Let It Be Love (3 page)

“You are certainly welcome to do so. I daresay my mother is beside herself at the idea of having four young women under her wing. She has long bemoaned the fact that she had no daughters and only one son who has not yet done his duty and provided her with a daughter-in-law.”

Fiona laughed. “That does seem to be a constant theme in her letters.” She sobered and shook her head.

“Regardless, we cannot live here for the rest of our days as…as poor relations.”

“You most definitely can,” Oliver said staunchly. “You are the closest thing I have to a sister.”

“Oliver—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “However, I can understand how you would not wish to be”—he rolled his gaze toward the ceiling—“poor relations, although Mother and I would certainly never think of you as such. Now…” Oliver’s brow furrowed. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. Uncle Alfred left the bulk of his fortune to you, primarily in the form of a dowry, with substantial amounts also set aside for each of your stepsisters to provide for their dowries.”

Fiona nodded.

Oliver studied her. “He left nothing for you to live on? To maintain a household, that sort of thing?”

“A minimal amount for household expenditures, mostly in the hands of his solicitor, only enough to provide for expenses until such time as my”—it was hard not to choke on the word—“intendedarrived from America. Father knew if he left too great an amount at my disposal I would find a way to elude this marriage he has arranged. He was right, of course.” She resumed her pacing. “Once I learned of the terms of his estate, I used everything I could get my hands on plus what little I had saved to pay for our passage here. I can assure you, from now until the day I die I shall have a tidy surplus of cash hidden in my mattress for unforeseen circumstances.”

“In the event you once again have to flee a foreign country to avoid an unwanted marriage?” Oliver’s voice was serious but there was an amused twinkle in his eye. She ignored it. “Exactly. Which reminds me.” She paused, clasped her hands behind her back and adopted a casual tone. “I should mention, as most of that money was intended for household expenses, there might perhaps be an unpaid account, a creditor or two who might take it upon themselves to follow us—”

Oliver raised a brow. “All the way from Florence?”

She waved dismissively. “Expenses might have been a bit more than father anticipated. Honestly, Oliver, you needn’t look at me that way. Death is not an inexpensive proposition, you know. Mourning clothes for four young women do not come cheaply—”

He frowned. “Your clothing does not appear suitable for mourning.”

“That too was Father’s doing. He stipulated mourning clothes for no more than three months, as he did not feel black was attractive on young women. I suspect he did not wish for me to meet my future”—she wrinkled her nose—“husbandlooking like an overblown, red-haired crow. It was most thoughtful of him.”

She cast Oliver a rueful glance. “I look dreadful in black.”

“I doubt that,” he murmured.

“At any rate, about expenses,” she continued, “you have no idea the number of people who felt compelled to call on us for weeks and months afterward and offer their sympathy, all of whom expected refreshment. Burying Father and all that entailed was quite costly.”

“I had no idea.”

“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Fiona sighed.

Oliver’s father had died when he was a boy and the very idea of someone else controlling his finances, whether from this world or beyond the grave, was foreign to him. And why shouldn’t it be? He was a man and in control of his own destiny. Fiona liked being female and considered herself quite accomplished in feminine skills and wiles. Still, at moments like this, it was most frustrating not to have the power accorded a man in this world. Especially when one’s own monarch was a woman.

“It’s all right here.” She moved to the valise she had placed on a side table, opened it, and pulled out a copy of her father’s will. “All the unpleasant details.” She handed it to Oliver. “Father’s solicitor in Florence says there is nothing I can do about it. And two others I consulted agree. While there is no particular deadline involved, I think it would be best if, at the very least, I was betrothed to someone else before my intended—I forget his name—arrives from America—”

“America? He’s notin Italy, then?”

“No.” She pushed her hair away from her face. She hadn’t taken the time since her arrival to tidy up and no doubt she was a bit disheveled in appearance. Not at all her usual manner, but it was of scarce concern at the moment. “Perhaps I am not telling this properly. It is somewhat complicated.”

“Perhaps,” Oliver said wryly.

“Very well, then.” She paused for a moment to get her thoughts in order. “When Father realized he would not recover, he changed his will, dividing his fortune among the four of us in the form of dowries, with a larger portion allocated to me so that I might provide for the others, and a minimal amount set aside to provide for expenses until such time as I wed. None of us get anything beyond that until I marry. Even if Genevieve, Arabella and Sophia wished to marry, all of whom are of an eligible age to do so, although Belle and Sophie are only seventeen, which I think is entirely too young, and they are a bit flighty—”

“The point?”

“The point is…” She paused. This part was especially upsetting and still difficult to believe. “That even if my sisters wed, they will not receive their dowries unless, or until, I am married. Their futures are entirely dependent upon my actions.”

“Can your father do that?” Oliver glanced at the papers in his hand then back to her. “Is it legal, I mean?

To compel you to marry?”

“My father was a clever man with a heretofore unknown diabolical streak.” She narrowed her gaze.

“He’s not forcing me to do anything. It is entirely my choice. If I want my inheritance, and the means to a good marriage for my sisters, I shall marry. Until I do, be that a month or ten years from now, the money remains firmly in an account of trust administered by his London solicitors.”

“So if you don’t wed, your sisters don’t get their dowries either?” Oliver said slowly.

“Exactly.”

His gaze met hers. “Your father was really quite determined, wasn’t he?”

“Indeed he was.”

“And where does this American fit in?” He moved to a writing desk, spread the will before him and stared at the papers.

Fiona followed him. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but we spent nearly four years residing in Paris before we moved to Florence. In addition to his diplomatic duties for the queen, Father had a fair number of investments and business associates from various parts of the world. Whatshisname’s father—whose name also escapes my memory—was among them. He was in Italy last year and he and Father renewed their acquaintance.” She peered over his shoulder at the will and suspicion hardened her voice. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this wasn’t when the two of them hatched this scheme to merge their families with a marriage between their offspring.”

