Let It Be Love (38 page)

“A plan?” Jonathon glared at his friend. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’ve been too busy wallowing in self-pity and misery?” Cavendish said helpfully.

Jonathon blew a resigned breath. He could deny it, of course, but it was true. He had indeed been wallowing and feeling entirely too sorry for himself to think in a rational manner. He’d never had to win a woman’s heart before, no woman had ever meant this much to him before. And now he was out of time. Either he took action now or he would lose her forever.

“You’re right,” Jonathon said slowly. “All of you. I have to do something and I have to do something now. I am open to any and all suggestions.” He cast Cavendish a threatening glance. “Except for proclaiming my affection on a theater stage between acts.”

Indignation sounded in Cavendish’s voice. “I wasn’t going to suggest that.” He paused. “Although a grand gesture—”

“I have an idea,” Oliver said. “But it will require the cooperation of Sinclair.”

“Then I shall have to meet with Sinclair.” Jonathon’s voice was firm.

“No sooner said than done.” Oliver stood and signaled to someone near the entrance.

“You brought him here?” Cavendish frowned. “Was that wise?”

“At this point, I’m not sure wisdom is as important as action,” Warton said. “Even if it’s wrong.” He cast a pitying look at Jonathon. “The poor wretch has done nothing but mope since Fiona turned him away.”

“He’s in love.” Cavendish’s gaze met Warton’s.

“And he’s miserable,” Warton said, and both men grinned.

“If you say it serves me right I shall have to shoot you both,” Jonathon muttered. A tall, dark-haired man strode toward them and Jonathon groaned to himself. This was Whatshisname?

He’d been hoping the American would turn out to be short, fat and balding. There did not appear to be an inch of fat on him, he was disgustingly tall and had far too much hair. He looked like he could have posed for one of Fiona’s drawings.

Jonathon and his friends rose to their feet.

“Lord Helmsley, allow me to introduce Mr. Sinclair,” Oliver said in a formal manner. “Mr. Sinclair, this is the Marquess of Helmsley.”

Jonathon stared at him for a long moment. Sinclair stared back without so much as a flicker of hesitation. An excellent quality in a friend, something to be wary of in a competitor. Sinclair offered his hand and Jonathon shook it. He had a firm, steady grip and Jonathon realized this was a man to be reckoned with. And realized as well having this man as an ally would be a very good thing. Oliver introduced the other men and they all resumed their seats. Sinclair accepted a drink and an awkward silence fell on the group.

Jonathon drew a deep breath. “Mr. Sinclair—”

“Lord Helmsley—” Sinclair said at the same time.

Again silence fell.

Oliver cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if I explained my idea.”

“Perhaps it would be best if someone said something,” Warton said under his breath. Oliver continued. “Sinclair does not particularly want to marry Fiona.”

“Not that she’s not a beautiful, charming woman,” Sinclair said quickly. “And not at all what I expected. You can well imagine what I thought when my father told me he and Miss Fairchild’s father had arranged a marriage.”

“She used to be fat,” Cavendish offered helpfully.

Sinclair cast him a confused look, then continued. “It’s not that under other circumstances, perhaps, I wouldn’t be pleased to be matched with someone like her, although I would much prefer to select my own bride when the time is right. But at the moment, I have no desire to marry anyone.”

“Nor do any of us.” Warton paused, then grinned. “Except for Helmsley. He has always said when he found the perfect woman—”

“That’s quite enough,” Jonathon said firmly.

Warton chuckled and even Oliver stifled a smile.

Jonathon raised a brow. “But you have agreed to marry her?”

Sinclair glanced at Oliver. “Did you tell them everything?”

Oliver nodded.

Sinclair breathed a sigh of relief. “Then you know she is not interested in a real marriage. It’s more in the nature of a business arrangement than anything else. She gets her inheritance, her sisters get their dowries and I get a substantial sum to allow me to pursue my own interests. After a time, the marriage is dissolved. Annulment or divorce. Here or in America.” He shrugged. “We have not worked out that particular detail yet.”

