When the Marquess Met His Match (18 page)

“Ten percent of the marriage settlement. When I married Margrave, Belinda’s fee was nearly a hundred thousand pounds.”

“Good God.”

“It is a bit staggering, isn’t it?” she said, as they resumed walking toward the carriage. “But American millionaires are happy to pay it if it means social acceptance for their families. My father is exceptionally wealthy, and I was fortunate to have an enormous dowry. Not all Belinda’s fees are quite as high as what my father paid, of course, but they’re high enough. And Belinda is very frugal. She’s partial to her pearls, true enough, and she likes beautiful clothes, but other than that, she lives modestly, saves and invests her money, and doesn’t do any lavish entertaining. She doesn’t have to. She’s invited simply everywhere. I can’t imagine what she’s worth, but it’s a lot. There,” she added, laughing, as they paused beside the carriage, “if you marry Belinda, all your problems are solved.”

He couldn’t laugh with her. “It isn’t that simple, I’m afraid. As I said, she hasn’t the time of day for me. It’s going to be hard going to convince her to want me, much less marry me. And if somehow I do manage to persuade her, her dowry is irrelevant because I wouldn’t take it even if she offered it. As I said, material considerations aren’t part of this. Not for me. Not with her.”

“Your integrity does you credit.”

He laughed as he stepped into the carriage. “Duchess,” he said, grinning at her through the window, “I believe that is the first time anyone has ever complimented my integrity.”

N
ICHOLAS DIDN’T MISS
the train though it was a near shave. Before the carriage had even stopped in front of the station, he could see the steam from its engine curling overhead, a clear indication that it was about to depart. The moment the carriage came to a halt, he was out of the vehicle and beckoning for a porter as he headed to the ticket window. Thankfully, porters paid attention to gentlemen who arrived in the duchess’s carriage, and Chalmers received assistance at once while Nicholas purchased tickets.

When the train whistle blew, he shoved his valet’s ticket into his hand, grabbed the last suitcase himself and jumped up onto the first-class carriage. He’d barely found his seat before the train jerked into motion, and he could only hope Chalmers had been able to do the same.

Once the rush to make the train was over, however, and his journey under way, Nicholas’s mind turned to what the duchess had told him.

He couldn’t blame Belinda for deceiving him as to her financial situation. And the information didn’t change his course. As he’d told the duchess, he didn’t want Belinda’s money. Not only because he was out to gain her respect but also because he wanted to regain his own. That meant making his own way, and that meant earning a living.

But how? That was the crucial question. He resumed his speculations of the night before, but after over an hour, he confessed himself still as unenlightened as before. His education was that of a gentleman, which meant it was of no practical use whatsoever. Not being a second son, he’d never studied law or medicine or engineering or anything remotely useful. Latin and Keats weren’t of much commercial value. Had he been able to study the sciences as he would have wished to, that might have made a difference. He felt a hint of bitterness at the thought, but he shoved it aside. That was water under the bridge now, and bitterness was hardly helpful.

Still, the brutal truth was that he had no skills for which anyone would pay. He wasn’t trained for anything. No one would hire a duke’s son to be a clerk in a bank, especially when the duke would surely come along at some point and queer the pitch. He had good health and brute strength, but he’d guess longshoremen made barely enough to keep body and soul together.

He considered post after post, but as he did, he knew it was a futile exercise. All other considerations aside, there was no job of any kind that Landsdowne couldn’t manage to get him sacked from.

That fact also prevented him from going into diplomatic service. Landsdowne’s influence was too great. One word in the proper ears, and he’d find his career in diplomacy over before it began.

If he had capital, he could invest it in funds or shares, but of course, his lack of capital was the heart of his problem. Belinda’s words about saving for a rainy day came back to haunt him, and he thought with infinite regret of all the money he’d frittered away on empty pursuits. But like bitterness, regrets were of no use. All he could do in the future was vow to do better than he had in the past.

He’d been over all these same considerations last night, as well as when he’d first been informed his trust had been cut off, and as he contemplated them again now, no new ideas presented themselves. As Belinda had pointed out, he was a lily of the field, but what other fate could there be for a man like him?

