“I see.”
She tried to look contrite. “A fortnight? Please?”
He stepped back, found a chair, and sat. Sweat covered his brow. His breathing was labored. Alarmed, she stared at his gray face. “Shall I call your valet?”
“Give me a moment.” He leaned his head back against the high-backed chair and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he skewered her with his gaze. “Very well. A fortnight. And then you will accept my choice without further argument, without hysterics, without fabrications.”
She studied her bare feet. “Yes, Papa.”
He raised himself from the chair and left the room without another word.
What possessed me to make such a promise?
Where was her maid? “Sadie? I need you.”
Sadie hurried in. “Yes, milady?”
“Quick. Help me get dressed. Then call for the carriage. I need to go to the Earl of Longley’s town house.”
“I thought you said you were ill.”
“I have recovered. My clothes. Hurry.”
Two weeks ago, she’d visited her dear friend Lady Miranda Montague, now the Countess of Longley. After pouring out her dilemma, she’d been given a glimmer of hope. Sympathetic and practical, Miranda had promised to help her find a solution.
She sincerely hoped her friend had come up with something, or else in a fortnight her life would be over.
Stop it. Drama doesn’t help.
She slipped on her shift, her corset, and an underskirt. Her day dress of green muslin fell easily over her head and fastened up the back. Her spencer was a darker shade of green, and her half boots matched. She donned a serviceable straw bonnet with a wide green velvet ribbon and picked up her gloves.
Taking the servants’ stairs, she slipped out the back and raced down to the mews to be sure she avoided Caulfield if he still lurked about. With luck, she’d be at the town house by teatime. Miranda rarely went out into society, for reasons of her own. She would be at home.
I will not panic. I am smart. I will find an answer.
She told a disapproving John Coachman where she wanted to go, climbed into the carriage, and settled on the leather squabs. Neither of her parents would look in on her. Papa truly looked ill, and Mama would be in her boudoir with her vinaigrette, wondering how she’d raised such a disobedient daughter.
The coach came to a stop in front of a large Palladian stone building three stories high with two wings. A dozen steps led up to the front door. Maybry, the butler, opened the door with a smile. She was a frequent visitor, and he knew she was always welcome.
“Shall I announce you, Miss Pettigrew?”
“Please. I’ll wait here.”
“Is your maid with you?”
“Not today.”
He frowned but stood back as she entered. She’d offended Maybry’s sense of propriety, but honestly, she didn’t have time to be bothered today.
Miranda came halfway down the curving staircase, a baby on her hip. “Gwen? Is something amiss? James and I are in the blue drawing room. He’s learning to crawl. Can you believe it?” She beamed like the proud mother she was.
Gwen followed her up and perched on a gold couch with plump pillows. Miranda sat on the floor, her golden head in a tight bun except for tendrils pulled loose by the baby. “See what he can do.” The baby cooed, turned over on his stomach, and scooted along the carpeted floor. Miranda clasped her hands. “Is he not delightful?”
“Indeed. He is a clever one. Soon he’ll be talking.” A thread of longing snaked through her when her married friends frolicked with their offspring, but she plucked it free. Motherhood was not to be. And never with the likes of Lord Gerald Caulfield.
Miranda scooped up the baby and put him to her shoulder. “What is wrong? You look like you lost your last friend, and I know that isn’t true. Plus, you’ve come without your maid.”
“Remember our conversation a few weeks ago?”
She grimaced. “Is your aged suitor still pestering your father for your hand?”
“Yes, and I’ve done a terrible thing.”
“Give me a moment.” Miranda got up from the floor and rang for the nurse, handing the baby over. “I think he’s ready for his nap. He was fed earlier and has been very active today.”
“Yes, milady.”
Miranda turned and sat next to Gwen. “Now. Tell me what you’ve done.”
“I lied to Papa.”
“Oh dear.”
She swallowed and clutched the fabric of her skirt. “He’s given me an ultimatum. I have exactly a fortnight to find a suitor, or I will have to marry Lord Caulfield.”
Miranda’s words were as gentle as her voice. “He can’t force you, Gwen.”
Her eyes misted. “He can if I wish to maintain my lifestyle. You see, as long as Papa is alive, I have a dowry—a modest one. But once he dies, all the money goes to my brother. Reggie will not turn out Mama. Such an action would be scandalous. But his wife has always had an aversion to me. I’m unconventional, outspoken, and my salons are often the subject of gossip. I’ve been an embarrassment to her. I will be penniless and will have to marry someone Reggie chooses or go into service. Lydia has already told me she’s found me a suitable post as a companion.”
“I see.” Miranda gave her a quick hug. “We’ll find you a suitor. An honorable one.”
“They do not grow on trees, Miranda. I cannot go out into the park and shout, ‘I am in need of a husband. Who will apply?’ and wait for an answer.”
“No, you cannot. But you won’t have to. I think I know the perfect gentleman to help you out of your dilemma.”
“You do?” Did she sound incredulous? Because that was how she felt.
