Three Weeks to Wed (23 page)

Dorcus's words echoed in Jane's mind. Love and consternation showed in Hector's lovely blue eyes. “Yes. Yes, I will be your wife.”

As he had once before, he touched his lips gently to hers. “You've made me the happiest of men.”

His forehead was against hers when she said, “This house is wonderful, but maybe a bit . . .” Even now, she couldn't say it.

“Pricey?” He grinned.

A little gumption was what was needed. “Well, yes. To put it bluntly.”

“My love.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “First, I will tell you that I will not allow you to cry off.”

“Of course, I will not.” She didn't understand. Why would she?

“I did well for myself in India. In addition to that, my uncle left me his fortune. We can not only afford to buy this house, but as many country properties as you wish.”

She couldn't breathe. “Just how rich are you?”

“Let's just say, I am one of the wealthiest men in England.”

That was horrible! Her heart dropped to her toes. “How can you wish to marry an old spinster like me? You must know that you could have almost any lady you wished. One who could give you children.”

“Remember your promise. I told you the truth when I said I'd never found the equal of you. If need be, I have plenty of nieces and nephews to leave my property to.” He punctuated his statement with a kiss. “I love you, Jane.”

Tears started in her eyes as her heart swelled to at least twice its size. “I love you, Hector. I always have.”

The pounding on the door finally penetrated Edgar's foggy head.

“Sir, sir, you want me ta'tell you what I seen?” Jem's high, penetrating voice speared through Edgar's temples. Once he had the money, he'd find a better quality brandy.

He rubbed his eyes and pulled on his dressing gown before opening the door. “You're early.” He waved the boy in and sat in a chair. “Go on.”

“Last night there was a bunch of rum morts and swells. They had three rattlers. I waited like you told me and later, they all come back. One rattler stayed on the street like. Then there's an old mort and a swell left, and two morts went across the street with a fart catcher.”

Molton shook his head trying to clear it and keep up with the cant. “What you're telling me is that there were two men and several women who went off in coaches. The older couple kept their coach waiting and two ladies with their footman walked across the street?”

“That's what I jus telled ye,” Jem said, disgustedly. “Then the last rum mort holds up her neb and it was all honeymoon with them.”

“The last lady let the gentleman kiss her?”

“Don't know why ye keep repeatin' everthin'.”

Edgar scrubbed a hand over his face and wished he'd had a cup of coffee before listening to this. At least his head didn't ache as badly as he'd thought it would. “Then what happened?”

“The swell left and went across the street.”

Molton leaned back and frowned. “I don't know how interesting that is.”

Jem jigged before him. “But it ain't all. I finds me a place next to the house to sleep and this mornin' the same swell that smacked the rum mort last night, had her ready to shag her.”

Molton bolted up. “What's that you say? They were going to copulate?”

Jem frowned. “Don't know what that means, but his hand was under her skirt and . . .”

“Yes, yes, good job. Here”—he tossed the coin to the boy—“you've earned your other half bean. Keep watching the house and there's more for you.” Getting money from his niece, assuming it was her, and possibly her lover, was going to be easier than Edgar had thought.

* * *

Matt entered the warehouse, took out his quizzing glass, and surveyed the rows upon rows of fabric set on racks against the walls and laid out on tables. There was everything from silks and satins to brocades and velvets. This was not what he'd expected. “How on earth do you expect to find anything in here?”

Glancing up at him, Grace took his arm. “The clerks will help.”

A short, slender man with spectacles appeared out of nowhere and gushed, “My lady, so good to see you again.”

“Mr. Quimby, thank you.” Grace smiled politely. “Here is my list. You will see the colors and types of materials listed with the amounts.”

Worthington stared at the sheets of paper she handed to the clerk. How much fabric were they buying? And how much was all this going to cost him? Not that he couldn't afford it. Had Grace ever practiced economy? He prayed that she was not like Patience, always having to be reined in.

“Is there anything wrong with the materials you bought last year?” Mr. Quimby asked, concerned.

“Not at all. They are all perfect. Lord Worthington and I are marrying. This purchase is for his town house.”

