“Landsdowne? What’s he to do with it?” But even as she asked the question, she understood. “He doesn’t want his son engaging in trade, does he?”
“I would imagine that’s his motive. Brewing beer? Landsdowne would think that far beneath the son of a duke.”
Belinda felt sick, for she knew Nicholas must be devastated by this. “How is he? Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since I broke the news to him yesterday. He didn’t even come home last night.”
“Oh, God.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, truly worried.
“I’m sure he’s all right,” Denys hastened to assure her. “Nick always bounces back. He always finds a way to let his father’s schemes roll off his back like water off a duck. He’ll be all right.”
“Will he? Are you sure?”
“Well, he already told me he’s determined to carry on with this somehow though between us, Lady Featherstone, I don’t see how he’ll manage it. Unless he marries, of course. Find him a rich American girl, would you? One who won’t mind being hated by her father-in-law, smeared and reviled?” He gave a humorless laugh. “Good luck.”
No wonder Nicholas had spent his whole life rebelling against his father. She’d thought it was for revenge, but no. It was so that he wouldn’t have his dreams crushed. She thought of her words to him in the maze in a new, much more bitter light. They seemed so cruel.
But not as cruel as Landsdowne. Rage rose up within her, rage so great, it displaced her worry for the moment. It choked her, it smothered her, it made her for the first time in her life genuinely want to kill someone. Because that man, that odious, awful man, was grinding Nicholas’s dreams to dust. Again.
And that was how she knew.
She loved him. She loved him more than her good name, more than her profession, more than her money, more than her friends, more than anything in the world. She would give up everything, all she had, even her life, if it meant saving him a moment of pain, at his father’s hands or anyone else’s. She loved him that much.
“Lady Featherstone?”
She started at the sound of Somerton’s voice. “Sorry,” she said, pasting on the polite smile that came from years of hiding her true feelings. “I was woolgathering. Did you ask me a question?”
“Yes. I asked if you have any idea what Nicholas might do?”
“No.” She paused, her polite smile vanishing. “But I know exactly what I’m going to do.”
NICHOLAS SAT DOWN on one of the wrought-iron benches of Park Lane and stared at the immense mansion across the street. Night had fallen, and the gaslights inside the house had been lit, illuminating the luxurious interiors for all the world to see. Outside, the streetlights along Park Lane lit the house’s equally luxurious exterior of marble columns, white limestone, and large, perfectly manicured lawns. The fountain in front, a statue of Zeus carved from Siena marble, must have cost thousands of pounds all by itself. Its water glistened and sparkled in the light of more gaslights, strategically placed to show it off even at night.
He’d played in that fountain once as a boy, he remembered. After he’d been caught, he hadn’t been allowed at Landsdowne House for over a year.
He leaned back, exhausted. He hadn’t slept last night. Wanting to be completely alone, he’d gone to a hotel and obtained a room, but he hadn’t slept. He’d lain in the dark, staring at the ceiling, striving to think of connections, men who might have money to invest—schoolfellows from Eton and Oxford, their fathers, their friends.
This morning, he’d taken the prospectus they’d drawn up for Conyers to other men he thought might be open to the investment, but though some had expressed an interest, all had asked him if Landsdowne had approved of his venture into commerce. And when given a negative answer, one and all had refused to participate.
By the end of the day, the sick knot in his guts told him he was fooling himself. Even if he found someone who was willing to have a go without Landsdowne’s goodwill, he knew what happened to Conyers would happen again. There was no one Landsdowne couldn’t bribe, or smear, or blackmail into pulling out.
I can make it right.
The old man’s words came back as if to mock him because here he was, trying to work up the courage to go in there and do what he vowed he’d never do again in his life. He was here to ask for something.
It would probably be futile, but he couldn’t lose Belinda without a fight. He was here to ask, to plead—to beg if he had to—for his father to accept Belinda as his choice of wife and to reinstate his trust fund. Without that, he had no income to support Belinda, and he would never ask her to bring her money to their marriage. That would make him the very sort of fortune hunter she despised, and he couldn’t sink to that level in her eyes, not again. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.
