Page 86 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“I don’t want to remember who I was, Mari. Don’t you see? I came home with a purpose. Every moment in India made it clearer.”

Her caress didn’t change, but he saw her eyes widen and her mouth curve with excitement. Here was what she’d been pressing him to explain but the idea was so precious to him, he had difficulty voicing it.

“I saw such abuse in India. The wealthy destroyed the weak. The poor did anything to survive—terrible things. Because it was that or die.”

“It can be a terrible country.”

“And so I came home, Mari. I came home to be damned sure that it does not happen here.”

She pulled back, clearly shocked. “Evil maharajas here? Mobs of beggars in the street? Don’t be ridiculous.”

He looked at her, seeing her innocence and the blind faith she had in her heritage. He didn’t blame her. Not so long ago, he had shared her opinion. But not anymore.

And it wasn’t long before she was biting her lip in consternation. “Well, yes, I suppose there are bandits in England.”

“And beggars in the streets.”

She nodded slowly. “Not like it was in India.”

“Not in the same numbers or the same way, but the desperate poor exist everywhere.”

“Yes.”

“And you have been told to ignore them.”

She sighed. “There are too many and I cannot help one without—”

“Dozens mobbing the carriage or murdering you in the street for what you have.” He was merely reciting what he had believed and what the wealthy had been telling themselves for thousands of years. “It is not true, you know. You can help in small ways and it is a blessing.”

She smiled, her expression a balm. “Is that what you want to do? Help the poor?”

“Not in the way you mean.”

He spread her fingers open as he traced the creases of her white palm. He noted with pleasure that she had calluses, so she was not completely a lady of leisure. In London, her time was occupied with husband hunting, but in the country, she probably did a great deal. “I saw the evil of men’s hearts in India, and it wasn’t just the maharajas. The English were so greedy.”

She winced but did not look away. “I am disheartened that we are not as civilized as we pretend.”

“I want to build a home here. I want to make Sommerfield a place that leaves no room for barbarity. I want to serve the people I protect and be sure that their needs are met.”

She tilted her head. “That is the responsibility of every lord over his land.”

“And yet, so many do so little.”

Her eyes abruptly widened. “You mean to force them to live up to their responsibilities?”

He snorted. “I doubt any man has that power.” He took a breath. “I mean to begin with Sommerfield. And when that is a utopia, I will look to my compatriots.” He shrugged. “I hope my example and my voice in the House of Lords will help.”

She rocked back in her seat. Her gaze darted across his features, but steadied as she looked at his eyes. She was a woman who needed only a few pieces of a plan for her to fit much of the puzzle together. So he waited, feeling exposed for admitting so simple a thing.

Yet, it wasn’t simple. Creating a utopia in the middle of England would be a constant battle against all the smaller vices. And that was nothing against the dread of sickness or natural disaster. Nothing brought out the barbarity in man faster than a few weeks of hunger and even longer weeks of despair.

“I need to stand somewhere and have that place be strong and beautiful.”

“Sommerfield and England.” She smiled, and it chased the last of the shadows from his thoughts. “That’s a beautiful ambition.”

“Will you join me? As my wife?”

“Yes.” A single word, whispered at first and then repeated louder. “Yes.”