A Broken Betrothal: Convenient Arrangements (Book 1) Read online

  A Broken Betrothal

  Convenient Arrangements (Book 1)

  Rose Pearson

  Contents

  A Broken Betrothal

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  A Sneak Peek of A New Beginning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

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  © Copyright 2020 by Rose Pearson - All rights reserved.

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  Respective author owns all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  A Broken Betrothal

  Prologue

  Lady Augusta looked at her reflection in the mirror and sighed inwardly. She had tried on almost every gown in her wardrobe and still was not at all decided on which one she ought to wear tonight. She had to make the right decision, given that this evening was to be her first outing into society since she had returned to London.

  “Augusta, what in heaven’s name...?” The sound of her mother’s voice fading away as she looked all about the room and saw various gowns strewn everywhere, the maids quickening to stand straight, their heads bowed as the countess came into the room. Along with her came a friend of Lady Elmsworth, whom Augusta knew very well indeed, although it was rather embarrassing to have her step into the bedchamber when it was in such a disarray!

  “Good afternoon, Mama,” Augusta said, dropping into a quick curtsy. “And good afternoon, Lady Newfield.” She took in Lady Newfield’s face, seeing the twinkle in the lady’s blue eyes and the way her lips twitched, which was in direct contrast to her mother, who was standing with her hands on her hips, clearly upset.

  “Would you like to explain, my dear girl, what it is that you are doing here?” The countess looked into Augusta’s face, her familiar dark eyes sharpening. Augusta tried to smile but her mother only narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips, making it quite plain that she was greatly displeased with what Augusta was doing.

  “Mama,” Augusta wheedled, gesturing to her gowns. “You know that I must look my very best for this evening’s ball. “Therefore, I must be certain that I—”

  “We had already selected a gown, Augusta,” Lady Elmsworth interrupted, quieting Augusta’s excuses immediately. “You and I went to the dressmaker’s only last week and purchased a few gowns that would be worn for this little Season. The first gown you were to wear was, if I recall, that primrose yellow.” She indicated a gown that was draped over Augusta’s bed, and Augusta felt heat rise into her face as the maids scurried to pick it up.

  “I do not think it suits my coloring, Mama,” she said, a little half-heartedly. “You are correct to state that we chose it together, but I have since reconsidered.”

  Lady Newfield cleared her throat, with Lady Elmsworth darting a quick look towards her.

  “I would be inclined to agree, Lady Elmsworth,” she said, only for Lady Elmsworth to throw up one hand, bringing her friend’s words to a swift end. Augusta’s hopes died away as her mother’s thin brows began knitting together with displeasure. “That is enough, Augusta,” she said firmly, ignoring Lady Newfield entirely. “That gown will do you very well, just as we discussed.” She looked at the maids. “Tidy the rest of these up at once and ensure that the primrose yellow is left for this evening.”

  The maids curtsied and immediately set to their task, leaving Augusta to merely sit and watch as the maids obeyed the mistress of the house rather than doing what she wanted. In truth, the gown that had been chosen for her had been mostly her mother’s choice, whilst she had attempted to make gentle protests that had mostly been ignored. With her dark brown hair and green eyes, Augusta was sure that the gown did, in fact, suit her coloring very well, but she did not want to be clad in yellow, not when so many other debutantes would be wearing the same. No, Augusta wanted to stand out, to be set apart, to be noticed! She had come to London only a few months ago for the Season and had been delighted when her father had encouraged them to return for the little Season. Thus, she had every expectation of finding a suitable husband and making a good match. However, given how particular her mother was being over her gown, Augusta began to worry that her mother would soon begin to choose Augusta’s dance partners and the like so that she would have no independence whatsoever!

  “I think I shall return to our tea,” Lady Newfield said gently as Lady Elmsworth gave her friend a jerky nod. “I apologize for the intrusion, Lady Augusta.”

  “There was no intrusion,” Augusta said quickly, seeing the small smile that ran around Lady Newfield’s mouth and wishing that her mother had been a little more willing to listen to her friend’s comments. For whatever reason, she felt as though Lady Newfield understood her reasoning more than her mother did.

  “Now, Augusta,” Lady Elmsworth said firmly, settling herself in a chair near to the hearth where a fire burned brightly, chasing away the chill of a damp winter afternoon. “This evening, you are to be introduced to one gentleman in particular. I want you to ensure that you behave impeccably. Greet him warmly and correctly, but thereafter, do not say a good deal.”

  Augusta frowned, her eyes searching her mother’s face for answers that Lady Elmsworth was clearly unwilling to give. “Might I ask why I am to do such a thing, Mama?”

  Lady Elmsworth held Augusta’s gaze for a moment, and then let out a small sigh. “You will be displeased, of course, for you are always an ungrateful sort but nonetheless, you ought to find some contentment in this.” She waited a moment as though waiting to see if Augusta had some retort prepared already, only to shrug and then continue. “Your father has found you a suitable match, Augusta. You are to meet him this evening.”

