Lady Susan's Bargain: Winthrop Family, #1

By May Burnett

Nobody must guess the terrible truth...

Why would beautiful Lady Susan Winthrop throw herself away on a penniless baron, who has nothing to offer but gambling debts and a dilapidated castle in Cornwall? Everyone had expected the well-connected heiress to make a brilliant match.

Her worried family and friends cannot fathom why Susan is acting so strangely out of character. Even her detractors do not suspect her of falling heads over heels for such an unsatisfactory suitor. Surely she is too intelligent and level-headed for such folly. Yet the wedding is scheduled with suspicious haste.

Only one other person is privy to Lady Susan's motives, and it is not her new husband, Lord Northcote. Will this match end in disaster, as so many predict? Or are they underestimating both bride and groom?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mind Games Publications
• Release date: Jun 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524223793

Book preview

Lady Susan’s Bargain

A Regency Romance

May Burnett

Chapter 1

The sound of kid glove on naked skin resounded through the Collington ballroom like a muffled shot. The lady on the pianoforte stopped playing mid-chord, aghast at the incident that had just occurred in plain sight of almost twenty people, not counting the footmen.

During a harmless country dance, Viscount Fenton had grasped Lady Susan Winthrop by the shoulders, and rudely kissed her on the mouth. The couples nearest to her were too stunned by the unexpected and shocking nature of the offense to come to the lady’s assistance.

It was left to Lady Susan herself to react to the insult. As soon as Fenton released her, she dealt her attacker a resounding slap on the face.

Her friend Abigail Trevelyan immediately rushed to her, and placed an arm protectively round Susan’s waist. A babble of voices, shocked exclamations, and commiseration erupted.

Faced with a phalanx of angry women, Fenton slunk away before any of the men thought to call him to account, as I was just going to do, Lady Susan, one of her admirers earnestly assured her, had the villain not left so quickly.

I will talk to him tomorrow, another declared. This must not be allowed to stand.

No, indeed! An outrage!

Whether these useless puppies believed their assertions was unclear to Lady Susan, and she could not bring herself to care. She left the ballroom with Miss Trevelyan, but instead of going straight to her room, slipped out into the dark garden to regain her composure in privacy. Nobody was supposed to see Lady Susan Winthrop ruffled.

Her right hand was still tingling, and her lips felt bruised. Abby had wanted to come with her, but Susan had told her to await her in her room. She wanted solitude, and besides, Abby was so prone to sniffles and colds.

Though the day had been mild, the night had turned chilly, and a gusty wind gave Susan inelegant goose bumps where her arms were exposed to the air above her long kid gloves.

Rubbing her arms for warmth, she moodily wondered if she would catch a chill and die of pneumonia early in her second season, a martyr to the imbecile fashion which decreed high-waisted gowns of thin silk and muslin for evening wear year-round, and very low necklines. Fortunately she had always had a strong constitution.

Was this scandalous incident yet another manifestation of that stupid and overpraised emotion, love? In Fenton’s case, probably mere possessiveness. In twenty-nine years he had obtained whatever he had truly wanted, and now he had decided he wanted Lady Susan Winthrop, the toast of the season, as his wife.

She kicked at the gravel on the path, imagining it was Fenton’s face, but her soft evening slippers were not ideally suited for such an action.

How had it come to this? She should never have accepted the invitation to this house party. Lady Collington, her hostess and Susan’s distant relative, was not as effective a chaperon as her family had believed. Fenton had taken Susan’s temporary lack of protection as encouragement to renew attentions she had already decisively rejected the last time he had proposed in London. From this night’s incident, it was all too clear that his thick head was unable to accept a firm ‘no’.

An owl hooted. Susan looked around the garden. Under a waning moon, the gravel-strewn paths and flower borders were barely distinguishable. She sighed. Why had she not yet found the man with whom she could share her life, relieving her of the bother of pursuit and courtship? She was past nineteen years old, and did not enjoy the blatant envy of less favoured debutantes when she was mobbed by eager partners at balls.

The hem of her gown was fluttering wildly. It really was too cold to remain outside any longer in her gossamer fabrics. Once she was married she would dress for comfort and health, and no longer worry about keeping up with the first stare of fashion.

