When the Marquess Met His Match (4 page)

Jervis entered the drawing room with a stack of newspapers, but lost in thought, she barely noticed as he crossed the room to place them by her chair. It was her custom to scan the morning and evening papers, just in case any tidbits of gossip had managed to make news before she’d become aware of them, and it was a pastime in which she usually took great amusement, for the papers were so often wrong.

Today, however, she couldn’t stir up much interest as the butler crossed to her side and placed a stack of scandal sheets on the table by her chair. “The evening papers, my lady.”

“Thank you, Jervis.” She dismissed him with a preoccupied wave of her hand and frowned at the pile of newspapers, fearing some of them had already noted Trubridge’s arrival from Paris and were mad with speculation as to why he was in town.

Despite her bold words to him, Belinda knew it was unlikely she’d be able to prevent him from finding a bride, particularly if he were as desperate, as much in haste, and as willing to use dishonorable tactics as he had implied. Nonetheless, she was determined that every heiress in London and her parents, too, would at least be aware of his character and his intentions beforehand. It was up to her to warn them; but such warnings would have to be issued with subtlety, or she would appear to have a personal axe to grind, and her words would be discounted. Also, she wouldn’t put it past him to sue her for slander if she went too far too fast.

Calling on the mothers, whispered consultations . . . yes, that long-established method would work, but it would take time, and if he were truly prepared to ruin a girl to gain his objective, time was something she did not have. But other than her tongue, what other weapons could she employ?

Belinda sat up straight in her chair, inspiration striking with sudden force. There might be a way, she realized, and glanced at the clock. Yes, she had just enough time to pay a call, and that one little visit might be all she needed to do to prevent the Marquess of Trubridge from taking some innocent girl’s virtue and fortune.

Chapter 3

I
t was a common misconception that one had to have money to stay at a luxurious London hotel, but Nicholas knew otherwise. One of the few benefits of being a titled peer was that one need not have ready money to engage a suite of rooms, and for any member of the Landsdowne family, Claridge’s was the London hotel of choice. The staff, bless their trusting hearts, wouldn’t dream of asking Landsdowne’s son to pay in advance, and given the fact that he had a mere seventeen pounds, four shillings, and sixpence in his bank account at present, Nicholas was happy to make use of his family name to obtain accommodations, especially since it was his father’s latest attempt to bring him to heel that had brought him to London in the first place.

Landsdowne’s letter informing him he’d been cut off and would remain so until he had a suitable wife had been quite a shock, but only because he hadn’t known his father had that sort of power over his inheritance. But in hindsight, he supposed he should have anticipated something like this. After all, control of his money was control over him, and that had always been the old man’s greatest obsession. What Landsdowne couldn’t ever seem to accept was the fact that he no longer ceded the old man that sort of power. Though his father’s move did force him to marry to secure his financial future, he intended to find a wife of his own choosing, not one chosen for him.

Of course, Lady Featherstone’s refusal to assist him in his search did make his goal a bit trickier to achieve than he’d originally envisioned, but it didn’t change it. He had to marry, and the only question now was how to set about it without her help.

The morning after his visit to Berkeley Street, he had little chance to speculate on the topic, however, for he’d barely sat down to breakfast before there was a knock on the door of his suite.

Chalmers, his valet, paused in the act of dishing up kidneys and bacon from the warming dishes that had been sent up by the hotel kitchens and gave his master an inquiring look.

He nodded in reply, and Chalmers left the sitting room for the vestibule. Moments later, the valet was ushering in a small, elderly man who carried a black leather dispatch case and whose shriveled pippin face was quite familiar to Nicholas. “That didn’t take long,” he murmured under his breath as he laid aside his napkin and stood up. “Mr. Freebody,” he greeted in a louder voice. “How good of you to look me up.”

“My lord.” The older man glanced at the table. “Forgive me for disturbing your breakfast.”

“Not at all. As a matter of fact, I’ve been expecting you.”

“Have you?” The dry, precise little man who’d been in charge of legal affairs for the present Duke of Landsdowne for nearly half a century actually seemed surprised.

“Yes, indeed. I didn’t know when you’d seek me out, of course, but it was bound to be soon after my arrival. Father’s letter was intended to bring me scurrying home, wasn’t it? So, here I am. You may tell him I arrived as anticipated.” He gestured to the chair across the table. “Please sit down. Would you care for coffee? Or I can have Chalmers fetch you some tea?”

