Let It Be Love

by Victoria Alexander

  She set her pencil down on the drawing she’d been working on absently, simply to get her mind off the more dreadful aspects of her life, and noted the face on the body of an ancient Greek god bore a strong resemblance to Jonathon’s. She rose to her feet and drew a deep breath. “Very well, then, I shall see his lordship.”

  Belle looked confused. “Who?”

  “Lord Helmsley.”

  Belle scoffed. “Lord Helmsley isn’t here, it’s Mr. Sinclair.”

  Whatshisname?

  “And he doesn’t look the least bit like his father.”

  Fiona’s heart sank. This was it, then. “That’s something, at any rate.”

  “In fact, he’s quite, quite handsome, with a funny little scar just above his right eyebrow that makes him look dashing and adventurous. Like a pirate, I think, but a very good pirate. He’s nice as well and most amusing.” Belle studied her sister. “I would be happy to take him if you don’t want him.”

  Fiona sighed. “I don’t want him, but you can’t have him.”

  Belle sniffed. “I didn’t think you’d give him up.”

  “I would gladly give him up, but I can’t if we are to comply with the terms of Father’s will. And at this point I see no other choice.”

  “Pity you have to be the one to marry,” Belle said. “Sophie and Gen and Aunt Edwina are with Mr. Sinclair right now, and I daresay any one of them would be happy to marry him. Aunt Edwina seems especially taken with him.” Belle grinned. “Did I mention he was dashing?”

  “Yes.” Fiona smiled weakly. It scarcely mattered if he were the most dashing and handsomest man in the world. He was not the one she wanted. Nevertheless, regardless of how she had tried to avoid it, it now seemed inevitable. Whatshisname—Mr. Sinclair—was apparently her fate. And Jonathon Effington was not.

  A few minutes later, Fiona squared her shoulders, adopted a pleasant smile and entered the parlor a step before Belle.

  Gen, Sophie and Aunt Edwina sat on the sofa with looks approximating adoration on their collective faces. Even Gen, who was entirely too practical to be taken in by a handsome face, looked wide-eyed and just a bit stunned. And why not?

  Whatshisname—Daniel Sinclair—stood leaning on the fireplace with a disarming grin on a face that was undeniably handsome. He was tall, with dark hair and darker eyes and yes, he was definitely dashing. He straightened when she entered the room and his eyes lit with appreciation.

  Aunt Edwina rose. “Fiona, I should like to introduce Mr. Daniel Sinclair. Mr. Sinclair, this is my eldest niece, Miss Fiona Fairchild.”

  He strode to her, took her hand and raised it to his lips. His gaze met hers. “Miss Fairchild, I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you at last.”

  “A pleasure?” she said lightly. “Or a relief?”

  He looked startled for a moment, then laughed. “Both.”

  “We shall leave the two of you to get acquainted. I daresay you have quite a lot to discuss.” Aunt Edwina nodded at the girls. Gen and Sophie reluctantly stood and murmured polite goodbyes, herding Belle out of the parlor in front of them.

  “But I just came in,” Belle said under her breath.

  “If you will excuse us for a moment?” Aunt Edwina cast Mr. Sinclair a brilliant smile.

  “Of course,” he murmured.

  Aunt Edwina hooked her arm through Fiona’s and steered her out the parlor door, closed the door behind them and turned to her niece. “Your sisters told me about your father’s will and his arrangement with Mr. Sinclair’s father, but you should have told me, Fiona. I cannot tell you how angry I am about this.”

  Fiona winced. “I am sorry, Aunt Edwina. You’re right, I should have told you, but it was humiliating to say it all aloud. Please forgive me.”

  “Oh, my dear child, I’m not mad at you.” Aunt Ed wina huffed. “Imagine in this day and age putting such stipulations on your daughters’ futures. Why, if your father wasn’t already dead I should be compelled to strangle him with my bare hands.”

  “The thought is most appreciated,” Fiona murmured.

  “Still”—the older woman eyed her niece—“he was right about your need to marry before you reach too advanced an age. And I must say, the gentleman he selected for you, even if he is an American, is most acceptable.” A wicked grin curved Aunt Edwina’s lips. “Indeed, he is quite charming and very dashing.”

