Lord Rupert's Foolish Bride

Lord Rupert’s Foolish Bride

by Maggie Jagger

Copyright 2015 Maggie Jagger

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1

The surprisingly elegant Miss Tolliver barred the path to her home, with her donkey beside her.

Go away! she commanded. I have no wish to marry you. Your family is not civilized and I am sure you hate donkeys. The hauteur in her voice was fit for a duchess, but the low husky laughter at the end of her tirade sounded both intimate and mocking.

Lord Rupert Veryan was perfectly willing to be both shocked and tantalized. He didn’t mind an insult from Farmer Tolliver’s daughter if it enlivened a dull day.

His mount stoically ignored the donkey, whose long ears poked up through a straw hat decorated with flowers from the hedgerow. The lady wore the same flowers woven in a crown around her glorious hair streaked every color of blonde. A few wavy locks escaped to waft in the light breeze. Her faded blue dress made her eyes glow turquoise in a face fit for a goddess.

A sunbeam broke through the scattered clouds. He stared thunderstruck at the sight, glad the lady was busy defending her drooping flower crown from the donkey.

Stop it, Winnie, she whispered in its ear. I’ll give them to you later after the donkey hater has gone.

Her profile was patrician and lovely, a sense of humor tilted her lips. Family lore said she was Sylvester’s daughter and she certainly looked it. Not that any of Sylvester’s daughters were lacking wits. Gossip said Miss Tolliver had been raised in a barn by a donkey and surely that would make a fool out of anyone.

Rupert answered her accusation seriously. It’s true, I dislike most donkeys. He couldn’t resist teasing her to see how she’d react. That one has the advantage of looking like you, only wiser. It must be the handsome hat he is wearing.

Instead of taking offense, she answered in the same serious tone he had used. Winifred Wellington is a female donkey. Are you so foolish you can’t tell she is wearing her best summer bonnet?

Miss Tolliver’s conversation so far should have made him believe all the rumors of her witless state, except for the way she met his eyes. He suspected she pulled his leg and enjoyed her joke. You mustn’t insult me, he chided gently. I am civilized and willing to admire your donkey, if I must, though shouldn’t she be called Jenny?

That is my name! How could anyone possibly tell us apart if we have the same name? She gave him a regal stare. Winifred is far too clever to be called Jenny.

Then so are you! At least he hoped she was.

Jenny is my name. She nodded as if conferring a dukedom on him. You may use it until we are married, then you may call me your wife.

You may call me Rupert. If you promise not to tell anyone we are engaged. You have not perchance mistaken me for Romeo, have you?

Idiotic man! she said, in her smiling voice. Romeo is dead and buried beside his Juliet. Besides, we are not engaged yet.

Nor ever will be. Her knowledge of Shakespeare surprised him.

If you rent thirty-eight donkeys, you won’t need me. The haughty minx stared up at him with an innocent air.

Determined not to disappoint her, he raised an eyebrow and drawled his reply, Thirty-eight? A very precise number! But don’t donkeys fight?

Hush! You are not supposed to know that. Everyone will laugh at you, thinking you don’t know. It’s part of the plan. Don’t worry, I’ll bring Winnie along to speak to them. She loves to start donkey riots.

Can’t you speak to them?

She gave a graceful shrug. They won’t all understand me. I have an accent when I speak donkey.

Rupert laughed out loud. Will you teach me how to speak donkey?

Not now, there’s no time. Let’s save that treat for after we are married, when you are bored with me. Probably the next day. She gave a sad shake of her head to set her flower crown dancing.

Do you assume everyone wants to marry you? Have you had this delusion long?

Miss Tolliver smiled up at him. I have to smile at you when you insult me, so Winifred Wellington doesn’t take offense. She understands English very well. The donkey gave a nod of agreement.

I meant no insult, Miss Tolliver. Just wanted to know why I have been blessed by you wanting to marry me.

She explained, as if he were the one suffering from a weak brain, No one, including me, wants to marry the poor youngest son of a wicked family.

Agreed! Only my mother is not wicked. You’d like my mother.

The duchess won’t like me, not if I am forced to marry you.

That’s very true but as I haven’t asked you to marry me, I think we can safely dismiss the notion of us marrying. Unless you intend to ask me? He almost wished she’d do it.

