by Lucy Monroe
“Really, Annabelle, you cannot make a public display of yourself in that way. Do not tell me that you risked your reputation to argue political reform.” The horror in her aunt’s tone made Annabelle want to laugh hysterically. She would much rather have been discussing political reform.
“I’m sure the content of our conversation would entirely meet with your approval.
He proposed.”
Lady Beauford’s eyes grew large in the light from the carriage’s inner lamp. “You cannot be serious.”
Annabelle sighed wearily. “Never more so.”
“But that is wonderful. Of course, I could wish that he had sought out your brother’s approval first.” Annabelle did not reply. “It is not technically necessary. You are of age and in control of your own fortune. You’ll want to get the solicitor working on marriage settlements.”
“I’m not going to marry him.”
“Of course you are. Now, what about your fortune? I don’t suppose you have told him about it? Money is such an indecorous thing to discuss. I’m sure we can leave the particulars up to your brother and his lordship.” Annabelle sat up straight on the cushions of the coach. “If I were going to marry him, which I am not, I would be perfectly capable of discussing the particulars of my fortune with Ian, I mean Lord Graenfrae.”
Lady Beauford made an impatient sound. “That Wollstonecraft woman has a lot to answer for, if you want my opinion. Although, the young fry never do want to listen to the wise counsel of their elders.”
Annabelle cringed. Not another lecture on the vagaries of youth. She certainly didn’t consider herself “young fry” as her aunt called it.
“Another thing, my dear, you may not be willing to marry that handsome gentleman, but I can think of several ladies who would be. I asked Lady Markham about him when he first sought your acquaintance. He has land, a title and stands to inherit a fortune from his late stepfather when he marries.”
Annabelle digested her aunt’s words. “What do you mean he will inherit a fortune when he marries?”
She sat in stunned silence as Lady Beauford related the details of the late earl’s will.
Apparently, she fulfilled another one of Ian’s “requirements”. She was English. His proposal made an awful kind of sense now. Ian had no choice but to wed. Being a logical man, he had gone about choosing a wife the same way he would have chosen a horse.
Drat the man. He had misjudged his quarry though. Marriage for the sake of convenience had no place in her plans.
“Where did you hear this, Aunt Griselda?”
“Cederic. The dear boy was most forthcoming.” Annabelle could well imagine. Ceddy’s love of tittle-tattle was legendary. “I can certainly understand the laird’s need to marry. However, he will have to find a different bride.”
Lady Beauford snorted. “I should have known you wouldn’t show any sense about this.”
Annabelle looked at her aunt with speculation. Could it be true that a bevy of ladies would leap at the chance to marry that crude man? Well, actually she herself could think of almost an entire dozen.
Smiling for the first time in hours, she said, “Perfect.”
“Yes, he is. I’m glad you are finally showing some sense.” Annabelle ignored her aunt’s words. When Ian came to call, she would have her own list comprised of possible candidates for him to marry.
* * *
William walked into the solicitor’s office feeling like he entered purgatory. Didn’t the old fusspot realize that he had better things to do than listen to another lecture on those foolish tradesmen trying to collect their debts? William was a landholder, an important man. He smoothed his graying hair against his temples and tugged at his waistcoat. Who was going to pay a tailor that made one’s clothes too tight anyway?
Marks, his solicitor, waved him to a chair. The man looked like an undertaker. What was a gentleman to do with an undertaker for a man of business? “It’s not a funeral, man, don’t look so mournful.”
His attempt at humor fell flat. The solicitor sniffed with disapproval. Marks never could take a joke. Hang him anyway.
“It may not be a matter of death, but it is certainly a matter of import. You are once again extended well beyond your means.”
William shifted impatiently, the constriction of his tight waistcoat making him uncomfortable. “We’ve been through this before. I can’t be expected to concern myself with petty things like tradesmen’s bills. What do you think I pay you for?” Marks cleared his throat. “I cannot pay your bills when there are no funds in your accounts. I am afraid that things have come to a dangerous pass.” It was just a matter of a few tailors’ bills after all. “What’s dangerous about a few outstanding accounts?”
“There are many more than a few and your tradesmen are threatening to sue. You do realize what that means, don’t you?”
William glared at Marks. “Of course I know what that means. I would be humiliated in front of all the polite world.”
Marks gave a humorless chuckle. “That would be the least of your troubles. If the court finds in their favor, and I cannot see them doing otherwise, you would be facing debtor’s prison until your debts could be satisfied.”
Debtor’s prison? Marks must be mad. William could not be thrown in prison. He was too important.
“I’m afraid the time has come for drastic measures.”
“What measures? You told me there was nothing else I could sell. Are you saying you have found a way to bypass my father’s will and sell a parcel of land?” William demanded.
The other man sifted through the papers on his desk. “No. The land is held in perpetuity for the heir. I was thinking about your horses.” William leapt from his chair. “There is a hunt in Sussex in six weeks time. You cannot expect me to sell my prime horseflesh with something so important in the offing.
It’s impossible.”