So here he was, in front of Landsdowne House, readying himself to do what he had to do. He tried to think of what might persuade his father to agree.
Belinda did meet a few of Landsdowne’s criteria. She was a respected lady of British society, with a sterling reputation. She was Church of England, having converted upon her marriage to Featherstone. And she was wealthy, too, able to bring a dowry into the family. His father didn’t have to know he had no intention of allowing a penny of Belinda’s money into Landsdowne coffers. Her background and her nationality were the biggest stumbling blocks. He just couldn’t see Landsdowne allowing an American to be the future duchess. Most of British society had accepted her long ago; indeed, most didn’t care that she’d once been a New Money nobody from Ohio. But Nicholas knew his father would never forget a thing like that, and he’d be only slightly less appalled by the prospect of an American daughter-in-law than he’d been about an Irish one.
If that wasn’t enough to make Nicholas’s chances utterly dismal, there was also the fact that he had no idea if Belinda would ever agree to marry him. In all the passionate cries he’d wrung from her the previous afternoon in the hops field, a declaration of love had not been one of them.
Still, he had to try. Nicholas stood up, took a deep breath, and started across the street, trying to prepare himself for the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life.
Wilton was still the butler at Landsdowne House, and as unflappable and proper a butler as any duke could want, but upon the sight of Nicholas, even Wilton gave way to a slight display of surprise. He raised one bushy gray eyebrow. His mouth opened, then closed. He cleared his throat. “Lord Trubridge,” he said at last, giving a bow.
“Wilton. How are you?”
“Very well, my lord, thank you.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Is the duke at home?”
“I—I’m not certain, my lord.”
“Find out, would you? I wish to see him.”
“Very good, my lord.” Wilton bowed and left him in the foyer.
He glanced around as he waited. Nothing had changed. No awful artworks here. Most of those had been consigned to Honeywood. Like Landsdowne Park in Sussex, Landsdowne House was to his father’s tastes, through and through. Polished white marble, classical sculpture, walls and woodwork of white-on-white. A cold house. It had always been a cold house. He shivered.
Wilton’s footsteps on the limestone steps of the wide, sweeping staircase sounded behind him, and he turned. “Well?” he asked. “Shall I be granted an audience?”
Wilton remained his usual dignified self. “If you will follow me, my lord.”
The butler took him to Landsdowne’s study, another room that hadn’t changed since he was a boy. Like the foyer below, it was white-on-white, accented by black ebony bookcases containing leather-bound volumes the old man had never opened and more classical sculptures. The fact that it looked exactly the same took Nicholas even more forcibly back to his childhood. He’d only ever been summoned to the study when he was in serious trouble. The choice of this room, he
supposed, was meant to instill fear, the same terrifying fears of his boyhood. But he wasn’t afraid. Desperate, yes, but not afraid.
Still, best if Landsdowne didn’t sense his desperation, for that would be like the scent of meat to a hungry dog. Instead, he strove to paste on his mask of blithe indifference as he stepped into the study. It was harder than it used to be.
“The Marquess of Trubridge,” Wilton announced and stepped aside for Nicholas to enter the ducal presence.
Nicholas came in, doffing his hat, and as he came toward the desk, Landsdowne didn’t even bother to stand up. Odd, that, for it wasn’t at all like the duke to allow good manners to lapse, no matter the circumstances.
“Duke,” Nicholas greeted him, halting before the desk and offering a bow, and when he straightened, he found his father scowling at him.
Another surprise. After winning Conyers’s capitulation, the old man ought to be smirking with satisfaction, not glaring at him as if he wanted to wring his neck.
“Why are you here?” Landsdowne demanded, his bitter mouth curving into a sneer. “Come to gloat, have you?”
