Regency Marriages: A Compromised Lady / Lord Braybrook's Penniless Bride

Richard blinked. Then anger welled up—it was a very long time since anyone had accused him of being a fortune hunter. And even then, at least he had been well aware of the chit’s fortune! This time …

‘No need to summon the butler. I’ll find my own way out.’ David executed a perfunctory bow and left.

Left alone, Richard said several things he had suppressed when Almeria left the room—and a few more for good measure. While he’d known that Thea must at least be respectably dowered, the term heiress suggested a great deal more. And while Almeria’s penchant for dropping stray heiresses in his path had caused him considerable embarrassment on occasion, he couldn’t recall that it had ever put him in danger of his life before. There had been a definite glint of gun metal in Winslow’s eyes.

He took a deep breath. And then there was Thea herself. Something had wrought a change in her that went far beyond years. Far beyond the change from a young girl on the eve of her come-out to a young woman. Thea-the-girl had been exuberant, bubbling over with mischief. Thea-the-woman seemed half-lost in shadow … only there had been that flash of light when their hands met—as though something had awakened inside her.

And as for her blasted, hitherto unsuspected fortune—Winslow was right; it would have the fortune hunters out in force.

By the time Almeria returned to the drawing room, he had managed to reduce the situation to its proper proportion. Almeria was matchmaking. No more. No less. He rose as she sailed into the room, saying airily, ‘I must have forgot to make clear to you that Dorothea will be my guest for the Season! ‘Tis positively shocking how forgetful one becomes as the years advance!’

Despite himself, Richard nearly grinned. ‘Quite shocking,’ he said gravely. Not that he, nor anyone else, would dare suggest to Almeria that she was advanced in years. Although she must be slipping if she expected him to believe that all this had not been carefully prearranged.

Occasionally a little unsubtlety was called for.

He settled for being extremely unsubtle.

‘Almeria—what the deuce are you up to?’

‘Up to?’ she said with a lift of her brows. ‘Why should you imagine I am up to anything? Really, Richard!’

‘Fudge,’ he said bluntly. ‘Don’t waste your breath, Almeria. Instead, tell me precisely what is the extent of Thea’s fortune. I was not aware she had one.’

Almeria looked a little conscious. ‘Her godfather’s fortune. Not the sort of thing one counts on, although he always intended to leave it to her, but after all, he might have married. And it is not a terribly big fortune as these things go, of course.’

The prickle at the back of his neck escalated into outright alarm bells.

‘Just how not-terribly-big are we talking about here?’ he pressed.

‘Only fifty thousand,’ said Almeria with an airy wave. ‘And derived from trade, of course!’ This last with a faint grimace.

Fifty thousand? Only fifty thousand? Hell and damnation! With that much at stake, it wouldn’t surprise him to hear that Almeria already had the special licence in her reticule and a tame bishop in the back parlour.

The suspicion that he had stepped into a well-laid and very sticky trap was unavoidable.

But he could make one or two things plain.

‘Almeria—let us be quite clear. Although I intend to marry, I am not in the market for an heiress, and—’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Almeria settled her skirts with a swish as she sat down. ‘Naturally when Aberfield asked that I chaperon Dorothea, I thought of you—since you were going to visit me anyway …’ She looked more than a trifle evasive.

‘Was I?’

Richard couldn’t recall his plans including anything of the sort. Almeria’s summons to visit her as soon as he reached town had arrived several days ago quite unheralded. However, that wasn’t to say that Almeria’s plans …

She glared at him. ‘Since I was intending to invite you—’

The moment she had an heiress staying with her—that went without saying.

‘Richard, you must marry sensibly!’ she said crossly. ‘You need a wife, the right wife. Especially now that you have bought that property in Kent. One assumes you intend to get an heir!’

Wisely, Richard held his counsel. There was nothing to gain from encouraging Almeria. No matter how right she happened to be.

‘And as for leaving these things to take care of themselves,’ she said, returning to an earlier theme, ‘I would have thought the danger of that was made plain by the appalling mess Max has—’

‘Enough!’ He controlled himself with an effort and said in a gentler tone, ‘Almeria, I cannot possibly remain here if you are to criticise Max and Verity. He is happy. Does that count for nothing?’

Goaded, Almeria snapped, ‘And how long can it last before she does something disgraceful?’

