Belle wrung her hands as her heart began to race and her breathing grew shallow. With the passing of each day, it seemed more and more likely that she would end up with Sir Harold. Would that be so awful, all things considered? He wasn’t someone dashing and strong like Quinton, but was it fair to compare them? After all, not every man had Quinn’s knack for land management, his skill for dealing with tenants and villagers, his foresight with accounts and repair lists…his extraordinary ability to turn a kiss into heavenly bliss.
“Also the extra footmen to serve the trays of champagne when the announcement is made.”
And then there was Glenarvon to worry about. A woman running an estate was far from the norm, but this place was her life and all she wanted. She couldn’t imagine what her existence would become if she couldn’t do that.
“Of course, there will scotch for the men and punch for the ladies.”
Her heart thumped harder and faster with each quick step she paced across the room, as if the floor would open up and devour her if she stood still. What would she do if she could no longer run the estate? Other things would fill the void, certainly. Overseeing the household staff. Being hostess for parties and soirees. Having babies that weren’t created in love or passion—
“What do you think, Annabelle?”
“I don’t want to marry!” Blurting it out before she could stop herself, she gasped, and her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she stared at Lady Ainsley with mortification.
The viscountess froze, her quill in mid-scratch. Then she slowly looked up at Belle, and the look on her face—was that happiness? Or was the woman simply stunned into disbelief?
“You don’t want to marry Sir Harold?” Lady Ainsley repeated in a whisper.
“No,” Belle breathed out between her fingers.
The dowager rose slowly, a look of hopefulness lighting her face. Or perhaps it was alarm. “Then…whom do you wish to marry?”
“I don’t,” she admitted. Guilt overwhelmed her because she didn’t want to wound the viscountess or have the woman think Belle was ungrateful for all she and Lord Ainsley had done for her.
And that was an undeniable look of disappointment as her wrinkled face fell. “Not anyone?” She paused, as if waiting to be contradicted. “Not ever?”
“I don’t want to lose Glenarvon,” Belle amended in a breathy whisper. “But I don’t want to be forced into marriage, either.”
She knew the prison a marriage could be. The moment a woman married, everything she possessed—including her body—became the property of her husband, for him to mete out affection or punishment as he saw fit. Including taking away her property. Including beating her, if she failed to do as he wanted. There was nothing the law or the Church would do to stop him.
It was silly, she supposed, how much she wanted in a marriage. Like something from a fairy tale, she wanted to love and be loved. She wanted to share Glenarvon with her husband and create a loving and happy home for their children, all of whom would be created and raised with love. She wanted a husband she respected, one who respected and cared for her in return.
Now all those dreams were slipping through her fingers.
“Your situation is far from ideal, I admit,” Lady Ainsley said gently, setting her quill and glasses aside. “But many women marry because they seek property or position, or because they need the help of their husbands.”
She shook her head. “I’m capable of running Castle Glenarvon myself.”
Lady Ainsley crossed the room to her and took Belle’s hands in hers, the affection and concern the viscountess held for her visible in her eyes. “You are very much capable of running this estate. No one could ever love this place more than you, my dear, and no one knows its heart and soul better than you.” She paused, her expression softening. “But with whom will you share your success?”
Belle couldn’t answer around the knot of emotion choking her throat, because in her heart she knew the truth, that the only man she wanted to share it with was Quinn. He was the only one who understood how much work she put into running the estate, how much sweat and tears.
But he wouldn’t be here. He was bound for America. Already her heart grieved at the impending loss of him.
Lady Ainsley cupped Belle’s face. “A husband provides support in so many intangible ways. Without a husband, who will be there to laugh with you and cry with you, to share all your frustrations and all your joys?”
Who, indeed? Belle didn’t doubt the veracity of Lady Ainsley’s words. Just having Quinton here for the past sennight had eased her burden, giving her someone to talk with and to lean on for help. It made obvious a gaping hole in her life she didn’t know existed until he was there, filling it.