“No, no, thank you, my lord.” He took the offered chair, placing his leather dispatch case beside it. “At His Grace’s request, I am here to further discuss that letter.”

“Of course you are.” He resumed eating his breakfast. “You know, sometimes I wish Father would be less predictable. My dealings with him might be more interesting that way.”

There was a rather awkward pause. Nicholas waited another ten seconds before he stopped eating and looked up. “Well?” he prompted. “You did come here to inform me of the terms under which my inheritance would be reinstated, did you not?”

Mr. Freebody smiled his dry little smile. “We don’t need to launch straight into legal matters, my lord. Do finish your breakfast. Do you plan to be in town long?”

He had no intention of giving anything away, and he kept his voice deliberately noncommittal. “I don’t really know. Beyond enjoying the delights of the season, I don’t have any fixed plans.”

“But surely you shall at least visit Honeywood while you are here?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Why do you ask?” He flashed the other man a grin. “Is Father afraid I might burn the place down for the insurance money?”

Freebody looked at him in some alarm, as if he were serious, and he reminded himself that lawyers had no sense of humor. They were rather like matchmakers in that respect.

With that thought, an image of Lady Featherstone’s eyes came into his mind—beautiful blue eyes tinged with the icy frost of disdain. Glaciers were warmer than that woman; no, he revised at once, even glaciers could melt if the proper heat were applied. As to Lady Featherstone, he doubted thawing was possible. On the other hand, she did have those full pink lips and that luscious figure. A determined man could perhaps—

A slight cough drew his attention. Nicholas set aside contemplation of the various ways one might apply heat to Lady Featherstone and returned his attention to his visitor. He set down his knife and fork. “Let’s cut to the heart of things, Freebody. You’ve known me all of my life, and there’s no need to dance around, making polite conversation. Landsdowne is holding my inheritance over my head in order to force me to marry whatever woman he deems most appropriate for alliance with the great and oh-so-noble Landsdowne family. Do I have it right?”

The lawyer gave him an apologetic look. “Force is a rather harsh assessment.”

“Landsdowne’s a harsh man, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“I’m sure His Grace’s sincerest wish is for your marriage to bring you happiness.”

Nicholas gave a laugh. “My dear man, spare us both the pretense that Landsdowne has ever cared about my happiness. He wants an heir, another pawn, another asset to put to use in the accumulation of his empire. That’s all.”

The lawyer ignored this summation of his employer’s motives. “As you have already surmised, His Grace is prepared to reinstate your income from your mother’s trust when you marry, if certain conditions are met. I am here to inform you of precisely what those conditions are and what else he is prepared to offer should you accept.”

Nicholas raised a brow at that. “Sweetening the pot, is he?”

“He will give you a quarterly allowance—”

“No,” Nicholas said, cutting off that dangling carrot at once.

“My lord, I realize you have not accepted an allowance from your father since you came into your own money, but you are entitled to his support, not only for yourself, but for your wife and children. He is willing to reinstate your allowance at double the previous amount, and by another ten percent with the birth of each of your children.”

The duke was as miserly as he was ruthless, the main reason he still had so much money when peers all over England were going broke. For him to offer such a staggering sum, and without any haggling, was quite uncharacteristic of him, and Nicholas could only wonder what other shoe was about to drop. He didn’t have to wonder for long.

“Your bride will one day be the Duchess of Landsdowne,” Freebody went on, “and that is a position of great responsibility. To fulfill it, the woman you marry must be of the appropriate class.”

Nicholas ignored the old bitterness that stirred inside him and leaned back, forcing a laugh. “There’s a pretty little French dairymaid in Paris who brings the milk each morning. Perhaps I should send for her and take her up to Gretna Green. The old man might die of apoplexy, and all my problems would be solved.”

These callous words made no dent in Freebody’s unflappable, lawyerly reserve. “No elopements to Gretna Green, no dairymaids—French or otherwise—no shopgirls, no housemaids.” There was a pause as the lawyer met his gaze across the desk. “No actresses.”

So that was it. His grin widened. “Tempting as it might be to marry my most recent mistress and put the duke’s knickers in a twist, Mignonette is a hardheaded Parisienne who’s got far too much sense to take on marriage to me. And I do believe the little French maid’s heart is already spoken for. So you may reassure my father that neither of them shall be the future Duchess of Landsdowne.”

“She must be an Englishwoman of noble family, Church of England, with her father’s rank no lower than that of earl. She must also have a sizable dowry.”

