“I will own that, on the whole, I tend to agree with you.”
She should have been pleased that he did; instead, she felt irrationally disappointed he did not try to argue with her. “Why are you not married? You seem very fond of children yourself.”
He kept his eyes on the path. “Even if I were so inclined, I am hardly in a position to take a wife.”
“But why not?” Then could have clapped her hands over her mouth as she recalled her earlier conversation with Belle.
This time he turned to look at her. He read her expression perfectly. “Precisely.”
“I cannot think it would matter if someone cared for you!”
“And you are not a romantic?”
“Not at all! I merely meant that if someone cared for you it would not matter that you are not…that is…” she stumbled, but he said nothing and just watched her with that impenetrable look. “Wealthy.”
“Most women expect a certain amount of comfort when they marry. I doubt if living in an old house on the Devon coast far from London appeals to many women.”
It appealed to Chloe, but she could hardly tell him that. “Surely some women would not mind. Waverly will be perfectly lovely when it is finished.”
“By the time I am done with the repairs necessary to make it tolerably livable, I will have little money left to keep a wife in any sort of style. I no longer have a house in London so there would be no frequent visits to town.”
“Not every woman wishes to visit London. But you do have your other estate, do you not?”
A cool smile touched his mouth. “Yes, unfortunately. If it were not entailed I would sell it in an instant.”
“Why?”
He glanced at her. “Are you always this curious? If you must know, it is because I detest Salcombe House and all it represents.”
“I…I did not know. I am sorry,” she said. She had no idea what he was talking about.
“Don’t be.” He kept his eye on the road. “I do not intend to marry for money either. No heiresses.”
Was he trying to hint her away? As if she would ever fall in love with him! Irked, she said, “What if you fell in love with an heiress?”
“I do not intend to do so.”
“What if you cannot help yourself? And she returns your affections?”
“That is unlikely to happen.”
“What is unlikely to happen? That an heiress will fall in love with you or you cannot help falling in love with her?”
“Both.” He stopped and looked down with her, the glint in his eye dangerous. “If you persist in this line of questioning, I might start to think you are in love with me yourself.”
“I beg your pardon?” She backed away, heat flooding her cheeks.
His smile was sardonic. “That is what I thought. Perhaps we could discuss something more pleasurable. Such as the weather.”
They continued on in an uncomfortable silence until they reached the terrace. He halted. “I will see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? But are you not dining with us?”
“Actually, no. I am to dine with Gilbert Rushton and Sir Preston Kentworth at the Inn.”
“With Sir Preston?” The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
“Do you have an objection to my dining with Sir Preston?”
“Oh, no, he is most kind.”
He was looking at her rather strangely. She should escape before she made things worse. “I had best change. Thank you.” She dashed through the French doors before he could say anything. Or before she said anything else stupid.
—
Sir Preston Kentworth rose from the table. “Must be off.” He nodded to Brandt. “Glad to have you in the neighbourhood, Salcombe. Night, Rushton.” He ambled away. Brandt liked him; he had a blunt, pleasant manner that was refreshing after the languid boredom affected by many of his London acquaintances.
Rushton leaned back. “Wonder if he yet realises he is the object of affection of not only one, but two members of the fairer sex.”
“Kentworth?” Brandt asked, startled.
Rushton grinned. “Hard to believe, but then who knows what inspires passion in a lady’s heart? Causing quite a bit of speculation over which of the damsels will land their catch. Considered booking a wager on it, but didn’t want the wrath of certain persons to fall on my head.”
“It is probably best in these cases.”
“Don’t suppose you are interested in knowing the identity of the two rivals?”
“Not particularly.” Local gossip held no more interest for him than London gossip had.
“Ah, but in this case you might be intrigued to know.” Rushton leaned forward a gleam in his eye.
“Then you’d best tell me.” Even as he said the words, he was hit with a disquieting premonition.
“Emily Coltrane is one.” Rushton paused for effect. “And Lady Chloe is the other.”
Brandt kept his expression bland. “How do you know that?”
“Tom Coltrane. Says his sister’s nose has been quite out of joint since Lady Chloe’s arrival. Emily noticed straight away that Lady Chloe meant to set her cap at poor Kentworth. She’s claimed all along that the card lessons were a ploy on Lady Chloe’s part to gain Kentworth’s attention. Seems Emily was right.”
He should have guessed. The signs were there; the look on her face at the dancing lessons, the way she blushed when he mentioned he would see Kentworth. “Does Kentworth return her sentiments?”
Rushton shrugged. “Hard to tell. Kentworth’s a bit of a slow top in these matters. His mama’s all for it, however. Been spreading subtle hints around the neighbourhood that she may soon have an intimate connection with Westmore’s family.”
Hell. That harpy who had dragged Chloe into the card game? “Does my cousin have wind of this?”
“Don’t think so. Lady Kentworth is clever enough to keep it from the Duke until she has Lady Chloe in her net. Thought I should warn you so you might drop a word with the Duchess. Don’t want to underestimate Lady Kentworth when she sets her mind on something. I wouldn’t want to see Lady Chloe hurt. Or Kentworth, for that matter. From what I’ve heard of her guardian, don’t think he’d welcome a country baronet into the family.”