Nicholas blinked, and despite all the evidence to the contrary, he wondered if he had somehow wandered into the wrong house. “Sorry?” he murmured. “I’m not quite sure I un—”
“Don’t play games with me, boy. I already know all about your plans, and I refuse to sanction them. I already said as much to that American chit when she came here.”
American chit? Nicholas felt a jolt of hope, and joy, and incredulity, a jolt so powerful, it made him dizzy. But long practice dealing with his father enabled him to reveal nothing of what he felt in his expression. “To whom are you referring?”
“As if you don’t know.”
There was no sensible reply to that. So, wisely, he made none.
His silence goaded Landsdowne more than any words would have done. “Impudent woman. Coming here and telling me the two of you are engaged to be married. Not asking me for my permission, nor even my blessing upon your union! Oh, no. Telling me about it, and how I shall have to accept it, acting as if she’s some sort of queen issuing royal edicts, and I’m the nobody from nowhere. God,” he choked, “I never dreamed Lady Featherstone to have such bad manners, even for an American.”
Nicholas laughed, laughed out loud. He couldn’t help it, for the hope and joy inside him could not be suppressed. It surged up like a rising flood.
Oh, Belinda, he thought. My darling. My love.
The sound of his laughter enraged Landsdowne further, and the duke slammed his fist on his desk. “I won’t have it, do you hear?” he roared, more out of control than Nicholas had ever seen him. “That woman will never be the Duchess of Landsdowne. Never.”
Nicholas laughed again. “As Belinda already told you, we’re not asking your permission. We shall be married, and there is nothing you can do about it.”
“I’ll ruin her. I’ll smear her name in every gutter rag from here down to Land’s End and up to John O’Groats before you’ve even reached the altar.”
His joy stopped, smothered by rage. “You do, and by God, I will kill you. You take one move in that direction, Landsdowne, and I will take you by the throat and squeeze the life out of you.”
Landsdowne was many things, but he was not a physical coward. “Do it, then,” he challenged. “Go ahead.” When Nicholas didn’t move, it was his turn to laugh.
“There, now,” his father said, and now, the smirk came out. “That’s put you in your place, hasn’t it, my boy?”
Tempting as it was, patricide was not an option. Nicholas swallowed, forcing down his rage, thinking fast. “I suppose you already informed Belinda you would besmirch her reputation if she consented to marry me?”
“I did.”
“And?” He caught something—an annoyance, an uneasiness—something that caused the smirk on Landsdowne’s face to falter just a bit. “And,” Nicholas prompted again, “when you told her your intentions, what did she say?”
“There’s no reasoning with her any more than there is with you.”
All his joy and relief came rushing back, and he grinned. “Told you to go to the devil, did she? God, I love that woman!”
“You won’t get a penny of your trust if you marry her. You’ll get nothing from me at all. Nothing.”
“I’m not asking for anything from you, Father.” No need for Landsdowne to know he’d come to do exactly that. He didn’t know how he’d support them, but perhaps she had a plan. He hoped so, because the bridges were burning. “I know you want everyone in your power, Father, and everyone at your mercy, but it’s just not possible. Belinda and I shall be married, whether you like it or not, so unless you want to shred the reputation of the future Duchess of Landsdowne to no purpose, I suggest you accept the situation gracefully. The last move in this game’s been made, and you’ve lost. Checkmate, Father.”
With that, he turned his back, leaving the old man spluttering with impotent rage.
“Well done, Belinda,” he muttered under his breath as he walked out the door. “Well done.”
AFTER LEAVING LILYFIELD’S, Belinda had first gone to her attorneys in the Marylebone Road. There, she had requested that certain documents be drawn up at once, then she’d gone on to Landsdowne House in Park Lane. Her meeting with the duke having gone exactly as she’d anticipated, she’d returned to her attorneys, picked up the documents, and gone to South Audley Street, but to her dismay, Nicholas had not been there, nor had anyone even seen him.
