An Unsuitable Bride (10 page)

“She seems very shy,” the Dowager Lady Douglas put in, waving the vial of sal volatile beneath her nose. “But her background is rather obscure. She’s clearly from a rather bourgeois family, but at least she doesn’t give herself any airs. I might cultivate her, when I feel a little stronger.” She wafted the vial languidly. “I can’t imagine why a parent would ruin a girl’s chances of marriage by educating her out of the market. But then, I doubt a respectable
parti
could have been found for her. Such an unfortunate appearance . . . that crookback and the birthmark.” She shuddered. “Poor woman, to be cursed in such a way.” She set aside the vial. “I shall be kind to her, offer her a little distraction. It will help
to pass the time. Marcus, assist me into the morning room. I told Baker to lay out a light repast, and I’m feeling a little faint.”

“Of course, Mama.” Marcus helped his mother rise from the sofa in a soft billow of silks. “I doubt Perry and I could manage another mouthful. We had an enormous second breakfast up at the Abbey with the fruits of our morning on the river, but we’ll be happy to keep you company.”

“Indeed, ma’am,” Perry said hastily. “More than happy.”

He was amused to see how Lady Douglas interpreted a light repast. The dining table in the morning room groaned under an array of savory tarts, a glistening ham, a dish of scalloped oysters, and a marzipan confection with crystallized fruits. The dowager took her place, accepted a cup of watered wine, and began languidly to eat her way through the offerings. Perry gazed in growing astonishment at the food that disappeared into that dainty mouth. On her insistence, he toyed with a cheese tartlet and drank a glass of claret. Marcus followed suit, while Lady Douglas ate and engaged Perry in a detailed examination of his family history.

“Your brother, the earl, he’s recently married, I understand.” She nibbled a piece of marzipan.

“Yes, ma’am. And my twin brother also. I’m the only bachelor among us now.” He tried for an easy smile to accompany the statement but found it difficult
to produce. It brought to the forefront the one issue he was trying to forget, at least for this weekend.

“Oh, yes, you have a twin. The Honorable Sebastian, is it not?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He sipped his wine and tried to change the subject. “How long has Mistress Hathaway been in residence at the Abbey?”

“Oh, a few months, I believe. But tell me, how do you find your brothers’ wives, Peregrine . . . I may call you Peregrine, may I not?”

“Of course, ma’am . . . I wonder how Sir Stephen found such an accomplished librarian. Did he consult an employment agency, d’you think?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about such things. I make it my business to leave all matters of hiring staff to Baker, and I really don’t know how one goes about finding suitable people.” Lady Douglas waved a hand in dismissal of such an irrelevancy. “But do tell me about your sisters-in-law.”

She leaned forward slightly, her brown eyes shining with curiosity in her smooth, rather plump, but undeniably pretty face. “Lady Lucas was asking me just the other day, when we passed in our carriages in the village. She was agog to know that we were hosting the Honorable Peregrine Sullivan.” She smiled and nodded encouragingly at Perry.

“I hardly think I’m worthy of such attention, ma’am,” Perry demurred.

“You are a Blackwater, Peregrine,” Eliza stated with a degree of satisfaction. “Of course you are.”

“Indeed, Perry, you’re an exotic in our little backwater,” Marcus put in with a mischievous grin. “Satisfying local curiosity really is a case of noblesse oblige.”

Peregrine shook his head, half amused, half annoyed. “My sisters-in-law, ma’am, are both beautiful, a credit in every way to themselves and to their husbands.”

“Are their families well known? I’m always interested in how these matches are made.” Eliza sipped her watered wine. “ ’Tis time Marcus looked for a bride. A little advice might not come amiss.”

“Ma’am, I have no need of advice on such a matter,” Marcus expostulated, taken aback by his parent’s swift thrust.

“And indeed, Lady Douglas, I would be ill equipped to provide it,” Perry said, his eyes dancing. “As would my brothers.”

“Oh, and why would that be?” Eliza looked puzzled.

“My brothers both made love matches,” Perry said simply. “As I understand it, such unions are made only with celestial intervention.”

Marcus gave a shout of laughter. “Outplayed, Mama. You must admit it. If the heavens are good enough to drop the perfect love match in my lap, then I shall give up all hopes of a confirmed bachelorhood and welcome love and marriage with open arms.”

“Oh, you are absurd, both of you,” Eliza declared
crossly. “ ’Tis a serious matter. I don’t know why you think ’tis so amusing.”

“Forgive us, Mama.” Marcus leaned over and kissed his mother’s hand. “We are but callow youths. Will you take the air in the barouche this afternoon? I would be delighted to accompany you.”

Peregrine admired his friend’s masterly handling of his mother. Having barely known his own mother, he found the relationship a mystery. Marcus’s patience was clearly underpinned by affection, and Perry was conscious of a prickle of envy. He and Sebastian had been inseparable growing up, and Jasper had been their mentor, their protector, their inspiration. Their father had died when the twins were barely out of petticoats, and their mother had taken to her own apartments, showing little or no interest in her offspring.

“Well, a little outing might do me some good,” Eliza was saying, mollified. “Maybe I will take some preserves and some of Mistress Baker’s calves-foot jelly to the vicar’s wife. She’s expecting another child, poor woman. She must have a dozen at least, by now.”

“Not half as many, Mama,” Marcus said, laughing. “But I will gladly accompany you. What of you, Perry? Will you accompany us, or do you have something else planned for this afternoon?”

