Lysander inclined his head. “To the best of my abilities, yes. UnlikeLucian.” Bitterness filled his voice as he spoke his cousin’s name. “How easy it is to be the jolly one! The one who never has to say no. He would come waltzing in, completely disregard Grandfather’s diet, take him outdrinking—at the age of ninety-two, mind you! He would even drive him around at reckless speeds in his highflyer.”
The words spilled from Rosalie’s mouth before she could think better of them. “But Lucian didn’t own a highflyer. He could never have afforded one.”
“He would borrow it from that degenerate friend of his, Evander Beauclerk,” Lysander said, sounding wounded. “I apologize for having misspoken.”
“That’s quite all right,” Rosalie murmured, feeling chastened. Why must she always be so exacting about the most trivial detail? She bit her lip, considering. There was another question she wanted to ask, but she did not want to come across as contrarian.
She decided to risk it. “But why would he do these things? What benefit was it to him?”
Lysander shook his head. “I regret to say that his motivations appear to have been of a mercenary nature. Although most of theestate is entailed, there were certain properties and funds that Grandfather was free to grant as he saw fit. Clearly, Lucian was trying to ingratiate himself with our grandfather in the hope that he might inherit them.” His voice darkened. “And, I fear, trying to hasten the unhappy event that would bring him into said inheritance by encouraging such reckless and unhealthy habits.”
Rosalie leaned back against the sofa’s cushions. A moment ago, she would have said that her opinion of Lucian Deverell could not have sunk any lower.
But to mistreat an elderly man for money? His owngrandfather?
It was the most contemptible behavior imaginable.
“I’m sorry,” Rosalie said, realizing that an awkward silence had fallen. “I am simply… stunned.”
“Understandably so,” Lysander said, his voice full of sympathy. “Come, let us not speak of such an unpleasant topic. I came to ask you a specific question, in light of this morning’sRake Review.”
Rosalie gave a bleak laugh. “I fear we exchange one unpleasant topic for another. But what did you wish to ask me?”
Suddenly, he stood, crossed the room in three brisk strides, and shut the door which the footman had very properly left open.
“Lysander?” Rosalie asked, startled. “What are you?—”
He resumed his seat not in the facing chair, but next to her on the sofa. “What have your parents said is to happen? Regarding our nuptials?”
She tamped down her instinct, which was to scoot away. “They have not told me precisely what is to happen. But…”
“But?” he insisted.
“My mother mentioned that you had not signed the marriage contract,” she said gently. “That you did not agree with some of the provisions.”
He leaned forward and patted her hand. “Had you read it, you would understand. Many of your father’s stipulations were bizarre.”
Rosalie bristled. Of course, she had read the document upon which her entire future hinged! There were only two provisions that were the slightest bit unusual. One regarded Aylesford Castle, a property that was unusual in that it had been passed down her family’s maternal line, from mother to daughter, for more than five hundred years. Her father had stipulated that this tradition should continue, that the castle should remain Rosalie’s sole property during her lifetime, and that it should be left to Rosalie’s daughter, or to her closest female relative, after her death.
The second provision stated that if at any point in the future she should deem her marriage with Lysander untenable, she would be given leave to return to the household in which she had grown up, Swanscombe Park. This was her father’s way of addressing the current law, which gave a man the right to beat his wife. Should Lysander turn out to be less than honorable, Rosalie would always have a way out.
Why would Lysander object? Was he truly that desperate to own a crumbling castle?
Or was he planning to beat her?
“What, precisely, did you find objectionable?” she asked, unable to keep the frosty edge from her voice.
Lysander waved a hand. “Never mind. More to the point, do your parents intend for you to go through with the wedding?”
Rosalie softened her voice, because what she had to say would come as a blow to any man, and Lysander was already having a terrible day. “I do not believe so. My impression is that they are in the process of making other arrangements, although no one will tell me what those arrangements are to be.”
He nodded, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “They leave us no choice, then. We must elope.” He seized her hand and rose, pulling her up from the couch. “Come. We’ll depart for Gretna Green forthwith.”
“What?” Rosalie yanked her hand from his grasp. The thought flitted across her mind that if her skin crawled this much from holding hands with this man, it was fortunate that they would not be having a wedding night after all. “We cannot elope!”
He reached for her hand again and frowned when she drew it behind her back. “We can, and we must. It is the only way we can be wed if your parents will not give their consent.”
“And what of my consent?” she shot back. “I was only willing to marry you in the first place if you agreed to the terms spelled out in the marriage contract. What on earth makes you believe I would elope with you without legal protections of any sort in place?”