By the time she reached home, Belinda was terribly worried, and she sent her footman, Samuel, in search of Nicholas. “Go to White’s first,” she instructed. “If you still can’t find him, go to the other clubs and inquire if anyone’s seen him. If you still can’t locate him, return to South Audley Street and inquire if they’ve received word. And when you find him, tell him to come to me. I need to see him at once.”
She wanted to tell him what she’d done before he did something desperate, like go to a moneylender. She wouldn’t blame him for it if he did, for Landsdowne was a horrible, vicious man who was capable of anything. Her meeting with the duke had told her everything she needed to know about him, and she hoped she never had the misfortune to encounter him again.
Thankfully, she’d been angry, too angry to feel any shyness or trepidation about confronting him. Even the fact that he’d made her wait twenty minutes before agreeing to see her hadn’t cooled her fury one bit. From her conversations with Nicholas, she’d had a good idea of what to expect, and things had gone just as she’d anticipated.
She’d laughed at his bribery attempt and informed him she had money enough, thank you. His threat to ruin her she’d treated with scorn as well as ridicule. Not because she didn’t think he’d do it. He probably would, and he might succeed, but what he’d failed to grasp was that she didn’t care.
He’d finally burst out at her in a rage to leave his house and never darken his door again, and she’d happily gone. Everything she’d planned was in place if only she could locate Nicholas.
She paced her drawing room. She refused dinner. And when nine o’clock came and went with no word, she actually poured herself a drink. She swallowed the brandy in two shuddering gulps.
She was about ready to head out into Mayfair and search for him herself when the doorbell rang. She raced for the stairs, and upon looking down to the foyer, she almost sank to her knees with relief, for Nicholas was standing there with Jervis.
She ducked back into the drawing room before he could look up and see her. She pulled out the documents from her attorneys and set them on the tea table, smoothed her hair, and sat down to wait as she heard Jervis bringing him up the stairs.
She knew what she was going to say, she had a little speech all prepared, but the moment he walked in, she forgot every word. She was so happy to see him, and so relieved, she came running with a so
b and hurled herself into his arms.
“My darling,” he muttered, pressing kisses to her hair, his voice so fierce it made her heart sing. “My beautiful darling.”
“I was so worried about you. I heard what happened.”
“Yes, I know.” He pulled back, grasping her by the arms. “What have you done?” he demanded, half-laughing as he looked at her. “You went to see Landsdowne? I don’t know whether to kiss you or shake you.”
She stared at him, astonished. “You know?”
He nodded, cupping her face. “Are you mad? Why did you do it?” He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. “Why?”
She didn’t answer that. “I did you an injustice,” she said instead. “That night in the maze when I lashed out at you about your father, I had no idea what he was really like.”
“And after meeting with him, after being offered a bribe and having him threaten your reputation, what’s your opinion of him now?”
“How do you know what took place? In fact, how do you know I was there at all?”
“Because I just came from there.”
“What? You went to see Landsdowne? Why?”
He smiled a little, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Can’t you guess?”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t, because after meeting with him myself, I completely understand why you spent eight years in Paris, doing everything you possibly could to annoy and aggravate him.”
Nicholas laughed. “My loyal darling.”
“What an odious man. I had no idea. Really, if he’d been my father, I think I’d have had to shoot him.”
“The idea of strangling him did occur to me,” he admitted ruefully. “After he told me he intended to ruin you if you married me, I almost went for his throat.”
“But why were you there at all?”
“To ask him for help.”
“What?” She stared at him in dismay. “Oh, Nicholas, no. You didn’t.”
“That was my intention, but it didn’t happen. The moment I walked through the door, he started flaying me about you. I found out you’d been there, and thrown his bribes in his face, and told him to go to hell.” He kissed her. “And I know that I love you even more than I did before, even though I didn’t dream that was possible. And he demanded I give you up. I refused, of course. By the way, I understand I am now engaged to be married?”
American Heiress [1]When The Marquess Met His Match Page 28