Page 32 of Marrying the Wrong Earl (Lords and Ladies in Love 2)

In less than two weeks, he had married a woman he barely knew, who’d spent the time since their vows recovering from an illness. His hopes for the funds to prop up his estate had been dashed, and his mother-in-law had moved in, as his own mother moved out. He shook his head. Too many changes in too short a time period.

“Clarendon!” Lord Langley waved at him from across the room. The longtime friend was a welcome sight in view of all the adjustments with which he was presently dealing. After weaving his way across the room, nodding to various members, Nash settled into the comfortable leather chair across from Langley. The familiar walls of the club, the hum of conversation, the cup of coffee presented by a footman, and the boisterous activity surrounding the betting book all worked to soothe him, bringing familiar normalcy back into his life.

“The new bridegroom, already escaping from his bride.” Langley grinned at Nash before taking a sip of coffee.

Although Nash felt a bit of resentment at his friend’s remarks, there was truth in the statement. He was, indeed, escaping. Not necessarily from Arabella, but everything she represented. Change. Change on which he hadn’t planned.

“I wasn’t aware that you were even acquainted with the former Lady Arabella, never mind ready to offer for her. Or is there substance to the rumors floating about?”

Nash waved his hand in the air. “I pay no attention to rumors. My wife—” He choked on the word. “And I, are well. She has household matters requiring her attention this morning, and I would merely be in the way.”

“As you say.” Langley placed his cup in the saucer and leaned back, resting a booted foot on his knee. “On a more interesting note, it has come to my attention that a very lucrative investment is in the wind, and I have every reason to believe it is something you would be interested in, as well. From what I hear, only a select few are being invited to join in.”

Langley’s words brought to mind his limited funds and current financial state. His feeling of contentment slowly ebbed away. “What sort of investment, and how much?”

“Only two hundred pounds per man.” Langley leaned forward and motioned to Nash to do the same. “A man will never make any sort of money from the Funds. This investment is in trade.”

“Trade?” Peers did not involve themselves in trade, although Nash had known several who had made a significant amount of money, in a very quiet way, by investing in trade. The school of thought was, as long as a gentleman did not directly involve himself, those who mattered were happy to look the other way. “Do you have the information on hand?”

“Silks and china from the Orient. Cloth from India.” Langley stopped as two members drifted by, close enough to hear their conversation. He drew out his calling card and after summoning a pen from a footman, scratched words on the back. He handed it to Nash. “There’s a meeting next week. Here is the date and direction. If you are interested in hearing more, come by about eight in the evening. You can judge for yourself.”

Nash took the card from Langley’s hand and studied it. The location he’d written was in a part of town containing warehouses that stored goods shipped from various parts of the world. He would be remiss if he did not attend this meeting. If he used part of Arabella’s dowry for an investment, the rest could be put aside to make at least some improvements for the tenants on his estate.

“Now I must leave you to your internal meanderings, as I have an appointment with my tailor. Have to keep up appearances, you know.” Langley grinned at Nash and stood. “I hope to see you at the meeting. From what I’ve learned so far, it could be quite worthwhile.”

Nash nodded. “And you believe it is possible I would be one of the chosen few?”

“I will meet you there. If you want in, it will be so.” Langley winked and strode through the room.

It would certainly be smart to at least see what the presenter had to say. He stuck the card in his pocket and picked up the newspaper Langley had discarded.

Close to the dinner hour, he entered his townhouse. He had no idea where Arabella was, and everything was quiet. He headed to the library. A study of his financial records was a good idea. He would be sure to pledge the two hundred pounds at the meeting, but would only relinquish the money if he was convinced it was the best use of Arabella’s dowry.

Deep in thought, he opened the library door and came to a dead stop, his nose twitching at the strong odor. “What is going on here?”

Arabella rose from a kneeling position as he shouted, the front of an apron covering her dress full of blood and mud. A cat and a small dog lay in individual baskets on the floor in front of the fire. They were both whimpering and bleeding from several gashes. If blood had not been dripping from the cat, he would have sworn it was dead. A basin of brown-stained water sat between them, and his wife held a cloth fisted in her hand. “Oh thank heavens you are home. I need your help.”

“Madam, this is not a surgery, but my library. What are those animals doing bleeding all over my floor?”

Arabella wiped her hands on the cloth and moved toward him. “They are not bleeding on the floor. They are in baskets. To answer your question, Cleopatra and Hercules got into a fight with another animal who escaped. I’m afraid they both require stitches.”

Hercules? This dog was the one he’d noticed earlier, that he’d thought was no more than a large rat. She’d named him Hercules? There was no doubt in his mind. His wife was daft. Perhaps he could arrange for an annulment based on lunacy.

His or hers. It mattered not. Once he told the court his story, he was sure to prevail.

“Arabella, you are not a veterinarian. You might end up killing these animals.” He shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. “And you are supposed to be preparing to leave for Suffolk tomorrow.”

She raised her chin and glared at him. “I have done this sort of thing for years, my lord. I could use your assistance, but if you refuse, it will not stop me from helping them.” She waved her hand. “And I am all ready to leave tomorrow.”

Nash rubbed the back of his neck, still discombobulated at the scene in his neat, quiet library. “What I could use is some assurance that I will not come home to my wife performing surgery in my library. This is not the way a countess conducts herself, Arabella.”

“Maybe not, my lord, but this is the way I conduct myself.” Her eyes flashed, and she stuck out her little, stubborn chin.

He had anticipated a stronger presence in the ton with a wife to handle their social calendar and do all the things a countess does. His mind had conjured up pictures of Arabella involved in sewing circles to make garments for the poor, hosting dinner parties, and making and accepting afternoon calls.

Instead he was faced with a willful, hardheaded woman who refuse

d to adapt to her new position in life. Lord what had he gotten himself into? “Perhaps that tidbit of information should have been shared with me before we said our nuptials.” He stalked across the room and poured himself two fingers of whiskey.