Miranda sat back with her arms crossed, a sly smile on her face. “Is your father still willing to provide you with a dowry, even if you choose someone other than Caulfield?”
“Yes. I’m sure he will.”
She took Gwen’s hand. “You have a lot to offer. You are smart, kind, and pretty. You find ways to make conversation when there’s nothing to say. You delight in the tiniest events and make people smile. But the dowry may be the one attribute sure to solve your problem.”
“I hope you are right.”
Miranda nodded. “Are you desperate enough to make a marriage of convenience?”
“Yes. Anyone but Lord Caulfield.”
Miranda’s smile widened. “I’m sure this gentleman will be perfect.”
“If he is of age and has a pleasant disposition, I shall accept him. What is his name?”
“I cannot say a name yet. I wish to be sure he is willing. But, to paraphrase the opening of your favorite novel, he is ‘a gentleman in want of a wife.’”
Chapter 2
“It’s worse than I thought.” John slouched in a chair in his brother’s study, a glass of brandy in his hand. “Even if I wanted to sell Dorset Hall, I don’t know if I could find a buyer for the place. It’s extremely run down. I fear it may not stand another winter.”
His stomach knotted as he remembered the state of deterioration he’d found. The stone walls stood straight, but the roof sagged on the east wing. Broken windows marred the front façade. The massive front door hung by a hinge and didn’t close properly, leaving a space underneath. The newer west wing seemed intact but had been sorely neglected. When he’d entered, he found squirrels, mice, and rabbits within.
Fitting companions for an impoverished second son.
More money than he would ever have would be necessary to repair it, let alone bring it back into habitable condition. But he had to find a way because the estate was his—pledged to him on the day he was born by a grandmother he’d never known.
Jeremy sat behind his desk, a quill in his hand and a pile of papers in front
of him. “If, as you say, some of the rooms in the west wing are damaged but habitable, and the east wing is closed off, why not go to Yorkshire, take your time, and start working to get the house into shape? Concentrate on the newer wing. I can tell by the expression on your face you already love the place.” He fidgeted with the quill. “Perhaps I can increase your allowance. Not much, mind you. But you can get by because I know you will do much of the work yourself.”
He’d known Jeremy would offer, but he wouldn’t accept.
“I can’t let you do that, Jer. You need every penny for Longley. Father was careless with his funds, and when he died, Mother neglected the estate altogether.”
Jeremy sighed. “I wish I’d been able to get back sooner.”
John ignored the guilt tightening his neck and shoulders. “You aren’t to blame, Jer. You were thousands of miles away. I should have paid closer attention. I was here.”
They’d been through this discussion many times. Jeremy refused to place blame on anyone, but John should have been more forceful with Mother, visited more often, taken charge. Perhaps he would have detected her state of mind sooner and found someone to treat her.
Or not. Quacks abounded in London.
Jeremy turned toward the window, a pensive expression on his face. “Does your estate have tenants?”
“It does, but those who remain have not been paying rents. When I ventured out to introduce myself, a few were decidedly unhappy to see me.”
“They will begin paying, though, and once they do, you will have income. But you will also have responsibilities, so it may take time to bring the situation back to normal.”
John nodded. He’d done some calculations. He also had ideas to introduce. Unfortunately, he needed money for all of them.
“You need to marry an heiress,” Jeremy said. “Get the money you need for your estate the traditional way.”
John laughed. “Right you are. Prospects are crawling all over me. My name must be in the betting book at Whites with at least a dozen names attached.”
He raised his glass to his lips and let the fiery liquid warm the cold reality of his situation. No heiress would wed a second son without funds. Even wealthy cits looked for titles for their daughters as a condition of marriage. He had absolutely nothing to offer.
As if reading his thoughts, Jeremy turned back to him. “You’re not hard to look at, John. You have that in your favor. Ask Miranda if you want a female’s opinion.”
“Miranda has eyes only for you. I doubt she’s ever noticed me. We may have grown up together, but she never gave me a second look. You were her hero from the day I threw her in the pond and you jumped in and saved her.”
“Are you two talking about me?” Miranda swept into the room, a smile on her face. She put her arms around Jeremy and gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “He’s still my hero.”
“Actually, we’re talking about John’s dilemma,” Jeremy said.
She tilted her head. “The estate in Yorkshire, the one needing a treasure chest full of gold to make it right?”
“That’s the one.” Jeremy tugged her hand and drew her down to his lap.
“And what have you two decided? Shall John become a highwayman and rob coaches?”
Jeremy grinned. “No, he needs to rob a cradle. Find a biddable woman who has a large dowry and will agree to live in the wilds of Yorkshire in a moldering castle with a stubborn ghost.”
John shook his head. “Dorset Hall is not a castle, and there’s no ghost, although I discovered it was once part of an abbey with a different name.”
“What was it called?” Miranda asked.
“Woodhaven Abbey. The locals still use that name. I may change it back.”
Miranda got up from Jeremy’s lap and sat in the chair next to John. Her fingers were warm on his arm. “I may know someone who would be willing to wed you.”
Was she serious?