Sheltering from the wind, Susan stood next to the whimsical folly that graced the Collingtons’ extensive gardens, breathing in the perfume of dimly visible lilac bushes. Faint strains of music were once again drifting from the ballroom, where the younger members of the house party must have resumed their improvised dancing. The older and more sedate guests had congregated in the card room, as usual, playing whist or loo.

She was calm again, and would go inside, talk to Abby – hold on - were those male voices and steps approaching? Susan stood in indecision for a moment. It would not do to be found lurking in a dark garden close to midnight.

Drat! Two men were walking in her direction. Susan pressed closer to the walls of the garden house. Surely the lilac bushes would conceal her.

To her relief, the men entered the folly without noticing her. Presently a whiff of cheroot smoke offended her nostrils. Behind the thin wooden slats the two men were so close that they would hear if she left now. Better to remain hidden until they had finished smoking.

I can only pay two thousand now, one of them was telling the other. Susan did not immediately recognize the voice, but the speaker sounded youngish, no more than thirty.

If you had continued last night’s whist game with young Trevor, you’d have more than that, the other grumbled. He was so drunk it was shooting fish in a barrel.

I daresay, but I will not ruin a foolish boy just so you can collect faster, the first voice firmly replied.

What’s the point? Trevor will lose his fortune anyway, if not to you, then to some other man without such scruples – scruples that you cannot afford, let me remind you.

Susan silently rubbed her gloved hands together for warmth.

Maybe not, but I shall try to hold on to them a bit longer, all the same. There was weary resignation in the younger man’s tone.

Well, if gambling doesn’t bring in the money to pay off your debts, you could solve all your problems at one stroke with a rich marriage. It is done all the time, and your title, such as it is, should at least net you some well-dowered cit’s daughter.

Poor girl. Did cits’ daughters deserve to be married for their money, any more than Susan herself did?

I may be ruined, but I will not sink to the level of a fortune hunter. What kind of marriage could I have if my wife knew it was only her money that supported the household? She could never respect me. Give over - I’ll pay off my brother’s debts as best I can, but I will not stoop to selling myself.

Susan felt like cheering this sentiment, but restrained herself. She had placed the voices at last: the creditor must be Lord Thomas Wylander, the dissipated younger brother of the Duke of Bristol; the other man was Lord Northcote, a baron of no particular importance. Hardly surprising that she had not immediately recognized his voice, as he held himself aloof from her court. Susan had not exchanged more than a few greetings with him in the past four days of this house party.

Lord Thomas laughed in an unpleasant way. "I repeat, you cannot afford such stupid scruples, North. And they are your debts now. I expect the vowels to be paid off by the first of June, all sixteen thousand guineas, or I will make it impossible for you to ever show your face in polite society again. Though there might be another way – don’t you have a young sister? Is she pretty?"

Damn your eyes!

Susan was not surprised at the outraged exclamation. It was common knowledge that Lord Thomas had an estranged wife living somewhere in Scotland.

Think about it, Lord Thomas said, with a chuckle, and threw away his cheroot. It’s getting damned cold out here, we’d best return to the house.

Their steps retreated. Susan, hugging her arms around her, followed soon after in a very pensive mood. She could not help feeling sympathy for this young man, North, as Lord Thomas had called him. She tried to recall his appearance – military bearing, darkish hair and eyes, average height, slim. He never put himself forward and thus had not caught her attention, but there was nothing objectionable about his person or manners.

However regrettable, his plight had nothing to do with her. She had better join Abby and reassure her that she was still the famously serene Lady Susan, and make plans for their departure in three more days ... maybe they could depart early, if Abigail, who had come as her companion on this trip, was agreeable. This house party was not entertaining any more, and she was certainly not going to find the suitor of her dreams among this jaded crowd.

But no, that could be interpreted as fleeing from Lord Fenton. A Winthrop did not run away, whatever happened.

She would just have to get through those three days as best she could.

Chapter 2

North had slept badly, and came down to breakfast later than usual. He had retired to his modest room soon after his talk with Tom Wylander, that most hateful of his late half-brother’s gambling cronies.

Dark dreams had twice woken him in the night, though he could not recall any details. This was a new experience. He had slept like a log through shelling and thunderstorms during his army career, in those far-off days when he’d been an impecunious, disposable younger son, unaware how lucky he had been. Being in debt was a great deal worse than mere lack of money.