  Fiona smiled in spite of herself. “So I’ve been told.”

  “However, the simple fact that Mr. Sinclair has turned out to be more than suitable does not mean you need marry him against your will.” Aunt Edwina raised her chin. “I have a great deal of money and I am more than willing to provide you and your sisters acceptable dowries. Indeed, I should do it gladly in the knowledge that I am thwarting your father’s wishes. Men can be delightful creatures, but they have no sense when it comes to matters involving life or love.”

  “I’ve been told that too. Thank you.” She hugged her aunt. “I appreciate it more than I can say, but”—she drew a deep breath—“it is my responsibility to provide for my sisters.”

  “It is your life, my dear,” Aunt Edwina said firmly. “And your decision.”

  “Indeed it is.” Fiona nodded and returned to the parlor.

  Mr. Sinclair smiled with obvious relief. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”

  “Were you?” She studied him for a moment. “Why?”

  “Given the circumstances, I was afraid that perhaps you…” He shrugged in an appealingly boyish manner. “I don’t know, I just was.”

  He did seem nice enough, though.

  “It is a bit awkward, isn’t it?”

  He snorted. “A bit?”

  “Perhaps more than a bit, then.”

  “This is possibly the most uncomfortable moment of my entire life,” he said wryly. “And that includes several moments that I was not entirely sure I would survive.”

  Her gaze flicked to the scar above his eyebrow. It did indeed make him look a little like a pirate. A good pirate. “Is this one of them, Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Daniel, please. Given the situation, I think we can dispense with certain formalities.” He ran his hand through his hair and the memory of Jonathon doing precisely the same thing under very similar circumstances flashed through her mind. She firmly ignored the image. “But yes, Fiona—” He glanced at her questioningly.

  She nodded.

  “This is indeed one of those moments. I believe my life is flashing before my eyes even as we speak.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “It’s been a wicked, wicked life.” He shot her a grin. “But fun.”

  Good Lord, the man was a pirate. She could well see Belle’s attraction. She laughed in spite of herself.

  “Fiona.” He sobered. “Might I be completely honest with you?”

  “Honesty would be a refreshing change, Mr. Daniel.” She settled on the sofa and gazed at him expectantly. “Do go on.”

  “Very well, then.” He clasped his hands behind his back and thought for a moment, then grimaced. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  “Perhaps if you begin with”—she braced herself—“exactly why you’re here.”

  “That would make sense. All right, then.” He drew a deep breath. “As I’m sure you’re aware, my father and yours before his death arranged for a marriage between the two of us. I knew nothing about it until I recently arrived in Florence.”

  “You didn’t?” She stared at him.

  “No.” He raised a brow. “Did you?”

  “Not until after my father’s death, when I learned of the terms of his will.”

  “So you did not agree to this marriage?”

  She shook her head. “As apparently neither did you.”

  “That certainly puts things in a different light.” He blew a relieved breath. “I don’t mind telling you, I was not at all eager to come here. I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for my father’s insistence and the fact that you are heir to a great deal of money. Right now
I could use a great deal of money. I have the opportunity for an excellent investment that could make my fortune and, well, that’s neither here nor there, I suppose.” He sat down beside her on the sofa. “But I have no desire to marry a woman who doesn’t want to marry me.” His brows drew together. “You don’t, do you?”

  “I can’t say, I’ve just met you.”

  “Of course.” He paused. “I do hope you’re not disappointed.”

  “Not at all.” She bit back a grin. “Are you?”

  “Good God, no. I wasn’t expecting”—he cast her an appreciative gaze—“you. But when your father tells you he has arranged for you to marry a woman of five and-twenty because her father was afraid she’d never marry, you don’t expect her to look like you.”

  “You expected old, ugly and desperate?”

  “Indeed I did.” He leaned closer in a confidential manner. “Frankly, I was just hoping for a good nature.”

  Fiona laughed.

  “That’s settled, then.” He got to his feet. “Fiona, it has been a rare pleasure to meet you.”

