Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen
to something she thought might be avarice. He was thinking of the money. And what he might do with it, God help her.
It was a day too late to inquire what that might be. She had found the man, drunk as a lord in a public place. Who knew what vices he might be capable of? If she had not cared to discover this yesterday, it did no good to care now. And if his lechery and drunkenness were strong enough to run through the whole of her money, then it would prove to her brother just how foolish she was.
At last, he spoke. ‘When you found me, I was near the end of my rope. An investment that should have returned enough to tide me and my estate through the coming year had failed, utterly. I have responsibilities. People are depending on me for their welfare. And I am destitute.
‘Or was, until you appeared and offered me this opportunity. What I need to do may take a larger portion of your money than you had hoped to part with. But I hope it will be a temporary loss. My land is fertile most years, and returns more than enough to live in luxury. Had I not gambled with the profits, hoping for an increase, I would not be in need of your help.’
Gambling? Although it did not please her, it made perfect sense. Many men of considerable wealth lost all over a green baize table. She could but hope that she might hide some of the money from him, or perhaps, through sound advice, she might prevent him from making a similar mistake in the future.
He was waiting for some response on her part, and she gave him a faint nod of understanding.
He continued. ‘In exchange, you shall be a duchess, which will make it possible to do largely as you please in all things. No one will dare to question your actions or your spending, least of all me. If you do not have cash in hand, no one will deny you credit. The bills will come to me, to be paid at such time as we have the funds for them.’
Doing business on credit went against her nature. But the prospect of freedom beckoned, and hope flared in her. ‘And my studies?’
‘If you do not wish to question my diversions, then what right would I have to question yours?’
As her husband? He would have every right in the world. But he was being most reasonable about things, so she held her tongue on the literalities. ‘I doubt we would have much in common—in the matter of diversions, I mean.’
He nodded. ‘Quite possibly not. We might live comfortably as strangers, although in the same house.’ There was no sense of remorse as he said it. ‘But I see no reason that we cannot succeed at it. As long as we have no intention of impeding each other’s pleasure, we might manage well together. Certainly better than some couples I know who seem bent on ensuring their spouse’s misery.’
It seemed so cold, when stated thus. But her new husband seemed content with it. He did not care that she wished to be alone with her books. And looking at his full lips and the seductive light in his blue eyes, she suspected the less she knew about his activities when he was not in Parliament, the happier she would be.
She ventured, ‘It sounds most pleasant when you describe it thus.’ Which was not precisely true. ‘And very much what I was hoping for.’ Which was. It was exactly what she had hoped for, and she must not forget the fact.
He smiled in return, although there was a frozen quality to his face that made her unsure. ‘Very well, then.’ He reached out a hand to her, and she stared at it for a moment before offering him her own. He took it and shook. ‘We are in agreement. Let us hope that this union will prove mutually beneficial.’
‘Will you be ready to start for London today?’
He started at the impertinence of her request. He was not accustomed to having another set his schedule.
She hesitated. ‘I admit to being most eager to bring the news of my marriage to my brother. And my bankers, of course.’
He remembered the money, and his resistance to her suggestion evaporated. ‘Today would suit me nicely. Have your footman prepare the carriage.’ He nodded in such a way that she knew the interview was at an end and she was dismissed.
Adam watched his new wife exit the room and sank back into his chair, exhausted. What in God’s name had he just agreed to? He’d sunk so low as to marry a cit’s daughter, just to get her money.
And a cool voice at the back of his head reminded him that it was better than his first plan, if it meant that he could be alive to correct his mistake and rebuild his fortune. He had been given a second chance and would make the most of it. There would be money in the bank before his creditors noticed that there had been an absence. And by next year, the drought would be over, the coffers refilling and the present state of penury no more than a bad dream.
And he would be a married man. What was he to do with—he struggled to remember her name—Penelope Winthorpe?
He shook his head. She was Penelope Felkirk now. And there was nothing to be done, according to her. She wished to be left alone.
He was more than willing to grant her wish. He could not very well parade her in front of his friends as the new duchess. He’d be a laughing stock.
He immediately felt guilty for his pride. He’d be a laughing stock in any case, knowing his circle, who often found the humour in the misfortunes of others. Let them laugh. It would not matter, if he managed to save the estate.
But it pained him that they might laugh at her, as well, with her unfashionable clothes, her spectacles and outlandish ideas. To what purpose did the world need another translation of Homer? The majority had had more than enough of that story, by the time they’d left the schoolroom. And yet she was still worrying over it.
But he could find no indication that she meant him harm, by picking him up out of the street. In truth, she had saved his life. And her money would save his land as well.
What would people think of it? She was most obviously not his sort, in temperament or in birth. She was nothing like the ladies of the ton that he usually chose as companions. The world expected him to marry someone more like Clarissa Colton: beautiful, worldly, and with wit that cut like a razor. He shuddered.
Perhaps it told him something of his true mental state that he had married Clare’s opposite. Penelope Winthorpe’s clothes were without style, and her manner was bookish and hesitant. And her looks?
He shook his head. She’d called herself plain, but it was not truly accurate a definition. Plainness implied a commonality with the norm. A face unmemorable. And that did not describe his new wife.
Her looks … were disturbing. Her hair was too pale, almost white. Her skin as well, from too much time spent indoors with her books. And her spectacles hid eyes that were bright and far too observant. He wanted to know what she saw when she looked at him, for she had been studying him most intently. It was like being pierced to the soul, when her eye had held his. A gimlet, not a razor.
The intelligence in that gaze was daunting. And in her words as well. He’d have expected it from another man, but to hear such reasonable behaviour from a woman? There had been no nonsense. No tears behind the lashes. No attempt to appeal to him with her frailty. Their interview had been a frank meeting of intellectual equals.
Her presence had been both calming and stimulating. The combination made him uneasy. It was far too much to take before one had had one’s morning tea.
But it shouldn’t matter, he reminded himself. He needed nothing more from her than her money, and she needed nothing from him but his name. There would be scant little time staring into those disquieting eyes over breakfast. If she did not care for his title, then she need not concern herself with society, after the briefest introduction. And he would be spared the expenses of time or money that were involved in the keeping of a wife in the height of fashion.
And it dawned on him that there were other responsibilities in the taking of a wife that had nothing to do with the purchase of jewels and the redecoration of the manor.
There should be children.
He thought of her eyes again, and imagined a brood of little eyes following him