“Perhaps I will marry,” Oliver said, offering his brother a lazy smile he knew would infuriate. “Then this entire problem would cease to exist. Louisa will offer me a modest estate in the event of my marriage; thus, all I need do is bring her a wife.”
Henry pushed up from his chair, hands braced against the desk. “And who do you propose to marry? You have been to notonevents, and very few mothers would be eager for their daughters to marry the wastrel younger son of an earl.”
This was true; Oliver was an excellent flirt, well-practised in the art, but he had never been a serious target for anything more meaningful. When it came to marriage, all the pretty, spoilt brats of thetonwanted a man of means or a title. Preferably both.
Still, this was an obstacle he could overcome easily enough with some forethought. There were endless women in England—surelyonewould be amenable to marrying him.
“Fear not, brother,” he said, sweeping into a bow that made his head pound still further. “I shall contrive easily enough.”
“What will you do?”
Oliver gave a grin he didn’t feel. “Simple. I will marry the first lady who will have me.”
The village of Dalston held few charms, or so Oliver had assumed when he travelled north. That, however, was before he spied the buxom beauty strolling along the road, a basket over her arm. With her blonde hair, pert nose and pretty blue eyes, she was the very picture of country grace, and Oliver slowed his horse to a walk to better observe her.
He had been in the country for two days, having fled to Cumbria where his friend, Victor Prescott, was rusticating. Two days of exquisite boredom and nothing to do.
Until now.
The girl glanced up, sensing his attention. Her brow raised, and a calculating expression entered her eyes as she assessed him. He knew, instinctively, that this was precisely the girl he had thought of when he’d said to Henry he would marry the first girl that would have him.
He dismounted his borrowed horse and touched the brim of his hat. “Forgive the intrusion, but I couldn’t help noticing you were burdened by your basket. Allow me.”
She surrendered her basket, filled with muddy potatoes and the dusty leaves of cabbage. “You are too kind, sir. Are you new to the village? I usually recognise every face, but I confess to not recognising yours.”
“I arrived just two days ago.”
“From where?”
“London.”
A wistful look crossed her face. “I always wished I could go to London. I’ve lived in Dalston all my life, and it is so very far from the capital.”
“It was a damned long journey,” he agreed.
“Do you intend to stay long?”
“It rather depends.” Judging her receptive, he leant closer, lowering his voice. “I cannot return until I find a wife.”
“Oh!” The next look she offered him was both coy and assessing. “And do you have a lady in mind?”
“I hadn’t.” He let the words hang in the air, and she caught them with a sly, calculating smile. Her dress was not pretty or fashionable, but she had a good figure, and she was startlingly beautiful. A lady he could have on his arm proudly, but who would not be too prideful to wish for something more than the small estate he would inherit. Or so he hoped.
In short, provided she was amenable to his intentions—and he rather suspected she would be—she was perfect. He extended his hand. “Mr Beaumont, at your service.”
“Miss Isabella Brunton.” She placed her fingers delicately in his. “I hope we shall get to know each other better, sir.”
He brought her fingers to his lips. “I am quite certain we will.”
Chapter Two
EmilyBruntonwipedherforehead with the back of her hand. It was quite incredible the way how, at this temperature, one could be both freezing cold and sweating. Her knees ached as she knelt before the fire, the logs she had hauled in smoking futilely. Her temper, never the most reliable at the best of times, threatened to boil over.
Isabella was once again late. She had left quite some time ago to take the eggs to market, and as had become routine over the past two weeks, had yet to arrive back home.
Emily sat back on her heels and sighed, brushing the soot off her dress. The time had finally come when she would have to speak with her sister about the desires of men and how dangerous they could be—and how someone as pretty as her would be a target.
Isabella would not like it. But it had to be done.