The speed of the train slackened, and he glanced up, startled to discover that the two hour journey was nearly over. The train had just crossed Grosvenor Bridge and was nearing Victoria Station, and he stared out the window as it lumbered along beside the canal. Beyond the canal were industrial buildings and blocks of flats for the working classes, with their costermonger carts out front and lorries clogging the streets.

The train’s speed slackened even more, almost to a crawl, and Nicholas stood up. He lowered the window and looked out to see if he could determine why they were moving so slowly, but they were on a curve and he could see nothing ahead but the train itself.

He shut the window and sank back into his seat. It made no sense to be impatient. After all, it wasn’t as if he had anything useful to do when he arrived. Sitting in a train was as good a way of passing the time as anything else, especially when a man needed to think.

He returned his mind to his situation and wondered about the possibilities of business and commerce. A gentleman who messed about with business affairs was looked down upon as some sort of bad seed by many in society, and though being a bad seed had never bothered him in the least, it didn’t alter the fact that what he knew about commerce and trade would fit in a thimble.

The train slowed even more, if that were possible, then for some reason known only to railway engineers and conductors, stopped altogether, still several blocks from Victoria Station. Directly out the window in front of him was a soot-covered brick building with boarded-up windows, a vagrant stretched out across its doorway sleeping in the sun, and weeds sprouting up among the cracked pavements and along the foundation. A sign tacked to one of the boarded-up windows proclaimed the building had once been a brewery, and that it was available for let or for sale.

Nicholas stared at the sign, fragments of conversations and scraps of information swirling through his mind—his discussions with Freebody, the crops at Honeywood, Denys’s family—bits and pieces that suddenly coalesced into one simple, straightforward idea. When he glanced again at the abandoned building and saw the name painted above the doorway of the place, he realized the solution to all his problems might just be staring him right in the face.

W
HEN HE ARRIVED
back at South Audley Street, he learned that Denys was not yet out of bed, but he had no intention of allowing that to stop him. Heaping a tray with eggs, bacon, kidneys, and hot buttered toast from the warming dishes on the dining room sideboard, as well as the entire pot of coffee and two cups, he went up to his friend’s room.

Carefully balancing the tray on one forearm, he tapped the door, then opened it without bothering to wait for permission to enter. “Morning, Denys,” he said in the voice he usually reserved for his deaf Aunt Sadie as he shifted the tray back to both hands and kicked the door shut behind him.

“What in blazes?” Denys bolted to a sitting position at the bang of the door, flinging back covers. But with one quick glance at the man who’d disturbed his rest, he fell back into the pillows with a groan. “Nick? Good God, man, why the devil are you waking me at this ungodly hour? Do you know what time it is?”

“Half past ten.”

“Half past ten?” He groaned again. “No one rises at half past ten! Not in town during the season anyway.”

“Scarcely found your bed, have you?”

“While I suppose you haven’t been to bed at all?”

“I haven’t, actually. Unless turf could be deemed a bed.”

“What are you blathering about? And what are you doing in London? Aren’t you supposed to be at some house party this week?” Denys stared at him, blinking sleepily for a moment, then he grinned. “And what the devil happened to your face?”

“It’s a long story. I shan’t bore you with it.” He lifted the tray. “I’ve brought breakfast.”

Denys waved aside breakfast, peering at him closely. “Your jaw’s swollen and you’ve a graze on your cheek. I do believe you’ll have another black eye,” he said, sounding thoroughly pleased. “Who is the splendid fellow who bestowed it? I must meet him and shake his hand.”

“I don’t have time for explanations this morning.” He glanced around, then set the tray on one side of the washstand. “Coffee?” he asked as he poured himself a cup.

“I should love some,” Denys replied as he rolled over, turning his back on his friend, “but I don’t intend to stay awake long enough to drink it.”

Nicholas ignored that and poured a second cup. “Would you like milk and sugar?”

“God have mercy,” Denys mumbled and pulled the covers over his head. “Why?” he asked, his voice muffled by sheets and counterpane. “Why do you have to keep reappearing in my life and wreaking havoc?”

“Because that’s what friends are for. And I do live here.”

