“Alas, I will never be so beautiful as she,” Christa said regretfully as she chose one of the leather wing chairs in front of his desk.
“That is true,” Lewis said soberly.
Christa shot him a glance that blended amusement with irritation. Protocol demanded he assure her that she was equally beautiful. It wouldn’t have been true, of course, but most gentlemen would have lied gallantly. No wonder he was in his forties and had never married! One of the maids had gossiped that a widow in a nearby town took care of his “masculine needs,” but he seemed too cold a man to really love a woman.
As she now studied his closed face, so like Charles’s but without the vital charm, she wondered what he really felt. Was he happy to be an earl? Did he miss his nephew? Was he capable of missing anyone?
Lord Radcliffe sat down again. “What did you wish to discuss?”
“I have been a year now in Berkshire, Uncle Lewis,” Christa began. “Since I am out of mourning, it’s time I went to London and entered society. Your cousin Clarissa has written and invited me to stay with her. She is worried because I am twenty-three, almost too old to find a husband.” She smiled at him teasingly, but his answer was grave.
“Marriage is the only proper goal for a young lady, but a dowerless girl is at a great disadvantage, particularly in London.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Dowerless? But Papa was one of the richest men in France! I know much of the family property is forfeit, but he sent a considerable sum of money to Charles.”
Lewis shook his head. “That may have been his intention, but it was never fulfilled. He may have delayed too long, or perhaps he tried, and his arrangements were never carried out because of the revolution and the war with England.”
Christa stood suddenly, unable to sit still in the face of this news. “You aresurethere is no account set up in my name? Papa had spoken of his intentions perhaps four years ago, and England did not declare war on France till more than a year later.”
He shook his head again. “Quite sure. I assumed your father would have provided for you, but when I checked the bank records of the last six years, ever since the revolution began, there was no money transferred from France during that whole period.” The expression in his cool blue eyes was unreadable as he added, “I’m afraid you have nothing.”
Christa paced over to the window and stared out at the bare dripping trees of the park while she struggled to absorb this information. Her hands were clenched as she said, “Do you mean that for this last year, all the clothes, the books, the pin money you gave me—everything wascharity?”
Lewis stood and followed her to the window. “Please, you must not think of it as such. You are Charles’s sister, and there will always be a home for you here.” He paused, then said, “But you know what the world is like. Even though you are a countess, a penniless young woman has almost no chance of contracting a suitable alliance. And you are a foreigner—that would count against you even if our countries were not at war.”
She turned to face him, her eyes challenging the impenetrable face as a cool finger of alarm touched the back of her neck. There was something odd, very odd, about the way he was emphasizing her unmarriageability. While he was under no obligation to provide for her, he could, if he chose, give her a dowry with the stroke of a pen and scarcely notice the cost. Charles would certainly have done so.
Her voice was dry as she said, “It is true that you English are an insular lot in every sense of the word. But if I wish for a husband, I am not wholly without the ability to find one.” Ever since she had reached her fifteenth year, she had been showered with sonnets, flowers, marriage proposals, and scores of less honorable propositions. She was confident that not all had been due to her father’s wealth.
A flare of emotion sparked the pale eyes as he stared down at her, and for the first time she was uneasily aware how close he was standing. The earl said softly, “You are a very lovely girl. In fact, I have a solution that will benefit both of us.”
She swished around him to her leather chair, but he came and sat next to her rather than returning to his desk. Uncomfortable with his proximity, she leaned back and stared in silence, daring him to continue. Lewis said awkwardly, “It was never necessary that I marry in the past, but as earl I owe it to my name to provide an heir. You are in need of a husband, and I am in need of a wife.” His voice faltered under her steel-gray gaze, then he continued more strongly, “Marie-Christine, I would be very honored if you would consent to marry me.”
“But you are myuncle!” Though she had sensed some strange mood in him, she had trouble believing the words he spoke.
The earl smiled, more sure of himself. “Uncle by courtesy only. You know there is no blood relationship between us. I am perhaps a little old for you, but I am in good health. I am sure we could have many years together.”
Christa almost spat at him. “Always you have been Uncle Lewis to me. Though we may not be truly related, to me it feels likeincest!”
He winced at her plain speaking. “I realize it will take time for you to accustom yourself to the idea, but I am sure you will see the advantages when you think on it. As the Countess of Radcliffe, you will once more have the position and luxury you are accustomed to. You can stay here where you are known and not have to go among strangers.”
She stood so suddenly that the heavy chair skidded away behind her. Glaring down at him, she said tightly, “It is most kind of you to sacrifice yourself to help a poor relation. After all, as the Earl of Radcliffe you may look as high as you choose. But if I refuse your so-generous offer, what then? The poorhouse,mon oncle? Or will you throw me out to sell myself on the streets of London?”
He stood also, frowning as if she were a willful child. “This has been a shock and you are overwrought. We will speak again when you have had time to consider.”
Taking her right hand, Lewis continued more earnestly than she had ever heard him. “I have spoken badly. Marrying you would be no duty, but a very great pleasure.” He pressed a kiss onto her hand, and she stared at the bent blond head with dawning horror. The earl’s lips burned as intensely as his eyes had when he stared into hers, and she wondered how she could have ever thought he lacked passion.Mon Dieu, but he wanted her indeed! Christa felt a shadow of pity at the desperation in his touch, but it was swept away in a flood of revulsion. Jerking her hand free, she fled the room.
Lord Radcliffe made no attempt to stop her, merely watching, his face once more expressionless. He had expected Christa to be surprised, even shocked, at the news of her poverty and at his proposal, but she should come around soon. After all, what other choice did the girl have?
* * *
Even an hour’s walking in the raw March day could not cool Christa’s outrage. She had paused only to grab a cloak and change her indoor slippers to half boots before storming outside. Her path took her through the home wood and looped back till she stood now on the edge of the ornamental lake. The spot was one where she and Charles would come to skip stones as children. Since flat shale was not common in the area, her brother had used his lordly powers to order that a supply of the stones be perpetually kept on the site.
Prompted by the memory, she poked around in the bushes until, to her delight, she found a pile of shale perfect for skipping. She gathered a handful and moved to the edge of the water. Picking up the first piece of stone, she tossed it in her hand to get the heft, then hurled it across the lake. It crashed into the gray waters without a single skip.
“That is sotypicalof this day! First that . . . thatcochon, thatpig, tells me I am a pauper.” Christa had always enjoyed talking aloud to herself; usually, though by no means always, she indulged in it when she was alone. She frowned now, and said slowly as she picked up another stone, “It was not like Papa to forget something as important as providing for the future. To be sure, he was a philosopher, but he was also French and a practical man. So, do I believe in my father? Or this pig of an uncle?” She nodded in satisfaction as the stone managed two skips before sinking.
“But the money . . . that is less important than what he tries to do to me. That he should try tocompelme to marry him . . . me! My ancestors fought with Charles the Hammer at Poitiers a thousand years ago! I am a d’Estelle, a countess of France!”