She swiped at her eyes. Oh, the devil take him! Quinn always managed to cause problems for her, even when he wasn’t in the room.
“You do not have to marry Sir Harold. You do not have to marry at all, if that is what you wish.” With an empathetic but faint smile, the dowager placed a motherly kiss to Belle’s forehead. “I will always love you and do the best for you that I can.” Belle’s heart leapt at Lady Ainsley’s quiet concession…until the viscountess sadly shook her head. “But I cannot save Glenarvon for you if you do not.”
Numbly, Belle nodded and blinked back her tears. She should be grateful for all that Lady Ainsley was offering, that she would be able to stay with her in the dower house in London and continue on as they had…lady and companion, the daughter and mother neither possessed. It was more than Belle should ever have had, given her past. But knowing how fortunate she was didn’t lessen the sorrow over all she’d lose if she didn’t marry.
So she was back to where she’d begun. Having to marry a man who didn’t love her so she could stay in her home.
Lady Ainsley kissed Belle’s cheek. “Do not lose hope yet, my dear. If I have my way, everything will work out well in the end. Time will bear it out.”
But time was the one thing Belle didn’t have.
“You will find a good man to marry, I know it.” Lady Ainsley gave her a conspiratorial smile.
Belle returned her smile, even as her hopeless heart sank to the floor, not at all certain of that herself.
Shouts rang out from downstairs—male voices raised in anger, followed by the sounds of stomping boots and slamming doors. She exchanged a worried glance with Lady Ainsley.
Oh no.
The viscountess bit back an unladylike curse. “What have those two done now?”
They hurried downstairs toward the commotion, arriving in the entry hall just in time to see one of the gentlemen callers turn to shake a fist at Robert and Quinton as they followed the man toward the front door. The same man Belle had seen ride up less than fifteen minutes earlier. His face was nearly as scarlet as his fancy silk waistcoat.
He saw Lady Ainsley and straightened his spine with an expression of pure righteous indignation. “You—” He snatched his hat, gloves, and walking stick from Ferguson as the butler stoically held them out. Then he gestured angrily with his stick to indicate the two Carlisle men. “You would condone this—this outrageous behavior, my lady?”
Quinton and Robert stiffened in response. The amusement Belle thought she’d glimpsed on their faces when they’d entered the entry hall had vanished, replaced by hard-set jaws and narrowed gazes. Two nearly identical mountains of men as they stood shoulder to shoulder, their feet wide and their muscular arms folded across their chests.
Belle bit her bottom lip, worried that one wrong word from the visitor would get him pummeled before she could stop them.
Lady Ainsley imperiously lifted her brow, as if offended. “Sir, my nephews have never behaved outrageously in their lives!”
Belle nearly choked at that whopper of a lie. But Robert and Quinton simply exchanged silent glances, then returned their stares to the man.
“They are acting at my behest.” The viscountess leveled that comment with all the authority of her position. Belle could almost fe
el the iciness in her voice, as well as the unspoken dare for the man to contradict her.
“Then you need to speak with them. The things they had the nerve to ask me!” He jabbed his stick at them, and Belle caught her breath, wondering which of the two Carlisle men would first let fly his fists. “About my intentions, my net worth…if I’d ever seek a divorce— Surely you didn’t authorize that!”
The dowager’s eyes flicked curiously to Quinton, then narrowed on their visitor. “Did you think I’d so easily hand over my companion to the first dandy who arrived at my doorstep with posies in hand?”
At her subtle accusation, the blood drained from his face. His lips parted, as if to fling back some cutting reply. Then he clamped his mouth shut, wisely thinking better of leveling an insult at the viscountess beneath the Carlisle brothers’ watchful eyes. Except to trade glances, the two hadn’t moved an inch during the exchange. Like life-size copies of the Colossus of Rhodes.
