Chapter Two
In the hackney cab back to his rooms, Everett replayed his meeting with Grace. He had been too blunt and not charming enough. He was still too much a soldier and commander, not enough the Earl of Westbury. It had never been of any importance that he, the second son, learn to act like an aristocrat.
Grace’s poise and disdain might be aristocratic, but her cutting wit showed her rebellion. She had been small but strong in his hands, unlike the creature of golden light he’d seen at first. In the candlelit ballroom, it had been difficult to see precisely what color her eyes were, not helped by her keeping them averted as much as possible. There was a flare of anticipation in him at finding out about her tomorrow. The color of her eyes, and other things.
The sparse rooms he arrived at hardly befitted an earl, being little better than much of the accommodation he’d had in the army. But they were inexpensive, without putting him half a day’s ride from London. Consequent to the lack of space, there was no escaping duty, even in his bedroom. His valet had placed the afternoon post onto a table at the side of his bed, awaiting his attention. On the top was a neatly folded telegram. He picked it up.
Ten cattle dead at Bridge Farm Thompson
It had come to this already, then. The lightning of this telegram instantly charred his remaining gaiety from the evening. They’d hoped the cattle plague could be contained north of the river, but from Bridge Farm it would spread through the rest of the Westbury lands. If his thrifty steward had gone to the expense of a telegram, even though he’d removed all the punctuation to reduce the cost, he must be desperate for a reply.
Everett had been ignoring the increasingly urgent missives from Thompson for over a week now. Daily letters arrived, reminding him of what he already knew. Thompson stressed they couldn’t afford to compensate the tenant farmers for the cattle without additional money, and they definitely couldn’t afford to let the disease spread. Everett hadn’t replied, instead spending evening after evening trying to find an heiress with enough money, one whom he wanted to marry, to no avail.
Now he must reply with good news. This morning, he could have written explaining how he required more time to choose the lady who, as well as saving the Westbury estate, he was also to spend his life with. Father children with. Promise to love, honor, and protect.
The image of Grace, in his arms as he spun them around and around, appeared in his mind.
This news made excuses impossible. There were bigger things at stake than whether he could laugh with, and delight in making love to, his wife. It was more important than having a direct heir, as there was always his nephew, Jonny. The estate, the livelihoods of his staff and tenants and all their dependents: they all counted on him getting money.
If he sent news of an impending marriage and what it would net him, Thompson would be able to placate the affected farmers. Enough culling could be done to stop the disease. It would be rather creative with the truth, but there was one lady who was clearly in as immediate and pragmatic need of money as he was. He would persuade her, no matter what it took.
After grabbing paper, ink, and a pen, he wrote a reply.
Dear Thompson. Marriage agreed dowry fifty thousand. Will return within the fortnight. Westbury.
He hesitated at the omission of the fact it wouldn’t be a real marriage. Thompson had been his lieutenant in bloody times and deserved Everett’s honesty. But it wasn’t even agreed yet, so that was already an exaggeration. What would be the harm in another omission? His pride grumbled at the thought of telling his steward, or anyone else, he would be entering a sham marriage. He had delayed too long and now must do whatever was required to secure money to save the estate.
He was uneasy, but that was usual. He was the son who should not have been earl, just the second son who ought to have been killed honorably in war. He had none of the social training an earl ought to have, so surely, a marriage of convenience would suit him. He was determined to make up for the neglect of the last two Earls of Westbury. If that meant deception, so be it.
…
The next morning, Grace’s feeling of emptiness had returned. Caroline and Maurice had filled out the list of potential husbands the previous evening, but it didn’t seem to be to any avail. Each time another man arrived, she and her friends-cum-chaperones sat down, and he explained his situation. And every time the door shut, Grace exchanged a worried look with Maurice, avoided Caroline’s eyes, and focused on the floor. They were totally unsuitable. By one o’clock, Grace had a gnawing sensation in her stomach, not wholly due to not having eaten breakfast.
“Lord Westbury,” the Fishers’ butler announced.
Grace’s heart beat faster with uncalled-for excitement.
