Stunned out of his internal debate, he stared at her and wondered how that would be the most important question on her mind if she had overheard their conversation. “Yes, many of them tenant farmers. We need to modernize with new equipment and techniques. Most are still using field labor. I hope to introduce stock raising.” His voice trailed off as he realized he was explaining far more than necessary.
“That’s why you need an heiress, then?” She cocked her head to the side and looked up at him through narrowed eyes. “It’s not for yourself?” There was far more going on in that head of hers than she wanted people to think.
“Not only for myself.” He would be a liar if he did not confess to being accustomed to the comfortable lifestyle he enjoyed. “I will benefit, of course, but if these families are to survive, we have a lot of work to do. Unfortunately, modernizing is expensive.”
“And you can promise that? Will you put in writing exactly how you intend to utilize a dowry?”
He took in a sharp breath. Was she negotiating with him? Was she about to say yes to a question he had not even asked yet? A mild roar began in his ears. He should be damn near ecstatic. Instead, he glanced toward the drawing room door where Miss Crenshaw had disappeared. He did not want to bind himself to this girl. Not when he wanted her sister.
“Do you or do you not have a fiancé, Miss Violet?”
The corner of her mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “I do not, Your Grace. Not yet.”
“Then why—”
“Good evening, Your Grace.” Her voice was as soft as ever as she walked past him, following the same path her sister had taken moments earlier.
Set down by not one but two Crenshaw heiresses. It was damn near inconceivable. He would not have believed it had he not witnessed the entire debacle. He needed to sit down and absently felt his way across the gravel to a bench tucked against the house. His earlier inkling had been correct. He was mad. He wanted August more now than he had before. He should accept the younger one. She was everything a duchess should be, and by all appearances the match had nearly been made. And she was right. This should be about more than his personal preference. Families were depending on him to do right by them. His own father had neglected them for far too long. It was up to Evan to set things straight.
Still, everything in him resisted walking along like a lamb being led to slaughter. He wanted August. The need for her fire and honesty pounded through him with the persistent beat of fists against a sandbag.
He wanted August, and he would find a way to have her and save his estates.
Chapter 6
No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.
Mary Wollstonecraft
Violet, you seem to have got on well with the duke.” Their mother wasted no time in bringing him up once they were in the carriage. Their father was still settling himself in the seat beside her when she made the comment. Clearly, she had been champing at the bit to hear Violet’s impression of him. Next to Violet, August gritted her teeth but managed to keep her thoughts about him to herself.
“He was . . . well, a gentleman,” Violet offered mildly.
“I’d say he was every bit a gentleman as he was handsome.” The carriage swayed as the driver took his seat. Light from the gas lamp outside shifted over Mother’s face, revealing her shrewd grin and the calculation in her eyes as she watched Violet for her reaction. “I haven’t seen a man so handsome since your father in his day.”
August clenched her jaw harder. As if Rothschild’s looks were the most important thing when they were talking about Violet’s future.
“He is handsome,” came her sister’s unrevealing reply, but August felt her stiffen in the seat beside her.
Not satisfied that Violet was sufficiently enthusiastic, Mother glanced at August. “Even August will admit he’s very handsome, won’t you, dear?”
To be able to unclench her jaw, August was forced to tighten her hands into fists in her lap. “Of course he’s handsome.” The words tasted bitter, because she knew that Mother was really attempting to court her agreement in this travesty.
The admission earned her a bark of laughter from Papa. “Even I can admit he’s handsome. Not much of an ogre, huh, August?”
The jab was meant to be lighthearted, but it stung with betrayal in a way she didn’t understand. Rubbing the heel of her hand as if to soothe the invisible pain, she said, “People can be ogres in ways that do not include their looks.”
“But he’s the perfect gentleman,” Mother said, her voice taking on a lilting tone.
“We still don’t know anything about him.” It seemed irresponsible that her parents did not care about that detail.
Mother scoffed. “What more is there to know?”
Papa, who sat across from August, reached over the short distance to fondly pat her knee. “August is right, Millie. She has a good head for business. I’ve taught her that no business deal should ever be entered into without reviewing it from all angles.” To August, he said, “I have people investigating his assets and liabilities, of which there are many of the latter. The reports are as you’d expect. Debts from some bad investments his father made. Properties that need a good deal of refurbishment. The young man needs a significant influx of cash to address his debts, and he needs it fairly soon.”
August took a breath as the tension started to drain from her, allowing her to sink into the plush upholstery. This was language she understood. At least one of her parents was thinking rationally. “And you are not at all concerned that giving him this influx will only lead to more debt eventually? More loss?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, August, really,” said Mother. “How could more money lead to more debt? It doesn’t work that way.”
“Millie, now, she is right. When you have a business that’s been floundering, and you suddenly pour in money, well, sometimes it goes right through whatever drain they’ve created.” To August he said, “We’re still looking, darling, but so far it doesn’t seem that His Grace has been the problem. He inherited extraordinary debts. Once they are all paid off, the financial drain should close substantially.”
