All his carefully laid plans crumbled like a sandcastle washed away by the tide. He’d worked so hard for so long to make the estates profitable again after his father’s neglect. Timothy’s face flickered in his mind’s eye. Even if he bought time to bail out Charles, what would be left for his son to inherit?
There had to be some other way to satisfy the widow’s demands. He’d heard about the widow’s matchmaking sideline. Perhaps Charles could marry his way out of this. Not that he’d wish a cold, loveless marriage on anyone, but it was preferableto his brother’s imprisonment in one of London’s overcrowded, vermin-infested hellholes.
The black fabric stirred. “Oh, I know he doesn’t have it, and neither do you, my lord. But there’s more than one way to pay.”
And there it was—the trap neatly laid. The black widow was very good at spinning the webs she wove. Very well, then, it was time to negotiate. “What do you have in mind for my little brother?”
“Your little brother is a spendthrift wastrel, and I have no use for him. You, on the other hand…”
His stomach dropped to the floor. Charles was supposed to be the sacrificial lamb, not him. This was not his debt, damn it all!
“And what use, pray tell, do you have for me?” he asked as lightly as he could manage. He’d made the mistake of marrying once, and he had no intention of repeating it. Laura’s betrayal had squeezed every drop of sentiment from his heart, leaving nothing but a husk behind. He’d married her with such high hopes, but the only good thing to come of their union was Timothy. While he’d grieved her untimely death, he couldn’t summon anything but guilty relief that he was a free man after the way she’d treated him.
“I know a lovely young lady—the daughter of a duke, as it happens—who is rather urgently in need of an upright, respectable husband. I think you might be just the man for the job.”
David squeezed his eyes shut. “No. Absolutely not. I have no intention of remarrying.”
“You say that as if you have a choice. I assure you, my lord, you do not. We have already established that neither your brother nor you can pay. And I always collect my debts. This isthe only way to save your worthless brother from being locked up at Marshalsea.”
Damn you, Charles!For the fifteenth time, David fantasized about letting his scapegrace of a brother face the consequences of his actions. But everyone knew that men who went into Marshalsea rarely came out alive thanks to meager food, rampant disease, and abuse from the guards. Even if the wealthy got slightly better treatment, it was a fate he wouldn’t wish on anyone.
If the stakes were less dire, he would gladly wash his hands of it all. But the last thing he wanted was to have to explain to a four-year-old about the indefinite detention of his favorite uncle. Timothy would never forgive him. And letting his own brother waste away in that notorious death trap was more than evenhisossified heart could bear.
David’s shoulders sagged. Perhaps a marriage of convenience was the lesser evil, even if the mere thought made him want to punch a hole in the wall. He didn’t have to live with her, after all. Once her reputation was saved, they could part ways and live their separate lives. Marriages in name only weren’t so unusual amongst the ton.
“I hate this,” he grumbled under his breath.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled. “I’m glad to see you’re coming around. It’s not so very much to ask, after all. It can’t be that much of a hardship to wed a beautiful young woman from a prestigious family compared to losing a brother to debtor’s prison.”
Perhaps not, but still… “This mess isn’t of my making, and yet you would make me pay for it for the rest of my life with a wife I don’t want. Isn’t there some other way to settle this? Surely, we can come to some arrangement.”
She cocked her head. “It’s not fair, I’ll grant you. But I’m a businesswoman, and when I see an opportunity, I make themost of it. Curse me all you like inside that handsome head of yours, but this is the deal I’m offering, my lord. Take it, or your brother pays the price. It’s very simple.”
A mere week ago, life had seemed so straightforward. He and Timothy were planning a trip to Bath to visit their favorite little cousins. His mood had been positively festive, at least for him. Curse Charles for ruining it all!
“I have a modest estate in Northumberland where I could put the woman. I suppose I never need to see her after the wedding.”
Black silk whispered as she shifted. “Ah. Well. I did leave out one small detail. You’ll need to keep her with you for at least three months to let the scandal die down. Her father insisted on that condition.”
“Her father, the duke.” Which of the thirty or so dusty codgers from the House of Lords was he? David didn’t relish the thought of crossing a duke, but staying with the woman was out of the question.
“Her father, the Duke of Wellington.”
David nearly fell out of his chair. “I’m sorry. You want me to marry General Wellington’sdaughter?” He’d served under the man fighting Napoleon. No one disobeyed an order from his grace unless they wanted to court utter ruin.
“I do indeed.”
“Lady Clarissa, isn’t it?” His voice came out as a rasp. A riot of red curls and the bright scent of lemon and bergamot flashed through his mind, as he recalled catching her when she tripped on the stairs at the Carringtons’ musicale last year. She’d called him her “knight in shining armor”. He’d handed her off to others as quickly as possible and escaped the event, not wanting her or anyone else to draw any unwanted conclusions from the encounter. Everyone knew how protective the duke was of her, and David had had no intention of inviting his ire. Though, truthbe told, he’d had some rather heated dreams in the aftermath, not that he ever intended to admit that to anyone.
“You know her, then?”
“A little.” A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. This had gotten entirely out of hand. The last thing he needed was to find himself married to a wayward young lady whose father would have him drawn and quartered for the least offense—like, say, abandoning her in a country estate mere months after wedding her. “We’ve met socially a few times but have never spoken more than a few sentences to each other.”
“That’s easily remedied. She’ll be here shortly. I told her to come at four.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s tone of voice was positively smug.
David dragged his reluctant gaze to the ormolu clock above the mantle. The minute hand stood at five to the hour, the tick of its pendulum sounding like a death knell in his ears. He gulped. “But…but…”
“But what, my lord?”