He stalked toward the door. “I came here to pay my respects to Miss Greene. I did not come here to be insulted.” He flung open the door without waiting for Ferguson to come forward and stomped outside. “Good day!”
Quinton closed the door after him. “And good riddance.”
Momentary silence fell over the entry hall, then Lady Ainsley blew out a hard sigh and shook her head. “What on earth did you two do to that man?”
Quinton shrugged. “Exactly as you asked of us.”
“Keeping the wrong men away from Annabelle,” Robert clarified.
Then both men folded their arms over their chests again and leaned back against the wall. Belle blinked. It was like seeing double.
“But that man wasn’t here long enough for you to find out anything about him,” the viscountess scolded.
Quinton shook his head. “He was here long enough to answer our questions about his intentions toward Belle.”
“And about the state of his finances,” Robert added stepping forward. “I know businessmen, Aunt Agatha. I’m one of them. So I know when a man is pretending to know more about financial matters than he actually does.”
Lady Ainsley tossed up her hands. “You cannot fault a man for wanting to improve his lot in life through marriage!”
“No,” Quinn replied. “But we can fault the man for not knowing what to do with the financial gain once he possesses it. And for exaggerating his current business interests and fortune.”
“Lying,” Robert corrected bluntly.
Quinn summarized quietly, “He wasn’t worthy of Annabelle.”
Belle’s startled gaze darted to him, and their eyes met. He held her gaze for several long heartbeats, long enough for butterflies to flutter inside her. And not just at the dark flicker in his eyes as he stared at her hungrily, as if he wanted to do nothing more at that moment than pull her into the library and kiss her senseless.
No—it was the protection he was offering, however misguided, that filled her with warmth and happiness. She hadn’t expected that. And she liked it. Far more than she should have.
“You asked the man about divorce.” Utter bewilderment darkened the viscountess’s face. “What does that have to do with whether he’s a fortune hunter?”
“We asked if he could ever foresee a situation in which he would seek a separation or divorce from Belle,” Robert clarified.
Their aunt stared at the two as if they’d just sprouted a third head between them. “Why in heaven’s name would you ask him that?”
“Not just him. We’ve asked all the gentlemen that,” Robert said. “A determinate test to judge their character.”
“But divorce is nearly impossible to obtain,” Lady Ainsley reminded them. “Especially if the wife protests, which I am certain Belle would do.”
Belle wasn’t so certain of that herself.
“But separation isn’t.” Quinton said quietly, his gaze returning to Belle, “Under the law, the estate would become his, and he’s no longer shackled to a wife he never wanted in the first place.”
“Not if it’s contracted in the dower,” Lady Ainsley reminded them. “And it will be. I’ll make certain of it.”
“Which was going to be the next question put to him,” Robert informed them.
“‘Would you sign a marriage settlement in which all of Miss Greene’s property remains hers to oversee and the profits held in trust for her alone?’” Quinton’s gaze never moved from her, and the warmth that his possessiveness had flared inside her was now downright blazing.
“But he didn’t make it that far.” Robert had the good sense to look sheepish beneath his aunt’s imposing stare.
“Obviously,” Lady Ainsley muttered.
“He did the same as all the other gentlemen when we put the question to him.” Quinton tore his gaze away from Belle to answer his aunt, and Belle palpably felt the loss of its heat. “Adamantly swore he’d never petition to divorce her, no matter what happened between them—”
“Became righteously indignant that we’d dare ask such a thing—”
Instead of finishing his brother’s sentence, Quinn hesitated. He looked at Robert before saying thoughtfully, “Except one.”
“One?” Belle asked, unable to keep the dejection from her voice. They’d spent the entire week interviewing potential husbands, and they’d only found one man they’d deemed suitable for her? The warmth inside her chest vanished, replaced by a cold misery. With no other solution in sight to save Glenarvon except marriage, Belle didn’t have much time left to find a good husband, and they’d wasted an entire week. “Who?”
“George Smalley.”