That wasn’t enough of a reassurance, and she leaned forward to say so. There would likely still be a hole, and whether it took a year or ten years for the money to drain away, Violet could be left penniless. “But there’s the upkeep of all those estates. That could be an enormous sum alone for each of them. Will those estates draw in enough income to be profitable? Have you looked into his tenants? How many of them are able to pay their rents? How much of a deficit is he running annually? How can we be assured that Violet will control her own money?”
To her surprise, her father patted her knee and sat back against his seat. “I appreciate you being so concerned for your sister. We are still looking into his estates. I expect to have completed reports next week.”
If he’d had a newspaper, she was quite certain he would have flicked it up between them and stuffed his nose inside it, effectively shutting her out. Her mother nodded as if all had been settled and smiled fondly at Violet across from her. She was probably imagining her in a wedding gown and thinking of her as the Duchess of Rothschild. Didn’t either of them care about Violet’s future beyond her wedding?
Violet met August’s gaze in silent rage.
August knew that she had to tell them about the prizefight and damn the consequences to herself. They were both too enamored of him to think clearly. No, it wasn’t even him they liked so much. They were seduced by his title and his position in this society. They knew nothing about who he was as a person. He had been charming enough, but he hadn’t spared either Mother or Papa any more attention than he had given anyone else. Her parents had spent all of a few of hours in his company and were ready to hand over their daughter to him. She had to break their illusion of him, because this was about savi
ng Violet.
“Has your investigation uncovered his prizefighting activities?” she asked.
The carriage was completely silent for all of five seconds while that sank in. Finally, Mother asked, “What are you talking about?”
Not quite as brave as she had thought, August hedged a bit. “I’ve heard that he fights for money. Bare-knuckle brawling, I believe it’s called.” Shifting in her seat, she ran her palms over the velvet upholstered bench. Violet touched her hand in silent support.
“Brawling?” Mother mimicked the word as if it were foreign and she didn’t know what it meant. “But he’s a duke, a gentleman, not a street person. Why would anyone invent such a terrible rumor?”
Papa seemed less affected. “It’s a rumor,” he said with a shrug.
“You’ve heard it!” August gasped, appalled that he would not have mentioned it to them before now.
“Yes, I’ve heard it. He belongs to a club . . . Montague, and they have fights there. Pugilism, they call it. Earlier this year I heard that Van Alen has taken up boxing.” He sighed, and the newspaper would have come up again had he had it. Instead, he glanced out the window at the passing sites of Mayfair. “I have even been thinking of taking it up.”
“You? Boxing?” Mother’s laugh filled the night air.
“It’s a perfectly acceptable activity. With all the hours I spend at my desk, I could do with some physical activity,” said Papa, taking offense.
“Wait a moment. Do you mean James Van Alen?” Mother asked when she had stopped laughing. August wasn’t surprised that she had caught on the name. “He’s going to marry Emily Astor.” The tone of her voice indicated that she might view the once-distasteful sport in an entirely new light if Van Alen had taken it up.
To Mother, Papa said, “Yes, that Van Alen.” To August, he said, “Mind you, it’s only a rumor I’ve heard about the duke, which is why I haven’t repeated it.” Turning back to face his wife, he asked, “And why, may I ask, is it laughable that I would want to take up a new sport? I am a sportsman. I enjoy a good hunt and the occasional fishing excursion.”
Mother shook her head with an indulgent smile. “Griswold, the last time you went hunting was when Violet was still in knee-length skirts.”
Papa guffawed. “That is not true. The last time I went was with George . . . When was that?” His gaze drifted to the ceiling of the carriage as if the answer could be found there.
August watched the entire exchange in disbelief and mild irritation. Sometimes talking to them when they were together was like wrangling young children. Was she the only one concerned with the potentially disastrous turn this could all take? Violet and her future children could be destitute, and all they cared about was how fashionable boxing was at the moment. “What do boxing or Mr. Van Alen have to do with anything?”
In response to the frustration in her voice, Violet reached over and placed a supportive hand on her arm. Even that annoyed her. How could Violet be so calm when they were discussing her entire future like it was a sport? Why was she the only one in this family who managed to see the destruction that almost assuredly awaited her sister?
Both her parents looked at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. August forced herself to inhale a steadying breath. It wouldn’t do to have them accuse her of hysterics when she was making perfectly rational arguments.
“I only mean to say that boxing is not the sport in question. The Duke of Rothschild is a bare-knuckle prizefighter. He fights for money in Whitechapel. I don’t know how often or to what extent, but he is known as the Hellion, and he associates with questionable characters.”
Papa frowned and was silent as the carriage rocked with the final turn that put them onto their street. “That isn’t the rumor I heard. Boxing or bare-knuckle”—he gave a wave of his hand as if the difference were negligible—“he fights at his club. A fair number of young men are taking it up. The other day someone mentioned French footfighting. Have you heard of that? It has another name that escapes me at the moment.”
