Mathilda dug her elbow into Ruby’s ribs. Her friend jumped and stuttered, “Yes, this seems like a good plan.”
“Are you sure?” Mathilda hissed at her.
Ruby cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “I believe so, but let me be sure I have it right. The Aberdeen Bequest only becomes accessible to a member of the Aberdeen family if they marry a member of the Spencer-Sutton family. If that doesn’t happen, it just sits in a bank gaining interest. And there’s a title involved?”
“Yes, it’s an obscure one, a marquisate that is currently inactive,” the British barrister said. “It’s only granted if the two families are joined.”
“Which hasn’t happened in four generations,” Mathilda explained. “So no one’s really missing it. The British aristocracy is able to exist perfectly well without a Marquess of Aberdeen.”
“Indeed.” The barrister nodded. “Currently, the estate is being maintained by the trust fund that the two families set up. But no one is able to live in Aberdeen Manor as the Marquess of Aberdeen until there is such a person. And there can be no marquess without marriage to a Spencer-Sutton.”
Ruby rubbed the spot between her eyebrows. “I think I get it. And it all expires at some point?”
“If no one has qualified for a hundred years, it expires permanently.”
“Yikes. Can we have a moment, please?” She stood up, pulling Mathilda to her feet and hauling her out the French doors onto the terrace, where planters overflowed with petunias and delphiniums and the sea breeze felt like the breath of freedom. Mathilda gulped in a lungful and let it revive her.
Ruby put her hands on Mathilda’s shoulders. “I assume this kid, this Duncan, is the only eligible Aberdeen? And you’re the only eligible Spencer-Sutton?”
“Apparently so.”
“What do you know about him?”
Mathilda stared at her friend. “That’s not the point! The point is I’m not interested in all that stuff. I’ve only been to England a few times, and I definitely don’t want to live there. Nothing against it, it’s just not me.”
“It’s not you now.”
Feeling utterly betrayed, Mathilda shoved Ruby’s hands off her shoulders and took a step away. “You’re supposed to be on my side. I want to be like my parents and actually fall in love. I don’t want my life dictated by some weird closeted ancestors.”
“Excuse me?”
“Long story. Literally, like it’s from centuries ago.”
“Okay, whatever. Here’s my take, as your friend.” Mathilda looked back up at Ruby and for the first time, saw the smart, logical person she’d thought she’d brought here. “Some people would kill for all this shit. In fact, people have. Before you walk away from it, give yourself some time. Their plan makes sense. What if time runs out and you still haven’t fallen in love with anyone? Falling in love ain’t all that. My parents did it too. Didn’t last five years before they split up.”
“I’m sorry.” Mathilda knew that growing up between two households had been hard for Ruby.
“It’s fine. Not everyone gets what your parents have. Very, very, very few people do, if you want my opinion. If you’re getting close to the expiration date and you’re still single and unattached, I mean, why the hell not? Depending on what this Duncan kid is like, you might be able to work something out with him.”
“Work something out? Jeez, that’s romantic.”
“Romance isn’t everything. I’m not saying it’s nothing. Just that it’s not everything. I’m being practical here. When you look at all the cultures in all the history of the world, marrying for love isn’t actually all that common. Especially in the upper classes, like the English nobility, which, like it or not, you’re connected to because of your mom. Sorry, your mum. At that level, it’s usually about alliances and business ties.”
Mathilda sighed, since she’d heard similar stories from her mother. “You learned all this from your sociology minor?”
“Yup.” Ruby’s black eyes sparked cheerfully. “I knew it would come in handy someday. So what you do say? At least leave some options open for future Mathilda. She might thank you.”
15
Rory disentangled the stranger’s head net and pulled it off to reveal his face. A middle-aged man with thinning gray hair and rectangular wire-rimmed glasses peered back at him. His vibe was more accountant than commando. He was sweating profusely from his trek through the jungle, and gratefully accepted a tin cup of water from Sasha.
“Are you Mathilda Wheeler?” he repeated, looking at Mathilda.
“No,” she blurted, surprising everyone. “I mean, yes, but no, I’m not interested in hearing your message.” She turned to flee back into the tent, but Diane and Robert blocked her way.
“Girl, you can’t do this to us.” Diane brushed her beaded locs away from her face. “This is the juiciest thing to happen here since…well, since that plane crash three days ago. Why aren’t you dying to know what he’s here for?”
Mathilda didn’t answer.
