Amanda Scott (31 page)

“Well,” Lady Hermione said tartly, “I can tell you that if this nation were not so misguided as to deny women the right to serve in Parliament, we’d soon see that matters which affect the so-called weaker sex—which certainly includes marriage and divorce laws—would never take second place to whale blubber. And if that was meant to be an illustration of Sir Jacob’s efficiency in the Commons, all I can say is
poppycock.”

“I suppose you approve of clandestine marriages,” Lord Ashby said, shooting her a provocative look.

“Now, don’t you go putting words in my mouth, Ashby, for I won’t tolerate it,” she snapped. “I don’t believe in doing anything clandestinely. If you are going to do a thing, I say, do it right smack in the public eye.”

“Anything?” He raised his eyebrows, smiling wickedly.

“Don’t be idiotic!” But when the others chuckled, she blushed, adding, “You know what I mean. I don’t hold with runaway marriages, and I don’t hold with the Scots calling them legal, all for a man’s having jumped an anvil, or whatever it is they do, and declared himself married to a woman—or child, as they certainly are in some instances. But no more than that do I hold with the notion that a woman has got to put up with her husband’s philandering whilst he can divorce her for cause when she imitates his habit. That behavior, at least, poor Maria will no longer have to tolerate.” She said to Anne, “You won’t be attending the funeral on Wednesday, either, of course.”

“No,” Anne said. “Only the gentlemen will go, although perhaps Andrew …” She paused, glancing at the boy, who had for once been listening avidly and in becoming silence. It occurred to her only now that perhaps several of the comments that had been made were not exactly suitable for him to hear.

He returned her look steadily, but said, “I think I should go, don’t you, Uncle Michael? After all, I am head of the family, for all that you did not let me attend your wedding.”

Lord Ashby said, “He is certainly old enough, Michael, and there are those who would consider it a slight if he did not go.”

“Yes, you are right,” Michael said, “and you and I must go, sir, but there is no cause for any of the women to attend.”

Lady Hermione said with a decisive nod, “Just what I thought, but I daresay we shall have to pay a sympathy call on Maria, Anne. It would be best to go the morning after the funeral, don’t you agree? Shall I call for you?”

Before Anne could reply, however, Lord Michael said, “I don’t want to put a rub in the way of your visit, ma’am, but I mean to accompany Anne when she pays her call at Thornton House. I have a certain matter to discuss with Lady Thornton that I prefer not to discuss with her man of business unless she asks me to do so, and I cannot, with propriety, call upon her alone at such a time as this.”

“Look here, Michael,” Lord Ashby said hastily, “you ain’t thinking … That is,” he went on hesitantly after a glance at their guests, “that business ought not to be discussed with a female, by Jove. It’s not right, not right at all.”

“It certainly ought not to be discussed at present,” Michael said firmly. “I will do as I think best, Uncle.”

“Of course, lad, of course. Ah, Bagshaw, there you are at last. Don’t mind telling you, I’m famished. By the bye, Wilfred,” he added, turning to the viscount, “you will be pleased to know that I had word they mean to deliver the new aerostat tomorrow. We can begin filling her just as soon as we’ve got all the materials on hand, in a day or two, and I mean to put it about that we’ll take her up for a maiden voyage on Sunday afternoon. Do you mean to accompany me?”

“No, no,” the viscount said hastily. “Damme, Ashby, I’ve told you before, I’m financing a scientific experiment, not taking part in one. If man had been meant to fly, he’d have been born with feathers, man, not flesh!”

“Exactly what I’ve told him any number of times myself,” Lord Michael said cordially as he got to his feet and offered his arm to Lady Hermione. “Shall we go in?”

The talk at dinner proceeded desultorily. No further mention was made of Lord Michael’s intended discussion with Lady Thornton, although Anne did not know what passed between the gentlemen after she and Lady Hermione left them to their port. She assumed Michael wanted to talk with Sir Jacob’s wife about the wager, but she was afraid of receiving a setdown if she asked him outright to tell her what he meant to do, so she contained her soul in patience until the day following Sir Jacob’s funeral.