August stifled a sigh of frustration. “I’ll concede that perhaps some of these events take place at his club. However, he also fights in Whitechapel. These are public fights with dangerous men.” A shiver ran down her spine every time she thought of Wilkes. His eyes had been cold and dead and almost as vicious as those spikes on his shoes.
“How do you know this to be true, August? As your father said, it’s only rumor, and obviously one only you have heard. It cannot be true. He likely only fights at his club as Papa believes. He is a duke.” She said the last as if that were all the reason she needed to disbelieve it.
August knew then that she absolutely had to tell them the complete truth. Bracing herself by gripping the edge of her seat, she said, “I know because I was there at the fight. I don’t want to get into specifics, but I saw him with my own eyes.”
The carriage fell silent as they came to a stop. The groom opened the door, but her father held up a hand, and it discreetly clicked shut again.
“You were at a fight in Whitechapel? When was this, August?” Papa’s voice had taken on the cold tone she had only heard in the most demanding business meetings.
“I cannot say.”
“How do you know it was the duke?” he asked.
“His hair was darker, but it was him. I know it was him.”
“Did he admit this to you?”
“No, of course not.” She hadn’t expected him to admit it, and he hadn’t. However, he hadn’t seemed particularly concerned that she might expose him, which was galling to no end.
Papa let out a long breath. “Then you might have been mistaken.”
Her shoulders stiffened, and she found herself sitting straighter. “I am not mistaken. It was him.”
“The bigger issue here is that you were in Whitechapel. How did this happen?”
She opened her mouth to explain about Camille, but she no longer trusted her parents to understand. What would stop her father from running off to tell Hereford? She could only imagine the sort of punishment the man might mete out to Camille. When once she had told her father everything, she found herself unwilling to discuss this with him. “I cannot say. I can only tell you that I was there with a friend.”
Her father pursed his lips as he often did when discussing a disagreeable subject and opened the door himself. The groom came forward to hold it as Papa reached back to help Mother disembark. Together they marched up the steps to their rented townhome, leaving the groom to assist her and then Violet. Anxiety knotted August’s belly as she followed them inside.
Papa’s strong steps could be heard ascending the stairs, but their mother stood in the entry of the front parlor, where she was handing off her gloves and hat to a waiting maid. “August, Violet, come and attend me a moment.”
They both followed without pausing to take off their outerwear. Violet kept her composure; the only clue to her anger was the stiffness of her shoulders.
“This will take but a moment. I wanted you both to know that it has been brought to my attention that we are in need of a chaperone.” She raised a hand when August opened her mouth to object. “This is not because of your shocking revelation, though it does prove that there is a need.”
August crossed her arms over her chest and decided not to point out that a chaperone would not have stopped her from sneaking out of the house alone at night.
“Lady Ashcroft has been such a dear in helping us acclimate here. She helpfully suggested that young ladies of quality do not take walks to the park or the shops without a chaperone, and your father and I aren’t always available to go with you.”
Now August could not stay silent on the matter. “But that’s ridiculous, Mother. I am twenty-three years old, and I have managed my walks in the park just fine all these years on my own.”
“Of course you have, dear, but we are in London now. They do
things differently here. When in Rome, as they say.”
At home she had frequently dashed out to the dressmaker’s or milliner’s without anyone accompanying her. August could not help but feel that London was quickly becoming nothing but a great gilded cage from which she couldn’t escape. Would they actively try to pawn her off on a husband as well?
“I really do think this is unnecessary, Mother.” Violet finally spoke.
“We are heading into the high point of the Season, and there will likely be scheduling conflicts. Since I am certain you and August will not bother yourselves to wait for one of us to be available, this step is necessary. Besides, I am under the impression that the contacts of the women I have in mind will be as beneficial as the actual duties the woman will provide. To that end, I have a list of names of perfectly respectable ladies ready to offer their services. We can go over them in the morning.” With a gentle smile, she stepped forward and kissed them both on the cheek, but she gave August a look she knew all too well. It always came with a gentle shake of her head, and it meant—Why can’t you be like your sister? Why can’t you be different?
August shifted under the familiar weight of the look, feeling exactly as she had as a gangly fourteen-year-old more interested in her father’s ledgers than her mother’s fashion plates. She had no answers for those questions. Giving August’s hand a gentle squeeze, Mother told them both good night and left.
All of the strength seemed to leave August’s legs, and she sank down onto the sofa. Violet sank down beside her, and this time she was the one offering support. Violet’s reassuring presence was so calming and antithetical to her own state of mind that it was almost abrasive. When she spoke, August’s words were harsher than she intended. “Why are you not more upset about this? You met him. Do you really want to marry him?”
“No, I do not want to marry him, and I don’t intend to,” Violet said calmly.
“Then how do you plan to stop it? You can see they’re not being reasonable.”
The Heiress Gets a Duke Page 8