That caused Denys to flip back the sheets and glare at him over his shoulder. “Only temporarily.”

“Just so. And that’s partly what I want to discuss with you.” He brought both cups of coffee to the bed. “Come along, Denys. Do sit up, have a coffee, and attend to me. I’ve something very important to do, and I need your help.”

“My help? Haven’t I done enough for you already?”

“You’ve been a brick.” He settled himself on the edge of the bed. “And I’m about to ask you for more, I’m afraid. But if it’s any consolation, this is something I think you might actually want to help me with because it helps you as well. It might even make us rich. Or at least prosperous.”

“Sounds too good to be true.”

“Well, there is one sticky wicket. We’ll have to obtain a loan, and neither of us has the blunt that’s necessary for this venture. I was thinking of your father—”

Denys groaned. “Really, Nick, there are limits to our friendship!”

“Well, we certainly can’t go to my father.”

“And what is this idea?”

“Beer, Denys. We’re going to make beer.”

His friend heaved a sigh and sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “Pass me that coffee.”

Chapter 15

B
elinda didn’t learn until almost noon that Nicholas was gone. Most of the night, she’d been plagued by images of him kneeling in front of her without his shirt and tormented by the kisses and caresses of the night before. She’d finally fallen asleep sometime after three o’clock, and when she awoke, it was nearly half past eleven.

Molly, upon bringing her a breakfast tray, was the one who informed her of Lord Trubridge’s departure for London on the early train.

So he did leave after all
, she thought, staring down at her bacon and eggs. He’d asked her if he ought to stay, and she’d said it didn’t matter to her.

Hard-hearted Belinda.

She didn’t want to be hard, but how could she be otherwise, given his history? The words she’d said last night were true, she knew that. Yet in the cold light of day, she also knew that she hadn’t said them for that reason. She’d lashed out at him purely out of fear. The desires he’d awakened in her made her feel vulnerable and afraid; she had turned him away, and it made no sense to feel let down now because he’d gone. If he’d stayed, she’d have been forced to spend the coming week shoving other women at him, something that seemed equally impossible.

Belinda tried to eat her breakfast, but all she was able to taste was the bitter tinge of disappointment and regret, and she didn’t understand herself at all.

A knock on her door interrupted these musings, and Rosalie’s voice came to her from the other side. “Auntie Belinda, may I come in?”

She nodded in response to her maid’s questioning look, and the servant opened the door. “Thank you, Molly,” she added, setting the breakfast tray aside as Rosalie came in. “That will be all for now.”

The moment Molly departed, closing the door behind her, Rosalie burst into speech. “Oh, Auntie Belinda, I am so embarrassed! I made an utter fool out of myself last night, didn’t I?”

Belinda’s mind flashed back to own wayward behavior last night, reminding her that she was hardly in the position to give a lecture on propriety. Instead, she patted the bed, inviting the girl to come sit down.

Rosalie complied, crossing the room to perch herself on the edge of the mattress. “It’s so humiliating,” she went on, her cheeks as pink as her rose-colored wrapper. “I just want to die. How will I ever face him?”

“You won’t have to, dearest. Lord Trubridge is gone. He left this morning.”

“Trubridge?” Rosalie gave her a blank stare for a moment, then she shook her head. “No, no, I know Trubridge is gone. My maid told me. I wasn’t talking about him. I was talking about Sir William.”

“Oh!” Taken aback, it took Belinda a moment to think how to reply. “It isn’t so much that you made a fool of yourself,” she finally said. “Every girl—every person—does that from time to time. It isn’t what happened that matters now. It’s that you understand what could have happened had someone less honorable than Sir William witnessed you kissing a man. Your actions put your reputation and Lord Trubridge’s at risk. And mine as well,” she added, not above using guilt to be sure Rosalie never made such a risky mistake again.

“Yours?” Rosalie looked stricken, telling her that her words had made the proper impact. “But why? You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Nonetheless, people know I have launched you in society, and to some degree, they judge me by your behavior. And your mother, and your father, too, would have been shamed if the episode came out. But that isn’t the greatest concern, dearest,” she added, softening now that she’d made her point. “Yours is the reputation most endangered by the sort of situation you risked last night. It is vital that you remember modesty and restraint.”

