Uncle Alford offered him love and support when his family had failed him. Robert fully intended to honor his memory and make him proud, but if his uncle had believed Robert marrying this young woman would improve his character, or that it might heal Robert’s emotional wounds, he was wrong. His uncle’s will was unfair, and it asked a great deal of him.
He leaned down and absently patted the dog. Robert quickly banished the disloyal thought that his uncle might not have been of sound mind when he made the will. He shook his head, bemused. He should be outraged that such a trick had been played on him, but he couldn’t find it in himself, because he knew his uncle had cared deeply for him. And this might have resulted from his uncle’s disapproval of Millicent, the one thing he’d shared with Robert’s mother and her husband.
Robert shrugged and went to add coal to the fire. He stood close to the burgeoning heat as if it might melt the tense knot in his chest. It mattered not whom he took to wife. Society beauty, Millicent Borrowdale, who set the ton on its ear, had rejected him for a nabob’s son. Her choice of husband was neither titled nor distinguished, but heir to one of the richest men in England.
And at that time, Robert had little to offer her. It was expected his uncle, who was in rude good health, would live for many years. Perhaps all women were calculating, and that small, sweet-faced young woman asleep upstairs would most likely prove to be the same when put to the test. It would be a shame to see that happen, for she had an honesty and a frankness that he liked. He liked her pretty, green eyes which tilted up at the corners in a most intriguing way, below straight brows.
With a frown, he returned to his desk and mended his pen. He dipped the quill into the ink pot and paused. He’d barely made a dent in the mountain of paper he worked through. His uncle had vast interests and owned several businesses including an iron works in Birmingham and a pottery factory on the lands of his great aunt’s estate in Vauxhall.
There were tenant farmers who had been left to the care of a steward which required his attention. When his uncle grew ill, he lost interest in his investments and left it all to his man of business, Mr. Garvie. Mr. Garvie also rested below ground now. Consequently, Robert had inherited a fine mess to sort out. He needed to employ a new business manager, another steward, and would need to inspect all the properties to ensure the staff were up to scratch.
He’d been gratified to find that St Malin Castle at least, was well run. Although his uncle discussed business with him and attempted to prepare Robert for the responsibilities which lie ahead, he sorely missed his sound advice, and the weight rested uncomfortably on his shoulders. His agreeable life in London seemed to have been thrown into chaos. Despite obtaining a first in mathematics at Cambridge, he’d never actually had to employ it much, beyond toting up bets at White’s or the races, and now felt totally unprepared for what was now required of him.
His marriage might prove the easiest part of this new order to manage. Kate seemed the sort who would be content with the comfortable life he could give her and ask little of him.
He threw down his pen and took a liberal pinch of snuff, admiring the large ruby on the quaint silver box engraved with a stout pig which had belonged to his uncle. It was so like him to have such a thing made. The pig was a delightful jest at what he perceived as the shallow habits of the ton, although he did enjoy his own special blend of tobacco. Robert flicked snuff from his coat, preferring to mull over his bride-to-be instead of what was on the desk before him. There was nothing for it, but to accept his lot with as much grace as he could muster.
Kate’s appearance and bearing would improve considerably with a more fashionable and costlier wardrobe. Robert had not been blind to her charms beneath the shabby, old-fashioned clothes. In time, she may even trump a diamond of the first water like Millicent. He’d studied Kate over the dinner table. Her un-powdered, dark, honey-colored locks, tied up with a green ribbon, had curled around her shell-like ears. When startled, those large eyes appeared greener. She was every inch an innocent country girl, completely unaware that the way she bit her full provocative bottom lip was bordering on erotic. He soon realized his attraction to her would serve to make the act of producing an heir far more pleasant. Yes, he was more than willing to bed her, but he would have to go gently. She might become too dependent on him too quickly. Even though she’d refused him, as was the fashion, he was confident that she would agree.
Kate’s family was unimpeachable although poor as church mice. He smiled. His eccentric uncle didn’t care for most of his own kind. He’d thought aristocrats too lazy and dependent on others to care for them, and at times too inbred. Indeed, it was unusual, but Uncle Alford had admired all forms of endeavor, from poets to inventors. He’d talked at length of James Watt’s invention of a steam engine to work a mine pump and had often said he wished he’d lived a more productive life.
Might this be the reason he’d chosen Kate? Was it his belief that a more satisfactory life could be had for Robert with someone of her background? His uncle might have asked him. Robert would have been happy to set him straight. A man could go about his business without needing a wife at his side. An heir and a spare were necessary, of course, but he should have liked to choose the lady and taken his own good time to do it.
Robert topped off the brandy in his glass. A wedding as soon as possible would be wise, and hopefully an heir would quickly follow. Perhaps Kate was the perfect choice. This unsophisticated young woman would never have the wherewithal to get under his skin or have the power to hurt him as Millicent had done.
Once married and his heir secured, he would return to the caresses of his accomplished mistress and the life he enjoyed in London.
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