“George…” She choked on the name. A freehold farmer to the north of Braeburn, Mr. Smalley was a widower thrice over and over two decades Belle’s senior. Her hands drew into helpless fists at her sides as she demanded, “Why him?”
“He’s the only one so far who answered the question correctly. When we asked him if he would ever divorce you, he shrugged.”
“He shrugged?” Lady Ainsley’s shrill voice echoed through the entry hall in astonishment. “That was the correct answer—a shrug?”
Robert explained, “Or at least not to protest so vehemently what they would do in the unseen future. Any man who protests that much has certainly considered doing just that.”
Lady Ainsley stared hard at Quinton. “And is that the only reason you’ve been chasing away the men who have come to call on Annabelle?”
The question hung in the air for several silent heartbeats before Quinn answered, “Yes.”
The viscountess’s eyes narrowed, as if she suspected he’d just lied to her.
But Belle could have told her he hadn’t. He was doing exactly what his aunt had asked of him—to sort out the men who weren’t fit for her. Unfortunately, Quinn’s opinion of who would make her a proper husband set standards so impossibly high that few would ever be able to meet them.
“Stop asking those foolish questions, and stop chasing the gentlemen away,” Lady Ainsley scolded. “We have two weeks until Belle has to announce her intended, one week after that to have her married.” Despite her anger, her eyes glistened with tears at the prospect, and Belle’s heart broke to see it. “I am doing everything I can to help her. Can you two say the same?”
Quinn clenched his jaw, remaining silent. There was no good answer to that question, and all of them knew it.
Lady Ainsley turned on her heel and began to climb the stairs. “Annabelle, come. We have an engagement party to plan.” She shot an icy glare over her shoulder at her two nephews. “If we have anyone left to betroth you to.”
Instead of following, Annabelle remained. So did Quinn, although Robert wisely excused himself to return to the library.
“Divorce?” Belle bit out, adding frustration to the riot of emotions swirling inside her. “You thought asking about divorce was a good way to find suitors for me?”
“I’m protecting you, Belle.” His blue eyes were steely hard with resolve. “It’s a valid question.”
; “It’s a terrible thing to ask, and you know it. A question no man could answer properly.” She gestured her hand at him. “And what about you, Quinton? If someone put that absurd question to you, what would you—”
She froze in mid-sentence as an impossible idea struck her.
He frowned with sudden concern, reaching out to take her elbow to steady her. “Are you all right?”
“That’s it, that’s the answer,” she whispered, almost afraid to speak it aloud.
“What is?” he asked warily.
“Divorce.” Her heart had been so beaten and bruised in the past few weeks over the idea of marriage that she’d never thought to consider the exact opposite solution. “You’ll marry me and then divorce me. You said you wouldn’t leave a wife behind. This takes care of that.” For the first time in four years, the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders, and she felt as if she could breathe again. “The will stipulated that I had to marry in order to receive Glenarvon. It never said I couldn’t divorce and keep it.”
He shook his head. “We cannot.”
Desperation colored her voice, but she simply didn’t care. This was the answer she’d been hunting for weeks to find—years, in fact. “I know it’s not ideal. But it could be done if—”
“No.”
The force of that single word silenced her cold. She stared at him, her heart stopping as all the hope she’d felt only moments before ripped from her.
“Divorce takes an act of Parliament,” he bit out. “You know that. And it’s only granted on grounds of adultery.”
She stepped back from him as the familiar hopelessness returned, this time so fiercely that she pressed her fist against her chest to keep from shuddering.
“I don’t care,” she whispered. She was now despairing enough to consider going through hell in order to remain here in heaven.
“I do.” Heaving out a breath, he shook his head. “Damnation, Belle! What you’re asking of me…”
His broad shoulders slumped in frustration. For the first time, she realized with a piercing clarity that he was just as aggrieved by all this as she was. Especially if he meant what he’d said about wanting to protect her.
When the Scoundrel Sins Page 13