She stopped pouting. Drew in a breath. “Daltry’s will was read yesterday.”
“Indeed.” Andrew took a swallow of whiskey, wondering how on earth she managed to make mourning look so damned sensual. The way the black crepe clung to her nubile curves ought to be a sin. “Did he leave you anything of interest?”
“I suppose. If you would call one hundred thousand pounds interesting.”
He coughed. “Pardon?”
“You heard me. What in heaven’s name am I supposed to do?” she cried.
He could think of a lot one could do with that astronomical sum. He also understood the tangled workings of her mind. “You feel guilty taking the money,” he guessed.
“I don’t want it,” she said, setting down the glass with a fierceclink, “not a single penny! But I can’t refuse it either—not without stirring up suspicion as to why. And I refuse to give up respectability now that it’s finally within my reach.”
“That is a dilemma.” His mouth twitched; he couldn’t help it.
Truly, the chit was her own worst enemy.
“You’reamused?”
“You must admit the irony of the situation. First, you wanted to establish the legitimacy of your marriage. Now you’re wanting to dissolve it. But only a part of it.” He lifted his shoulders. “As the adage goes, my dear, you cannot have your cake and eat it too.”
“Well, you’re no help.” She scowled at him. “I don’t know why I came to you.”
“Don’t you? We’ll get to that in a moment,” he murmured. “Now you want my advice on your quandary?”
Her nod was so grudging that he almost smiled.
“Take the money,” he said.
“I can’t possibly take Daltry’s money—”
“Why not? He left it to you, didn’t he?”
She nodded, again reluctantly. “Apparently, he met with his solicitor before we eloped and specified that, in the event of his passing, his personal property was to go to me… and any children we might have.”
“He left nothing to his family members?”
“They’re in line to inheritafterme. They won’t see a cent until I remarry or die, whichever comes first. It’s the ultimate snub,” she said glumly. “On our wedding night, he called them hypocrites because they scorned the origins of his wealth at the same time asking for handouts. The notion of them begging for money from me—a trollopy bastard, as he put it—must have amused him to no end.”
“Your former husband was an ass,” Andrew stated. “But whatever his motivations, he wanted you to have the money. Ergo, you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“But I… I wasn’t a real wife to him.” Her fingers wove tightly in her lap.
“It’s not your fault that he couldn’t perform. Or that he cocked up his toes on your wedding night. The moment that marriage certificate was signed, the money was yours.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Life doesn’t always give us what we want, sweetheart.”
“How can you be so blasé about the whole thing?”
“There are worse things than being handed a king’s ransom. Your husband was using you to get at his relations: why should you feel responsible for that?” he said bluntly. “If you don’t want the money for yourself, then use it to do good for others.”
“Charitable work isn’t my strength.” Her expression turned dubious. “My sister Polly works with foundlings, but I never got the hang of it. Children are sticky, and I’m squeamish. I did try to volunteer my efforts at a madhouse once. I was scheduled to give a vocal performance—to cheer up the residents—and my singing was going over well, I thought… until a lunatic attacked me and held me at knifepoint.” She wrinkled her nose. “After that, I gave up on altruistic endeavors.”
He stared at her, torn between wrath over the danger she’d experienced… and the desire to laugh aloud at her harebrained account. Only Primrose could turn a charitable undertaking into a drama worthy of Drury Lane. He didn’t know why he found that quality of hers endearing—and vastly entertaining—but, dammit, he did.
“You don’t have to do charity work,” he said. “Just donate funds to the cause in question.”