Preceding him into Thornton House that afternoon, she found herself hoping he would not order her from the room in order to direct his conversation with Lady Thornton in privacy. From the speculative glance he shot her as they were shown into the drawing room, she deduced that he did want to exclude her, but trusted that his notions of propriety were too strong to allow him to ask the widow to grant him a private exchange.

Their hostess, enveloped in black crape and a languishing air, invited them in a faltering voice to sit down.

“We are sorry for your loss, ma’am,” Anne said, arranging her skirt as she took her seat on a Chinese Chippendale chair, and being careful to avoid the chair’s mock bamboo back, which she knew from experience was likely to poke her shoulder blades painfully. “His death was so very sudden.”

“Indeed,” gasped Lady Thornton, “such a shock. I don’t know what I’ll do. Six children, you know, to be provided for, and all so young yet.”

“I imagine he left you all well provided for, ma’am,” Michael said matter-of-factly. “Have you not had his will read to you yet?”

“Oh, no, for his man of business was in London, you see, and it was not thought wise to delay the funeral until his coming. He will be here tomorrow,” she added faintly. “So kind of you to come. Everyone has been so kind, but indeed, I do not have the least notion of how Sir Jacob left his affairs. I do not even know whom he will have named as guardian to his poor children, for he did not think me wise enough, of course.”

“But surely, you ought to be their guardian,” Anne said impulsively.

“Oh, no,” Lady Thornton said, looking shocked. “I am only a woman, after all. What could I know of such things?”

Anne was tempted to tell her she ought to make it her business to learn about
such things,
as she called them, but Michael said with an air of one steeling himself to an unpleasant task, “There is a matter that I must in honor bring to your attention, Lady Thornton, though perhaps your husband had already mentioned it to you.”

“And what is that, sir?”

“A wager that my brother, Edmund, made with him shortly before his own death. Naturally, I am still bound to pay it.”

“Indeed, sir? My husband said nothing of this to me, but I have left all his papers for his solicitor to deal with, for Sir Jacob never discussed any of his affairs—of any sort—with me,” she added on a more bitter note.

“The wager was a large one,” Michael said.

“Was it? How large?”

“Twenty thousand pounds.”

She sat up straight. “So much, my lord?”

He grimaced. “I’ll not equivocate with you, ma’am. Even if my brother’s affairs had been in good order, such a sum would have been difficult to collect. Unfortunately, they were not left in good order, and in point of fact, I’m still having the deuce of a time sorting out what he owned and what he didn’t. He dealt with several solicitors, you see, rather than putting all his affairs with one, and he even seems to have managed a few things on his own. In at least one instance, I have discovered that he must have operated with a partner, and did not put the details in the hands of any of his men of affairs.”

“Are you suggesting, sir, that my husband was that partner?”

“I do not know if he was or not, ma’am. I’ll discuss that with Sir Jacob’s man of affairs; however, since the wager appears to have been a private matter between them—and since there are distasteful elements in it that I am persuaded you would not want to know about or to have brought to light—I should like to keep it that way for the present. I own, I do have certain business matters in train that would not be assisted by public knowledge of such a large debt against the estate. I hope you understand.”

“Not really,” she said, “but I have no objection. Indeed, if the wager was as distasteful as you say it was, I daresay I should not care to benefit by it; but Mr. Styles—Sir Jacob’s man, you know—will be bound to know all about it and most likely, the record of the wager will be amongst Jacob’s papers.”

“There was certainly a vowel, ma’am, for Jake showed it to me when he informed me of the debt. He was kind enough, in view of my difficulties, to agree to postpone payment till midsummer.”

“That sounds very unlike him. I should think he would have insisted upon being paid at once.”

Michael stiffened. “There was nothing written down between the two of us, if that is what you mean. It was an agreement between gentlemen. There was no need for a second document.”

“My husband’s sense of honor was not so fine as yours, my lord,” she said gently, “though it pains me to say so. I think, you know, that unless he did not leave enough to the children to keep them comfortably—for I do not hesitate to confide to you, sir, my belief that he left the bulk of his wealth outside this family—I will not take your money. Wagers are nonsensical, and I should be most reluctant to profit by such a distasteful one.”