The light of the Fishers’ morning room, which they had taken as an interview and strategy room of sorts, revealed a different sort of man to the teasing rake she had met last night. He was tall with wide shoulders, making his presence fill the whole room. His dark hair was slightly rumpled from the wind outside, but his coat and cravat had been pulled straight. Grace watched him appraise the room, tracking his movements with her eyes. Forcing her gaze to focus on the wall to his side, she took a deep, filling breath through her nose. Her curiosity about him was not sensible.
To squash the unwelcome pique of interest, she plowed straight into the issue at hand as soon as he was seated. After all, a man who cut in on another man’s dance deserved no polite consideration.
“My lord, I will outline the terms of our proposed agreement.”
Maurice looked at her disapprovingly, presumably at her abrupt tone.
“I desire to live independently abroad, perhaps spending a little time in Richmond or some other quiet place near London.”
They’d decided not to mention the situation with Henry. There was too much of a risk with the well-meaning meddling of an ignorant lord collapsing the whole plan. She’d trusted Samuel during their engagement to keep faith and he hadn’t. One couldn’t depend on men, either to keep their word, or not to spoil even the most effective of plans.
She continued, “I have three requirements, and I need your assurance on several points. In return, you will receive twenty-five thousand pounds.”
Lord Westbury raised a hand for her to stop. “I heard the amount would be fifty thousand.”
He thought to have all her money. She looked straight at his attractive face, heart flutters gone. “One cannot believe everything gossips say, my lord. Fifty thousand pounds is my whole fortune. I will give you half only.”
A harried look swept across his face. But it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and he replied, “Very well. Please continue.”
“Are you a peer?” she asked baldly.
“I am Everett Hetherington, twelfth Earl of Westbury and seventh Viscount of Castlemaine,” he said awkwardly.
Grace tilted her head in inquiry. “You don’t sound like you are.”
“No, I don’t,” he agreed wryly, sitting forward in his chair and bracing his elbows against his knees. “Until recently, I was in the army. I am far more familiar with the epithet Lieutenant Colonel Hetherington.”
Beside her, Caroline started to leaf through the tome of Burke’s Peerage to verify his claim.
“We would need to legally marry as soon as possible,” Grace said.
“I have no objection to haste.”
No, men in need of money did not seem to. “You will have to sign a declaration before we marry, postdated, giving me sole access to half of my dowry. A second declaration disavowing all claim on me, stating we’ve never consummated the marriage, and declaring your enduring intention to seek an annulment, will also be necessary.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Annulment? Is that necessary?”
“Not if we can continue amicably.” Everything would be easier as a married woman, but an annulment could free her. “But you will understand I would have to have some insurance.” She couldn’t afford to walk into a trap of her own making.
He nodded soberly.
“My three stipulations are: One, you must disclose all your debts to me.” Grace watched his face for signs of discomfort in his strong jawline and the unwavering scrutiny of his gray eyes.
He paused before answering. “I have a mortgage on part of the estate, and some small loans to cover current outgoings.”
Something about his emphasis was odd, but she couldn’t find anything wrong in the words of his reply. “You will produce all your debt notaries?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
Very well. “Two, you must not be a gambler.”
He gave her a bleak smile and shook his head. “I’m not a gambler.”
“The cattle plague is responsible for all your debts?” Undisclosed debts were a risky financial burden, as was a gambler. She wanted to be free, and that did not include being called upon to bail out her husband.
Little creases of discomfort appeared around his eyes. But they were gone before she could analyze what they meant.
“You have no objection to Maurice requesting all records of your betting at your club?”
“You’re welcome to check, but I don’t bet.” The corner of his mouth pulled into a vexed smile. “Rinderpest doesn’t make for good odds for any pastoral farmer, or land owner, in the country.”
Beside her, Maurice winced and nodded. Grace shifted with unease. She had forgotten to ask about the cattle plague and been too preoccupied with other worries to read the news.
“Where is Peter?” Caroline interrupted, putting down Burke’s. “He has an elder brother.” She raised one blond eyebrow.
“He is in the family cemetery. Died in a carriage accident.” Lord Westbury said the words like they were little stones in his mouth.