“I have some correspondence to attend to,” Perry said. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course, dear boy.” Marcus nodded his comprehension. There was no need for his guest to participate
in Marcus’s filial duty. “We are bidden to the Abbey for dinner this evening, if you’ve a mind for it.”

Another evening in the company of the fascinating Mistress Hathaway? Most certainly, he had a mind for it. “I should be delighted.” Perry rose from the table and bowed to his hostess. “Lady Douglas. I hope you have an enjoyable afternoon.”

“I daresay it will be well enough,” the lady responded. “But I had forgotten about my engagement with Lady Lucas this evening. Perhaps I should spend the afternoon on my bed, otherwise I may not have the strength for it. Roddy shall take the preserves and the calves-foot jelly to the vicarage. See to it, will you, Marcus?”

“Immediately, ma’am.” Marcus helped his mother up and escorted her upstairs to her boudoir.

Peregrine chuckled. It would probably be infuriating to live with such a valetudinarian, but for a short visit, the lady’s affectations were quite entertaining. He went up to his own chamber, looking forward to a quiet afternoon with his books and letters.

Alexandra passed a sheet of parchment across the desk to her employer, who was sitting and tapping his fingers. “You will see here, Sir Stephen, that these stocks”—she indicated with her quill—“have lost value in the last two months, but wool from Flanders has gained in value, and I believe that if you buy at this
price, you will be able to sell in about six months at a considerable profit.”

Stephen looked at the rows of figures, the columns of profits and losses. He couldn’t fault his advisor. Mistress Hathaway had steered him well over the three months that she had been in his employ. “So you would advise selling the shares in the Burnley mine and buying shares in Scottish fleece.”

“Yes, sir.” Alexandra sat back, surreptitiously easing her shoulders. Maintaining the hunched shoulders to accommodate the pad grew tiring after a few hours. “But most important, I think you should expand your holdings in the new Bridgewater Canal. After its opening last year, traffic on the canal has increased tenfold. If you also buy into the new Turnpike Companies that maintain the roads into and out of both Liverpool and Leeds, you will have an interest in every aspect of transport between the two cities. The number and variety of goods being passed along the roads and the waterways can only increase. I don’t see how this could be anything but a wise investment.”

Stephen stroked his chin and considered. “How much profit d’you anticipate, Mistress Hathaway?”

Alex did a swift calculation. If she told Stephen six thousand guineas and the transaction finally netted eight, then she would have two thousand to invest for herself. The trust fund she was building for herself and Sylvia was also benefitting from her expertise. The profits she skimmed from Stephen she was reinvesting for
herself. It seemed entirely reasonable that she should use her own expertise to benefit herself and her sister. Sometimes she had the urge to embezzle much more. Stephen was so greedy, he was only interested in profit, and he really didn’t fully understand the markets in which she played. As long as she kept him satisfied, she could fiddle with the books to her heart’s content. But greed led to mistakes, and she wasn’t going to risk that. Sometimes she fantasized about ruining Stephen—she could do it easily enough, greed had made him so gullible. But that would ruin the estate. However angry she was at her father for forcing this impossible situation upon his daughters, she couldn’t see Combe Abbey fall into rack and ruin.

She glanced at her cousin and saw his little eyes fill with predatory anticipation as he awaited her answer. He licked his lips, a snakelike dart of his tongue. Maybe she would dip a little deeper just this once, she thought.

“Four thousand within six months,” she said, keeping her gaze lowered to the paper in front of her.
Four thousand to be invested for myself and Sylvia. In an industry that cannot help but succeed.
She bit the inside of her cheek again to keep from showing the slightest indication of triumph.

Stephen appeared satisfied. “Good . . . good.” His eyes shone. “And then, if I reinvest the profit in the further development of the canals, there would be no end to the possible profits from the commodities that could be transported so cheaply.”

“Coal, pottery, wheat . . .” Alex gave an expressive shrug. “The barges and canals are transforming the way goods are transported. A wise investor could make a killing.”

She bit her cheek harder, hearing how decisive she sounded. Sometimes when she was talking to Stephen in this way, she forgot to maintain her diffident character in her voice. So far, Stephen, in his own acquisitive excitement, seemed not to notice or, if he did, to accept that his librarian had a different manner when she was talking about financial speculation. But she must be more careful.

“Excellent . . . excellent,” he said. “Do exactly what we’ve discussed, Mistress Hathaway. You do very good work. I’m most pleased with you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she responded softly, once more self-effacing.

Stephen got up from his chair. “How soon will you have finished cataloguing the books?”

Alex had tried to draw out the process. Even though she intended to profit from the sale herself, her soul still revolted at the idea of selling the product of years of loving labor by her father and grandfather. Books she had grown up with, books that informed the person she was. But if she was to succeed in her plan, she could not prevaricate much longer. “Within two weeks, sir. Maybe less.”

“Excellent,” he repeated, rubbing his hands together.
“And with the money from this collection, Mistress Hathaway, I shall be able to invest in every up-and-coming stock. Get in on the ground floor, that’s what they always say. Isn’t that so?”

“So I believe,” she responded without expression, reaching for her quill once again.

“Well, I leave you to your work. Very satisfactory, ma’am. I’m pleased.” The door closed behind him, and Alexandra dropped her head into her hands. She was exhausted but also exhilarated. The mental gymnastics fascinated her, and the results as she saw her own funds expanding filled her with triumph. But the energy required to maintain the deception drained her.