He did not point out he was already in search of a woman who met none of those criteria except that last one. But he couldn’t help being curious. “Landsdowne’s rich as Croesus already. Why should he care if my wife brings a dowry into the family or not?”

The little lawyer drew himself up. “My dear Lord Trubridge, you cannot marry a girl with no dowry,” he said, as if appalled by the very idea. “She could be a gold digger.”

“Ah.” Enlightened, he grinned. “Yes, I suppose that would make her too much like the last girl, wouldn’t it?”

Freebody ignored the reference to Kathleen. “Your future bride must also have impeccable connections and an unsullied reputation.”

Given this list of requirements, his father might just as well expect him to marry a mermaid. “I see. And does the duke have any idea where I might find such a woman as you describe? The aristocratic English heiress with a large dowry is a creature of a bygone era, I fear. Most men of our ranks are poor as church mice these days and in no position to provide their daughters with generous dowries.”

“His Grace does have someone in mind.”

“And who is this paragon of womanly virtue?”

“Lady Harriet Dalrymple.”

“My God,” Nicholas muttered, staring at the lawyer in horror. “Landsdowne really does hate me. If I’ve ever doubted it, this gives me irrefutable proof.”

“Lady Harriet is a wealthy heiress of excellent family and noble bloodlines,” Mr. Freebody went on, doggedly determined to carry on with this joke of a negotiation. “She meets all your father’s requirements.”

“She doesn’t meet mine. Lady Harriet weighs more than I do. Fifteen stone, at least, the last time I saw her. God, man, she has hair on her lip. And her voice . . .” He shuddered.

Mr. Freebody shot him a reproving glance, as if such considerations were completely irrelevant. “Lady Harriet’s father is an earl, her fortune is immense, her family has no debts or mortgages, and her connections are among the best in the land. In addition, her morals are above reproach.”

“Of course they are,” he countered. “What chap would breach them?”

“Lady Harriet has also indicated a willingness to overlook certain . . . peccadilloes, shall we say, in your past. It’s an excellent match, and your father feels that when the time comes, Lady Harriet will be an excellent duchess.”

“If Landsdowne has his heart set on Lady Harriet, I advise him to marry her. I certainly shan’t.”

“Should you prefer another, equally suitable young lady, I’m sure your father would agree, provided she meets with his approval.”

“Well, that’s the sticky wicket, I fear. As you know, my father and I have such divergent opinions on the subject of suitability . . .” He paused to give the lawyer an apologetic look. “And since we’ve never agreed about anything else in our entire lives, it seems impossible that we should agree on my choice of bride.”

“Very well. His Grace suggests that if Lady Harriet is not to your taste, you make a list of other young ladies more to your liking. He will be happy to consider them in his choice of bride for you.”

Nicholas had heard enough. As a boy, his life had been controlled and manipulated by a man he barely knew, a man who had never been any sort of father to him, and he’d had little choice but to accept the situation. But he’d stopped being dictated to by Landsdowne the day Kathleen had departed for America with a sizable check from the ducal bank account, and he didn’t have to listen to anything the old man might have to say.

“As much as I appreciate my father’s offer to choose my wife for me,” he said with a cheerful smile, “it won’t be necessary. I believe I can handle that task on my own.”

“Can you? Doing the season is an expensive proposition,” Freebody pointed out. “You will need to lease a house, hire a carriage, and do a great deal of entertaining. With your income cut off, how will you manage?”

“Credit, of course. How else?” Nicholas shrugged and resumed eating his kidneys and bacon. “Credit is a wonderful thing, Freebody. Bankers are willing to offer it to anybody with a title.”

“Quite. Have you . . .” The lawyer paused and gave a tactful little cough. “Have you visited your bankers since your arrival?”

Nicholas paused, feeling a sudden prickle of misgiving. “No,” he answered, and looked up, meeting Freebody’s gaze across the table. “Why?”

“They might not be as willing to extend credit as you assume.”

His misgivings grew stronger, and he began to wonder if Landsdowne’s latest interference in his life had only just begun. Still, it would never do to show a hint of alarm. “My bankers have never been mean about granting me credit when I have needed it.”

“You do have debts at present.”

“Yes, and an excellent history of paying my debts when they come due.” He gave up on breakfast, set down his knife and fork with a clatter, and shoved his plate aside. “What are you driving at, Freebody? Spit it out. Is Landsdowne threatening to force my bankers to deny me credit?”