She carried on with her delusion as if he hadn’t spoken. If I have to marry you, can Winifred Wellington live with us?

If I asked you to marry me, and if you said yes, I suppose it would only be fair to let your donkey live with us.

Her answering laughter, her blue eyes sparkling delightfully, robbed him of the urge to be rude about her chances of getting a proposal out of him. He found himself shockingly near being smitten. He had always had a fatal fascination for Sylvester’s daughters.

Rupert reminded himself that if he’d met Miss Tolliver at a ball, if she showed up wearing appropriate clothes, hair coiffed, well mannered, no doubt he’d find her as boring as the other sacrificial virgins reserved for heirs, not younger sons. It was the strange way she talked that he found so dangerously enthralling.

As if she read his mind, Miss Tolliver asked in a husky whisper, If I marry you do I get to sleep with you? When he hesitated, struck dumb by her question, she said in a low voice, Promise me, because I won’t sleep in the barn.

He managed to whisper back, Not even to be close to your donkey? He tried not to look interested at the thought of them sharing a bed.

Don’t make me sleep in the attic with the maids. She approached closer, to touch his knee. A hot tingle shot up his leg, as it had when he’d taken part in one of the Halyton Horde’s electrifying experiments.

If we marry, you must promise to let me sleep with you, she pleaded, in a voice that almost knocked him off his mount. The barn is not comfortable, it is not safe, and straw is scratchy. Even if you snore, it can’t be worse.

After she retreated, he got Rufus under control and managed to answer in a bored voice, Yes, Miss Tolliver, if I am ever foolish enough to marry you, you shall share my bed. If you promise not to murder me in it.

She tapped her foot on the path. Idiotical notion! Everyone would know I’d done it. They’d hang me or cut off my head.

His mount decided to like this strange female and showed it by trying to eat her wreath of flowers. She protected her property with a gentle wave of denial that Rufus obeyed. She said softly to the horse, I really don’t want to share his bed.

Rufus gave a nod of agreement.

She was very like one of his cousin Sylvester’s daughters, easily driving a man mad, half-way between desire and hope, only to cast him into despair. Luckily, he was used to it. Why don’t you want to, if it means a comfortable bed?

You are scary.

Not in the least! I swear it.

Your brothers are scary and so are you, she insisted.

Then we are both happy to know we are not getting married, because you are scarier than me.

She gave a crow of laughter at his lie. You need thirty-eight donkeys. Ask for Jacks, they are bigger and can carry more weight.

That is worse than marrying you. Thirty-eight Jacks? They’d fight like the blazes! He had misjudged her. Witless didn’t even begin to describe her. Even as he thought it, he hoped her advice was given to aid him in his predicament. He just didn’t see how hiring donkeys helped him, not when he couldn’t use the road belonging to Farmer Tolliver.

She purred his name, Rupert, I’m serious.

He quelled a shiver at the tingles she raised in his spine. Damn! If he fell in love with Tolliver’s foolish daughter, he’d have to take that secret to his grave.

Yes, he said, feigning disappointment, you are of no use at all to me. You have only one female donkey, and you didn’t even offer to lend me Winifred Wellington except to start a riot.

You won’t listen until your neck is on the block while Mr. Tolliver raises his cleaver.

Will you let me by? I have an appointment with Farmer Tolliver. Don’t worry, if he raises a cleaver I shall rely on you to save me.

She laughed at his foolishness. You may dismount to walk beside me.

Rupert obeyed her. There was just room on the path for them both. Her donkey, clad in its bonnet, walked ahead of them. He led his mount trailing behind.

Her sudden look of alarm at his presence next to her made him wary. Her lovely face paled as she stared up at him. Obviously, she was shortsighted like all Sylvester’s offspring. Now he was close enough for her to see his features, she’d lost her sense of humor. He tried to look meek and mild, but Miss Jenny Tolliver stumbled over a small stone on the path in her haste to get away from him.

She leaped over the small ditch at the edge of the path, giving a curious shiver of alarm as if he’d threatened her life. Winifred Wellington is a war donkey. Jenny turned to look at him, her face like a warrior about to go into battle. Winnie likes to fight.

Miss Tolliver must have heard stories about his brothers. He tried to look as innocent as possible. Not easy with his face and height.

