CHAPTER 1
If Matthew Harrisonhad ever heard his name read in church before, he couldn’t remember it. He wasn’t thrilled about it happening now. The vicar’s words echoed through the church, naming the stranger he would be married to in just a few short weeks: Miss Lucy Bateman.
He’d heard her name before, of course, but hearing it echoing from the rafters of the chapel gave him pause. What kind of a name was Bateman, anyway? Matthew kept his expression neutral, but he grasped the edge of the pew in front of him—he needed something to steady him. Slowly he turned his head toward Mother. Didn’t she hear the irony in the name Bateman? He glanced around at the pews filled with his lifelong neighbors. Didn’t anyone hear it?
He’d never seen his bride to be, nor had he spoken to her. Even the descriptions he had heard were mostly centered around the size of her dowry. But the fact was, she and her family had baited him into marriage for his title, and his parents had swallowed the hook greedily. Neither his father nor his mother had felt any need to reassure their son, that, as their only progeny, saving his family from financial ruin was evidently his lot in life.
He shook his head to try to clear it. The vicar paused in his announcement.
Blast.
Did he think Matthew was objecting to the marriage? He gave the pastor a grin, raising his eyebrows as if he were the happiest man in the world.
The smile was a bold-faced lie—and in a church, no less—but he didn’t utter it, so perhaps that made a difference in the eyes of God?
Most likely not.
Damnation was the least of his concerns. By this time next week, he would be married to a woman he had never met. Mother sat next to him, and the grin on her face was unforced. Her troubles were about to come to an end. No more pretending she was still undecided on purchases while shopping with her friends. No more putting off hosting soirées at their home. Matthew had solved all of that.
Or, at least, he was about to solve it.
It was amazing what the right kind of dowry could do.
He swallowed. What kind of woman married a man without seeing him, anyway? He understood his family’s reasons for wanting to keep him away from her. He had almost managed to marry Sally Duncan—a textile heiress and a remarkably good woman—but he had muddled that up badly enough that she ran off and married the first baron she came across—a man from whom she’d bought an estate.
If only Miss Duncan had waited.
He would eventually become a baron. Though at first his family had despised the fact that Miss Duncan’s money came from trade, they eventually came around to the idea of it. Mother’s desperate desire for a new wardrobe might have had something to do with it.
Mother patted his hand, then squeezed it. He knew what that squeeze meant. She was proud of him. Proud of him for being the one to pull the family from ruin.
The air in the church suddenly felt heavy, and breathing—a habit which typically came naturally to him—became a struggle. He lowered his head, but it didn’t help. He needed out. Not out of the marriage—that deal was done, and there was nothing he could do about it. But out of this pew and out of the church. Matthew pulled his hand away from Mother’s grip and slipped past the others on the pew. He received a few raised eyebrows, but it wasn’t as if no one ever left church. They all shuffled to one side or the other and allowed him to pass.
His footsteps were uncannily loud, but he ignored everyone’s looks and strode down the aisle and exited the building.
Those thick, wooden doors promised freedom—he could feel it. He pushed them both open and drew in a deep, gasping breath the second they closed behind him.
He rubbed a hand down his face. The papers had been signed, but hecouldleave. Nothing was impossible. It would ruin his parents, but weren’t they the ones who’d mismanaged the Bridgewater estate? If he disappeared, how long would it take before he was pronounced dead? If all of England thought him dead, the barony could go to someone else.
Then the Bateman family would have to bait someone else into marrying their daughter.
He made it down the stairs, but rather than run away, he turned into the churchyard. Grass grew over the edges of some of the headstones, but not in his family’s corner of the churchyard. The section where his ancestors were laid to rest was pristine. Not a speck of dirt or grass lay on any of the headstones. His mother would never allow it.
The Harrison family had been buried here for the past four generations. Assuming he stayed, he would be buried here. And,he had to admit, he would be staying. Matthew Harrison was a lot of things, but defiant and decisive, he was not. And now Lucy Bateman would be buried next to him. He took a few steps away from his grandfather's headstone and plopped himself down into a sitting position on an open grassy spot.
Probably here.
This is probably where his bones would lie.
He lay down and tried it out.
Above him the sky was blue, for once. A bird passed overhead and the leaves rustled in the breeze.
He closed his eyes and took in the scents of the churchyard.
Grass. Dirt. A hint of roses from the entrance.
His spine relaxed and the last bits of nausea floated away.