Enough was enough. ‘Like what? Cuckold him? Is that what you mean?’

Her colour rose. ‘Exactly!’

He shrugged. ‘Then he would have to cope with it. In his own way.’ Seeing Almeria’s mouth open, he added, ‘Just as our father did, in fact.’

Her mouth closed.

‘Did you think I never realised? That summer I broke my leg and stayed with you here, I knew then.’

Almeria was scarlet. ‘At least my sister was discreet!’ she said furiously. ‘I do not say that I approved of her behaviour, but she did not bring any disgrace upon the family!’ With which she rose, swept past him and left the drawing room again. The door shut with the sort of controlled click that was a well-bred woman’s alternative to slamming it. Settling back in his chair, he took a measured sip of brandy and muttered a few things that it was as well Almeria couldn’t hear. What the devil was he to do now?

He had to wonder if every god in the pantheon had conspired against him. His laudable plan of reconciling Almeria to Max’s marriage was clearly misfiring. Instead of accepting his own delight in the match, the mere sight of him was enough to stir up all her outrage at the ruin of his supposed expectations. Worse, she was now about to fling fifty thousand pounds’ worth of heiress at his head. Although probably not with Aberfield’s blessing.

In fact, Aberfield would probably succumb to apoplexy if he knew what Almeria was up to. A viscount, and a wealthy one at that, Aberfield didn’t have a seat in the cabinet any more, but he wielded a fair amount of influence with those who did.

Almeria was howling at the moon. Aberfield would never accept a match to a younger son, remarkable only for living within his means, his fortune respectable but no more, and about as much interested in a political career as he was interested in succeeding to his twin’s title—to wit, not at all. All Richard wanted was a quiet, private life improving his recently purchased acres and reading his books.

Nigel Lallerton was a younger son. He dismissed that as irrelevant. Lallerton had been set for a safe seat in parliament, supporting his father’s interest. Not to mention Aberfield’s interest. Lallerton’s father, Lord Chasewater, had been an old political crony. No doubt the match was stitched up between them as mutually beneficial. It had probably been sheer luck that Thea had cared so deeply for Lallerton.

Stretching out his stiff leg, he considered his options.

If he returned to the country, Almeria would think it was because of what she’d said about Verity. Richard frowned. Max could look after Verity, but even so, he hesitated to expose his sister-in-law to any more of Almeria’s rancour. Nor did he wish the rift between Max and Almeria to widen.

Besides, Almeria would be hurt if he left. She was actually fond of him, he reminded himself firmly. When he’d broken his leg, she had come up to town and had him to stay as soon as the doctors said his leg had healed enough for him to travel. Not that a twelve-year-old with a broken leg, wondering if he would ever walk again, had been precisely grateful for that, but nevertheless she had been kind to him. Buying him as many books as he could read, insisting that the kitchen made his favourite cake at least once a day. She had even put up with his dog, although she hated dogs in the house.

He grimaced. His own mother, while professing to be utterly devoted to her sons, had attended a succession of house parties that summer. He hadn’t understood why at first … Almeria had taken over. Brisk, no-nonsense and frequently acerbic on the subject of his idiocy in trying to ride that damned hunter in the first place, but she had been there, while his own mother wafted through London several times between gatherings and recommended laudanum when she thought he looked out of sorts. She had invariably been accompanied by Lord Ketterley—he grimaced. Ketterley had seemed such a decent fellow … it had been Max, cynical, rebellious Max, who had worked it all out …

Almeria hadn’t even complained when she discovered that he had inveigled Myles into playing chess with him. Her face when she caught them, though! Three days later she had appeared triumphantly with her other godchild, five-year-old Thea Winslow, announcing that Dear Dorothea is come to stay as well, and she is most interested in learning to play chess … The twelve-year-old Richard had barely choked back his disgust at having dear, little Dorothea foisted upon him. He’d taught her to play chess in sheer self-defence.

He found himself smiling as he remembered the little girl who had pored over the chess board, chewing her bottom lip with her untidy curls for ever falling into her eyes. Even at sixteen when she had made her come-out, her unruly curls had tended to escape their bonds. He’d teased her for it … He frowned as something occurred to him; there hadn’t been a wisp in sight today. For all he knew, she might be bald under that ghastly bonnet. Not that he understood anything about fashion, but he could recognise an ugly bonnet when he saw one.

