courtesan? You must be joking.” Besides, Zahra lived in a small house not far from the offices of Channing and Sons. The neighborhood was run-down, unsafe for a woman, even escorted by a servant, with prostitutes plying their wares on every corner. But it was convenient for Frederick, who spent more evenings there than he did at home.

  Frederick stared at him reproachfully. “You are too English, nephew. I always thought you should spend more time in India.”

  Evan sighed. “I’m not you, uncle. I’ve lived my whole life here.”

  “Yes, but must you be so rigid and judgmental? I thought you liked Zahra.”

  “I do. She’s a lovely woman, and if you’d married her, she would have been invited to the wedding,” Evan added hotly.

  “Touché. I should have made her an honest woman long ago.”

  Evan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Forgive me, I know it’s complicated.”

  “I know,” Frederick agreed. “If we’re to be successful in England, we must keep up appearances, at all costs.”

  “How is Zahra?” Evan asked to buy time.

  Frederick began to pace the office. “Lonely. She misses her family and friends in Calcutta.”

  “Yes, I can well imagine. She must love you dearly to come so far from home to be with you.”

  Frederick stopped by the window, staring out at the docks. “Yes. I’ve come to a decision, Evan. After you return from your honeymoon, I’m going back to India.”

  “But Uncle—”

  Frederick spun around to face him. “You don’t need me any more. You’re more than capable of managing things here. Zahra will be happier at home, and when she’s happy, I’m happy.”

  Evan stood and walked to his uncle’s side. “If that is what you want, then so be it. I will miss you, though.”

  Frederick smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Nonsense, boy, you’ll have your new wife to keep you busy. Are you sure you won’t come to dinner?”

  Evan started to refuse again, and then thought, why not? Perhaps he should introduce Lydia to the other side of his heritage before they wed.

  “Very well, but I make no guarantee Lydia will agree.”

  “Fair enough. Now get your things and let’s go.”

  Evan took his suit jacket from the coat rack and donned it, then returned to his desk.

  His uncle’s gaze dropped to the book lying there. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yes, the book you gave me.”

  “Has it been of interest?”

  Evan shrugged. “Yes and no. I’ve found it to be an odd mixture of practical advice, odd superstitions and ludicrous notions about how young people should behave. I’d be clapped in jail if I tried to kidnap Lydia from her parents’ home!”

  Frederick laughed. “Such behavior isn’t as far in England’s past as you may think. Two centuries ago, debtors conspired to kidnap heiresses and force them into marriage.”

  “I’d forgotten about that part,” Evan replied. “Some of the other suggestions are quite…intriguing.”

  His uncle merely raised an eyebrow. “I rather thought you’d find them so.”

  “In fact,” Evan said, “I’m not sure some of them are even possible.”

  Frederick chuckled. “You won’t know until you try.”

  *

  When Evan picked her up for dinner, Lydia was surprised to see his uncle was with him. As chaperone, perhaps?

  She smiled warmly at both men. “Good evening, gentlemen. Mr. Channing, I had no idea you were joining us.”

  Frederick Channing sketched her a
bow. “I hope you do not object.”

  “No, of course not,” she murmured.

  “There has been a slight change of plans,” Evan said. “We have all been invited to dine at the home of an Indian friend.”

  Lydia frowned slightly. Something in Evan’s intent gaze made her think this was some kind of test. Did he think she was too snobbish to consort with his friends or business colleagues? In truth, she could ill afford such an attitude.

  “How lovely,” she murmured. “Will we be sampling Indian cuisine?”

  “Indeed we will, Miss Blatchford,” Frederick Channing said, with an approving smile. He gestured toward the carriage waiting by the street. “Shall we?”

  Lydia took Evan’s proffered arm and let him lead her to the carriage, wondering what the evening would bring.

  Evan helped Lydia into the carriage and sat beside her, leaving his uncle to take the rear-facing seat. “Now tell me about this friend of yours.”

  “Zahra, Miss Patel, is a personal friend,” Frederick said smoothly. “Someone I knew in India.”

  “And now she is here in London?” Lydia asked. “What a brave woman she must be to travel so far.”

  Frederick Channing merely shrugged. “She is rather adventurous.”

  “She must be,” Lydia agreed. “Such a long trip.”

  “Would you not like to see India, my dear? I thought you might like to go with me this winter,” Evan said.

  She glanced at him in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of it.”

  He leaned forward and quirked an eyebrow. “It is a long voyage, and we will have a lot of time to get to know each other better.”

  Her heart raced at the thought of being alone with him in a ship’s cabin for weeks on end, with nothing to do but explore each other. “Yes, I see.” The huskiness in her voice surprised her.

  “Then we shall go,” Evan said and relaxed back in his seat.

  Was that a test, Lydia wondered? If so, she had evidently passed it.

  As the carriage ride progressed, Lydia grew more anxious, glancing nervously out the window of the carriage as the scenery changed from the luxury of Mayfair to far less pleasant areas of the city. She thought they must be near the docks. Drunken sailors staggered out of taverns and she saw women who were surely selling their bodies on the corner.