“The day after?”
Thomas felt himself blush. “I am engaged for that evening with Mrs. Astor.”
Her studied smile faltered. “Lord Farnham, may I be frank with you?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“I am eager to see my daughter well married to a man of character and consequence such as yourself,” Mrs. Jones said.
Thomas did not know how to respond to such bluntness. “I-I-I am flattered, ma’am.”
“My daughter’s dowry is two million dollars,” she said, folding her arms. “And I will continue to give her a yearly allowance of twenty-five thousand dollars to pay for her clothes and pocket money.”
Two million dollars, plus twenty-five thousand dollars a year in pocket money? Thomas clenched his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping. These sums were beyond his wildest dreams. “You are very generous.”
“Let us not beat around the bush. Do we have a bargain?”
Thomas blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Will you marry my daughter Cordelia?”
“I have not even met her.”
“That is of little consequence. Will you marry her in exchange for the terms which I have stated?”
A silent debate raged inside of him. He was unlikely to find such favorable terms from another American heiress. But he’d never even met the girl. Was something wrong with her? Was she simple? Or shrewish? Or unattractive? Why else would her mother refuse to even let him see her first?
Did it even matter? He’d hoped to find someone whom he could like—a friend. But how could he love her, when his heart was already full of Penelope?
Penelope.
His mother.
Mr. Hibbert.
Mrs. Cook.
Mrs. Norton.
Mr. Thayne.
And all the other servants and tenants were depending on him to save their homes. He couldn’t afford to be fastidious. “I would be most honored to marry your daughter, if she is willing to marry me.”
Mrs. Jones gave him a glittering smile. “I shall have my lawyers call on you at the Waldorf Hotel in the morning to go over the particulars and to sign the papers regarding the financial aspect of our agreement.”
Thomas swallowed and began to cough. He cleared his throat. “Excellent.”
“Shall we plan on a November wedding?”
November was only a little over a month away. Thomas could hardly believe his good fortune. He would be back in England before the year was over. He’d not only be able to pay the mortgage bills but pay them off. He could afford to hire enough staff to properly take care of the house, the stables, and the gardens. He’d be able to hire a foreman to repair the house, with plenty of money afterward to buy books and start a new library.
“A November wedding would be perfect, ma’am.”
“Then I will send out the invitations immediately and notify the newspapers,” Mrs. Jones said as she stood. She held out her gloved hand and Thomas eagerly kissed it.
7
Two weeks passed since Cordelia gave Mabel the letter, but there was still no sign of Stuyvesant. He must not be in New York City. The letter had probably been forwarded to him at Harvard. Surely he would have started the fall term already. That was why he was taking so long to come. He hadn’t received it yet—or he was on his way. She pictured him bouncing his knee impatiently as he sat in the first-class car on the train. Eager to get to her as quickly as possible.
