Joanna winked. “We might as well be. I can see where the strategy could be the same.”
Andrew was no fox. He was more like a lion and would be as likely to attack his hunter as fall to him. The only way she could see to entice him was if they could help him with his financial situation without mention of her or her dowry. “Oh, I think I know what would interest him. At Lady Dulac’s season-closing ball, James offered to advise Lord Sommerset on the management of his estate after the unusual summer we had. Back then he was worried about his tenants and their ability to survive. Now, I understand why, his father left heavy debts when he passed.”
“Really?” James frowned.
Joanna shook her head at her husband’s lack of societal knowledge. “I can see that. The former Lord Sommerset enjoyed life to the fullest. He didn’t gamble, but he did collect horses, paintings, um, women, and I believe he even sponsored a pugilist one year. I can see where he may have had debts.”
She didn’t like hearing that Andrew’s father had collected women, but Andrew had pledged his loyalty to her and from now on she would take him at his word. “Lord Northwick, would you be willing to give Lord Sommerset advice on how to proceed?”
“I would.” James contemplated the idea. “I could send a note from the inn and see if the man will meet with me. I’m sure they have some private dining rooms there.” He looked her in the eye. “Understand that I can only do so much. A man’s pride is a strong factor, and he may not be willing to meet with me, knowing that we travel together.”
At his words, her chest constricted. It was a soft condemnation of her rejection of Andrew, and she deserved it. “I understand. Even if he won’t see me, if you can help him, I would be grateful.”
Joanna patted her hand. “Of course he’ll help. I will, too.” She gave her husband a telling look. “I do keep the ledgers after all.”
“And you do that quite beautifully.” James smiled at Joanna.
Would she ever see Andrew smile at her again, or would he marry one of the many ladies anxious for his hand? The pain of that happening was too unbearable to contemplate. Those women didn’t even know him. No doubt all they saw were his multi-colored golden locks and golden eyes and thought him perfect. They didn’t know about his sense of humor, how he cared for his mother, or how exciting his touch could be.
Grasping her anger toward the local women like marble she was determined to sculpt, she kept herself from crying again for the whole of an hour.
Chapter Twenty-One
Andrew sat oppositehis mother at dinner, thankful to have peace and quiet for a moment. The day had been productive, but tiring. The cold had been especially harsh as he’d helped a tenant push his wagon out of a ditch. It had been a long time since he’d done any manual labor and it surprised him how good it felt to accomplish something. That his tenant was grateful would go a long way in letting his people know that he wasn’t like his father.
Having already finished a plate of blancmange, he helped himself to another.
“Really Andrew, such an appetite.” His mother’s admonishment actually pleased him. She seemed to take so little interest in life unless it was something Mrs. Bolton said. In that instance, the lady companion had helped a little.
“You know how much I love blancmange.”
“Yes, you and your father. Your love for that dish is at least something in common with him.”
He forced himself not to grimace. He was nothing like his father beyond blancmange. The more he learned of his father’s dealings with others, the more disillusioned he became with his parent. Deciding not to comment, he took another mouthful of food to avoid replying.
His mother set down her fork and waved over a footman who took her plate. “It is unfortunate you weren’t here for our callers again today. We had quite a few.”
He took a sip of wine, glad he had been about. It was difficult making excuses to be away from the house every day, but his mother was enjoying the company, so he’d continue for a while yet. “Were you happy with them?” He took another bite.
“Oh, yes, well, except one. I was especially pleased to have a visit from the Duke and Duchess of Northwick.”
The blancmange suddenly tasted like paste in his mouth, and he forced himself to swallow it. “How unusual.” He grabbed his wine glass and took a gulp.
His mother watched him keenly. “Yes, unfortunately, Lady Amelia was with them. She brought the painting you commissioned from her. I didn’t know you were having her paint your portrait. I don’t think she captured your nobleness though. Your father was quite jovial, but his portrait is much more regal than yours. A portrait should be dignified befitting your station.”
He sputtered on his wine, quickly wiping his face. “Did you see it?”
“Of course I saw it. Oh, it was wrapped in brown paper, but I had Mr. Pratt unwrap it. After how that woman treated you, I thought I should view it before you did. I really do think you’ll need to have another done. It just won’t do. I don’t know what you’ll do with it.”
He rose. “Where is it?”
“It’s in the study. Surely you aren’t going to look at it now. Cook made green tea ice cream.”
Striding toward the archway of the dining room, he did pause. “Tell her I’ll have it in my study.”
“Mrs. Bolton was right. I should have never…”
He didn’t hear what else Mrs. Bolton had to say as he strode through the house to his study. Opening the doors, he scanned the room. It took him a moment to find where Pratt had set the painting. It lay on top of his desk.
