CAD'S WISH

by Cheryl Holt

  “I’ll propose.”

  Nate scowled. “Should I meet her first? You’re prone to making rash decisions that turn into catastrophes. Maybe I should take a peek at her and save you from calamity.”

  “You are a bigger wastrel than I am. You are hardly the person to give me advice on my choice of bride.”

  “I can’t permit you to shackle yourself to a harpy.”

  “She doesn’t have vicious tendencies, but even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. I’ll stash her in the country at Marston Manor, and I’ll visit once in awhile to get my nursery started. I really don’t expect to spend much time with her.”

  Nate laughed. “And you think I am the one who’s clueless about matrimony.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that wives have a devious way of controlling a fellow. You might suppose you can tuck her away out of sight, but she might not obey you. What would you do then?”

  “I’d…I’d…”

  Hunter cut off. He had no idea what he’d do.

  His world was an array of gambling and iniquity, where he socialized with dissolute male companions. The females with whom he dabbled were doxies and it was for carnal purposes. He rarely interacted with respectable young ladies and usually mocked their fussy habits and prim attitudes.

  The trollops of his acquaintance were kept women, so they had men to pay their rent and other expenses. They’d fallen out of a more reputable existence because they shared his low morals and his same skewed passion for debauched living.

  Miss Graves was smart, stubborn, and precisely the sort who would refuse to listen. For the most part, he was carefree and easy-going. He never quarreled or bickered, and he couldn’t imagine jumping into a nuptial morass filled with animosity and loathing. It was the type that had swamped his father. Twice.

  As those musings swirled in his head, he was suddenly questioning his plan to proceed with Miss Graves. But as rapidly as his qualms surfaced, he shoved them away. He was vain and competitive, and he’d told his father that he’d marry her. He wouldn’t admit defeat.

  She would be swept along in the wake of what he’d arranged. He simply couldn’t envision any other ending.

  “I’m traveling to Parkhurst on Friday,” he said. “Would you like to come with me?”

  “Well, I certainly can, but what if I don’t like her?”

  “You’ll like her. She’s actually quite fascinating.”

  “Fascinating!” Nate scoffed. “Next I know, you’ll be telling me she has a nice personality.”

  “She’s very different. She’s sassy and intelligent, and she’s figured out what she wants out of life. She’s reached out to grab it for herself.”

  “To me, that sounds awfully close to being a termagant who will argue constantly and insist on having her own way.”

  “She’s a mature adult, rather than a vapid debutante, so I’ll be able to carry on a conversation with her.”

  Nate’s tone was very snide. “Yes, that’s what you’ve always sought from your female companions: pithy conversation.”

  “I might be wed to her for decades, so it seems like a good attribute to me.”

  “But is she beautiful? Isn’t that your primary requirement in a bride?”

  Hunter thought about Miss Graves. With her chestnut hair and big green eyes, she was completely unique. On the two occasions he’d talked to her, all that glorious hair had been barely restrained by numerous combs, but he could vividly picture himself pulling them out, watching as those lush curls tumbled down her back.

  “She’s not beautiful,” he said. “She’s pretty; she has dimples.”

  He was stunned to have mentioned such a ridiculous feature, and Nate snickered derisively. “Pretty—with dimples! You’ve definitely picked a winner.”

  “She’s quirky too.”

  “Quirky!” Nate was aghast. “In all my days, I’ve never heard a fiancée described as quirky. If that’s the best you can say about her, are you sure you’ve sufficiently reflected on this?”

  “No, I’m not sure, but I’ll do it anyway. For my father. Because he asked it of me.”

  “Neville is a scapegrace and fiend. Since when are you so eager to oblige him?”

  Hunter was tired of debating the issue.

  He had plenty of doubts, but he was an optimist who truly believed he could bend the universe to his will. He would charm Miss Graves, then mold her into the perfect spouse. He wouldn’t contemplate any other conclusion.

  “I’m weary of discussing my betrothal,” he said. “You can’t dissuade me, so will you come to the country with me or not?”