  The world seemed to stop completely as Augusta stared at her mother in horror. The footsteps of the maids came to silence; the quiet crackling of the fire turned to naught. Her chest heaved with great breaths as Augusta tried to accept what she had just been told, closing her eyes to shut out the view of her mother’s slightly bored expression. This was not what she had expected. Coming back to London had been a matter of great excitement for her, having been told that this year would be the year for her to make a suitable match. She had never once thought that such a thing would be pulled from her, removed from her grasp entirely. Her father had never once mentioned that he would be doing such a thing but now, it seemed, he had chosen to do so without saying a word to her about his intentions.

  “Do try to form some response, Augusta,” Lady Elmsworth said tiredly. “I am aware this is something of a surprise, but it is for your own good. The gentleman in question has an excellent title and is quite wealthy.” She waved a hand in front of her face as though such things were the only things in the world that mattered. “It is not as though you could have found someone on your own, Augusta.”

  “I should have liked the opportunity to try,” Augusta whispered, hardly able to form the words she wanted so desperately to say.

  “You had the summer Season,” Lady Elmsworth retorted with a shrug. “Do you not recall?”

  Augusta closed her eyes. The summer Season had been her first outing into society, and she had enjoyed every moment of it. Her f
ather and mother had made it quite plain that this was not to be the year where she found a husband but rather a time for her to enjoy society, to become used to what it meant to live as a member of the ton. The little Season and the summer Season thereafter, she had been told, would be the ones for her to seek out a husband.

  And now, that had been pulled away from her before she had even had the opportunity to be amongst the gentlemen of the beau monde.

  “As I have said,” Lady Elmsworth continued, briskly, ignoring Augusta’s complaint and the clear expression of shock on her face, “there is no need for you to do anything other than dress in the gown we chose together and then to ensure that you greet Lord Pendleton with all refinement and propriety.”

  Augusta closed her eyes. “Lord Pendleton?” she repeated, tremulously, already afraid that this gentleman was some older, wealthy gentleman who, for whatever reason, had not been able to find a wife and thus had been more than eager to accept her father’s offer.

  “Did I not say?” Lady Elmsworth replied, sounding somewhat distracted. She rose quickly, her skirts swishing noisily as she walked towards the door. “He is brother to the Marquess of Leicestershire. A fine gentleman, by all accounts.” She shrugged. “He is quiet and perhaps a little dull, but he will do very well for you.” One of the maids held the door open, and before Augusta could say more, her mother swept out of the room and the door was closed tightly behind her.

  Augusta waited for tears to come but they did not even begin to make their way towards her eyes. She was numb all over, cold and afraid of what was to come. This was not something she had even considered a possibility when it came to her own considerations for what the little Season would hold. There had always been the belief that she would be able to dance, converse, and laugh with as many gentlemen as thought to seek her out. In time, there would be courtships and one gentleman in particular might bring themselves to her notice. There would be excitement and anticipation, nights spent reading and re-reading notes and letters from the gentleman in question, her heart quickening at the thought of marrying him.

  But now, such thoughts were gone from her. There was to be none of what she had expected, what she had hoped for. Instead, there was to be a meeting and an arrangement, with no passion or excitement.

  Augusta closed her eyes and finally felt a sting of tears. Dropping her head into her hands, she let her emotions roar to life, sending waves of feeling crashing through her until, finally, Augusta wept.

  Chapter One

  Quite why he had arranged to be present this evening, Stephen did not know. He ought to have stated that he would meet Lady Augusta in a quieter setting than a ball so that he might have talked with her at length rather than forcing a quick meeting upon them both in a room where it was difficult to hear one’s own voice such was the hubbub of the crowd.

  He sighed and looked all about him again, finding no delight in being in the midst of society once more. He was a somewhat retiring gentleman, finding no pleasure in the gossip and rumors that flung themselves all around London during the little Season, although it was always much worse during the summer Season. Nor did he appreciate the falseness of those who came to speak and converse with him, knowing full well that the only reason they did so was to enquire after his brother, the Marquess of Leicestershire.

  His brother was quite the opposite in both looks and character, for where Stephen had light brown hair with blue eyes, his brother had almost black hair with dark brown eyes that seemed to pierce into the very soul of whomever he was speaking with. The ladies of the ton wanted nothing more than to be in the presence of Lord Leicestershire and, given he was absent from society, they therefore came towards Stephen in order to find out what they could about his brother.

