The Earl of Conley nodded, evidently satisfied.
“Veronica will come home with me now. In two days, the wedding will take place. That will give you enough time to arrange for a special license.
“Even if I’m an American?”
“You’ll find that money stifles a great many objections, sir. Even in the case of Americans.”
He stared at the Earl of Conley for several ticking moments.
The hours before dawn had found him awake, attempting to reason a way out of this predicament. He hadn’t come up with a solution. Nor could he standing there.
“I’ll marry her,” he said. “Damn it, I’ll marry her.”
Mrs. Gardiner woke her from a surprisingly restful sleep. The sleep of the just, the unrepentant, the innocent, which hardly applied in her situation but for which Veronica was grateful.
“Pardon me, miss, but His Lordship wishes you to meet him downstairs.”
She glanced down at the hated brown robe.
“I’ll see if one of the maids has a dress you can borrow,” Mrs. Gardiner said, correctly interpreting her look.
She shook her head. “Never mind,” she said. Montgomery Fairfax had already seen her attire—and more.
“You have no shoes on, miss.”
She glanced down at her feet as if just then discovering them bare.
“I’ve lost them,” she said, then smiled at the housekeeper to indicate that it was no great loss. Compared to the loss of her home, security, and whatever future she might have had as a poor relation in her uncle’s home, what was a pair of shoes?
She slipped behind the screen, performed her morning ablutions, and, once finished, left the room and descended the steps. Halting at the landing, she stared down at Uncle Bertrand, and behind him, Adam and Algernon.
Uncle Bertrand glanced up at her. She would not make the mistake of speaking first. She might not be as learned as her cousins in the ways of London, but she was astute when it came to people.
Uncle Bertrand liked to be in charge.
He gave her a disgusted glance.
In all honesty, she could not blame him for being annoyed at her appearance. She’d not brushed her hair, and she was as improperly attired as she’d been the night before.
“Is Mr. Fairfax not here?” she asked, descending the rest of the steps.
“He’s the 11thLord Fairfax of Doncaster, and more properly referred to as His Lordship. And he’s given us the privacy necessary for this meeting.”
Before she could speak, he waved his hand toward the door.
“You’re coming home,” he said.
Had he forgiven her?
What had Montgomery Fairfax said to him to bring about this great change?
She clasped her hands in front of her, not about to annoy her uncle with too many questions.
“Thank you for forgiving me, Uncle,” she said. The gratitude she felt was tempered by the knowledge that she would, no doubt, have to pay for her uncle’s largesse in the future.
“I haven’t forgiven you,” he said flatly. “You’ll remain with us until His Lordship acquires a special license. You’re to be married, Veronica.”
Stunned, she could only stare at her uncle.