His broken nose, from fighting his brothers, made him look like a brawler.

He knew he looked ominous even when he had the best of intentions. His long Felmont nose was inherited from his mother, though she wore hers with more distinction, and his mama’s nose didn’t suddenly change direction halfway along it.

He felt obliged to reassure Miss Tolliver that she was not about to be dragged under the hedge and used to slake his lust, though there didn’t seem much point in actually saying that.

Instead, he asked, How did you train your donkey to fight?

Winifred Wellington was born knowing how. Miss Tolliver stared at him, poised like a boxer ready to dodge and weave. She had obviously lost the urge to marry him. Donkeys are smarter than horses.

He edged towards the side of the path away from her, walking with his knees slightly bent and his head to the side in an effort not to tower over her or show his profile.

She matched his pace, eying him warily.

You don’t have to walk like that. How tall are you?

He straightened up. Too tall! Is that why ladies never want to dance with me?

I think it’s because you are not the heir. They’d dance with a giant, if the giant was in line to inherit a dukedom. She studied him as if she could see him clearly, but his face hadn’t worried her until he’d dismounted close to her. Your face doesn’t help. You look like half of Thursday.

She increased her pace. He lengthened his stride. Half of Thursday? Very well, I’ll bite.

For heaven’s sake, he called to her fleeing back, it only means I must ask you why I’m half of Thursday, even though it gives you the chance to insult me.

The donkey turned to bray a warning. That’s right Winifred Wellington, he said in soothing tones. Your mistress has less sense than you do. Call her back to explain what she means. I promise to never bite, which is more than can be said for you. He fed the beast a flower from its hat and enjoyed the silence, until its feet began to dance.

His delightful companion jumped back over the ditch to take his arm. He resisted the urge to react in case she let go. She could hang onto him for as long as it pleased her.

Rupert is a friend, Winnie, don’t be nasty to him.

The donkey looked at him as if judging for itself. Many a dowager had regarded him with equal disdain. It gave a snort of disgust, then turned to trot along the path towards the farmyard.

Miss Tolliver let go of him. Half of Thursday. Thor’s day. You look like Thor, dark and dangerous. Your black thundery hair has silver bits pretending to be lightning. She set off up the path after her donkey.

He walked after her. I got those silver hairs from my brothers. They used to gang up on me to pull my hair out and beat me. He didn’t mention their attempts at strangulation. Instead, he gave a mournful sigh and tried to look pathetic.

She turned to look at him and laughed, not the least taken in. How old are you?

I can’t be old, I’m the youngest son. The best one, if my mother is to be believed. It’s no wonder you want to marry me! No one believed he had not yet reached his quarter century, even his mother snapped at him for making her look old.

You are too poor to get married, she said, with a pitying look.

Careful now, you’ll hurt my feelings.

Do you have feelings? she asked kindly.

Everyone does.

Some of us aren’t allowed to have any feelings at all. If we show feelings, we get beaten. She sighed soulfully and paused to wipe an imaginary tear from her cheek.

Lord! She’d just bested him in a pathos contest!

Her donkey brayed laughter from the farmyard gate.

He teased, Donkeys are irascible oafs and I have grave doubts about you, Miss Jenny Tolliver.

They are only pretending to be oafs. You should pretend to be handsome! She ran up the path to her donkey.

Are you only pretending you want to marry me? he asked pathetically, when he caught up to her, hoping she’d stay to tease or insult him some more.

She opened the gate. Remember, you need thirty-eight donkeys. That way you won’t have to marry me.

She walked away across the farmyard towards the barn, leaving him at the mercy of her donkey. He fed it another flower from its hat.

Miss Tolliver called, Please close the gate after you. Come along, Winifred Wellington. Don’t you fall in love with him, too!

Her final blow left him laughing and stunned. He didn’t believe for a moment that either odd creature loved him, but no female had ever managed to make his head spin so skillfully. Not even Helena, at her most flirtatious, had seduced him so effortlessly to laughter and lust.

How had Jenny Tolliver ever earned the reputation for being witless?