  It was all quite wearisome, and Stephen did not enjoy even a moment of it. He was not as important as his brother, he knew, given he did not hold the high title nor have the same amount of wealth as Lord Leicestershire, but surely his own self, his conversation and the like, was of some interest? He grinned wryly to himself as he picked up a glass from the tray held by a footman, wondering silently to himself that, if he began to behave as his brother had done on so many occasions, whether or not that would garner him a little more interest from rest of the ton.

  “You look much too contented,” said a familiar voice, and Stephen looked to his left to see his acquaintance, Lord Dryden, approach him. Lord Dryden, a viscount, had an estate near the border to Scotland and, whilst lower in title than Stephen, had become something of a close acquaintance these last two years.

  “Lord Dryden,” Stephen grinned, slapping the gentleman on the back. “How very good to see you again.”

  Lord Dryden chuckled. “And you,” he said with an honest look in his eyes. “Now, tell me why you are standing here smiling to yourself when I know very well that a ball is not the sort of event you wish to attend?”

  Stephen’s grin remained on his lips, his eyes alighting on various young ladies that swirled around him. “I was merely considering what my life might be like if I chose to live as my brother does,” he answered, with a shrug. “I should have all of society chasing after me, I suppose, although a good many would turn their heads away from me with the shame of being in my company.”

  “That is quite true,” Lord Dryden agreed, no smile on his face but rather a look of concern. “You do not wish to behave so, I hope?”

  “No, indeed, I do not,” Stephen answered firmly, his smile fading away. “I confess that I am growing weary of so many in the ton coming to seek me out simply because they wish to know more about my brother.”

  “He is not present this evening?”

  Stephen snorted. “He is not present for the little Season,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “Do not ask me what he has been doing, or why he has such a notable absence, for I fear I cannot tell you.” Setting his shoulders, he let out a long breath. “No, I must look to my future.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Dryden responded, an interested look on his face as he eyed Stephen speculatively. “And what is it about your future that you now consider?”

  Stephen cleared his throat, wondering whether he ought to tell his friend even though such an arrangement had not yet been completely finalized. “I am to consider myself betrothed very soon,” he said before he lost his nerve and kept such news to himself. “I am to meet the lady here this evening. Her father has already signed the papers and they await me in my study.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I am sure that, provided she has not lost all of her teeth and that her voice is pleasant enough, the betrothal will go ahead as intended.”

  Lord Dryden stared at Stephen for a few moments, visible shock rippling over his features. His eyes were wide and his jaw slack, without even a single flicker of mirth in his gaze as he looked back at him. Stephen felt his stomach drop, now worried that Lord Dryden would make some remark that would then force Stephen to reconsider all that he had decided thus far, fearful now that he had made some foolish mistake.

  “Good gracious!” Lord Dryden began to laugh, his hand grasping Stephen’s shoulder tightly. “You are betrothed?” Shaking his head, he let out another wheezing laugh before straightening and looking Stephen directly in the eye. “I should have expected such a thing from you, I suppose, given you are always entirely practical and very well-considered, but I had not expected it so soon!”

  “So soon?” Stephen retorted with a chuckle. “I have been in London for the last three Seasons and have found not even a single young lady to be interested in even conversing with me without needing to talk solely about my brother.” His lip curled, a heaviness sitting back on his shoulders as he let out a long sigh. “Therefore, this seemed to be the wisest and the most practical of agreements.”

  Lord Dryden chuckled again, his eyes still filled with good humor. “I am glad to hear it,” he said warmly. “I do congratulate you, of course! Pray, forgive me for my humor. It is only that it has come as something of a surprise to hear such a thi
ng from you yet, now that I consider it, it makes a good deal of sense!” He chuckled again and the sound began to grate on Stephen, making him frown as he returned his friend’s sharp look.

  Lord Dryden did not appear to care, even if he did notice Stephen’s ire. Instead, he leaned a little closer, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Pray, tell me,” he began as Stephen nodded, resigning himself to a good many questions. “Who is this lady? Is she of good quality?”

  “Very good, yes,” Stephen replied, aware, while he did not know the lady’s features or character, that she came from a good family line and that breeding would not be a cause for concern. “She is Lady Augusta, daughter to the Earl of Elmsworth.”

  Lord Dryden’s eyes widened, and his smile faded for a moment. “Goodness,” he said quietly, looking at Stephen as though he feared his friend had made some sort of dreadful mistake. “And you have met the lady in question?”

  “I am to meet her this evening,” Stephen answered quickly, wondering why Lord Dryden now appeared so surprised. “I have not heard anything disreputable about her, however.” He narrowed his gaze and looked at his friend sharply. “Why? Have you heard some rumor I have not?”

  Lord Dryden held up both his hands in a gesture of defense. “No, indeed not!” he exclaimed, sounding quite horrified. “No, tis only that she is a lady who is very well thought of in society. She is well known to everyone, seeks to converse with them all, and has a good many admirers.” One shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “To know that her father has sought out an arrangement for her surprises me a little, that is all.”