“Not another word, Townsend.” For God’s sake. This was the very reason he despised heroics. “I should have left the chit where I found her.”
Townsend’s grin vanished. “Surely not, Your Grace.”
“Well, no, but what am I meant to do with her now? I can hardly send her back to Hammond Court while her bedchamber is underwater.” But she couldn’t stay at Grantham Lodge, either. It wasn’t proper. He was an unmarried gentleman, and unmarried gentlemen didn’t install innocent young ladies in their homes.
Not even if the young lady in question had been installed well out of the way of his own bedchamber, and even when said unmarried gentleman didn’t find the lady in question at all alluring.
Distracting, yes. Infuriating, certainly. But alluring? No.
At least, not much so. Not so much he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
That is, there was no denying Miss St. Claire was . . . satisfactory. No doubt there were scores of gentlemen who’d find her unobjectionable enough. Attractive, even, with those green eyes, and that wild cloud of golden hair.
Perhaps even enticing.
Nothim, of course, but other, less particular gentlemen. “Itisn’tproper for her to stay here, is it, Townsend? I’m quite right about that, am I not?”
Because now he thought of it, it would be convenient if Miss St. Clairedidremain at Grantham Lodge. He wanted her gone from Hammond Court, and now she was, albeit temporarily. Still, a temporary absence could become a permanent one quickly enough, if he managed the thing properly.
“It’s, ah, a trifle unconventional, Your Grace.”
Unconventional, yes. That was the word for it. Not scandalous, or shocking—nothing so terrible as that, but merely a trifle unconventional. “Then again, it wouldn’t be at all gentlemanly to toss poor Miss St. Claire out into the cold, would it, Townsend? She’s a defenseless young lady, after all, and recently bereaved.”
Recently bereaved, and recently made an heiress, too. Or half an heiress, at any rate, and thus vulnerable to any unscrupulous fortune hunters who happened to be lurking around Fairford. No doubt there were dozens of them. Why, it was practically his duty to take her in.
“Yes, that’s so, Your Grace,” Townsend allowed, but his tone was wary, and he looked suspicious.
“You needn’t look at me like that, Townsend. I’m merely concerned about what’s best for Miss St. Claire, just as you are.”
Townsend’s brows lowered. “Of course, Your Grace.”
As for what was best for Miss St. Claire, well, that was obvious, wasn’t it? The chit should be married off at once, before she got herself into any more trouble. But to whom? If any of the young men in Fairford wanted to marry Miss St. Claire, presumably they would have done so by now.
He eyed Townsend. “You’re quite sure you’re already married, Townsend?”
“Yes, Your Grace, reasonably certain. My five children were rather a mistake, otherwise.”
Five children?Good Lord. “Perhaps a trifle more self-control might be in order, Townsend.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Max drummed his fingers on the top of his desk, thinking. There was no denying Miss St. Claire would be far better off if she were safely married. The lady was very young, far too pretty for her own good, and left friendless and destitute in a cruel, wicked world.
Of course, itwouldmake it much easier for him to get his hands on Hammond Court if she did happen to marry a gentleman who was amenable to his influence. But wouldn’t an advantageous marriage benefit her, as well?
It was a good idea, by God. A marriage, between Miss St. Claire and . . . well, someone. Anyone would do, really. Not Townsend, but another gentleman, one who would do as he was told, and turn Hammond Court over to Max as soon as the wedding vows had been spoken.
Yes, what he needed to do was to keep Miss St. Claire here at Grantham Lodge until he could find some stray gentleman or other to marry her. But what were the chances a tiny village like Fairford would yield up a suitable bridegroom?
Unlikely, at best.
London, however, was another matter. God knew there was no shortage of gentlemen in London who’d be thrilled to discharge their debt to him so easily. A nice baron would do, or perhaps a viscount. Miss St. Claire could hardly complain about becoming a viscountess, could she? Yes, a handsome, fashionable viscount would come in quite handy, one who owed him a favor, and would do his bidding without complaint, someone like—
He jerked upright. By God, he had just the viscount in mind! “I think, Townsend, that it would be best if Miss St. Claire remained at Grantham Lodge, after all.”
Best for him, certainly, which was all he cared about.
“But what of the young lady’s reputation, Your Grace? Fairford is a small village, and people do talk.”