  “Oh, I’ll come. You’re about to engage yourself, and I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Then can we get on with the first interview? I need to wrap up this search and choose someone. I can’t continue to dither.”

  “You know,” Nate said, “your bride might not like you to have a mistress.”

  “Who would tell her about it? You? Me? I will have a life that’s separate from hers. I promised my father I’d marry and begin filling my nursery, but I never promised I’d change myself into a person I’m not.”

  “A wife can work strange magic on a husband. She might alter you so significantly that you’ll be unrecognizable.”

  “She won’t,” Hunter firmly stated. “Are the candidates ready? Can we start?”

  “Yes, they’re ready, and I think you’ll be delighted with who I’ve found.”

  ****

  Isabella Darling listened as the front door opened down in the foyer, then she hurried away from the window and eased onto a chair. She smoothed her expression, so she’d seem calm and bored. It was the attitude Hunter liked her to exhibit, and it was her job to give him what he wanted.

  She resided in the comfortable house he owned and offered to his mistresses, but she considered it to be her house. He had a key, so he was free to come and go, but she lived on a jagged edge, exhaustively wondering when and if he was about to arrive. She had to greet him enthusiastically, then provide him with whatever attention was necessary.

  She wasn’t complaining though. She cherished the spot she occupied, and she was adept a supplying the carnal pleasures he relished. She simply wished he would notice how vital she was to his happiness and that he’d reward her accordingly by having her stay on rather than parting from her.

  Why set her aside? They were so compatible that it made no sense.

  For the past three hours, she’d been pacing and waiting for him. He’d claimed he’d appear by eleven, but as was his usual habit, he was late, so it was after one o’clock. She wasn’t supposed to have an opinion about his tardiness, but she couldn’t help but be extremely aggravated.

  She was cognizant of the task that had kept him busy that evening. He’d been dallying with candidates who hoped to replace her, and she was furious that he was proceeding. When she’d initially decided to be his paramour, she’d accepted the twelve-month limit he’d imposed, then he’d hand over a gift of money and jewels and send her away.

  She’d even signed a binding contract to that effect, and it spelled out the terms of what he’d furnish and what she’d receive.

  Before she’d entered into the salacious relationship, she’d conferred with two of his prior mistresses, and they’d urged her to agree. They’d insisted he was kind and generous and would deliver a thrilling year of excitement and surprises.

  They’d been correct. She’d had a splendid year, but it was ending in six short weeks, and she couldn’t bear to be tossed over, especially with his father having become an earl.

  Hunter wandered in the most elevated of circles, so she was accustomed to wandering there too, and she should be allowed to remain there with him. Not as his mistress. But as his wife. Why couldn’t it happen?

  They shared the same dissolute tastes, and she fit into his decadent world as no frivolous debutante ever could. She’d even be willing to look the other way as he philandered with slatterns. She was that m
odern and open-minded.

  He bounded up the stairs to her boudoir. Night air wafted in with him, carrying a cloud of smells that were irksome: liquor and cheap perfume. She ignored them and pushed herself to her feet, moving casually, as if she hadn’t been on pins and needles for an eternity.

  “Hello, darling,” she said. “I’d about given up on you.”

  “I wasn’t certain you’d still be awake, but I thought I’d take a chance.”

  He was a negligent scapegrace, so he often tendered promises as to where he’d be or when he’d return, then he promptly broke them. She was used to it, but as the last minutes of their connection ticked by, his antics were irritating her more and more.

  She strolled over, guaranteeing he had a full and naughty view of her voluptuous anatomy. She was more beautiful than any of his previous lovers, and she liked him to remember that she was.

  She was wearing new lingerie that barely covered anything that ought to be covered, and as she ambled toward him, he was definitely intrigued. She rose on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth. With her standing so close, the smell of perfume was even more obvious, but she was a professional, and her smile was solidly affixed.

  “Shall I pour you a whiskey?” she asked. “Or have you already had too much?”