The spacious breakfast room was half full. After greeting the assembled company, North served himself ham and kippers from the sideboard. A prim parlour maid in a starched apron poured freshly brewed tea into his cup.

A young lady had come in just after him, Lady Susan Winthrop, for once without that ash blonde friend trailing at her side. She chose to sit only one empty seat away from him.

North could not help looking at the girl with covert admiration, knowing she was not for him. As a reigning Incomparable and great heiress, she had her pick of much more eligible men. That did not prevent him from noticing her trim figure, clean-cut features and large blue eyes with their frank expression. She came close to his ideal woman – his and every other man’s, most likely. Dark brunettes were in fashion right now.

How are you feeling, poor dear? A middle-aged lady at her other side asked Lady Susan. Could you sleep at all after that horrid scene last night?

I slept perfectly well, thank you, Lady Susan replied repressively. I do not let trifles overset me.

North decapitated a soft-boiled egg, wondering what scene they were referring to. He had been playing whist last night.

What happened? The elderly dowager countess of Mallow asked with her usual eager interest in any potential fodder for gossip. And where is your friend, Miss Trevelyan? Does this have anything to do with her?

Lady Susan put down her cup of tea, but before she could answer, the middle-aged lady forestalled her. "No, nothing at all to do with Miss Trevelyan. Fenton pressed unwanted attentions on Lady Susan, and forced her to deal him a slap, in the presence of half the house party. Very bad ton, she added with a sniff. If his poor father knew, he’d turn in his grave. The previous Viscount Fenton was a true gentleman."

North threw a sympathetic glance at the beauty; she was nibbling on a scone, unmoved by the recital. I hope he begged your pardon, Lady Susan.

She smiled at him distractedly. That would hardly be in character. I confess I am tired of this constant pursuit.

Are you aware, a gentleman at North’s other side addressed Lady Susan, that Fenton has bet five thousand pounds that you’ll marry him before the year is out? It’s in the betting book at White’s.

How vulgar! Lady Mallow sounded pleasurably shocked.

Your eldest brother, Lady Susan, was heard threatening to thrash Fenton when he was first told of it, the gentleman added. I understand he was dissuaded with great difficulty by his friends, who pointed out that this would only bring unwanted notoriety on your family.

That is hardly fit conversation for a young lady’s ears, a younger man across from Lady Mallow said with a censorious frown. Clearly Lord Barton wanted to shield his sister from such unpleasant knowledge, as is only proper.

I dare say, though I prefer to be informed of matters concerning my own person. A slight frown marred Lady Susan’s perfect brow. "I advise you to take him up on that bet, if you can. Fenton will never be my husband."

North had to suppress a smile at this melodramatic claim.

You won’t get rid of the pursuit until you pick one of the men after you, Lady Mallow remarked. Then your husband will protect you from that kind of insult. The other debutantes should be relieved when all the rest of your suitors turn their attentions elsewhere.

It’s not as though I forced anyone to dance attendance on me, Lady Susan replied, stirring her tea with a silver spoon. She sounded ever so slightly aggrieved. I dare say most would be gone soon enough if my dowry were smaller. But let’s not dwell on such unpleasant subjects on such a glorious spring day. Do you think it might rain later on?

While the ladies began to discuss the weather, North addressed himself to his breakfast, eager to leave as soon as possible. Being so close to Lady Susan was dangerous. He had last suffered unrequited yearnings in his callow teens, and was not minded to repeat the unpleasant experience now that he was rapidly approaching thirty.

Just when he had finished the last of his tea and was about to put down the damask napkin on the table, Lord Fenton himself entered the breakfast room. With his handsome features and height of six foot one, perfectly tailored clothes and elaborately tied neck cloth, he made for an impressive figure of a man.

Fenton stopped close by the door, staring at Lady Susan with open mouth, as though amazed to see her. He snapped his mouth closed in a moment, however, and approached her.

Every pair of eyes swivelled from him to Lady Susan, who continued to spread jam on a piece of toast. Was she really as serene as she pretended?

Upon my word! Lady Mallow said when the new arrival was slow to greet the assembled company. Is the man lost to any sense of manners and propriety?

Lady Susan raised her eyes from the toast and shot Fenton a look of such searing anger that North was startled. He had not supposed her capable of such strong feelings.

