The Convenient Felstone Marriage. Jenni Fletcher
say. Something about a woman, most likely.’ Giles did an abrupt double take. ‘I say, don’t be too bothered.’
‘What?’
‘You were scowling. I said, don’t be too bothered about Louisa.’
‘Oh. No, I wasn’t thinking about her.’
He moved away from the window, turning his back firmly on Charles Lester. The Baronet represented the very worst of his class. Arrogant, entitled, not to mention a notorious womaniser. His reputation was near legendary, almost as much as his own father’s had been, his conquests usually women without protectors or ones poor enough to be paid off afterwards. The orphaned, impoverished Miss Holt seemed to fit the bill exactly, though the brother had definitely said he wanted to marry her. Not that she seemed like his usual type of woman. Like anyone’s type, for that matter.
Still, the thought of the strait-laced Miss Holt in Sir Charles’s clutches made him feel inexplicably angry. After his own behaviour that morning, he felt strangely protective towards her, as if he’d somehow become responsible for her well-being. Not that he could help her if she wouldn’t let him. He’d asked her to marry him, for pity’s sake! He could hardly make any more amends than that...
‘I say, are you sure you’re all right?’ Giles peered at him thoughtfully. ‘You seem preoccupied. Nothing wrong at the shipyard, I hope?’
‘No, they don’t need me for a few days.’ His lips curved wryly. ‘It’s just a new proposal I’m working on.’
‘Need any help?’
‘No, though there is something Kitty could do.’
‘Whatever you need. You know she’s half-smitten with you.’
‘Only half?’
‘Very funny. It’s not fair that some men have good looks and fortune.’
‘Not enough for Louisa Allendon, apparently.’
‘I always thought she was flighty. What did you see in her anyway? Besides her more obvious attractions, I wouldn’t have thought the two of you well suited.’
Robert drew his brows together, surprised by his friend’s acuity. Now that he thought about it, it was hard to remember what his exact motives had been. He’d simply had the feeling that it was time to marry and Louisa had been beautiful, charming and accomplished, not to mention well connected.
‘It seemed a good match, socially. She’s from an old family and you know her father was close friends with mine...’
His voice trailed away as he realised what he was saying. Was that the real reason he’d proposed to her, then, to prove a point to his dead father? Fool. It was too late for that, five years too late. The very idea was ludicrous. Not to mention grossly unfair on Louisa. If it hadn’t been for the manner of her refusal, he might have owed her an apology, too.
How could he have been so blind?
‘Ah.’ Giles sounded sympathetic. ‘Well, she couldn’t have done any better, if you ask me.’
‘You’re a good friend.’ Robert pushed the memory of his father aside, burying it along with any thought of Louisa. As for what she’d said, what the whole of society apparently said about him behind his back, he wasn’t going to accept that so lightly. He wasn’t going to accept it at all.
‘Did you know that old Harper’s thinking of selling?’
‘Eh?’ Giles looked startled by the sudden change of subject. ‘You mean his shipyard?’
‘So I hear.’
‘Well, I never. I thought the old boy would go on for ever. Though you know what he’s like. He’ll never find a buyer he approves of. No one’s ever going to be good enough.’
‘Especially not me.’
‘He’s traditional. He definitely won’t sell to a bachelor, I’m afraid. Family values and all that.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
Robert rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He already owned the largest shipyard in Whitby. If he bought Harper’s, then he’d have one of the largest on the east coast, in the country even. It was doable, not to mention a way of proving his worth without society’s help. He smiled slowly. If Louisa and society didn’t think he was good enough to join them, then he’d demand their respect instead—show them all just what an illegitimate upstart son could achieve without their help. He’d be the perfect model of respectability, with more power and influence than his father had ever had.
And he’d start by marrying the most sensible, respectable-looking woman he could find, one that Harper would definitely approve of.
Miss Holt. He’d never seen a woman less likely to cause scandal. She was exactly the sort of wife he needed, a helpmeet, not an ornament, one who could fit unobtrusively into his busy life with the minimum of fuss or distraction, leaving him free to deal with his expanding business concerns. She wasn’t flirtatious or hysterical or highly strung, hadn’t burst into tears or tried to ingratiate herself with him when he’d accused her of being a schemer. On the contrary, she’d given as good as she’d got, had a mind of her own and no fear of speaking it. No, the more he thought of it, the more the strait-laced, straight-talking Miss Holt seemed to be just what he needed, a far more suitable bride than Louisa had ever been.
But she’d said no. As proposals went, it was hard to imagine one going much worse. He could hardly blame her for refusing him. No reasonable woman would accept such a proposal from a stranger who’d just insulted her to her face.
On the other hand, a desperate one might. Just how desperate to avoid marrying Lester was she? he wondered. He had a day to find out. Time enough to convince her to reconsider. And he knew exactly how to start.
‘I’ll see you tonight.’ He clapped a hand on Giles’s shoulder, already making for the exit. ‘Is Kitty at home?’
‘I think so, but what about the speech?’
‘We’ll discuss it at dinner. I have something important to do first.’
Giles looked taken aback. ‘With my wife?’
‘I need some information.’ Robert threw a grin over his shoulder. ‘Then I need to take her shopping.’
‘Are you awake, dear?’
Ianthe opened her eyes, momentarily blinded by the expanse of colour that greeted her. Where was she? In a bedroom she didn’t recognise, daubed and draped in such an overwhelming shade of rose-petal pink that she could hardly distinguish one object from another. With the sun streaming in through open curtains, the whole room seemed to be blushing.
‘Ianthe?’
She rubbed her eyes, disoriented after such a deep sleep. She had the vague impression that the curtains had been closed only a moment before, but who had opened them? Who was that calling her name? The voice seemed to come from close by...
She yelped, catching sight of a small face, half-hidden beneath a huge frilly nightcap, peering down at her.
‘Aunt Sophoria!’
‘Oh, good, you’re awake.’ The face beamed. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, but I was starting to worry.’
Ianthe put a hand to her chest, trying to calm her now frantically pounding heartbeat. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Almost since you arrived.’
Her aunt bustled across the room and then back again, bearing a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of macaroons in the other, before perching precariously on the side of the bed.
‘Here