Grace felt a rush of empathy, perhaps, or kinship. His brother and father were both gone, too. Maybe he didn’t have anyone now that his brother had died.
“Have you any proof?” Caroline inquired, pulling Grace away from her unwanted sympathy.
His eyes narrowed. “I have been in town a fortnight. Many of my acquaintances can vouch for me. The Morrisons, for instance.”
Was that adequate evidence?
“Perhaps you would like to see the death certificate for yourself?” Lord Westbury leaned back into his seat. “Or do you want to have his body exhumed and shown to you?”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” His acerbic comment made her twinge with discomfort that they were so transparent. He seemed to be telling the truth. His gaze was open and candid, if a little confrontational. But then, these were odd circumstances. They might be sharing the dowry, but any man whom she married would technically own her and needed to be someone she trusted. In as much as a lord could be relied on to adhere to her rules.
“Lastly, you must not exert any marital claim over me, for as long as we both live.” This was the test. It sounded cold, repeating it to him. A platonic marriage of convenience must require an avowal from her husband that he would not attempt to force attentions upon her.
Lord Westbury contemplated Grace for a long moment, then nodded. “I can adhere to your rules.”
“And you will sign a declaration?” Such a document was far beyond what Lord Rayner would ever have done for her.
“Of course. But I also have some conditions of my own.”
Grace had already opened her mouth to issue an absolute denial to any stipulation he might have, but hesitated and closed it again. None of the men who she or the Fishers had found had been good options. Several had been condemned by a shake of Caroline’s head when she looked up from reading Burke’s. One of the barons had stunk of alcohol, which did not bode well for his state of mind when swearing to anything. The other had become defensive when she had inquired further about his innocently stated liking for the game of roulette.
Lord Westbury might not be her choice for a husband, since self-important lords weren’t. But then, all that mattered was that her husband was not going to cause her trouble. Perhaps him setting his own rules showed a commendable gravity.
She licked her lips. “I will hear your conditions. But I may choose not to accept them.”
“First, I require you to live with me for six months.”
“…completely incompatible with Grace’s third requirement.” The beginning of Maurice’s declaration wasn’t audible under Caroline’s vehement rejection.
“Why should you want that?” Something like terror raced through her.
“And you must pretend to be in love with me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He was insane. She would never show love, real or pretend, for any man again.
Lord Westbury held up his hands, as though to block her protest. “It is a vital matter of pride.”
Grace raised her eyebrows.
“Not for me, but for my family. And the loyal people who work for my family. We need some good news at Larksview. The mercenary act of marrying purely for financial gain would hardly bring the optimism necessary at this time. My parents and grandparents married for love, as did my brother. You could almost say it is a Hetherington tradition. I must maintain that illusion and to do so I need your cooperation. Half a year should be long enough, then we can pretend to quarrel and you can leave.”
Dread bubbled inside her. Another six months without her brother. “It would delay my going abroad.”
“Only delay, though.” Lord Westbury tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You would be free to go after half a year.”
Grace smoothed the fabric of her skirt. She had to get Henry away from Lord Rayner before his influence tainted him. That was the only thing that mattered. “One month.”
Lord Westbury lifted his chin and a line creased on his brow. “Five.”
“It does not require five months to discover a marriage one thought was a good idea is a disaster. Two weeks is quite sufficient.”
“The people around me are not fools. Three months.”
Grace inhaled and considered. This was like negotiating with a trader who wanted to sell his cargo. If it were Lord Rayner, he would have all the knowledge. He had Alnott Stores, custody of her little brother, and didn’t especially need her money. Most of all, he had her fear of him and what he might do to her and those she loved. By comparison, in this negotiation with Lord Westbury, he didn’t know how valuable his cargo was. He wanted the money she offered, and importantly, he had little comprehension of the power he held over her and how essential this marriage was. He had all the power, but he couldn’t see it.
“Six weeks or nothing.” Grace kept her gaze level.
There was a long silence. Eventually, he nodded slowly, looking reluctant.
