Mutual Consent (2 page)

The earl raised his brows, aware that he had been duly insulted. “I thank you, friend,” he said dryly.

“Not at all, my lord,” said his closest friend, laughing.

Later that same week, the Earl of Chatworth agreed to an appointment with his man of business, whose request had been couched in somewhat urgent language. Lord Chatworth had not expected anything of much moment to be conveyed to him in the interview, having long since discovered that what his solicitor found of interest was of profound boredom to himself. But he was not so negligent of his responsibilities that he did not desire to have details brought to his attention, and he was willing enough to put aside his pleasures for the length of the man’s visit.

The interview was considerably longer than the earl had anticipated it would be, and not precisely of disinterest. In fact, the Earl of Chatworth’s man of business took leave of his master in an exhausted state of mind. He had carried out a particularly unpleasant performance of his duty, and the resulting explosion from the earl had taken long in smoothing over.

As for the Earl of Chatworth, he emerged from the interview in a foul black temper. He had endured more than an hour of subtle reproof while learning the disagreeable truth concerning his negligent handling of his worldly fortunes. It had taken him quite some time to accept the untenable facts, but his man of business had been persuasive and now he stood on the sidewalk outside his town house fully convinced of his own culpable stupidity.

The earl’s driver asked his lordship where he wanted to be taken. When Lord Chatworth gave the address, the driver’s mouth dropped open. “My lord, be ye certain?”

“Yes,” said Lord Chatworth in a savage voice. He jumped into the carriage and pulled shut the door with unnecessary force.

The driver shrugged and set the horses into the traffic. The carriage’s iron wheels rattled over the cobbles, carrying its reluctant occupant deep into the oldest part of the metropolis.

The Earl of Chatworth’s destination was the City, that part of London that no proud peer would deign to set foot in.

The City was the financial center of Britain and had existed as such for nearly four hundred years. The streets were narrow and dark, retaining the flavor of the original village of London. Threadneedle, Bishopsgate, Cheapside, Old Jewry, Lombard, Poultry . . .

As the carriage passed through the streets, the earl’s lip curled. If he had not been under irresistible duress, there was no power on earth that could have otherwise persuaded him to enter this small area sandwiched between the Bloody Tower and the Temple Bar.

The carriage stopped. The Earl of Chatworth got out and instructed the driver to wait. He swept cold eyes over the faces of the curious who passed by him on the sidewalk and who had instantly recognized him as the stranger that he was, and by will alone he forced them to avert their gazes.

Upon the outside wall of the building in front of him was a plaque with the business stated upon it, as required by law. Without a backward glance, the earl entered the building.

He was shown immediately into the office of the man at whose summons he had come.

The cit was behind his desk. He did not rise upon the earl’s entrance, a discourtesy that the Earl of Chatworth perceived as a calculated insult. The cit waved the earl to a chair. “This is indeed an unlooked-for pleasure, my Lord Chatworth,” said the cit blandly, leaning back in his chair.

“Indeed, Cribbage? How unlike my man of business to mistake the matter,” said the earl grimly.

Cribbage smiled thinly. His heavy face seemed unsuited to such frivolous exercise. His hard eyes did not lighten. “A sense of humor is always an advantage, my lord,” he observed.

“I see nothing humorous in this business,” Lord Chatworth bit off.

“Ah, but I do, Chatworth,” Cribbage said softly. He was aware of the earl’s anger at his deliberate lack of respect in addressing his lordship without making use of his title. However, he was obscurely disappointed that his lordship did not call him on it. It would have pleased him to be able to squelch the peer’s inbred arrogance. “You realize the irony, of course. Hat in your hand and all of that.”

The earl’s lips tightened. His eyes were icy. “Quite. I should like to conclude this interview as quickly as possible.’’

“And I,” Cribbage agreed. He tapped a number of parchments under his wide hand. “These are the mortgages to your estates and ancestral home. Also, I have the vowels of honor that you have lost at cards these past two months. The total comes, if I am not mistaken, to several thousand pounds.”