Inside the thatched farmhouse, Farmer Tolliver looked gray and disheveled, thinner and smaller than Rupert remembered. The old man sat behind an ancient desk, smoking a pipe, a pile of ledgers stacked on the polished surface. A small window opened on the farmyard to let in the ripe smell of pig manure. A beam of light gilded the air, full of sparkling dust motes floating above the golden sprite who reluctantly sat beside him.

The old man put down his pipe. Lord Rupert, I have a proposition to put to you. Everyone knows my daughter is an idiot, I’ll not deny it. It gives me great pleasure to offer her to you in marriage. After all, she got her looks from your side of the family. There is nothing of me in her, I am glad to say. Farmer Tolliver sang his old song. Her mother was pregnant when I wed her.

Rupert glanced at the young woman sitting quietly next to him, her grimy hands folded on her lap. In place of her flowery wreath, she wore the donkey’s bonnet divested of its ornamentation. He could clearly see the holes for its ears. His delightful companion from the path, laughing and lovely, was not recognizable as she picked at the scab on a scratch.

Tolliver rapped on the desk to get his attention. Let’s hope your children are all as clever as the lass and wastrels like you. I’ve spent not one penny on her. She’s worked for her keep all her life and is fit for nothing but mucking out and milking. He sucked on his pipe. If you want the use of my road, you have to marry her. It’s the only way you’ll get your crop to market. Farmer Tolliver gave a malicious grin, showing lower teeth worn down to the gum.

If I marry her, Rupert said, I want the land her mother brought to you, and the use of your road in perpetuity.

Nay, I didn’t say anything about land. You can use the road for this year only. I’ll not have you making ruts in my road to make me pay for its upkeep. Land is out of the question.

A low braying noise came from the beauty sitting next to him. It was so quietly done that the farmer did not hear. Rupert ignored her. He feared any attempt to talk to her might betray his attraction.

The donkey brayed an answer from the farmyard. It brayed and brayed, loud enough to wake the dead. Miss Tolliver jumped up. Winifred Wellington is calling for me. She ran to the window to bray an answer.

Go, lass. Before this lad gets over the sight of you and starts worrying if you have any sense at all. Watch out she doesn’t give you an elbow in your ear on her way out.

The old man cackled. He slapped a hand on his desk with a sharp crack. Don’t let it be said I passed her off as an easy lass to rule.

Not an idle warning.

Rupert quickly rose to his feet to open the door for her.

Jenny looked as if she intended to strike him. The battle light in her eyes flashed a clear warning.

Hidden behind the door from Farmer Tolliver, she said in a fierce whisper, Don’t forget what you need.

The earnest look on her lovely face provoked his laughter. He smothered it as best he could. Lord, she was a beauty!

She stamped on his toes with an iron-shod boot and hissed up at him like an angry cat, You are an Idiotical Thor!

Chapter 2

A week later and everything had gone wrong. Not that agreeing to marry Miss Jenny Tolliver had ever seemed easy.

Where the hell was his lovely fiancée? Rupert searched for her on the most likely route from her home to Veryan Place. He’d borrowed his mother’s curricle, but there was no sign of her anywhere on the road. Damn!

His groom opened the farm gates as if scared for his life. Jim had warned him not to enter the farmyard if Tolliver’s fighting dogs were out. Luckily, there was no sign of them. Rupert knocked on the farm door, leaving Jim clutching the whip in a sweat. No answer, just savage howls of rage from the dogs inside. No sign of Jenny in the barn.

An ancient farm worker poked his head out of the stable door to say no one was home. Rupert went to stand by the farmyard gate to give Jenny the chance to see him and come out.

His mother’s reaction to the news of his engagement to Jenny Tolliver, who brought to the match all the land that had belonged to her mother, had not been greeted with approval. His mother told him he was sacrificing himself for nothing.

His one large step to financial freedom was met with disdain as his mother hid her forlorn hope to be free of his father. If not for the land, he couldn’t have married Jenny.

His grandfather had always insisted Rupert marry a rich cit’s daughter, but even his grandfather had known it was better to wait until the Duke of Verferry went to his grave, which everyone thought was long overdue.

Farmer Tolliver fought hard to deny Jenny a dowry, but from the sickly look of his face and how easily he tired, Rupert thought him not long for this world. Revenge was uppermost in the man’s twisted mind, and finally he’d agreed. The papers were signed two days ago. Rupert had a special license, he wanted