An odd thought came to him—could he help Thea?

Help Thea? An heiress?

Even an heiress needs a friend.

He grimaced. Almeria would be looking for every opportunity to throw them together. Was he really going to be so foolish as to assist her? A memory of grey eyes that should have been blue suggested that he was.

He sighed. It would probably be polite to inform Braybrook in person that he no longer had a houseguest.

Julian, Lord Braybrook, received the news that his guest of twenty-four hours would be departing, with a suspicious degree of sangfroid.

He laid down his pen, leaned back in his desk chair and said merely, ‘Ah.’ Not at all as though the news came as a surprise.

Richard eyed him warily.

‘Food not up to standard, old chap?’ enquired Braybrook in tones of polite interest. ‘Bed unaired?’

Richard grinned. ‘Indigestible. And damned chilly. How the devil did you find out so fast?’

‘Thanks,’ said Braybrook drily. ‘For God’s sake, Ricky! Are you mad? As for how I found out—I have just sustained a visit from the outraged brother!’

‘Winslow?’

‘She’s only got the one,’ said Braybrook.

Richard nodded slowly. ‘I’d forgotten you were friendly. He’s not been in town much the last few years.’

‘No,’ said Braybrook. ‘But he recalled that I was also acquainted with you. You may imagine my surprise when he informed me that you were staying with Lady Arnsworth.’ He shot Richard an odd glance. ‘I was under the impression you planned to seek out lodgings.’

‘It’s not what it looks like,’ said Richard, rather shocked to realise that his teeth were gritted.

‘Of course not. And I do hope you will appreciate my discretion in not informing Winslow that your sojourn with Lady Arnsworth is of such recent date.’

‘Dammit, Julian! I didn’t even know Miss Winslow was expected when Almeria persuaded me to stay!’

‘Then what did persuade you?’ He flung up a hand as Richard glared at him. ‘Oh, don’t be a gudgeon! I know you aren’t the sort to dangle after heiresses! I even did my best to reassure Winslow on that head; but I will admit to a very human curiosity about what possible cause you could have for staying with Lady Arnsworth!’ He grinned. ‘Apart from my unaired beds and the indigestible food.’

Despite his annoyance, Richard laughed. Damn. Telling Julian that in some odd way he was worried about Thea would have the fellow leaping to all sorts of unwarranted conclusions. Instead he fell back on his original reason for accepting. ‘Almeria is still very bitter about Max’s marriage, you know,’ he said.

Braybrook looked rather self-conscious. ‘So I hear.’

Something about his voice alerted Richard. ‘Yes?’

‘I had a letter from Serena,’ said Braybrook.

Richard nodded. Serena, Lady Braybrook, was the previous Lord Braybrook’s widow. Julian’s stepmother. Almeria had long considered it her duty to keep the invalid Lady Braybrook fully apprised of her stepson’s indiscretions.

‘Yes?’

‘Lady Arnsworth had written to her.’

Richard suppressed a grin at the irritation in his voice. ‘Ah. Giving her advice on how to marry you off?’

Braybrook snorted. ‘Precisely. Citing Max as a fearful example of what happens when a man is left to his own devices in the matter.’

‘Annoying,’ replied Richard, ‘but there’s nothing new in that. She said as much to me this afternoon. She’s doubly furious because of the expected baby.’

The blue eyes narrowed. ‘Maybe. Did she also express doubts about the child’s paternity?’

‘What?’

‘No. I didn’t think she’d have said that to you. Obviously you don’t have to worry about it going any further, but she hinted at it in her letter to Serena.’

Richard swore. ‘Is she still harping on that? She said something to that effect last year.’

‘To you?’

‘And Max,’ said Richard grimly.

Braybrook’s jaw dropped. ‘That would explain why Max is at outs with her.’

‘Exactly,’ said Richard. ‘Which is why I agreed to stay with her,’ he went on. ‘To try to convince her that Max’s marriage has not consigned me to poverty, before she says something to create a permanent breach between herself and Max!’

A sceptical brow lifted. ‘And questioning the child’s paternity to his face hasn’t done that already?’

