Thaddeus cackled at his own jest. “I knew you did. All your years in the military should have made you a man of the world.”
Roman sat and picked up the whisky. “It did. But I have very high standards.”
“Then marry a wife who meets them. Because, lad, the way matters are going...” He tapped the small stack of gambling debts. “You could lose everything you inherited with the title. Erzy and Malcolm could force you to sell, and then the old earl’s tobacconist and bootmaker would be right behind them. It is never wise to stir a pot.”
He was right. Except...
“What heiress who isn’t lame or hideous to look upon would settle for penniless me? Or are you going to tell me, Thaddeus, that it doesn’t matter? That I should leg-shackle myself to a woman and then live apart?”
“Well, that is one solution.”
“So much for heirs,” Roman muttered.
Thaddeus gave a sharp bark of laughter. “And here I thought you were a realist.”
“I am,” Roman assured him. “And I know that any heiress worth her weight in gold can attract a man with more to offer than empty pockets and a ramshackle estate.”
“Ah, but then there are the Spinster Heiresses. They are three young women, all marriageable, very attractive, and wealthy beyond your dreams.”
“Then why are they called spinsters? Why hasn’t someone snatched them up?”
“Because their fathers are very particular, just like yourself. They wouldn’t let a Captain Gilchrist near them, or even a Baron Gilchrist, or a Sir Roman, and very few earls—but Rochdale is one of the oldest titles in England. Before the last three holders of that title, blast their gambling souls, they were respected statesmen, the sort historians praised and the world never forgot. I want you to be that sort of earl, Roman. I want you to do me proud.”
“I will try... if I’m not in debtors’ prison.”
“Which is the reason I believe you should shine yourself up and call on one of the Spinsters. Their fathers will not look down their noses at one of their daughters becoming the Countess Rochdale, I can promise you that.”
“And how can you make such a promise?”
“Because this is their third year on the Marriage Mart.” He referred to the round of social events, balls, and routs where marriageable young women hunted for suitable husbands. “They are becoming a bit long of tooth. Their fathers will have to lower their standards if the daughters don’t make a match soon. One almost claimed a duke but he ran off with an actress instead. Bad bit of business. Delicious gossip though.”
Thaddeus poured himself another drink. He offered the bottle to Roman, who with a shake of his head refused it. He needed to keep his wits about him right now and he wasn’t one to see a virtue in overimbibing.
However, he was intrigued with Thaddeus’s plan. “What is wrong with them?” he asked, settling back in his chair. There must be a hidden cost.
“They are all decent young ladies,” Thaddeus assured him, putting the cork back in the decanter.
“Decent?”
His godfather eyed him. “You’re not in a position where you can be choosy.”
“Granted. However, does one of them limp or the others have pox marks? I’d rather be forewarned.”
“First, three Seasons does not a hag make. And they aren’t hags,” Thaddeus hurried to add. “They are each actually lovely.”
“Lovely and rich and unmarried?” Roman made a dismissive sound. “Spill it all, Thaddeus. Spare nothing.”
“Well, if there is a drawback they are each just on the border of being unacceptable. Not one could gain vouchers to Almack’s. However, most of the concerns are about their families. For example, Cassandra Holwell’s grandfather made his money in the mines. He started off as a miner and ended up by dint of hard work owning the mine. Her father is currently in the Commons.”
“That is not such a shabby thing.”
“Aye, but his manners are atrocious. He eats like a bull who has been starved for days. Throws food all around him.”
“And his daughter? Is she covered in food as well?”
“I’ve never seen her eat but I’ve not heard a complaint. She has yellow hair, rosy cheeks, and, from what I’ve heard, is very educated. She is a book lover as yourself.”
“A bluestocking?” Roman liked to read, but he did not like to debate.