  “That’s it?” She stared up at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “I think so.” He thought for a moment. “You don’t want to marry me, I don’t want to marry you or, to be honest, anyone at the moment. So, yes, that’s it.”

  “You don’t know everything about my father’s will, do you?” she said slowly.

  “Aside from the part about us marrying, no.”

  “Do sit down, Daniel,” she said with a sigh. “Let me tell it all to you.”

  Daniel took his seat and Fiona explained about her inheritances and her sisters’ dowries.

  He blew a long, low whistle. “That is a predicament.”

  “Indeed it is.” She paused to find the right words. “Now allow me to be honest with you. My aunt has offered to provide my sisters with dowries if necessary to prevent me from marrying where I do not wish to do so. However”—she folded her hands in her lap and stared at them—“I have done a great deal of thinking in recent days. I am dreadfully tired of living with the uncertainty that I have lived with since my father’s death. Of knowing my sisters’ futures were my responsibility and not knowing what would happen. I want my life settled. I want to resolve this.” She met his gaze firmly. “Daniel, I have a proposition that may be of interest to you.”

  He raised a brow. “A proposition?”

  She nodded. “A business proposition. Or rather, I suppose, one could call it”—she drew a steadying breath—“a proposal.”

  “Bloody hell.” Jonathon sank deeper in the chair, which had never especially been his favorite in the lounge of their favorite club but had become so in the last two days due to continued occupancy and inertia fed by regret, helplessness and a great deal of liquor. At least he’d been surrounded by his friends, although, upon reflection, they’d been of absolutely no help thus far. None had been able to come up with a brilliant, or even acceptable, idea on how to reclaim Fiona’s heart. And Jonathon’s mind had been entirely too muddled to be of any use whatsoever.

  “That is a problem,” Warton murmured. “Although you did realize it would come to this sooner or later.”

  Cavendish leaned toward Oliver and lowered his voice. “Refresh my memory. Who is Whatshisname?”

  “The American, that’s who he is,” Jonathon snapped. “The one who is supposed to marry my…my…” What was she anyway? “My fiancée.”

  “Can he call her that?” Cavendish shook his head. “I don’t think he can call her that.”

  “He did propose in a manner of speaking, but no.” Warton shook his head. “I’m fairly certain if she doesn’t accept, then she can’t be considered his fiancée. She told you she never wanted to see you again, didn’t she?”

  “Not this time,” Jonathon said through clenched teeth.

  “That’s right. That was when you offered to pay…” Cavendish winced. “We needn’t go into that, I suppose.”

  “It scarcely matters.” Oliver signaled to an attentive waiter for a drink. He had a great deal of catching up to do.

  Oliver had just arrived bearing the news of Whatshisname’s presence in London. It was good to have an informant in the house even if this was not what Jonathon wanted to hear. He much preferred Oliver’s observations in the last two days of Fiona’s state of mind, although admittedly the man had seen his cousin very little and strongly suspected she was avoiding him. Oliver’s role in deceiving her had not endeared him to her.

  “So, tell us about this Whatshisname,” Warton drawled.

  “Actually his name is Daniel Sinclair and, I’m surprised to admit, he seems a good sort,” Oliver said. “I’ve had a long chat with him and I think he can be of some use to us. Or rather to Helmsley here.”

  “He can’t unless he refuses to marry her.” A tiny ray of hoped speared Jonathon’s misery. “Has he refused to marry her?”

  “Isn’t that how all this started?” Cavendish said under his breath to Warton. “Someone’s refusal to marry?”

  “Only an idiot would refuse to marry Fiona Fairchild,” Warton said wryly, then glanced at Jonathon. “My apologies.”

  “Accepted,” Jonathon muttered.

  “Sinclair hasn’t refused to marry her, however he doesn’t want to marry her,” Oliver said.

  “Then he’s an idiot.” Cavendish shrugged.

  Oliver ignored him. “He doesn’t especially want to marry anyone at the moment.”

  “Well, that makes all the difference.” Warton sipped at his drink. “That makes him one of us.”

  “I thought you’d see it that way.” Oliver accepted his drink from the waiter.

  Jonathon pulled his brows together. “Regardless of what he wants, is he going to marry her?”