Richard grimaced. ‘Not quite. Max doesn’t want a breach any more than I do, but if it comes to a choice between Almeria or protecting Verity—’ He broke off. ‘You know what he will do.’

Braybrook made a rude noise. ‘Slight understatement there, Ricky. If it came to a choice between the entire world and protecting Lady Blakehurst, Max would consign the lot of us to perdition!’

Richard smiled. ‘True.’

Braybrook looked curious. ‘You know, Ricky—I’ve never quite understood just why Lady Arnsworth was so fixated on Max remaining single?’

Richard frowned. ‘Max never told you?’

‘I never asked.’

He nodded. ‘It was my accident that started it. Mama and Almeria blamed Max for daring me to ride the cursed horse. Never mind that I was perfectly capable of saying no to him, he’d suggested it and therefore it was all his fault. Later, I was supposed to go into the army—Mama insisted that my leg made that unsuitable, and that Max should be bought a commission instead.’

‘What else did they have in mind for him?’ asked Julian.

‘The church, if you can believe it.’

A most peculiar choking sound came from Lord Braybrook.

‘Quite,’ said Richard. ‘I think he preferred the army on the whole. He was a damn sight better suited to it than I was.’ He sighed. ‘And then Freddy died not long after our father. And suddenly Max was the earl. But instead of demanding that he settle down and secure the succession, both Mama and Almeria decided between them that he owed it to me to remain single!’

‘How very melodramatic of them,’ observed Julian.

Richard snorted. ‘I didn’t take it seriously, but Max did. He always blamed himself for my accident anyway and Mama and Almeria had rubbed it in with a vengeance over the years.’

Braybrook’s mouth twitched. ‘And, of course, it’s plain to the meanest intelligence that you yourself are bitterly disappointed in being cut out of an earldom,’ he said drily.

‘Bitterly,’ said Richard, yawning. ‘I’ve enough money for my wants.’

‘And if you don’t,’ said Braybrook, ‘you could always marry Miss Winslow.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘No point cutting off your nose to spite your face, you know. After all, she might be your perfect bride!’

‘As long as her brother doesn’t shoot me first,’ said Richard sarcastically.

Unholy amusement gleamed in bright blue eyes. ‘A risk, of course. Mind you, it would certainly calm Lady Arnsworth down to see you safely legshackled to an heiress!’ He grinned. ‘Proof positive that your game leg and Max’s marriage have not combined to blight your life.’

‘Oh, go to the devil, Julian,’ recommended Richard.

All the same, the flippant advice niggled at him as he blew out his bedside lamp later that night, after walking back to Arnsworth House, as it had done all through dinner and numerous hands of piquet afterwards. A circumstance that had led to Julian relieving him of a vast, if imaginary, fortune.

In the best spare bedchamber, Thea Winslow was probably sound asleep … a thought that had made him very, very edgy as he’d tiptoed past to his own room … It had been a distinct shock to find a sleepy footman waiting up for him. He’d forgotten to keep his voice down as he told the man never to do such a thing again. He hoped it hadn’t disturbed Thea … He pushed the recurring thought of Thea away. Thea Winslow, sleeping peacefully just down the hallway, was no concern of his. Or she ought not to be.

No point cutting off your nose to spite your face … she might be your perfect bride …

Leaving perfect out of it, he had always intended to marry. Marriage had always made complete sense—at some dim, unspecified future time. Apparently the future had arrived. With the purchase of an estate and a London house, marriage was becoming, if not imperative, then at least desirable. All he needed to do was choose the right woman—and of course persuade her that he was the right man. Yes, a sensible, intelligent woman with a sense of humour. She didn’t need to be wealthy, just someone he liked and respected … His stomach clenched—someone who wouldn’t view a child’s broken leg as an interruption to her own life. Someone who wouldn’t mind that her husband had absolutely no ambition to figure in society, but preferred a quiet life in the country with his books and acres, and was happy to remain there with him for the most part. Happy to remain, not self-sacrificing … not complaining that she had nothing to amuse her, and flitting off to yet another house party with her lover—he slammed a lid down on that; there was no point being bitter about the past, but you could learn from it. He added another criterion: honour. He wanted a woman to whom honour was more important than discretion.

