“You have three young sisters, don’t you? And all of marriageable age, or very nearly, I understand. How do you provide for them?” Bray interrupted.
That stopped Alec. Bray’s cold smile was the kind Alec would normally have taken as a warning, but he was curious now. He wondered if Bray wished to purchase Glenlorne. That would indeed solve many problems. “What do you want, my lord?”
“As I said, I have a proposition for you. A marriage proposal, actually,” Bray replied.
Alec resisted the urge to laugh. “You’re hardly my type, my lord.”
Bray sent him another frost-tipped grin. “Quite. But I meant my daughter. Sophie made her debut this Season. She’s been at every ball and party of consequence. Not the circles you travel in, of course. You probably haven’t had the pleasure of an introduction.”
New warning bells clattered in Alec’s head. “Your daughter, Lady Sophie Ellison?”
“Yes. I want you to marry her.”
“Marry Lady Sophie Ellison?” Alec repeated stupidly, stunned. Surely there was a mistake. Lady Sophie was the belle of the Season, destined to be the wife of a wealthy duke at the very least. There were rumors of a match with foreign royalty, not a penniless Scottish earl, but Bray nodded.
“I trust you know her then?”
Everyone knew the Earl of Bray’s daughter. She was widely considered the loveliest girl in London. Alec had never met her. Alec swallowed. There must be something very wrong with her indeed if Bray wantedhimto marry the girl. Her father’s fortune, his royal connections, would go far in making even a plain girl lovely, and a stupid one fascinating. Pure panic raced through his veins, overriding the hope that somehow Bray’s offer meant salvation and solvency and a happy ending.
“I’m afraid I’m not in the market for a wife,” Alec said carefully.
“She comes with a dowry of fifty thousand pounds.”
Alec stared. “Fifty—” He gulped.
“Yes. Think of that. All the whisky, oats, cattle, and sheep you could want. You could make your manor house—”
“Castle,” Alec murmured.
“Castle.” Bray waved a dismissive hand as if it mattered little where his daughter would be housed after her nuptials. “You could make it the most magnificent castle in all Scotland—a romantic little love nest for yourself and Sophie.”
Alec stared into his whisky. Romance? He’d never been in love, never even considered the possibility of it. Marriage was a different matter, rarely involving love. Not that he’d considered marriage either. His hand tightened on the glass. Fifty thousand pounds. He could give his sisters dowries, see them marry well—very well indeed. He could rebuild the cottages and farms of Glenlorne, see them rise once more out of poverty, give them back their pride—
He shut his eyes. Those were his grandfather’s dreams, not his. He doubted there was anything left at Glenlorne worth rebuilding. It would be a fool’s errand, as impossible as trying to bring the dead back to life. It was certainly no place to bring a bride, especially a bride like Lady Sophie Ellison.
“You hesitate,” Bray said.
“Why? Why me?” Alec demanded, suddenly angry. His whole life had changed in the past day.
Bray shrugged. “Why not? You’re a handsome young man with a title—and a castle,” he soothed. “Did I mention that Sophie comes with her mother’s jewelry? All of it, more diamonds and rubies and emeralds than any woman could wear in a lifetime.”
“She wouldn’t have cause to wear them at Glenlorne,” Alec muttered.
“No matter. Sophie will grow to love Scotland. I’m sure there’ll be no need at all for her to return to London.”
Warning bells clanged again. It was clear now that the Earl of Bray wished to be rid of his daughter. He was all but selling the poor girl to a man he hoped would keep her in the farthest reaches of the kingdom, never to be seen again. It obviously didn’t matter if Sophie was happy, or if Alec could make her so. He felt pity for the girl, and wondered what she’d done to deserve such a fate. Did she even know this was happening? It struck him like a bolt.
The letters.
If this had something to do with the letter that he’d dropped, the one Westlake said Bray had found, then Sophie’s fate was his fault. He felt his stomach rise uneasily.
“Think of the money, Glenlorne,” Bray urged.
Alec swallowed. Fifty thousand pounds meant no more lies, no more stealing or spying. Instead, he could live a life of honor, wealth, and privilege. It was tempting. He rose to his feet. “I’ll need to consider this more carefully. I’m leaving for Scotland tomorrow. I’ll have my man of affairs contact you.” Waters, wasn’t that the name on Devorguilla’s letter?
Bray’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Come now, Glenlorne. There are no banns required in Scotland. You could take her with you, marry her once you reach Scotland.”
Alec stared down at the blue veins under Bray’s knuckles, at the jeweled rings that adorned his hands. No English father wanted his daughter marrying over the anvil. It was unseemly and scandalous, even if the groom was an earl. He thought fleetingly of the red-haired lass he’d helped on her way to just such a fate, felt guilt. If he hadn’t dropped that letter, he would never have seen her on the street, and Bray would likely be in a far more elegant gentleman’s club, negotiating a far different match for Sophie. He suddenly felt responsible for the unhappiness of both women—and for the misery of his half sisters and Devorguilla too.