Rushton was right. For all he appeared to be a loose screw, he was much more perceptive than Brandt had ever given him credit for, and he had no doubt Rushton was quite familiar with the local gossip. Although Justin and his family were warmly welcomed into the small tight-knit village, the local gentry still maintained a certain respectful distance and he doubted all the gossip reached Justin’s ears.
Brandt finished his brandy. “No, Ralston would not.” He eyed Rushton. “You were wise to not book any wagers. You’d have not only Westmore to deal with; you would have me as well.”
“I rather thought so.” Rushton held up his hands. “No need to look so grim. I promise Lady Chloe’s reputation is safe in my hands. Just wanted to warn you.” He grinned. “Besides, with Kentworth out of the running, thought I might have a chance in that direction myself.”
“I wouldn’t wager on that either.” Brandt rose. “I must take my leave as well.”
“I’ll walk out with you.” The other man stood.
Rushton was silent until they reached Brandt’s curricle. “Don’t want you to think I meant to spread gossip.” His countenance was sober. “But Lady Kentworth has a reputation for interfering. Managed to compromise her own daughter into marriage a few years back—very nasty business—just wouldn’t want the same thing happening to Lady Chloe.”
“No.” Neither would he. He would do everything in his power to prevent it, including keeping Chloe in his sights if Kentworth or Lady Kentworth were anywhere in her vicinity. But why had she been so adamant about her aversion to marriage if she had a tendre for Sir Preston? Or did she consider marriage to Sir Preston comfortable?
He did not intend to give her a chance to find out.
—
Brandt
spoke to Belle the next morning after breakfast. He found her in the garden, Julian on her lap. She looked up and smiled, and then her expression sobered. “I suspect you have something rather serious to say.”
“Yes. Rushton informed me that there are rumours circulating that Chloe is setting her cap at Sir Preston.”
“Oh, dear. I had hoped that no one would really notice or at least say anything. It is dreadful enough when one has a tendre for someone; then to have rumours spread about it is very humiliating. Particularly when one hopes to keep it secret.”
He started. “You know Chloe has a tendre for Sir Preston?” For some reason having Belle confirm it only made him more angry. “Then why the devil haven’t you put a stop to it?”
“I cannot dictate how Chloe feels. As far as developing a tendre for someone, I would much prefer it be a decent, kind man such as Sir Preston than a charming fortune-hunter.”
“Are you saying you would welcome a match between them? Does Justin know of this?”
For some reason she looked as if she wanted to laugh. “Yes, Justin does know, and his reaction was the same as yours. Once I convinced him that forbidding Chloe to have anything to do with Sir Preston would only make him even more romantic in her eyes, besides bewildering Sir Preston, he agreed we would say nothing. Of course, they are quite unsuited to each other. Poor Chloe, she knows nothing of farming and has been desperately reading all of Justin’s Gentleman’s Magazines in hopes of being able to converse with Sir Preston on topics he’s interested in.”
Brandt wanted to grind his teeth. And curse. Belle’s words were reasonable, but the thought of Chloe finding Sir Preston romantic only served to make his mood even surlier. “Then perhaps you are not aware that Lady Kentworth has been hinting around that she expects a more intimate connection with your family. And that she forced her own daughter into a compromising marriage.”
“No, I did not know that.” She frowned a little. “Do you know this for a fact?”
“Only what Gilbert Rushton told me.”
“Certainly Lady Kentworth has made it quite obvious she favours Chloe and fawns over her in a most deliberate manner. Oh, dear, I will speak to Justin, of course, but since Chloe will only be here for another week, I hate to create a stir. We will make certain she is well chaperoned and busy with other things so she will not have much time to think of Sir Preston.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “I have no doubt everything will be fine. It is kind of you to worry about her.”
He felt rather idiotic since Belle seemed to have matters well in hand. “I consider her a relation so, of course, I am concerned.” Now he sounded stiff.
“Of course.” Her eyes twinkled. “I do hope you won’t say anything to Chloe about this. I fear it will only antagonise her and then you will be at daggers drawn again. I should hate to see that.”
“I won’t say anything.” Which did not mean he wouldn’t keep an eye on her. At least he and Belle were in agreement on one point; she and Kentworth were not suited. He was a relation of sorts, so he had a certain responsibility for Chloe, and that responsibility entailed keeping her safe from her damnable romantic notions.
—
Chloe smiled down at Julian. “I suppose we must take you back to Nurse.” She had just spent an agreeable hour with him in the garden. They had picked flowers, squealed at butterflies and watched the water spray from the fountain in the small pond. She rose and he wriggled until she turned him so he could more easily see where they were going. “You are getting heavier,” she told him. “Soon I won’t be able to carry you so effortlessly.” He grinned at her and her heart melted. He smelled so sweet and felt so soft. Before Julian, she had never paid much attention to babies, but she had fallen instantly and irrevocably in love with him.
