Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] by An Unwilling Bride Page A

the day before. It was too late now, but she wished she had found the time. The girl had been unhappy lately. Perhaps she had a brother in the army, though Beth did not think so.
    In truth, Beth told herself sternly, there was no justification for her own self-pity when the shadow of war hung over them all. If Napoleon could not be brought to see reason, many fathers, sons, and brothers would be maimed or dead, which made a luxurious, if loveless, marriage seem a petty tragedy indeed.
    She occupied herself for a little while in viewing the scenery. Spring had greened the grass and trees, and they rolled past occasional mats of yellow daffodils and blue harebells. A hare ran twisting and turning crazily across a meadow. In another field lambs frolicked near their mothers.
    It was Beth's favorite time of year, but this spring heralded only misery, and though her problem was small in the greater scheme of things, it dominated her thoughts.
    It would take most of the day to reach Belcraven Park, so Beth took out Miss Mallory's parting gift to her— Self-Control, a Novel, by Mary Brunton. It was supposedly based on the most upright principles. Though Mary Wollstonecraft had despised works of fiction, Miss Mallory thought it wise to permit the older girls to indulge their taste for novels, but only through directed reading. She had asked Beth to send back a report on the book as soon as possible.
    By the time they paused to change horses, Laura Montreville had rejected her dashing suitor for the excellent reason that he had first tried to seduce her before attempting the more subtle lure of marriage.
    By the time the next halt was called, the handsome colonel had persuaded Laura to allow him two years in which to prove himself a reformed character, and Beth was becoming a little impatient with the heroine. If she did not love the man she should give him no reason to hope. If, as it appeared, Laura did love him, it was silliness to demand that he give up all outward show of his feelings for her because of some notion that uncontrolled emotions paved the way to hell.
    Mary Wollstonecraft had urged the honest expression of feelings and beliefs, and that meshed very well with Beth's naturally honest temperament.
    Beth found herself wondering what Laura would have done in her own situation. She decided the young lady was so lacking in reality and common sense she would have sunk into a decline and died. Now that would serve the marquess and his father as they deserved, thought Beth with a grim smile, and ruin their plans into the bargain. Unfortunately, she could not see how it would do her any good at all. She just wasn't the stuff of which heroines were made. She lacked the right kind of sensibility.
    Beth conceived a better plan than meekly fading away. The marquess was obviously unhappy with the marriage plan. If she was sufficiently abrasive, unattractive, and unpleasant, surely he would think a lifetime tied to her was too high a price to pay for a pure-blooded heir. It would be no effort at all to be abrasive and unpleasant.
    The horses were changed frequently and with lightning efficiency, but when the team was unhitched at Chipping Norton the marquess opened the door.
    "We will break the journey here," he said. "You will be glad of a meal, I'm sure." The hours of riding had ruffled his curls and brought a shine to his eyes. His smile was genuinely friendly as he asked, "I hope you are not finding the journey too tiring."
    As she descended the steps Beth repressed an urge to respond favorably to this goodwill. She was not normally ungracious, but such good humor would not answer at all. She put an edge on her voice as she said, "How could I, my lord, when everything is of the first stare?"
    His smile dimmed. "It is going to be very tiresome, Miss Armitage, if you are to carp at everything that is better than utilitarian." They had reached the door of the inn, and the host was bowing low to usher such exalted guests inside. Beth