A Proper Wife. Sandra Marton
then gave a mental shrug. What did it matter now?
“Meaning,” he said as he poured the cognac, “she’s a chip off the old block?”
“Like her mother? No, not at all. They don’t even look alike. The girl must take after her father. She’s very fair.” James smiled. “Bettina was all got up in some purple thing like a pair of Doctor Denton’s, only two sizes too small and without attached feet.”
Ryan laughed. “A catsuit, I think it’s called.”
“But the girl was dressed as if she were going to have tea with the Queen. Demure little suit, white blouse with a bow at the throat, yellow hair skinned back in a bun.”
“Probably as much a costume as Bettina’s,” Ryan said with a shrug. “Maybe they figured you’d be an easier touch if the girl looked sweet and innocent.”
“It’s possible, but somehow I don’t think so. The girl was very quiet. Bettina kept trying to involve her in the conversation but she just sat there, quiet as a mouse.”
“Still a lump, it would seem.”
“Well, Bettina certainly did all the talking. She says Gordon cut her out of his will in a fit of temper.”
Ryan snorted. “She only wishes!”
“I didn’t believe it, either. So after they’d left, I phoned my attorney and had him do some checking.” James smiled coldly. “Cutting Bettina out had been deliberate, all right. Seems Gordon had found her in bed with some man.”
Ryan finished his cognac, put down his glass, and folded his arms over his chest.
“I hope you phoned Bettina and told her that.”
“I haven’t told her anything, Ryan. I wanted to speak with you first. You see, my attorney learned something quite unexpected. It seems Gordon had intended to make another change in his will.”
“What kind of change?”
“The week before his death, he stopped by to see his lawyer. He said he’d been thinking about the girl.”
“Bettina’s daughter?”
James nodded. “He said Bettina had shuttled her off to boarding school as soon as they were married because she didn’t want a child underfoot and he felt guilty, not having done anything to stop it. He said he’d never paid her enough attention or fulfilled the obligations of a stepfather.”
Ryan sighed. He was beginning to see the picture.
“Look, Grandfather, if you want to continue paying the girl’s tuition—”
James chuckled. “She’s twenty-three, Ryan. She’s been out of school for four years. And I can see why Gordon was concerned about her. She’s not at all like the young women one sees today. There’s no hard edge to her, no sophistication. I suppose it’s the boarding school that did it. It’s one of those old-fashioned places that hardly exists anymore, where young women are taught to be proper ladies. According to Bettina, the girl plays piano, embroiders, even knows how to serve a proper tea.”
Ryan laughed. “Maybe we should introduce her to Frank.”
“This has nothing to do with Frank,” the old man said sharply. “Are you paying attention to me, Ryan?”
“Certainly, sir. And she sounds...charming.” She sounded either simpleminded or dull as dishwater, but there was no need to say that to his grandfather.
“At first, I was surprised Bettina would have chosen a school that emphasized such things but then I realized she’d hoped her. daughter would make the right friends, perhaps meet the brother of some rich classmate and marry him.”
“But she didn’t?” Ryan grinned when James shook his head. “I see. She’s not awkward anymore, she’s just homely. Poor Bettina. Her scheme backfired.”
“I wouldn’t call the girl ‘homely,’” James said thoughtfully. “It’s just that she’s without artifice. Quite proper and demure.”
“Well, then,” Ryan said, trying to mask his impatience, “I’m sure she’ll find a good husband sooner or later.”
“I’m certain of it,” James said, and smiled.
“Look, Grandfather, haven’t we gotten off the subject? We were discussing—ah, we were talking about—”
“My death, that’s what we were discussing, and what you can do to make its approach easier. I’m getting to it, if you’ll—” There was a knock at the library door. “Yes?” the old man said irritably as it opened. “What is it now, Brimley? Can’t you bear to leave me in peace for a moment?”
“You have guests, sir,” the housekeeper said, her voice fairly humming with disapproval.
“Is it nine o’clock already?” James sighed. “No wonder you were getting impatient, my boy. I lost track of the time. I thought we had at least another hour before Bettina and her daughter arrived.”
Ryan stared at his grandfather. “What do you mean?”
“I asked them to come by this evening, after dinner.”
“What in hell for?”
“So you could meet her, of course.”
Ryan thrust his hand into his black hair and scraped it back from his forehead.
“Sir,” he said gently, “I’m afraid you’re a bit confused. I’ve met Bettina before, remember?”
James slapped his hands against the arms of his chair.
“Don’t patronize me, boy. I am not senile. It’s my body that’s failing, not my brain. I am not talking about Bettina. It’s Devon I want you to meet.”
“Devon?”
“Don’t look so blank, for heaven’s sake. Yes, Devon. Bettina’s daughter. Your brother’s stepchild.”
“But why? Look, if you want to do something for her... give her money, whatever—”
“What I want, Ryan, is that you promise to honor the request I shall make of you.”
“I will. I’ve already told you that, sir, but what does it have to do with—what’s her name?”
“Devon,” the old man said. “And it has everything to do with her. You see, I’ve thought of a solution to all my problems.”
“What problems?”
“The ones I’ve spent the last hour enumerating,” James said testily. “Haven’t you been listening? My concern that you settle down with the right wife.”
“That,” Ryan said with a wave of his hand.
“Yes. That. And now this other thing that’s come up, your brother’s wish that his stepdaughter be provided for.”
“Grandfather,” Ryan said patiently, “I fail to see what one thing has to do with another.”
A sly smile curved across James’s mouth.
“They have everything to do with each other. You need a wife and the girl needs to be taken care of.” The old man chuckled. “It’s quite simple, Ryan. I have found you the proper wife and I want you to marry her.”
The words seemed to echo through the library. Behind him, in the fireplace, Ryan heard the pop of a damp log as the heat drew the last bit of moisture from its core.
That’s how I feel, Ryan thought dazedly, as if the last bit of air were being pulled from my lungs.
“You can’t be serious,” he said.
“I’ve never been more serious. And I will remind you that you gave me your word. You will marry Devon Franklin.”
Franklin?