Lord Chatworth was white of face as he looked up from the pile of chits. He could scarcely control his rage. “How came you by those?”

Cribbage quirked a heavy brow. “I am a very wealthy man. Hard currency appears much more advantageous to many people than does a handful of worthless chits.”

Lord Chatworth could not imagine any of his acquaintances agreeing to such a bargain. It went completely against the gentleman’s code of honor. Unless the vowels had been unscrupulously attained, he thought, recalling how two of his friends had said his vowels were redeemed. But the puzzle of the debts of honor was small compared to what else the cit held.

“What is it you want of me?” Lord Chatworth asked harshly. The cit already had the mortgages to his estates, so it was not the land that interested the man. Wild speculations raced through his head. Surely Cribbage must know that he could never raise all at one time the amount represented by his vowels.

“I am a businessman, my lord. I never speculate unless I am certain of a profit. You would have been wise to do the same,” said Cribbage, tapping a thick forefinger on the stack of vowels in front of him.

The earl choked back his anger, aware that the cit was deliberately baiting him. But he would be damned before he gave the man the satisfaction of an ill-bred outburst. “What is it you want?” he ground out between his teeth.

Cribbage’s hard eyes glittered. “I want your name, Chatworth.”

Lord Chatworth stared. The man was mad, he thought. He laughed and replied in clipped contempt, “You damned fool! I could not make you earl if I wished, even if you do hold my life in your hands.”

Cribbage smiled coldly. “True, but you can make my daughter a countess.”

For an instant of stunned amazement the earl stared into the man’s hard eyes. The chair crashed over as Lord Chatworth leapt to his feet. His fists clenched at his sides. “By God, I’ll not do it!” All thought of conducting himself with the utmost coolness had evaporated before the outrage. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned over it until his furious gaze was level with Cribbage’s eyes. “Hear me, you damned cit. Wreak your worst. I will see you in hell before I will place your common trollop in the
ton.”

The cit’s cold voice cut across Lord Chatworth’s anger like rasping steel. “You would see yourself in debtor’s prison, your historical birthplace and estates broken up and sold, your tenants turned into homeless beggars, my lord?”

Cribbage’s voice had risen with his own smoldering anger at the arrogance and contempt he saw in his lordship’s eyes. With an effort he schooled his tone. “All for pride, my lord? I had thought better of a gentleman of honor.”

Lord Chatworth was silenced by the picture conjured up for him. It was true that he had not realized the consequences. As the owner of vast estates, it was his inherited responsibility to provide for the health and educational needs of the people who tenanted the land. The holdover from feudal times of the relationship between a lord and his vassals was sometimes neglected in these times, but for the Earl of Chatworth that responsibility had been ingrained in him by both his parents, and in particular by his mother, who had always seen to it that her own example was irreproachable

At the thought of his beloved mother, now aged and enfeebled by a painful and crippling disorder, Lord Chatworth’s heart contracted. The countess resided quietly at the family seat of Wormswood. If Cribbage did as he threatened, her waning days would be concluded in misery and horror. His breathing was hard as he thought of the countess and all those others dependent upon him. “You could not do it, Cribbage.”

Cribbage shrugged. He spread his hands. “I am a businessman. What use have I for encumbered estates or debts of honor, my lord?”

Lord Chatworth stared down into the cit’s implacable face. Slowly he straightened. He knew now that the man sitting behind the desk would do exactly as he threatened. The earl said softly, “Damn your eyes, Cribbage!”

Cribbage felt a surge of triumph, but he merely nodded as though a point had been won. “Naturally there will be a generous settlement. My daughter commands quite a fortune in her own right. But I am sure you would prefer some arrangement made regarding your mortgaged estates and your vowels of honor.”

Lord Chatworth inclined his head. He felt that he would suffocate if he spent many more minutes in this man’s intolerable company. “As you say, Cribbage. I believe our men of business are better equipped to work out the details.’’ He settled his beaver more firmly on his head, his thoughts already racing for solutions. He would pay the devil’s price now. But once the bargain was done with, he would be damned if he would remain saddled with an unwanted and vulgar wife. Annulment or event the scandal of divorce was preferable.