“Perhaps, if you had paid more of your tradesmen’s debts and less gaming debts—” He didn’t let Marks finish. “A gentleman pays his gaming debts. There must be an alternative to selling my hunters.”
Marks passed a hand across his eyes. “You could always marry an heiress.” William stared at the solicitor. Marry again? It had been a relief when he had finally been rid of his first wife. She had nagged him constantly about his gaming and horses.
The silly woman had not understood what was important. Just the thought of getting leg-shackled again made him shudder.
“I suppose I can retire to my estate briefly like you have suggested time and again.” Come to think of it, Marks was a great deal like his dead wife. They both nagged a man.
“I’m afraid it’s past time where that might help. If we act quickly, before the ton learns of your financial ills, we can still get a top price for your horses.” Sell his horses? It was not to be born. William turned and walked toward the door of the office. There must be another way. “I’ll contact you later.” He stumbled out the door and almost bumped into Marks’ clerk.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your discussion, governor.” Something in the clerk’s voice made him glance up. There was an unmistakable look of avarice on the other man’s face. The door had appeared closed, but William did not quibble. He recognized opportunity when it came knocking.
“Oh?”
“Aye. Spinks is me name. Perhaps you and me could take a little walk.”
William drew himself up and spoke with a haughtiness he knew impressed the lower classes. “Why would I do that?”
“You’re looking for an heiress, I heard.”
His interest was pricked, but it didn’t do well to appear too eager. He had learned that buying and selling horseflesh. “I might be.”
“Come now. You’re in dun territory and you need a fat goose to get you out.” Flicking a nonexistent piece of lint from his sleeve, William looked down at the clerk. “I assume this conversation has a purpose?”
“Aye, it has a purpose all right. I like me position, see? I see lots of interesting t
hings. For instance, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I found a certain statement of a lady’s groat sticking out of a file.” More likely the man had done a search when Marks was not in the office. “Whose assets might those be?”
“Well, now, governor, I wouldn’t want to be too free with my client’s information, see?”
He did see, very well. “How much?”
“Now, that’s what I like about you toffs. In dun territory, and you still got the blunt to buy an interesting bit of information.”
“How much?”
The clerk named a sum that made William swallow. “How do I know it’s worth it?” When the clerk listed the lady in question’s assets, William’s eyes bulged.
Several hours later Spinks took William’s money. It hadn’t been easy to raise the funds, but William had done it. Gad, it had been worth it too. His golden goose was a bluestocking spinster who hadn’t had a real suitor in three seasons. She would be easy prey. The courting wouldn’t come too expensive either. He had no competition, not for Lady Annabelle.
Chapter Three
Ian felt a deep sense of anticipation as he drove his curricle toward Lady Beauford’s townhouse. Why had he waited to call until now? He had liked Annabelle from the moment Finchley introduced them. Her quick wit and strong intellect intrigued him. He should have called sooner. The lass clearly expected more courting before she would agree to marry him.
He could tell she was attracted to him. When they danced, her body reacted to his—
even when she was angry. She enjoyed their discussions as much as he did. So, why had she been so affronted at his proposal? Surely a woman of her intellectual leaning was not expecting moonlight and roses.
Love. She said she wanted love. He could more easily give her moonlight and roses.
He wondered if she liked the blooms he had sent over earlier that morning. He would give her the trappings of courtship, but he could not give her love.
Drawing up in front of Lady Beauford’s townhouse, he handed the reins to his tiger.
He waited in the doorway of the drawing room for the butler to announce him. Lady Beauford and Finchley conversed on a sofa that looked too delicate to hold them.
Annabelle stood near tall windows. The sun filtered through and outlined her body against the bright yellow muslin of her gown. Ian’s body tightened painfully at the sight.
The thin fabric clung to her small, high breasts and fell gracefully over her hips. He pictured those hips writhing below his and wondered at this unbridled passion. The more time he spent in her company, the stronger this inexplicable reaction to her became.
During their discussion the previous evening, it had taken all of his self-control not to pull her trim little body flush with his and kiss the glare right off her face.
She played with a single rose bud from the arrangement he had sent. She sniffed it as she read the card he had sent with his flowers. Her delicate brows drew together in a frown and he wondered what she had found to offend in his compliment.
The butler announced, “The Earl of Graenfrae.”
Annabelle whirled to face him. The bud she had been holding slipped from her hand.
He moved forward to pick it up from the brightly colored carpet. He handed it back to her. “Good morning, lass.”
She gave him a piercing frown. “Your presumption will not convince me of your suit.”
“’Tis no insolent to compliment a lady.”
She came toward him until her nose nearly met his cravat. Giving a significant look to the other occupants of the drawing room, she spoke in a low tone. “It’s not your empty words of praise that I find fault with. It’s the way in which you chose to sign the card. I am not your future wife.”
The intensity of her denial filled him with unanticipated anger. She belonged with him. Why could she not she see it? His course was mapped. She wanted to be courted. He would court her. More importantly, he would marry her. After which he would receive the money necessary to improve Graenfrae. The stubborn look of determination on Annabelle’s face gave him slight pause. She definitely needed more persuasion.