Common sense firmly in place, he permitted his thoughts to turn to Thea. He liked her. He always had. She had always been blazingly honest as a child, and young girl, sometimes when it might have been wiser to dissemble a little. And she was loyal—if she had mourned Nigel Lallerton so deeply, he needed no further proof of that. What if she were the right choice for him? The sensible, logical choice … folly to discount her simply because of Almeria’s entirely predictable matchmaking.

She was here in the house. It was the perfect opportunity to find out if she really would suit him. He caught himself—if they would suit. For all he knew, his bookish habits might drive her to distraction. Or his tendency to leave curls of shaved wood everywhere from his whittling. If their old childhood friendship could become an adult friendship and the basis for a successful marriage … an irritatingly rational voice suggested that perhaps he was being a little bit too rational about this, that perhaps he might look for a woman to love … after all, love wasn’t ruining Max’s life. Quite the opposite.

He rolled over and punched the pillow. That was all very well, but if he hadn’t fallen in love in thirty-two years, what were the odds of it happening now? A sensible marriage would be far more … sensible. Logical.

Safe.

His father had loved—and look what that had led to … a totally unsuitable choice. Max had been lucky. Damned lucky.

There could be no harm in spending time with Thea, and renewing their friendship. He liked that idea. What he didn’t like was the memory of Thea as he had seen her that afternoon, all the old laughter and liveliness quenched. A feeling that was not in the least sensible stole over him … whatever had been responsible for the grey shadow in eyes that ought to have been blue—he wanted to remove it.

Hours after going to bed Thea lay waiting for sleep. Perhaps she should light a lamp and read for a while. The strange bed unnerved her … but it was so late. Surely she would sleep if she closed her eyes and emptied her mind. She had become very good at that over the years—keeping her mind utterly blank, refusing to allow emotion to creep in.

But now, back in London, among people who had known her as a child, a young girl—even though her body ached with tiredness, the thoughts and feelings held sleep at bay.

A little spark of anger flared in a dark corner of her heart, a corner she never looked into. From her father’s point of view, her marriage now was an unquestioned necessity. She rolled over and thumped the pillow. She would not, under any circumstances, acquiesce to any match proposed by her father.

The little spark had caught, lighting up the corner. Thea shut her eyes to it, dousing it. She wouldn’t look there. She mustn’t. Better that it remained shadowed. Hidden from the light. If she permitted herself to feel anything again … anger, hurt … even love, she pushed them all away. Safer to remain calm. Unmoved. As untouched as she could ever be.

The news would be all over London that Miss Winslow, only daughter of Viscount Aberfield and heiress to fifty thousand pounds, was residing in Grosvenor Square with Lady Arnsworth. She would be sought out. Courted, flattered, every social distinction pressed upon her.

The thought sickened her.

Money bought acceptance; with fifty thousand pounds, as long as the truth remained a whisper, the past would be ignored by many. Not by all, but many including her own father.

She gritted her teeth. She didn’t want that sort of acceptance anyway. Especially not from Aberfield. Uncle James had shown more understanding and affection for her than her own father. He had been prepared to believe her innocence and reverse his decision to disinherit her. Aberfield had reinstated her only because of the money. It was easier somehow to think of him as Aberfield, not Papa. It wasn’t as though he wanted her as his daughter. All he wanted was for her money to secure a husband of benefit to himself.

A queer thought came to her—she doubted that her money would buy Richard’s good opinion if ever he knew the truth. She could count on his honesty. She shivered, and drew the blankets closer. Why was she thinking of Richard anyway? How could she know what he had become? She hadn’t seen him since her come-out ball.

The memory slipped past her defences. He had danced with her that night, laughing because her wretched hair was escaping, enjoying the ball as much as she, although he rarely danced because of his leg. He had danced with her twice, and then she hadn’t seen him again until today.

She pushed the memory away. Richard would be revolted if he knew the truth; at best he would feel sorry for her.

She didn’t want pity. She wanted nothing of anyone. She didn’t need anyone—she could stand by herself. And in less than three months she would be free. Only … what on earth would she do with her freedom once she had it? She would enjoy it, that was what. And in the meantime she would enjoy herself now. Here. In London. She was not going to permit her fears to rule her life—she would not wait for her twenty-fifth birthday to release her, she would begin now. Tomorrow—no, it was tomorrow already. Today. She would begin today. She had put off enough tomorrows.