Even as Belinda said those words, she thought of Nicholas’s hands yanking up her skirts, of his hands shaping her buttocks, and the arousal pulsing through her body. She was a fine one to talk of modesty and restraint.

Amid this flush of hot memories, she barely heard Rosalie’s next words. “Don’t worry, Auntie Belinda,” she said as if from a great distance away, “I won’t ever do such a thing again. Heavens, I can’t imagine what Sir William must think of me after the shameless way I behaved.”

Belinda closed her eyes, unable to disengage her thoughts from her own behavior the night before. It had been something primal, and it shocked her to think she could be like that. Raw lust was something she’d never felt before. Even Charles, even in her first flush of passion for him, had never made her feel like that—hot, carnal, and utterly desperate. She had broken things off in the nick of time, for if a few more seconds had gone by, she’d have passed the point of no return.

“But he was splendid, wasn’t he?” Rosalie said in a dreamy, musing voice. “Don’t you think he was splendid?”

“Yes,” she answered, acknowledging Nicholas’s ability to arouse her passions with a resigned sigh. “He was.”

Only after she’d said it did she realize she’d spoken aloud, and she once again forced aside her own experiences of the previous night. “Sir William was very splendid, indeed.”

“I’ve never seen him angry before. My goodness, I truly didn’t know he could be like that. It was very exciting, and yet, it was reassuring, too, seeing the way he stood up for me and defended my honor.”

“You will make it clear to Sir William that he was mistaken in his conclusions and that Lord Trubridge was not to blame?”

She gave an unhappy sigh. “I suppose I must. Though it shall be terribly hard to own up to my behavior. Especially to Sir William. He’s such an honorable sort of man. What if he doesn’t forgive me?”

“Does it matter so much to you? His forgiveness?”

She nodded, biting her lip. “It matters. I care terribly what he thinks of me, and I didn’t even realize it until now.”

“I’m so glad you are at last seeing Sir William’s fine qualities.”

Rosalie’s face took on a rueful expression. “You were right all along, Auntie Belinda. And even though I made a complete fool out of myself, perhaps everything has worked out for the best.”

For the best?

With Nicholas’s departure, there would be no more scenes like last night, with Rosalie flinging herself at him, and Sir William engaging in fisticuffs, and herself turned into some primitive, desperate, carnal creature who’d allow a man to yank up her skirts and relish every second of it.

“Yes,” she answered Rosalie’s question, forcing herself to say what was true even though it wasn’t what she felt. “Everything has worked out for the best.”

A
S
N
ICHOLAS HAD
predicted, Denys loved his idea, so much so that the two of them had barely finished their coffee before going downstairs in search of Denys’s father. But Lord Conyers proved less enthusiastic and much more cautious than the two younger men.

A business venture like a brewery, the earl informed them, was a tricky business, and he had no intention of granting them a loan for the capital or buying any shares without first receiving a detailed proposal, including the location of the brewery, a production schedule, an estimate of the crop yields from both their estates, and a budget that included repayment of the loan and profit estimates for their first three years of operation.

“You see,” Denys said, as they left Lord Conyers’s study, “this is why I never ask him for money. Even when I was fifteen and wanted to borrow a bit to hold me over until my monthly allowance was paid out, he would demand all the details of why I was short of funds, what I wanted the money for, when I’d pay it back, and what interest rate I was prepared to pay.”

Nicholas refused to be discouraged. “That, I suspect, is one of the reasons he’s rich. And besides, he’s merely asking us for information we would have had to obtain anyway. Look at it this way,” he added, clapping his friend on the back. “At least he didn’t look down his nose at us for wishing to be captains of industry.”

Denys brightened a bit. “True. So to give Papa what he wants, where do we start?”

“I say with the easiest thing. The building.”

“And why is that easiest?”

He grinned. “Because I already know where it is.”

Half an hour later, the two men were standing in front of the abandoned brewery Nicholas had seen from the train.

Denys eyed it dubiously. “This is where you want to put the place? The building is rather . . . decrepit, don’t you think?”