“Perhaps you are right, Chatworth,” Cribbage agreed. He fingered a pen. “We two are certainly ill-prepared to come to ... friendly terms.”

Lord Chatworth smiled coldly. His eyes were clear as ice. “Believe me when I say that it has been an experience to have done business with you. But remember that I do not easily name any man master.”

“That I do believe, my lord.” Cribbage’s eyes were openly mocking. “But circumstances seem to have forced you to it.”

Lord Chatworth turned abruptly toward the door. He knew that he was but a hairbreadth away from killing the man with his bare hands.

Cribbage’s voice came strong behind him. “Chatworth.”

The earl turned, one brow cocked. He waited, his expression one of cold distaste. But what the cit had to say was nothing that he could ever have anticipated.

“My daughter may be a trollop. I do not know, nor do I care. That is for you to discover. However, I do not think you shall find her common,” Cribbage said.

Lord Chatworth had the capacity to be shocked further than he thought possible.”You speak as though she is but a brood mare,” he said.

“So she is,” Cribbage responded with a marked sneer. “The most valuable mare in my stable. And I have bought you, my lord, for her stud.”

Lord Chatworth spun on his heel. He jerked open the door and it slammed shut behind his swiftly retreating figure.

As the hackney cab rolled over the cobbled London streets, Miss Barbara Cribbage had much to reflect upon. Not more than a month before, her father had abruptly summoned her to London. He had kept her kicking her heels for days before he had finally informed her why he had ordered her presence.

He had found her a husband.

Barbara was actually not much surprised by her father’s announcement. After all, she had been expecting such news for better than two years.

At age seventeen, at the end of the disastrous Season she had endured, her father had cursed her for not receiving a noble offer. Fortunately for her sensitive hide, her maternal aunt had rather cuttingly reminded her enraged parent that he could not expect a common merchant’s daughter to receive a spectacular offer no matter how well the girl was turned out or how well dowered. “For the
ton,
it is bloodline that counts in the end. Barbara has blue blood from only the one side,” had said Lady Azaela.

Mr. Cribbage’s eyes had bulged with his fury. Though it was impossible for him to publicly acknowledge it, he knew that his despised sister-in-law spoke only the truth. He had run up against the insufferable arrogance of the quality too many times in the past to be mistaken in its scent this time.

“Then take the chit with you and keep her under wraps until I send for her. She may not be thought good enough to be courted as the wife of a peer of the realm, but we shall see what my wealth may purchase for her.”

With that awful pronouncement still ringing in her ears, Barbara had retired with Lady Azaela to her aunt’s house in the Derbyshire countryside. She had been very content to resume the quiet life she had led with Lady Azaela Terowne and the succession of excellent governesses and instructors that her aunt had provided for her.

But it had all been only a reprieve. It had come time to once more assume her role as her father’s pawn.

For that was what she was, she thought. Her father’s one and wholly consuming passion for years had been to become accepted into the
ton.
He had contemptuously brushed aside the consideration of birth in his ignorance of society, believing that the doings of one’s ancestors conferred nothing of note upon a man and that it was what a man made of himself that counted.

Mr. Cribbage had been swiftly and brutally disabused of his mistaken notion that wealth alone could provide the entree into the elite five hundred. He had never forgiven those who had so shredded his pride, and he had become more determined than ever to take his place among those considered England’s leaders.

He had sought a noble bride and finally acquired the hand of the daughter of an impecunious lord, in exchange for whom he had paid every outstanding debt owed by the family. He had thought gratitude and the simple business conducted would gain him the social status he desired through his wife’s connections. But his wife’s family snubbed him and washed their hands of their kinswoman’s ignoble fate. She had gone to the altar a sacrificial lamb, and to her family, her new lower station in life made her as good as dead.

Mr. Cribbage had been maddened by this second, and worse, wound to his large pride and ego. His ambition evolved into a consuming obsession. He swore that one day all those who had so grievously insulted him would acknowledge him upon their collective knees.