Sophia James - The Regency Season - Convenient Marriages

Wiping her forefinger along the lines of her lips, she then held it still, the impression of flesh sending small shards of want into a sense that had long been dormant.

She was known for her composure and her unruffled calm. She seldom let things bother her and always managed people with acumen and honesty.

Unflappable Amethyst . Until Lord Daniel Wylde.

He made her think of possibilities that would not come to pass. She was ruined goods and she was plain. Without the Montcliffe financial problems and the collection by her father of the extensive Goldsmith debts, he would never have given her a second glance.

She could not allow herself to be one of those pathetic women who didn’t see the truth of their loveless marriages and held on for year after year for something that was impossible.

Two years was what she could give him. Two years in which her father would not be sad or worried or unhappy. If he even lived that long, which was doubtful.

The Earl of Montcliffe would not love her and she would not let herself love him. But together they could manage. The kiss had thrown her, that was all, an unexpected chink in the armour she had long pulled about her.

Liar. Liar. Liar. The words ran together as a refrain as she hurried back to her father.

* * *

Lucien Howard, Earl of Ross, sat beside Daniel in the card room of White’s an hour later. Smoke swirled around in curls and the smell of strong liquor filled any space left as some patrons won a little and others lost a lot.

‘I hear you bought those remarkable Arabian greys at Tattersall’s?’ There was a good measure of curiosity in his friend’s query.

‘You know enough about my present circumstances, Luce, to know I could never afford them.’

‘Then why are they in your care?’

‘Have you heard of the trader, Mr Robert Cameron?’

‘No. Who is he?’

‘A man who sells timber to the world.’

‘Lucrative, then?’

‘Very. He wants me to marry his daughter.’

Brandy slopped against the side of the glass as Lucien lurched forward. ‘You agreed?’

‘The matching pair of greys came as a sweetener. Montcliffe Manor is bankrupt and it will only be a matter of months before the rest of the world knows the fact.’ He raised his glass and then swallowed a good part of the contents of the bottle he had ordered. ‘If I do nothing, it will all be gone.’

Lucien was quiet for a moment, but then he smiled. ‘What does the daughter look like?’

‘Passable.’

‘Your bastard of a father must be laughing in the afterlife then. At least he was a man of his word. I remember him insisting that you wouldn’t inherit a farthing of his fortune and he meant it.’

‘The curse of the Wyldes?’ Daniel’s thoughts fell into words.

‘How long do you have left, do you think, if you sat it out and did nothing?’

‘It will only be a matter of weeks before the first creditors arrive.’ Leaning back against soft leather, he ran his hands through his hair. ‘I have had word that they are already circling.’

‘I’d lend you money if I had any, but my situation is about as dire as your own.’

‘Your grandfather wants to disinherit your side of the family again? I heard about it from Francis before he left for Bath.’

‘Where he has gone to try to sort out his own financial woes, no doubt. Seems he has a cousin a few times removed there causing him some trouble.’

Daniel smiled. ‘The three of us have our problems then, though mine could be solved before the month is up.’

‘You will go through with it? This betrothal?’

‘Marriage or bankruptcy? I have little choice.’

‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were all going to travel to the Far East and make our fortunes, remember? God, that sort of innocence seems so long ago.’

‘The naivety of youth.’

‘Or the hope of it. Marriage is a big step, Daniel. Is this bride-to-be at least intelligent?’

‘Undeniably.’

‘Does she simper?’

‘No.’

‘An heiress who has brains and is not prone to whining? Perhaps you have made more of a match than you imagine. What colour is her hair?’

‘A dull mouse.’

Lucien began to laugh. ‘And her eyes?’

‘Brown.’

‘Is she fat?’

‘Thin.’

‘Short?’

‘No.’

‘Mama was always certain you would marry the moody but beautiful Charlotte Hughes. She is back, you know, from Scotland and without the husband.’

‘Spenser Mackay died by all accounts.’

‘But in doing so he left her a fortune which she probably needs about as much as you do. The ton likes to think you were heartbroken when she left, Daniel.’

‘A good tale is often more interesting than a truthful one.’

‘Have you told the Countess about your upcoming nuptials?’

‘I haven’t.’

‘But you will?’

‘No. The wedding is in a few weeks’ time. Mother would need at least a month to get ready for it and even that might not be enough. Would you be the best man, Luce?’

‘I would be honoured to.’

‘Francis will be the usher, I hope. I sent a message to Bath yesterday telling him of the plans. The announcement will be in The Times next week.’

‘A few more hours of peace, then. When can I meet your intended?’

‘I’m calling on her on Monday. Perhaps you might accompany me?’

A furore at the other end of the room caught their attention and Lord Gabriel Hughes, the fourth Earl of Wesley, strode in, a tall stranger hanging on his shoulder and pushed off with a nonchalance that was surprising.

‘London is not as it was, my lords. Nordmeyer insists that I insulted his sister and wants to call me out for it.’

‘And did you insult her?’

‘She sent me a note arranging a meeting and he found it. I hardly think that was my fault.’

‘But you would have met her if the letter had arrived?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

Laughter was as good a medicine as any, Daniel thought as Gabe ordered a drink. A few years ago he and Gabriel Hughes had been good friends, but he hadn’t seen much of him lately. Charlotte’s influence, perhaps. The women in the family had always been surprisingly persuasive.

‘I hear you were the one who bought the pair of greys showing at Tattersall’s a few weeks back, Montcliffe. Richard Tattersall had designs to procure them himself, but it seems you beat him to it with an irrefusable offer.’

Daniel wondered where this story had originated. Robert Cameron, perhaps, for the man was as wily as he was rich.

‘The Montcliffe coffers must be in good shape, then, for they would have not come cheap,’ Gabriel remarked. An undercurrent of question lay in the words. ‘And speaking of good shape, my sister is home again and had hoped that you might call upon her?’

‘I saw her today. In Regent Street.’

‘How did she appear to you?’ The heavy frown on Gabriel’s forehead was worrying.

‘In good health. Your mother was with her.’

‘She seldom allows Charlotte out of her sight. I think she is worried that grief might get the better of her.’

‘Grief for the death of her husband?’

The short bark of laughter was disconcerting. ‘She realised that Spenser Mackay was a mistake before she had even come within a cooee of the Borderlands.’

‘Another man, then?’ Lucien joined in the conversation now.

But as if realising he had said too much, Gabriel Hughes gestured to the waiter and ordered another drink.

‘I propose a toast to our bachelorhood, gentlemen, and long may it last.’ As Lucien lifted his glass Daniel caught his eyes and the deep humour obvious in the blue depths was disconcerting.