Her look failed to stop the Viscount in his tracks. I am very surprised to see you here this morning, Lord Fenton said to Lady Susan in a deep voice, ignoring everyone else.

Oh? Did you think I would run away from your clumsy advances? Let me state here in front of all these witnesses: I do not welcome them, and will never be yours, whatever you do.

You cannot mean that, Fenton actually sounded incredulous. Do you not realize -, he broke off with a scowl, and sent a swift glance around the room.

I think it were best if you departed today, Fenton, their host, Lord Collington, said from the far end of the table. His voice was loud enough to carry throughout the room. It is not the custom in our house to harass the other guests. Moreover, if you’ll take an older man’s advice, the way you are going about it is hardly likely to win a lady’s heart.

I’ll say, Lady Mallow muttered. A murmur among the other guests approved their host’s suggestion. Lady Susan gave Lord Collington a grateful smile.

North wondered if it would expedite Fenton’s departure if he got up and planted the man a facer, but reluctantly decided that this was not feasible in the presence of ladies.

Nor did his intervention seem necessary, after all. After a couple of seconds’ indecision, Fenton bowed to the assembled room, with a sneer that robbed his face of its natural beauty. If that’s how you want it, I’ll leave, but this is not the end of the story. Good-bye, ladies and gentlemen.

His departure was followed by a hubbub of excited comments, though Lady Susan herself did not participate in the discussion. North cast a last admiring glance at her profile, only to encounter, unexpectedly, her thoughtful gaze upon himself.

You have made a dangerous enemy, Lady Susan, Lady Mallow said. That exit line sounded ominous.

Mere bluster, surely, the middle-aged lady suggested. What can he do? Lady Susan has a father and three brothers to protect her.

North wondered where all these stout protectors had been the previous evening, or this morning.

You’ll meet him back in London sooner or later, Lady Mallow added warningly. Who knows what revenge he might think of.

As of this moment I shall ignore Lord Fenton’s very existence, Lady Susan declared with magnificent disdain.

Cut him dead, you mean? Lady Mallow pursed her lips in doubt. That will just give the gossips something more to talk about.

Lady Susan daintily put down her napkin, and rose. I’d better be off to look after my poor friend, who has a headache this morning. Politely taking her leave of the remaining guests, she left the breakfast room with measured step, head high.

North quickly took his leave after that, even as the remaining guests settled into a thorough discussion of this interesting conflict. Would there be a duel between Lord Fenton and one of Lady Susan’s brothers? If so, who would win?

A fast ride across the Somersetshire countryside would make him forget all about the girl’s problems, trivial enough compared to his own. Even if his thoughts only kept circling back to that mountain of gambling debts his brother had bequeathed to him.

Still, on such a beautiful, sunny day, an irrational feeling of hope was burgeoning in his breast. Somehow he would come about, even if he could not yet see his way clear.

Chapter 3

Though no observer could have told from his cool expression, the bright lights and high-pitched noise of fiddles at Almack’s made Jeremy Winthrop, Viscount Barton, as nervous as a horse first introduced to the saddle. He eyed the new crop of rich and well-born debutantes with as distant an air as he could manage. Jeremy was not yet ready to be sacrificed to one of them. Tonight he only attended to have an overdue word with his elusive sister.

He glanced at a tray of refreshments proffered by a footman, but shook his head. Every Wednesday during the Season, the well-born debutantes favoured by the strict Patronesses repaired to Almack’s for insipid food, overly sweet orgeat, and dancing with the marriage-minded sprigs of the nobility. That did not mean he had to drink this revolting stuff.

The four patronesses seated on their dais this night had welcomed him cordially, as was only to be expected. The Winthrops were distantly connected to two of their number, Lady Sefton and Lady Jersey. There had never been any question that he and Susan would be on the list to obtain the coveted vouchers. For most others it was a different story.

Miss Trevelyan was sitting among the wallflowers again. His sister had not done her friend any favours by getting her and that stepmother onto the list. Tonight the girl was not in the best of looks. She appeared wan and depressed, though she valiantly tried to force a trembling smile onto her lips. Quite nice lips, too ... but Miss Trevelyan was like a duck among swans, softly rounded when slim Amazons were the current craze. Moreover, her hair was an indeterminate and unfashionable ash blond. Nor did it help that Miss Trevelyan’s dowry was very modest, and