“Who?”
“Lady Gwendolyn Pettigrew.”
Jeremy looked up from his papers and chewed on a quill. “I heard old Caulfield has offered for her, and her father has accepted.”
“That’s true.” Miranda took John’s brandy out of his hand and took a small swallow, making a face. “How can you two drink this swill?”
John took the glass back, choking down laughter at her expression. “’Tis a balm. It soothes. It makes my pain go away. Now tell me about Miss Pettigrew. I know her. A real bluestocking as I recall.”
Jeremy leaned back. “I sat next to her at a dinner and found her to be quite delightful.”
“She’s one of my best friends,” added Miranda.
“Then she’s obviously a paragon.” John gazed into his brandy glass. “If she’s affianced to old Caulfield, why do you think she’s a good candidate for me?”
Miranda smiled. “She’s not betrothed. Her father may have accepted the suit, but Gwen has not. She loathes the idea of being married to Caulfield, and she’s convinced her father to give her a fortnight to find her own bridegroom. If she does not, she’s resigned to the marriage.”
“And she wants me to offer for her?”
“Don’t get too cocky,” Miranda said. “She wants anyone to offer for her other than Caulfield. She’s heard things about him . . . disturbing things. Her father has assured her all rumors are false. Caulfield’s dissolution ended with old age.”
“I’m not so sure.” Jeremy spoke up. “He’s been through three wives with no heir. All predeceased him. I’ve heard he’s after someone young and fertile. His nephew is set to inherit when he passes, and Caulfield is rumored to detest him. He’s desperate for an heir.”
“And I’m not sure Gwen even wants children,” Miranda added. “She’s a very independent woman.”
John sat back, the knots in his shoulders beginning to unwind. “She’s perfect then.”
“You’re not still averse to fathering children, are you?” Jeremy frowned. “It is utter nonsense that madness is an affliction passed on to future generations.”
John tensed. “How can we be sure? We cannot. I will not have a child of mine growing up to be like dear Mama.”
He shuddered, remembering the gaunt face of one of the private physicians he’d consulted about Mother’s condition. He’d been counseled to be vigilant with his progeny and to watch his own behavior for what the man had called “anomalies.”
“You’ve consigned yourself to a life of celibacy? Let’s put that in the betting books at Whites.” Jeremy’s eyes twinkled in mirth.
John stood and clenched his fists. “Say what you will, but I shall not take the risk. You haven’t been to Longley in months. She’s regressed. Raving at times. It’s painful to watch.”
Miranda rose and gave him a quick hug. “I am sorry you feel so strongly. You know I agree with Jeremy. Our James is a delight, and we plan to have more children.” She glanced at her husband and back. “But if you are determined to marry in haste, Gwen is your answer.”
John took a deep breath and sat back down in his chair.
“Have you mentioned me to her?”
“Not by name. I did say I knew someone who needed to marry a woman with a dowry . . . the sooner the better.”
“And she is willing?”
“Absolutely. She’s desperate.”
John stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger as he stared into space. “Can you arrange a meeting? Here? I want to discuss the situation with her first.”
Miranda smiled. “Of course. I’ll invite her to tea tomorrow, and you two can have a private conversation.”
John let out the breath he’d been holding. “Very well. I shall look forward to it.”
~ ~ ~
Gwen smoothed the front of her dress, willing the flapping wings in her stomach to
settle. She’d lain awake most of the night worrying about today, forcing herself to have positive thoughts.
“You look charming, my dear.” Miranda circled her. “Is this a new gown? The style is quite fetching. This particular shade of blue looks quite nice on you.”
“Do you think so?” Gwen tucked a loose curl behind her ear. Her maid had styled her hair in a chignon at the back of her neck with a few curls at the side. “It isn’t every day one accepts a proposal.”
“You’re positive you want to do this?”
“I really don’t have a choice, do I?”
Miranda led her over to the sofa where a tea table held a silver pot, delicate white cups, and a large plate of delicious-smelling lemon and strawberry tarts. She poured tea and handed Gwen a cup. “Here. This will settle your nerves.”
The cup rattled in the saucer. Gwen placed it on the table in front of her and bit into a lemon tart instead. The smooth filling slid down her throat. Since childhood, she’d used food to calm herself. The habit thickened her waistline, but she didn’t mind. After her first Season produced no offers, her mother had forbidden her sweets, thinking her too round to be fashionable. Gwen curbed her misery, lost weight, and still had no offers after her second Season. When her father increased her dowry, she’d had several suitors. None to her liking.
She sipped her tea without spilling a drop. “I feel better now.”
The door opened, and Jeremy and John strode into the parlor. They were deep in conversation and didn’t seem to notice Gwen at first. Then Jeremy stopped talking, smiled at her, and extended his hand. “Miss Pettigrew,” he said, kissing the air above her fingers. “How nice to see you again.” He gestured toward John. “Here is my brother. I know you two have much to discuss.”
John sauntered over and bowed. “It has been some time since I saw you last. I believe the occasion was at a musicale at your home . . . two years past?”
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