  “That’s where this becomes extremely interesting.” Oliver leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Fiona proposed—”

  “Again?” Cavendish raised a brow. “Does she do that a lot?”

  “She’s never proposed to me.” Warton sniffed. “I might well have said yes. She has a face Botticelli might have painted and a fortune to match.”

  The other men stared.

  “I am not an idiot,” Warton said in a lofty manner, then nodded at Jonathon. “Sorry.”

  “Yes, yes.” Jonathon waved off the apology and nodded to Oliver. “Go on.”

  “What she proposed was marriage,” Oliver continued, “but one in name only and only for as long as was necessary to meet the terms of her father’s will. In return, she’ll give Sinclair a portion of her inheritance, a mutually agreed-upon amount that has not yet been determined.”

  “And he is willing to do this?” Jonathon studied Oliver closely.

  “Indeed he is. Sinclair had no knowledge of the terms of Uncle Alfred’s will until today. He came to see Fiona because he knew of her father’s arrangement with his father and he felt obligated to do so.”

  Jonathon snorted. “He’d best not let her know that.”

  “He probably would have married her if she had expected him to do so, his family’s honor and all that, but once he understood that she had no desire to marry him, he was more than willing to abandon the idea of marriage altogether.” Oliver paused.

  “Yes?” Jonathon said.

  “It was Fiona who suggested they go ahead and marry,” Oliver said reluctantly. “Sinclair needs money for an investment in America, something to do with railroads. Fiona will provide him with the funding he requires and at some point the marriage will be dissolved.”

  “I see,” Jonathon said thoughtfully. Fiona had once suggested the possibility of a temporary marriage. And had said that it would very much depend on the type of man Whatshisname was.

  “There’s more.” Reluctance sounded in Oliver’s voice. “Fiona wants to marry as soon as possible. My mother is already planning a wedding.”

  Jonathon’s stomach twisted. “When?”

  Oliver grimaced. “Friday.”

  “Friday?” Jonathon s
tared. “That’s three days from now.”

  “Should we send a gift?” Cavendish murmured to Warton.

  “Not yet.” Warton pinned Jonathon with a firm look. “What we need, what you need, is a plan. Not some ill-advised, poorly conceived stunt, but a serious, must-succeed, only-a-fool-would-fail plan to thwart this wedding and win Fiona for yourself.”

  “A plan?” Jonathon glared at his friend. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you’ve been too busy wallowing in self-pity and misery?” Cavendish said helpfully.

  Jonathon blew a resigned breath. He could deny it, of course, but it was true. He had indeed been wallowing and feeling entirely too sorry for himself to think in a rational manner. He’d never had to win a woman’s heart before, no woman had ever meant this much to him before. And now he was out of time.

  Either he took action now or he would lose her forever.

  “You’re right,” Jonathon said slowly. “All of you. I have to do something and I have to do something now. I am open to any and all suggestions.” He cast Cavendish a threatening glance. “Except for proclaiming my affection on a theater stage between acts.”

  Indignation sounded in Cavendish’s voice. “I wasn’t going to suggest that.” He paused. “Although a grand gesture—”

  “I have an idea,” Oliver said. “But it will require the cooperation of Sinclair.”

  “Then I shall have to meet with Sinclair.” Jonathon’s voice was firm.

  “No sooner said than done.” Oliver stood and signaled to someone near the entrance.

  “You brought him here?” Cavendish frowned. “Was that wise?”

  “At this point, I’m not sure wisdom is as important as action,” Warton said. “Even if it’s wrong.” He cast a pitying look at Jonathon. “The poor wretch has done nothing but mope since Fiona turned him away.”

  “He’s in love.” Cavendish’s gaze met Warton’s.

  “And he’s miserable,” Warton said, and both men grinned.

  “If you say it serves me right I shall have to shoot you both,” Jonathon muttered.

  A tall, dark-haired man strode toward them and Jonathon groaned to himself. This was Whatshisname? He’d been hoping the American would turn out to be short, fat and balding. There did not appear to be an inch of fat on him, he was disgustingly tall and had far too much hair. He looked like he could have posed for one of Fiona’s drawings.