The clerk bowed. “If I may wish you very happy, my lady, my lord?”

“Thank you, Mr. Quimby.”

Worthington murmured his thanks as well. This may be very dull work, but it was good he'd come. They'd be here all day if he wasn't there to move Grace along.

Quimby bowed again. “If you would like to have a seat, my lord, my lady, I shall fetch some rolls for you to inspect.”

Turning to follow him, Grace said, “Thank you. I'm sure Lord Worthington would like some coffee while we wait.”

The man bowed again. The only person Worthington had ever met who bowed as much as Quimby was a Chinaman he'd once encountered. “Of course, my pleasure. Tea for you, my lady?”

“Yes, thank you.” Grace inclined her head. He wondered if he should be worried that the clerk knew her so well. How much shopping did she do here?

After assisting his affianced wife to sit and taking a chair himself, Matt leaned close to her. “Come here quite a bit, do you?”

Grace lowered her lashes. “Well, it wouldn't do to allow him to forget me.” Her gaze lifted innocently to his. “Did you think you were marrying a nip-farthing?”

Eyeing her suspiciously, he retorted, “I think you're making a game of me.”

“Well, of course, I am.” She grinned. “If you will act as if I'm spending your whole fortune on fabric. I shall tell you, my lord, that I know how to hold house and have been doing so for several years now.”

“Very well then.” He let out the breath he'd been holding. “Carry on.”

More quickly than he expected, several rolls of material appeared on a long table.

Quimby motioned Matt and Grace over. “My lady, if you would care to take a look?”

Worthington followed Grace, viewing the selections over her shoulder.

Glancing back at him. “Do you see anything you particularly like?”

He hadn't expected to be asked for his opinion. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. “Am I allowed to choose as well?”

Grace looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “Don't be a noddy. Of course you may.”

He took out his quizzing glass and inspected the fabrics with more interest. “Well then, I like these two.”

Her lips formed a very kissable pout as she thought. “For which rooms?”

“My study and the library.”

“I think they are perfect.” Her eyes flashed approvingly.

He didn't know if it was his relief at knowing he could trust her, or one of those feelings that came with being in love, but he wanted to puff his chest out. This shopping was going extraordinarily well. “How often do we need to do this?”

“Every few years.” She turned from the fabrics to him. “Curtains especially need to be replaced when they fade or begin to look shabby. I like to have two sets for each room and change them in autumn and spring. It gives the house a fresh look and the material lasts longer.”

He tried to envision it. Then a thought occurred that didn't please him. “How often do you change furniture?”

Grace laughed. “I don't like to rearrange the furniture at all, once I have organized the rooms as I like, that is.” She tucked her hand in his. “We'll do it together.”

He enjoyed that she touched him the way she did. From the first night at the inn, he'd known they were meant to be together. “If we're able, I'd like to take you to Worthington Hall for a few days to meet the servants and decide what you wish to do.”

Grace steered them to another table. “That would be wonderful. It will also give me an opportunity to stop at Stanwood Hall and make sure things are as they ought to be.”

When they'd finished their selections from one table, they were taken to the next. In a surprising amount of time, they were finished. “Do we have time to go to the furniture warehouse?”

Grace glanced at her pin watch. “It is half past eleven. We can at least make a start.”

They spent longer looking at furniture than they did with the fabrics. Matt was happy to find his love liked the cleaner lines of Sheraton and Hepplewhite. Once again she surprised him by having a list of items they needed.

He gave her full rein picking out the chairs, sofas, and tables. He discovered he liked the lion paw feet that were popular, but when she chose a narrow daybed he overruled her. “Do you have anything a bit wider?”

The clerk bowed. “Yes, my lord. If you'll just come with me.”

Obviously not thinking along his lines, Grace asked, “Why do you want a larger one? I'm not sure it will look right.”

He leaned closer and murmured, “It will look perfect with you draped on it.”

Grace blushed fierily and choked. “I suppose the reason you want it larger is so there is room for you as well?”

He stroked her back from neck to bottom, enjoying her response as she tried to maintain her countenance. Matt smiled wickedly and whispered in her ear, “How perfectly you know me.”

