“Can it wait?” William hated feeling like a puppet while his uncle pulled his strings until he could get his hands on his inheritance. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew the answer.
Flatly, Ambrose said, “No. And after you write the letter, find the lady and apologize, preferably with others around.”
His fists clenched. That would put a hammer in the declaration of her innocence. All he had to do was find her, clear her name so she could run off with Hansen. It was the best thing to do, it was the most decent thing to do, but knowing it would end up with her and Hansen firmly hand-in-hand, made his heart rebel.
What do you want?
And is it with her that you want it with?
CHAPTER 12
This is the last chance to prove myself to Graham before I tell him the truth of my life.
“Have you ever been to Vauxhall, my dear?” Lord Hansen asked as the carriage trundled over the bridge.
“No,” Bridget clenched the fan in her hand. “It is not a place for proper young ladies, unchaperoned, and certainly not at night. I have heard stories that do not sit well with me.”
“Well, we are properly supervised,” Graham nodded while drumming his fingers on the windowsill. “Speaking of stories, I commended Duke Arlington for sending his recount of the incident to the Times. It certainly did much to clear you of any lingering suspicion, not that there was any to begin with.”
Remembering the letter that the newspaper had printed three days ago, Bridget agreed. “That was kind of him, but I… frankly, I had not expected it from him.”
“Neither had I, but he may have a kernel of decency that was buried deep inside,” Gregory rubbed her hand. “But thank goodness for that. I had hoped the clarification I had sent them would have sealed the issue away, but these days, rumors and scandals are the meat Londoners vie for.”
Bridget gave him a soft smile, unwilling to accept that Hansen’s touch was warm and comforting… but did not have a fraction of the heat that a mere brush of Arlington’s fingers made her feel.
He is the best choice. He is sensible. He is a good man.
“And thank you for including the maid’s recount as well in your letter to the press,” Bridget replied. “It meant the world to me.”
“I am happy you were not ill,” Hansen nodded. “Otherwise, seeing the Cascade would not be a happy occasion. Moreover, I doubt your lovely gown would survive another submerging.”
Her eyes dropped to the soft peach silk dress—a gift from Ellie—that gathered under the bosom, but parted to reveal a simple silk under-skirt, and fell in a soft, graceful column. To accompany the dress, her maid had coaxed her hair into curls and piled them high, leaving a few tendrils to frame her face.
She laughed quietly, “I don’t think so either.”
“Do you like fireworks, my lady?” he asked.
“I adore them,” she gasped. “Aren’t they set off late though?”
“They are, but no fear,” Graham quickly added. “We’ll wait in the Rotunda, or pass the time at the Supper Boxes. I have rented one by the way—” he checked his pocket watch, “—it is three in the afternoon, we shan’t be too long waiting.”
“May I ask about your family, my lord?” she asked.
“Graham, please,” he began. “My family is truncated, my father passed when I was at Eton at the age of nine, and my uncle stepped in to manage the earldom until I came into my majority and took over. I have an elder sister who is happily married, and I have two twin nephews who are absolute gremlins, though I love them to death.”
“You adore children then,” she smiled.
“When they are not being an absolute terror, of course. And you, my lady? Are children a part of your ambitions?”
“With a happy marriage, yes,” Bridget sighed. “My lord, I… I fear I should tell you before we get any further. My… my family’s situation is not a happy one. My father passed away three years ago, and my brother, who had returned from the Peninsular War, sadly gambled away the little fortune we had inherited—” she swallowed, hating to admit the last part, “—including my dowry.”
Her words sounded like a death knell. How well would an eligible lord, with many fortunate ladies nipping at his heels, take it to know the lady he was courting was penniless?
She wanted to curl into a ball and die of embarrassment. Heat burned behind her eyes. A finger tipped her chin up and with her heart firmly lodged in her throat, she felt confused by his smile.
“You needn’t be afraid to tell me such a thing,” he replied. “I do not need a lady’s dowry, my dear. Matter of fact, I am not swayed by it either. A fortune hunter might be, but not I. See, there are some women who have money yet no personality. I prefer personality to riches.”
She swallowed. This could not be true.