  “You’re aware of my opinion. A man can never have too much whiskey.”

  She sauntered to the table in the corner where she kept a liquor tray. She dawdled, letting his hot gaze roam over her backside. When she spun to face him again, he’d sat on a chair and was loosening his cravat.

  She went over and finished the chore for him, and she flitted about, fussing over him and making him more comfortable.

  “Is that new lingerie?” he asked. “I don’t believe I’ve seen it before.”

  She was delighted that he’d noticed. “Yes, I just bought it. Do you approve?”

  “Very much.”

  She plopped onto the chair next to him and nonchalantly inquired, “How were the interviews? Did anyone tickle your fancy?”

  “I talked to three girls, but I wasn’t impressed. I guess I wasn’t in the mood. I’m focused on other matters.”

  She swallowed down a sigh of relief. His blowhard friend, Nate Carew, was arranging the interviews, and she’d been slyly trying to discover who he’d invited to audition for the post, but she hadn’t had any success. If she could find out who some of the applicants were, she’d run them off, but Nate was being unusually tight-lipped.

  “What’s occupying you so intently?” she asked.

  “I shouldn’t say.”

  “No, no, tell me.”

  “It will simply upset you, and I’d rather not.”

  “You could never upset me. How often must I declare it?”

  “It’s bad enough to discuss your replacement. I always feel guilty afterward.”

  “I know what’s coming, and I’m being a trouper about it. I’m not a starry-eyed adolescent, and you shouldn’t ever feel guilty.”

  He smirked skeptically, then spoke the most frightening words ever. “I’ve decided to wed after all.”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “To the debutante your father found for you?”

  “She’s not a debutante, but yes. I met her, quite by accident, and I like her. My father may have done me a good turn for a change.”

  “But marriage, Hunter! You’re a confirmed bachelor. Are you sure about this?”

  He shrugged. “I’m thirty this year, and with my elevation, I can’t put it off.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. You are not an enigma to me. You can’t abide that I’ll wed, but we’ve been through this. You were never destined to stay with me.”

  “I don’t have to be reminded.”

  “It doesn’t seem to me that you’ve accepted the conclusion that’s about to arrive. I hope you won’t be a nuisance about it.”

  “Gad, no! How could you imagine I would?”

  He sipped his drink and studied her over the rim of the glass. Then he said, “I’m traveling to the country in a few days. To propose to her.”

  “Oh.”

  “Once I’m back, we’ll have to begin finalizing our separation.”

  “I have six more weeks, don’t I? I’m not in any hurry to leave. Unless you want it to be earlier than that?”

  It was a dangerous question. What if he replied with, Yes, actually, I’d like you to go tomorrow? Yet he wasn’t impulsive or cruel.

  “It’s not so much what I want or don’t want,” he said. “I’m not keen to stagger to the end of our contract, only to have you weeping on my shoulder and begging for an extension. We’ve always been fond, and I would hate for us to wreck our relationship just as it’s winding down.”

  “With you marrying,” she dared to point out, “should you proceed with picking a new mistress?”

  “I probably will. I would never let a woman rule my life. Just because I have a wife, I won’t carry on any differently.”

  “Yes, but your bride might learn of it, and she wouldn’t be happy. Brides have expectations, and they can be a pain in the rear. Maybe you and I should keep on as we have been. It would be less conspicuous than bringing in someone else.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Relief shot through her. He hadn’t immediately discounted her suggestion. It meant she had an opportunity to water the notion and watch it blossom.

  “You’re distracted by such weighty issues,” she said, “and it’s making you irritable.”

  “Am I irritable? I apologize. I hadn’t realized it.”

  “You ought to relax.” She grinned wickedly. “I can help you with that problem.”

  He raised a brow. “Can you?”

  “I know what you need, Hunter. I always have.”

  She stood and yanked off her robe, then she pulled him to his feet and led him to the bed. He followed after her like a puppet on a string.