She wandered up the steps and entered the drawing room through the terrace door. Busy watching Julian, she did not notice the man standing there, until he spoke. “Good day, Chloe. I see your clothing is in disarray as usual.”
She froze. “Arthur? What are you doing here?”
Her guardian, Arthur, the Earl of Ralston, fixed her with his usual disapproving gaze. He was of medium height with light brown hair, and a bony face which always looked as if he were about to give someone a scold, most particularly when he focused his gaze on her. “I see your manners have not improved either.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I decided there was no reason to delay the journey to Denbigh Hall as Lord Denbigh and Lady Barbara are most anxious to see you.”
“You cannot do that! I am to be here for another week, and there is Lady Haversham’s ball tomorrow!”
“I did not intend to leave today. We will leave two days after the ball.” He cast a dismissive glance at Julian, who had become uncharacteristically silent. “As soon as you return that child to its nurse, I would like to speak to you.”
That child? How dare he speak of Julian in such a way? “I am certain you meant to say as soon as I return Lord Wroth to his nurse, you would like to speak to me.” She stalked past him and with no little satisfaction saw his brow snap down even further. In the hall, however, she felt less pleased with her little victory. She could never hold her tongue around him and put on the meek face he liked in young ladies. Instead, she always managed to make things worse.
She had started across the hall when Belle appeared, her expression one of dismay. “Chloe, I fear Arthur has arrived. He wishes to speak to you straight away. He is putting up at the inn and arrived late last night, so we had no idea he was coming, or I would have suggested you stay away longer.”
Chloe handed Julian to his mother and made a face. “I have seen him. I came through the terrace doors and he has already chided me on my unimproved manners and disarrayed clothing.”
“Oh, dear.” Belle gave her a sympathetic look. “Well, I suppose you must have your interview with him. At least you will have it over with.”
Chloe returned to the drawing room. Arthur stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back. He turned and moved towards her. “Sit down, if you please.”
She took the chair he indicated and folded her hands in her lap. She vowed to hold back any unruly words that sprang to her lips.
He stood in front of her, a position that always made her feel like a chastised school girl. “I hope that when you are married, your husband will be able to curb your tongue. As well as see that you dress properly.”
“Well, I do not have a husband yet,” she said brightly.
A wintry smile crossed his face. “I trust you will before the summer is over.”
“Really? I cannot imagine why you would think that.” Had he somehow heard about Sir Preston?
“I intend to accept Lord Denbigh’s offer.”
Her stomach lurched, and all thoughts of meekness fled. She jumped up. “No! He…he is too old!”
“Nonsense. In fact, a man of his age will be able to guide you properly, which you most certainly need.”
“I will not accept him.”
“You will. Why else do you think we are going to Denbigh Hall?”
“So, I do not have any choice in the matter?”
He stared at her. “You have had choices the last two Seasons, but you refused all of them. I’ve no doubt there are men who would be willing to overlook your advanced age, but I would prefer to see you betrothed before you are one and twenty.”
“I do not like him,” she said quietly.
His thin mouth tightened. “What does that have to do with anything? You are young, and foolish if you think such emotions play a role in choosing a suitable mate. His bloodlines are impeccable. He is from one of England’s oldest families. He is wealthy enough that no one could think he is marrying you for your dowry.”
“Love has nothing to do with it! I find him repulsive. He reminds me of a…a frog! In fact, I would rather marry a frog!”
Arthur stared at her and then his mouth tightened. “You are disrespectful and childish. There is no reason why you should not accept
him. I trust that after you reflect on the advantages of such a match you will come to your senses.”
“I won’t. You cannot make me marry him.”
“No, but if you do not, I fear I will be forced to cut off your allowance. And your mother’s as well.”
“You are despicable!”
His face contorted with such fury that she feared he would strike her. Without thinking, she turned and dashed into the hallway. She started for the staircase and then changed her mind.
If she went upstairs now, Arthur would undoubtedly find her. She whirled around. The next thing she knew she had crashed into a hard masculine chest. Strong arms steadied her and she was pressed into a coat smelling of outdoors and horses. Then she was released. She glanced swiftly up and found herself looking into Brandt’s startled face.
Drat! Of all the people she must dash into! “I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly. From the condition of his clothing, she knew he had been at Waverly. His coat was wrinkled and dusty; his breeches in no better condition. He looked rather like a ruffian. A very dangerous and very attractive ruffian. The unexpected thought flustered her completely.
His mouth curved. “I will own you’re the last woman I expected to throw herself into my arms.”
“I was hardly throwing myself into your arms.” She pulled away from him, still flustered. “If you will excuse me, I…I must go.”
“Where are you going in such a hurry? It is nearly time to dress for dinner.”
“Nowhere. Outside, if you must know. I pray you will move.”
He stared at her; his expression changed to one of concern. “What has happened?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Then why do you look so agitated?”
“I…I don’t.”
“Your face is far too expressive. You look as if the devil is on your heels.”
“Chloe!” Arthur’s voice cut through the air. “I have not finished with you.”
“I see. Not quite the devil, but close,” Brandt murmured.
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