“So your only interest is in the financial aspects of this?” Jonathon considered him thoughtfully. Sinclair winced. “It sounds so mercenary when you put it that way, but yes. Although I would like to point out Miss Fairchild’s only interest in this marriage is financial as well.”

“Helmsley here is always interested in a good investment,” Oliver said casually. “One would think if you received funding from another source, there would be no need to wed Fiona.”

Four pairs of shocked eyes turned toward Oliver.

“That’s brilliant, old man.” Admiration sounded in Warton’s voice.

Oliver grinned.

“You would give her up?” Jonathon studied Sinclair closely. “Just like that?”

“She’s not mine to give up. In fact, in the time I spent with her today I had the distinct impression”—his gaze met Jonathon’s directly—“her affections have already been engaged.”

Jonathon leaned forward. “Did you?”

Sinclair chuckled. “She didn’t actually say it, but she did mention—in a most vehement manner, I might add—that she thought love was nothing more than a myth best relegated to fiction and how all men, with the possible exception of myself—”

“And me,” Oliver interrupted.

Sinclair snorted. “Not you or her father either, for that matter. She said all men were cads with nothing more to their credit than a misplaced sense of obligation and responsibility and she preferred a marriage in name only to any other relationship with a man. Ever.”

“Ouch.” Warton cringed.

“It’s been my experience,” Sinclair said slowly, “that whenever a woman is that furious about men in general and that passionate about rejecting love altogether, she does so because she is, in truth, in love.”

Jonathon thought for a long moment. Of course she loved him. How could he have doubted even for a moment? She loved him. He loved her, and damnation they were meant to be together. This was fate and he was not going to let her escape it.

“Then shall we call the wedding off?” Oliver asked.

Jonathon shook his head. “Not yet.”

Resolve washed through him, and with it his spirits lifted. What on earth had been wrong with him? He’d never really had to fight for anything in his life, but it didn’t mean he could not do so now. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind he would be victorious. Besides, love was involved, and that alone would conquer all.

Why, as his friends delighted in pointing out, he had indeed always said when he found the perfect woman he would marry her. And he was not about to let Fiona Fairchild make a liar out of him. Jonathon smiled slowly. “You’re right, Cavendish, this does call for a grand gesture. Grand and foolishly romantic and enough to make even the most hardened among us swoon with the sheer audacity of it.”

Cavendish grinned. “I love grand gestures.”

“As do we all.” The tiniest beginning of a plan, grand and even outrageous, teased the back of Jonathon’s mind. It would need development, but he knew, with the same instinct that led him to make sound investments, that it was good, even brilliant. His smile broadened and he turned toward Sinclair.

“But first, Mr. Sinclair, let us talk railroads.”

Sixteen

Three days later, the sun shone brightly and seemed, to anyone of a particularly romantic nature, to surely be a sign of good luck for those about to marry, as the sun did not routinely shine, brightly or otherwise, in January in London. For those about to wed, nothing whatsoever seemed a good sign and the possibility of a miraculous event of some sort, even an intervention of the gods, to thwart the proceedings seemed more and more remote…

“Who are these people?” Fiona stared in horror at the gathering milling about Aunt Edwina’s house. The doors between the main parlor and a secondary parlor had been thrown open to create a larger area, yet it did not seem large enough.

“Oh, friends for the most part,” Aunt Edwina said brightly. “And really, my dear, there aren’t that many.”