* * *

At two o'clock, Matt knocked on the door of Herndon House where he and Grace were shown into Lord Herndon's study.

Grace's uncle rose and greeted them with a somber mien. “My dear Grace, Worthington. I have bad news I must share before we discuss the settlements.” He handed her a letter.

Taking it, she perused the contents with a deepening frown. “Oh dear. This cannot be good.”

Matt read over her shoulder.

The ne'er-do-well. Matt wished he knew more about this uncle.

“My dear,” Uncle Herndon said as she raised her eyes from the note, “do not allow him in your house at all. Once there, it will be almost impossible to get him out.” He grimaced. “As I have reason to know.”

Biting her lip, Grace responded, “I shall inform the staff.”

Herndon frowned. “Do not even allow him into a parlor to wait for you. It's a terrible thing to say about your aunt's brother, but he's not to be trusted in any way.”

Grace's teeth firmly gripped her bottom lip. “I understand. My mother warned me about him when it was rumored he was in England shortly after my father died. When he was young, he had stolen a locket she cherished a great deal from her to pay gambling debts.”

“That was the least of his faults,” her uncle said in a wintry tone. “He was into moneylenders and had taken advantage of more than one innocent.”

Damn the blackguard. Matt wanted to hold Grace close to him. Molton's timing couldn't be worse, showing up now when he could do the most harm. Matt had been racking his brain trying to figure out why that lad had been watching them. Could the boy have something to do with her uncle showing up? If so, what was Molton up to? Matt didn't like it one bit, and the only way to protect Grace was to have her safely married to him. The question was, would either she or her uncle agree to move up the ceremony again?

He searched her face. “My love, it's just occurred to me he may be behind the lad we saw.”

She rubbed her brow. “Why would my uncle have sent him?”

“Worthington is correct, my dear,” Uncle Herndon said. “He could be planning to break in.”

Matt could have kissed Herndon. Much better that she did not think he could be after the children. “It's a possibility we can't dismiss. You daren't trust him at all.” He took her hands and glanced at Herndon. “Grace, my lord, how would you feel about bringing the wedding forward?”

Her startled eyes flew to him. “What can you be thinking? With Easter coming, the only possible day would be to-morrow!”

“Yes. If we can finish the settlements, my lord, then Grace and I can stop in at St. George's and make the arrangements.”

Her uncle lowered his brows as he thought. “No need to talk to the rector. I'll send a note around. My wife isn't the only one to have contacts at St. George's. One of the clerics is a nephew of mine. Do you have the license?”

Matt thanked God that he'd had the foresight to procure it. “Yes.”

Grace's troubled eyes flew to his. “What about Charlie? He's not due to come home until to-morrow.”

Heedless of her uncle, he drew her into his arms. “We'll send for him this afternoon. I'm sure he won't mind leaving school a day early.”

“But, who will stand up with me? Phoebe sent me a note saying she'd be out of Town for a few days.”

“Chartier is not far. I'll send a rider this afternoon, if need be.” He smoothed her brow with his thumb. Somehow, Matt would make this rushed wedding up to her.

Herndon set out the documents for the settlement on a small writing table.

Matt guided Grace to the chair in front of the desk. She picked up the papers and, after a few moments, glanced up. Her gaze focused on him. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

He'd spoken with Marcus and Rutherford about the settlements they'd arranged with their wives. Neither of them had an heir closer than a second cousin and expressed concern over the treatment of their wives if anything were to happen and both had a normal marital settlement. Matt didn't trust his heir to care for his wife either. The conceited popinjay would like nothing more than to treat her as a poor dependent. That sort of rubbishing treatment wasn't going to happen to Grace. Matt had decided upon allowing Grace to place all her property in trust for her benefit made the most sense. “It is.”

Herndon spoke up. “Since you gave me power of attorney to act for you, I've already placed your property in trust, my dear.”

Taking a breath, Grace dipped the pen in the standish and signed the agreements.

After Matt added his signature, his mood lightened. He'd be married to-morrow. Nothing was going to stand in his way.

Grace glanced up at him with an innocent demeanor. “Oh dear, if my landau remains my property, should I still have your crest put on it?”