The Bride Sale by Candice Hern Page A

surrender without a struggle to the inevitable nightmares. He was not sleepy in any case. His mind was in turmoil.
    He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and fingered the bill of sale from the auction. The crisp parchment rustled loudly, inviting him to read it one more time. But there was no need. He had memorized the words some hours ago, and those words plagued him, kept him awake.
    All rights. Obligations. Property claims. Services and demands. Obligations. Obligations.
    The wretched document would probably not hold up in a court of law. Even so, his signature was there for all to see, and declared that he freely accepted this…this obligation, regardless of the legalities involved. He was a gentleman, after all, and—
    His own cynical chuckle interrupted that absurd train of thought. Lord Heartless, a gentleman? There were many who would dispute that fine point.
    James tucked away the loathsome parchment in his waistcoat pocket. It had been many long years since he had considered himself either noble or honorable. So, why not just give the woman an apron and a mop, put her to work in the scullery, and be done with foolish anxiety?
    Obligations.
    What was he to do about Verity Osborne?
    He had told Mrs. Tregelly she was a distant cousin down on her luck. The sweet old woman had never once questioned how he had just happened to stumble upon his cousin unexpectedly in Gunnisloe. It was a ludicrous fiction. She had no doubt already heard the tale of the auction from Tomas, but could be trusted to uphold James’s story with the staff and neighbors. It would be widely known as a charade, but Mrs. Tregelly would maintain that charade with her dying breath. She was one of the few people who had not turned their backs on him almost seven years ago, and her fierce loyalty was an enigma to James. He had done nothing to deserve it, yet he had come to count on it.
    He sighed and slid down further in the chair. Stretching his arms out, he flexed his tired muscles and linked his hands behind his neck.
    He must have a serious conversation with Verity Osborne tomorrow and settle on their story, not to mention their living arrangements. The cousin tale would have to do, with some embellishment of details for veracity. Though, God knew, by tomorrow the whole county would surely be aware of how she came to be at Pendurgan.
    It had disappointed him when she had asked for a tray in her room. He had somehow conceived a notion that beneath her prim and docile exterior lurked a scrappy little thing with more backbone. Well, he supposed she had been through enough for one day. He could hardly begrudge her an evening alone. Besides, Agnes had been in one of her moods. The added tension of Verity Osborne’s presence would have been more than he could bear in one evening.
    But what of tomorrow?
    Or rather, today, he mused as the old lantern clock behind him chimed three times.
    An odd shuffling sound in the hallway brought his thoughts up short. Someone was coming. Lobb usually left him alone until dawn. What would make him wander down at this hour?
    But whoever approached was more light-footed than James’s valet, a large man whose heavy tread was unmistakable. Who, then?
    James sat up and cocked an ear toward the library door, which stood slightly ajar. By the time the small shadowy figure passed the opening, he knew who it was.
    â€œAnd where do you think you’re going, Verity Osborne?”
    The footsteps came to an abrupt halt and he heard a sharp intake of breath. She did not move.
    â€œI think you had better come in,” he said, “and tell me what is going on. If you are leaving, I have a right to know.”
    After a long, silent moment, the library door swung open. A heavily draped figure stepped tentatively into the darkened room. A weighty bag of some sort caused her to list slightly to the left. With slow, deliberate movements, she set it on the floor and clasped her hands at her bulky waist. She