“My lord, how nice to see you again. Won’t you come and sit down?” Lady Beauford asked from across the room.
Ian turned toward her and bowed, but declined her invitation to sit. “Your servant, Lady Beauford.” He nodded to his friend. “Finchley.”
“I say,” Finchley quizzed him, “I did not know you intended to call. You could have ridden in my carriage.”
Riding with his friend would have included following the other man on his morning calls, something Ian had no desire to do. “I’m hoping to take Lady Annabelle on a wee drive.”
Finchley nodded in understanding.
Annabelle let out a small gasp. Turning back toward her, Ian saw that she had pricked her finger on a thorn. He withdrew his handkerchief and gently tugged at her arm. She resisted. He tugged harder until he could see the drop of blood on the end of her forefinger. He wrapped it in the square of white linen.
“Really this is not necessary.” Her chest rose and fell in agitation and her hand trembled in his. “It’s just a prick.”
He refused to release her hand, welcoming any excuse to touch her. “I dinna want you to spoil your lovely frock.”
She pulled her hand from his grasp. “Do not think to turn me up sweet with empty flattery, my lord.”
She looked like a daffodil, but she pricked him like the rose she held. “I’m sorry the flowers caused you injury. In future I will make sure they have no thorns.” She broke her gaze from his and looked at the pink rosebuds. “They are beautiful. A prick does not signify.”
Aye, not in a spirited lady either. “So you like them?” She turned and placed the bud back among the other blossoms. “The roses are more palatable than their sender.”
He nodded gravely. “I shall send them often then.”
“It will do you no good.”
He smiled at the challenge. “We’ll see.”
She walked past him, a swirl of yellow muslin. “Yes, we will.” He reached out and stayed her with a hand on her arm. “Will you go driving with me?”
She didn’t answer at first. She began to pace back and forth in front of him. Her brisk movements caused soft brown curls to escape their pins. Short breaths forced her bosom to strain against her bodice. The tightness in his lower body intensified. Soon, it would be obvious to those around him. He shifted to ease the tightness of his buff pantaloons.
“Enough of this farce, Laird MacKay.” She stopped moving and offered him a piece of paper with several names written on it. “I have taken the liberty of preparing a list of possible candidates for you.”
He ignored the paper. “Candidates?”
“Yes, ladies that would make you a respectable wife.” She looked at him quizzically, as if waiting for his response.
He made no move to take the paper from her. She sighed. “After speaking to my aunt last evening, I understand your need to marry quickly. I believe the ladies on this list would suit your needs better than I.”
He stalled for time to consider the best way to handle her tactics. “How did you determine their suitability?”
“They are all ladies of good family who have shown marked desire to marry and do not have a number of admirers with which you will have to compete. Some are even marginally pretty and a few have substantial dowries.” Finchley sat with his mouth agape. He turned to Lady Beauford. “I cannot credit this conversation.”
“Neither can I. The girl is daft. This is her fifth season and she’s turning down the only man to have offered for her in the last three,” replied the older woman.
Ian couldn’t help smiling at Lady Beauford’s words. Just as he thought, Annabelle should be ready to marry. He did not understand his own certainty that Annabelle must become his, but he knew he would not look elsewhere for a wife. He wanted the stubborn woman standing before him looking so bloody pleased with herself. “I have already fo
und a lady who meets my every requirement.” Annabelle did not appreciate the comment. Her hazel eyes narrowed. A rapid pulse beat in her neck. He fought the urge to pull her to him and place his lips over the fluttering pulse.
“Ian, I mean Lord Graenfrae, you are being absurd.” She waved the list before him.
“The other ladies on this list have the same combination of insulting attributes you require.”
He was tempted to smile, but it would only infuriate her.
“In addition, these ladies have something I do not. They have a desire to be married regardless of finer feelings.”
More wisps of her silky hair flew loose as she shook her head in agitation. Her militant stance and triumphant look convinced him that she believed her argument ironclad. He would not waste time debating it with her.
“Come for a drive.”
When she looked ready to argue further, he added, “You may go over your list.
Mayhap we will see some of the ladies on it. You can make them known to me.” Annabelle appeared undecided so he inclined his head to indicate Finchley’s gaping mouth. The look must have decided her. “With your permission, Aunt, I’ll accompany Laird MacKay on a drive through Hyde Park.”
The older woman gave an approving smile. “Yes, of course.” Annabelle had a distinctly hunted look when she left the room to don her pelisse and bonnet.
* * *
William watched his prey and smiled. She came out of the townhouse on the arm of a new arrival to Town. It was Finchley’s friend, Laird MacKay. Satisfied malice swept through William. A Scotsman would be no competition for the hand of a gently bred English lady.
Lady Annabelle might be as ordinary as London fog, but she was definitely gently bred. Who would have thought the plain spinster was an heiress? She wore the dowdiest of frocks and never any jewels. Amazing. Not that he minded. Once they were married, she could continue her dowdy ways and molder in the country studying Roman history for all he cared. His only interest was in her fortune. A fortune that she and her family had successfully kept secret from the ton.