Oliver scanned the papers. “Hold on a moment. I see where you are required to marry ’a suitable gentleman of good character and financial means’ but nothing that specifically requires you to marry this whatever-his-name-is.”

“I’ve already noted that and it may well be my means of escape.” She paused and sent a silent request for forgiveness toward the heavens and her father, although, given his final acts, she wasn’t entirely certain her prayer was aimed in the right direction. “Apparently Father was too ill to realize that was a rather large flaw in his grand scheme. It is also where you come in.”

Oliver raised a brow. “Me?”

“Yes, well.” She searched for the right words. As much as this had seemed like an excellent plan when it first came to mind, at the moment it seemed nothing less than stupid. She drew a deep breath. “I need you to find me a husband.”

Oliver’s head jerked up and he stared at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads. “What do you mean, a husband?”

“You know, a husband. You know what a husband is, you’ve obviously avoided becoming one long enough to know what it is.” She waved impatiently. “Someone suitable, of good character and so forth and so on. Preferably someone not on his last legs, and I would prefer that he was handsome with a pleasant nature—a sense of humor would be nice as well—but the quality I need most iswilling , because I need him as quickly as possible. The moment Whatshisname arrives in Florence, his beast of a father will tell him I’ve fled and he’ll be right on my heels.”

Oliver continued to stare as if one of her heads had actively started drooling. “Have you considered the possibility that Whatshisname might not want to marry you?”

“Not want to marry me?” She scoffed. “Don’t be absurd.” She stepped to the closest chair and sank into it in a most unladylike manner, but she didn’t feel especially ladylike at the moment. “Honestly, Oliver, men have desired me for my looks alone. This American creature has the additional incentive of an impressive fortune plus the posthumous approval of my father. I can’t imagine him not wanting to marry me. Especially if he is anything like his father. Short, rotund, with very little hair and a calculating disposition, he eyed me as if I were a brood mare he was considering purchasing. I cannot imagine the son is any better.” She glanced at him. “And do stop staring at me, it is most disconcerting.”

“You’re just not at all as I remember.” Oliver shook his head. “I always thought you were shy and reserved.”

“When I was a child, I was, for the most part. One changes with the years, cousin. You have, haven’t you?”

“Indeed. I scarcely ever climb trees anymore and I can’t remember the last time I played with tin soldiers.” He smiled, then sobered. “If this American does follow you here, what then? He certainly can’t force you to marry him.”

“Of course he can, in that I will have no choice.” She leapt to her feet and paced the room. “I am very realistic about myself, Oliver.”

He chuckled. “So I’ve noticed.”

“My flaws as well as my attributes. And do not be fooled by appearances, I am not nearly as perfect as I look. I have any number of nasty flaws.” She shook her head. “I am a weak person, cousin. I do not relish the idea of poverty and I quite enjoy spending money. We have already agreed that aside from marriage, I have no useful way to make my way in the world. If I have not come up with a way to escape, I shall be compelled to marry Whatshisname, as much to save my sisters as myself, of course.”

She glanced at him. “Although they would not do well impoverished either.”

He snorted. “No doubt.”

Fiona moved closer to him, took his hands and looked into his eyes. “Will you help me.”

“Find a husband?” He shook his head. “I thought you didn’t want to marry a man you’ve never met.”

“I don’t, but if I have to marry, and it appears I do, I would prefer him to be English. I am not averse to selecting a match that would be to my liking. Come, now, cousin.” She widened her eyes and adopted a persuasive tone that had been known to work effectively on any number of gentlemen. “Surely you have friends who are looking for a wife?”

“Most of my friends are actively avoiding marriage at the moment.”

“But you could come up with, oh, say, a selection, an assortment, I can choose from?”

“An assortment?” He laughed. “Like sweets?”

“With any luck at all, yes. A choice of suitable matches. An array of acceptable candidates.” She forced a slight catch to her throat. “Please, Oliver.”

“I don’t—”

“I warn you, I do not intend to give up. Either you help me find an appropriate husband or”—she dropped his hands, stepped back and squared her shoulders—“I shall have to find one myself. And with your father and my father both deceased, you, as the Earl of Norcroft, are the head of the family. Therefore…”

“Therefore?” he said slowly, with a distinct flash of apprehension in his eye.

“Therefore, as head of the family, I should think you’d wish to avoid public scandal. I cannot guarantee that my pursuit of an appropriate match will be the least bit discreet.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“In fact, I think the best way to begin my quest would be directly and honestly. An advertisement in the Times would serve. Something along the lines of, ‘Attractive heiress seeks suitable match. Candidates must be of good quality and willing to wed immediately.’ ”

“You wouldn’t.” He stared in horrified disbelief.

“Oh, but I would.” She shrugged. “I am a desperate woman, Oliver. Desperate women must resort to desperate means.”

“I said you and your sisters are welcome here.”

“I said I don’t want to be a poor relation.” She pressed her lips into a firm line. “Well?”

“Good Lord, you are stubborn. I cannot believe…” He paused and his eyes narrowed. “And single-minded as well.

“I do know what I want.”

“And spirit.” A slow smile spread across his face. “You have a great deal of spirit.”

She huffed impatiently. “I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

“You, my dear cousin, would be a challenge for any man.” His smile broadened into a grin.

“I do like to think so.”

He studied her silently for a long moment. Fiona held her breath. She hadn’t really intended to threaten to advertise for a husband and wasn’t entirely sure she could do such a thing. Still, she was indeed desperate.