He couldn’t really blame his friend for a lack of enthusiasm. Though the vagrant was gone, the three-story building of sooty brick was every bit as seedy-looking as it had appeared earlier in the day, but he didn’t care. “The cosmetics don’t matter, Denys. Windows can be replaced, bricks cleaned, and steps whitewashed easily enough. No, what matters is the name.”

“The name?”

Nicholas pointed to the faded paint above the door. “Lilyfield’s,” he read aloud, and began to laugh. “By God, if that’s not a sign from the heavens, I don’t know what is.”

S
IX DAYS LATER,
upon her return from the house party, Belinda expected to find some word from Nicholas in the pile of correspondence that had accumulated during her absence from town, but though she searched through the letters and invitations on her desk three times, no note from him was among them.

She had no idea what would happen now. After that episode in the maze, would he still wish to carry on looking for a wife and expect her to assist him? She honestly didn’t know. She thought he’d been joking when he’d asked for a moment to consider her sarcastic suggestion along that line, but perhaps he hadn’t been joking. And if he were serious, what would she do?

During the past week, she had tried again to imagine helping him find a wife, but her brain just couldn’t seem to fashion that scenario. But if she refused to assist him in his quest, would he go on without her? He could, for she’d already paved the way for him to return to good society, and he didn’t really need her now to find himself a rich bride.

That thought made her feel rather dismal, and not even because of any sort of moral indignation on behalf of rich, innocent heiresses. No, she feared she’d become less altruistic and much more selfish in her motives where that man was concerned. She didn’t want him to find a wife because she didn’t want another woman to feel with him what she had felt.

And yet, what else could he be expected to do? What financial option was there for him other than to marry? She’d suggested he earn an income, but she was well aware that such a thing wasn’t as easy as it sounded, especially here in Britain. And now that she knew the facts about his relationship with Landsdowne, she knew it wasn’t likely the duke would reinstate his trust fund unless he married, which brought her thoughts right back to where they’d begun: finding him a rich wife.

I’m rich.

The thought came to her like the whisper of a mischievous imp, but she snuffed it out at once. Marry Nicholas? Heavens, no. She wasn’t the sort who ever made the same mistake twice if she could help it, and as she’d so bluntly pointed out the other night, nothing in his behavior thus far demonstrated he was capable of being a responsible man and a good husband. He was charming, yes. Handsome, yes. Desirable—God, yes. But responsible? That was doubtful. She understood the underlying reasons for his behavior better now, but that didn’t alter the fact that a man like Nicholas wasn’t likely to change his ways.

The only other possibility for them was an affair, and much to her chagrin, she found that a far easier proposition to imagine than marrying him, one she’d been imagining far too often of late. But there was no future in it, not for a woman of her position. If word got out that Lady Featherstone was engaging in an affair, her profession would be in ruins, and for what?

Yes, she desired him, but she didn’t love him, nor could she in all good conscience respect him. That wasn’t likely to change either, and the only thing to do was what she’d done the first time he’d kissed her—pretend it hadn’t happened, put him out of her mind until she heard from him, and carry on.

With renewed determination, she began opening her other correspondence, sure that reading and answering letters would be the perfect distraction, but she soon found she’d been mistaken.

The first letter she opened was from Mrs. Isaiah Hunt, inquiring as to possible dates for inviting Lord Trubridge to dinner. Geraldine, she wrote, hadn’t seemed to take to the marquess upon their first meeting, but Mrs. Hunt was certain the girl could be prevailed upon to change her mind. For her part, Mrs. Hunt had thought him a most delightful man, having first met him at Lady Montcrieffe’s ball.

“Oh, yes,” Belinda mumbled with a sigh. “He’s quite delightful. Unfortunately not in the way a mother would approve.”

She set Mrs. Hunt’s correspondence aside and continued on, but she’d scarcely gone through three more letters before she came across a note from Nancy, asking how the wife search for Trubridge was going and offering the names of several young ladies who had just arrived from New York that she might consider as possibilities.

Belinda set Nancy’s note aside and moved on. Two letters later, she was staring at an envelope with Carlotta Jackson’s name on it.