“There are if one preferred to have no one at all,” Fiona said under her breath. So much for allowing her aunt free rein regarding the plans for her wedding, but the older woman had been so excited at the mere thought of a wedding, Fiona didn’t have the heart to tell her it was nothing more than a formality. Her wedding. Fiona’s stomach clenched at the thought. Of course she’d allowed Aunt Edwina to do as she’d wished because Fiona herself hadn’t especially cared. She simply wanted it done with and it would be over soon. Within the hour she would be Mrs. Whats—Daniel Sinclair. Daniel had been remarkably civilized about it all. She’d discovered he was quite nice and amusing as well. The kind of man a woman could fall in love with if she wasn’t already in love. Since their agreement to marry, they had had several meetings with Oliver’s solicitors, who had drawn up papers to be signed before the ceremony detailing their agreement. Fiona had been assured their marriage would meet the terms of her father’s will and that they need not remain married for more than a year. A year. It was a dreadfully long time but far better than forever. If Daniel hadn’t been so decent, if he’d been greedy for her money or, worse, for her, she might well be trapped in an unwanted marriage for the rest of her life. In that, if in nothing else about this, she was fortunate.

“I cannot tell you what a help Oliver was in arranging all this. He thinks of you as a sister, you know.”

Aunt Edwina studied her niece. “I don’t know what he’s done to make you so upset with him, but hasn’t he earned your forgiveness yet?”

“I have forgiven him.” Fiona smiled weakly. “I simply haven’t told him.”

Oliver stood across the room speaking with two gentlemen, obviously friends of his, and her sisters, who were just as obviously flirting outrageously, if the expressions on the faces of the gentlemen with them were any indication. At least their future happiness was now assured, even if her own was questionable. Nonetheless, she would do what she had to do to fulfill her responsibilities. Jonathon wasn’t here, but then she hadn’t expected him to be. Since that dreadful scene in this very parlor, she hadn’t seen him or received a note from him or had any indication whatsoever that he still had feelings for her. If he ever did. It was entirely possible she would never see him again. At least not in the flesh. But he lingered in her mind every waking moment and in her dreams through the long, restless nights. And with every passing day, hope faded.

She had resisted the urge to page through her copy ofA Fair Surrender and read the words he had written about passion and desire and seduction. She simply couldn’t bear it. She’d wrapped the book once again in brown paper and stashed it in her trunk under some odds and ends, keepsakes of her childhood and her past, to eventually be forgotten. And packed all thoughts of Jonathon away as well, with hopes that he too would eventually be forgotten. So much for love. Oliver’s gaze caught hers and he smiled, said something to his friends, then started across the room toward her. He really had been wonderful in recent days and had accepted Daniel as a new member of the family, regardless of how tenuous that bond would be. He had assisted Daniel in handling all the legal aspects of arranging a quick wedding regarding licenses and whatever else was necessary. In truth, he and Daniel had become as thick as thieves. Who would have suspected a British lord and an American adventurer would form such a quick friendship?

“Fiona, you look especially beautiful today.” Oliver cast her a genuine smile.

“Of course she does.” Aunt Edwina huffed. “Although I do wish she hadn’t been in such a hurry and we could have had a proper dress made for her.”

“This is a proper dress,” Fiona said with a long-suffering smile. In truth, it was a lovely dress, pale yellow in color and more than appropriate for a wedding put together in a mere three days that neither the bride nor the groom was particularly eager for. Still, regardless of the circumstances, if Aunt Edwina had had her way, this wedding would be a spectacular affair never to be forgotten. The kind of wedding Fiona had always thought she’d have. But then that would be a celebration and not simply a ceremony.

“A properwedding dress,” Aunt Edwina said firmly. “Fiona, are you certain that you wish—”

“I do.” Fiona nodded. Her aunt knew about the will but did not know all the details of her agreement with Daniel. And Fiona had no intention of telling her. “Daniel Sinclair will make an excellent husband, he’s a very nice man and I intend to be happy with him.” She glanced at Oliver. “Have you seen him yet?”

“He’s waiting for you in the library with the solicitor,” Oliver said. “To sign the papers.”

“Papers?” Aunt Edwina asked.

“Nothing of importance.” Fiona raised her chin. “We should do this.”

“May I?” Oliver offered her his arm. She took it gratefully and he escorted her out of the room. “I am sorry, Fiona, about everything. I should never have agreed to Jonathon’s plan.”