  ****

  Hannah was walking down the lane toward Parkhurst Manor. Jackson was with her. He had a satchel flung over his shoulder, and she was lugging a heavy portmanteau that banged on her thigh with every step she took. She’d likely have bruises in the morning.

  They’d ridden to the country on the mail coach and had been delivered to the coaching inn in the village. They could have hired a carriage to convey them from London, but she constantly counted her pennies.

  She was half-owner of the estate, with her father having bizarrely bequeathed it in equal shares to her and her half-sister, Rebecca, so she should have been richer than she was. She should have had money to burn, but Amelia and Winston ran it for her, and they’d destroyed the farm and any income it might have generated.

  She could have demanded their exit and run the place herself, but the finances were in such disarray that she didn’t feel competent to fix what they’d ruined.

  Amelia had repeatedly complained to Hannah’s father that she loathed Parkhurst, so in his Last Will, he’d left her a monetary bequest rather than the property. The estate had gone to his two daughters instead, but it had created a quagmire Sir Edmund couldn’t have envisioned. Or perhaps he’d envisioned it, but hadn’t cared about the quarrels that would erupt after he was deceased.

  Winston was a spendthrift, so he’d quickly squandered Amelia’s inheritance. Hannah’s attorney, Mr. Thumberton, had warned her to get rid of the wily couple, but how?

  Her only recourse was to expel them, but despite how often she considered it, she hadn’t forged ahead. Amelia—for all her foibles and faults—had been Sir Edmund’s wife. She’d been Hannah’s stepmother for eighteen years, and she was Rebecca’s mother.

  Could Hannah kick her out? So far, the reply to that question had been a resounding no. Amelia and Winston, because of their hasty nuptials after Sir Edmund’s death, were reviled everywhere. They had no funds of their own, so if Hannah insisted they leave, they had nowhere to go.

  An added wrinkle was that Rebecca owned Parkhurst
too. Hannah could command Amelia and Winston’s departure, but Rebecca could reverse any order. Rebecca would never agree to evict her mother, and how could Hannah ask her to do that?

  The entire situation was infuriating, and she wished Sir Edmund was still alive so she could scold him for being such an idiot. Hannah had no energy for the fight that would ensue if she tried to be shed of Amelia and Winston, so she hadn’t acted, being content to let her problems escalate.

  When Rebecca was older, they would have to have a serious discussion about choices.

  She and Jackson were strolling through the orchards that led up to the manor, and she refused to glance at the trees that needed trimming, the fruit that hadn’t been picked. They provided blatant examples of Winston’s mismanagement.

  Previously, they’d had capable employees who could have prevented matters from descending into chaos, but everyone had quit who’d been the least bit proficient and trustworthy. Winston was so unlikable that employees with any talent or ability wouldn’t work for him.

  “Did you like growing up here?” Jackson asked.

  “I suppose. Prior to Amelia arriving, it was quiet and uneventful. After she staggered in, it went downhill very fast.”

  “She’s been at Parkhurst for…what? Eighteen years?”

  “Or there abouts.”

  “I won’t like her, will I?”

  He hadn’t met Amelia or Rebecca and had only heard Hannah’s tales of woe. She frowned. “I doubt you’ll like her, but I shouldn’t be so frank with you. It’s horrid of me to gossip about her so much. You should always form your own opinions.”

  “I can decide whether I like someone or not. Don’t you worry about that. You could never persuade me to believe a lie.”

  They reached the end of the trees, and the manor loomed up before them. It wasn’t the most extravagant mansion in England, but it was very fine all the same. It was three stories high, constructed from grey stone mined in a nearby quarry. The windows gleamed in the afternoon sun.

  Behind the house, the park stretched to the woods off in the distance. It was scenic and bucolic, but the serene beauty camouflaged the rancor in the residence.

  The driveway curved up to the ornate front doors, but the spot looked deserted. There were no employees busy with chores, no swathing of grass or tending of the horses over in the meadow. If no footman emerged as they approached, she wouldn’t be surprised.