“We’ll see about that. I could not reconcile it with my conscience to take advantage of innocent feminine scruples in such an important issue. I see I shall have to confess at least the wager’s existence to your man of affairs when he arrives.”

“As you wish, my lord, though I warn you, I mean to tell him that to accept such money would distress me prodigiously.”

They stayed only a few minutes after that, for other visitors arrived to pay their respects, and when they were in the carriage, away from interested ears, Anne said, “If it is not improper for me to ask, sir, why would she fear Sir Jacob’s leaving his money away from his family? Would that not be a most peculiar thing for him to do?”

“Peculiar, perhaps, but not unheard of where an estate is not entailed to the eldest son—though I don’t think her son’s inheritance concerns her as much as her widow’s portion.”

“But, good gracious, sir, to whom would he leave that if not to her?” When he remained silent, his lips pressed together, she said quietly, “What sort of man would leave money to his mistress that ought by every right to go to his wife?”

“I did not say he would do any such thing,” Michael replied. “In fact, I don’t believe he did. What I do believe is that Lady Thornton thinks he did, and I have no doubt there are others who would not be surprised if she were to prove right.”

After considering his words for some moments in silence, she said, “Must you still pay off that dreadful wager? Even if she does not want to take the money?”

“Indeed I must, sweetheart, and by Midsummer Day. Since she is entitled to the money, she must have it without a quibble, if I have to sell my own estate to accommodate her.”

Shocked that he would consider selling his inheritance to protect Andrew’s, Anne said impulsively, “You said you did not mean to use my dowry, sir, but surely—”

“Your dowry went to pay my own debts so that I could be free to deal with Edmund’s,” he said bluntly. “Don’t look so amazed. You know I was no saint. I won’t spin you excuses or insist that I’ve learned my lesson, though I certainly have. I tell you now only because you are determined to understand the whole.”

“Did you spend every penny of it?”

“No, of course not, but I did spend a portion of what your father provided in the settlements, and the last quarter’s income from what you had from your godfather. Your father is no fool, sweetheart. I control only your income, not your capital, which is held in trust for you and your children.”

“But if there is more, could you not borrow it? The estate could pay it back, once you have it running properly again.”

“I can’t do that. Really, Anne, you must leave this to me.” He sighed, adding, “You just don’t understand, sweetheart. I’ll know more about where I stand once I talk to Jake’s Mr. Styles.”

So much for partnership, she thought. She was quickly learning that although he was willing to support her position in the household—although now that she enjoyed Mrs. Burdekin’s support, she needed little from him—Michael was more willing to help her than to accept her help. Not, she was the first to admit, that she had the slightest idea how she might be of assistance to him in his present troubles. She had begun to wonder if perhaps some evil force was at work against him, for it did seem as if he no sooner solved one problem than another jumped up in his face.

Even burdened as he was, however, he seemed to regret his neglect of her. The very next evening, instead of retiring alone as usual to deal with estate matters, he left the table when she did and invited her to join him in the library. She saw at once that he was determined to be affable, but when he made a point of remarking on the improvements she had wrought in the gardens, she nearly laughed at such an obvious stratagem.

“They were never in such good trim before,” he said.

They had made themselves comfortable. She was curled in a chair, and he sat near her in its mate. The curtains were drawn, and candle and firelight glowed warmly against the heavy, dark curtains and reflected from the gilding on the covers of the books shelved along two walls of the room.

Anne had been surprised by his invitation. She had even wondered briefly if she had somehow managed to displease him, but his casual demeanor eased her fear, and his comments about the garden banished it completely. Then wryly he added, “I find it hard to believe the whole business hasn’t cost a small fortune.”

“But it hasn’t,” she protested. “You pay the gardeners anyway, you know, and it is much better that they earn their keep. We have merely transplanted plants from one location to another, and I ordered all the ponds cleared and the shrubbery clipped, and the weeds removed, and the lawns scythed—”

“Enough,” he said, chuckling. “I believe you. You need not explain the whole business to me. It sounds, in fact, as if everything was let go to a ruinous degree before you came here.”