“Grace, I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Caroline burst out. “How is it compatible with a platonic marriage, in name only?”
Grace turned to Maurice to see what he thought. But he was watching Lord Westbury in silence, his profile set with intent. He got out of his chair and walked over to Lord Westbury to look down at him. “How can we trust you won’t take liberties once you have her away from her friends?”
Lord Westbury didn’t shrink away. “I do not particularly care for ‘taking’ the sort of liberties you allude to.”
A meaningful look passed between the two men. Apparently satisfied, Maurice drew back and returned to his seat with a neutral look on his face.
Lord Westbury turned back to Grace. “Your friend Mr. Fisher is correct, though, proximity can result in closeness developing.”
He meant lovemaking, and Grace’s mind was suddenly full of words she had fleetingly heard, knew were forbidden, but didn’t fully understand. Words that made her face heat.
“Which brings me on to my third condition. I will absolutely adhere to your condition that I will not force anything in any way, but were anything to happen, with mutual consent, you must return to give birth to the child. And the child must stay with me, be it a girl or a boy. I would not allow my heir to grow up without a father.”
A tense hush followed his pronouncement. Grace didn’t look at her friends; she knew they would be worried. She felt the pink in her cheeks recede.
“If you swear not to coerce me, there will be no issue.” Her voice was steady, even as her heart skipped when his gaze rested back onto her. She hoped there would be nothing.
“As you say,” Lord Westbury replied evenly.
“It is a moot point.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Such is the nature of promises between strangers.”
“That’s all your conditions?” Grace asked.
Lord Westbury inclined his head.
He was the best candidate. It was of no consequence that he was beautiful, or he wanted to maintain a façade to support his pride. He was her only chance.
She rose and moved in front of Lord Westbury and held out her hand. When he stood, his proximity and height forced her to look up to him. Reaching out, he took her hand. She could feel his warmth through both of their gloves. His big hand covered hers.
“Grace, this is rather hasty—” Maurice had risen, too, and was standing behind her like a father at a wedding.
His gray eyes were steady on hers. “I swear I have disclosed to you all the debts I have incurred.”
“I swear to stay with you for six weeks and maintain the façade that this is a real marriage.” Her heart sped up. Six weeks, then freedom.
“I swear I am not a gambler.” He held her gaze, unsmiling.
“I swear that in the unlikely event I give birth as a result of any misguided liaison instigated on my part, I would return and the progeny would live as yours.” Her heart thudded now.
“I swear I will not claim the rights of a husband.”
There was shocked silence and in the quiet, Grace thought that surely her pounding heart was audible. Fancifully, she imagined a line wrapped around their hands, tying them together.
She withdrew her hand and clasped it behind her back, trying to settle herself. Her composure was reeling from the power of the words and the intensity of looking into Lord Westbury’s eyes. It felt as binding as any marriage ceremony. She took several deep breaths. The disturbance in her was just because he was how she would circumvent her father’s irrational wishes.
This was just a deal.
Lord Westbury gave Maurice his London address, and Caroline rang for a servant to fetch his hat and cane. Only when he was making his goodbyes did Grace come back into the conversation. She followed him out of the room and in the entrance hall. At the front door, he bowed low over her hand, holding it gently. It must have been the fresh air from the front door that sent sensation all the way up her arm.
“You won’t regret this.” His voice was deep and sincere.
There was meaning in his eyes as he pulled away that even a virgin like herself could guess. She squashed the part of her that was very interested, and ignored the flip of excitement in her stomach. “I should think you might, if you forget yourself.”
His slight smile twisted. “There is no chance of that.”
When the door closed and his footsteps had receded, Grace returned to the parlor to find Caroline and Maurice arguing. She sank into a chair.
“This was a rash decision.” Maurice shook his head forebodingly.
Caroline had given in to her natural restless state, pacing the room. “Lord Westbury is the only option. There isn’t time for dillydallying.”
“He seems genuine enough.” Maurice sighed. “But you will be married to this man. I’ll do my best, but he could be worse than Lord Rayner.”
“People say better the devil you know.” Grace thought about Lord Rayner and shuddered. “But this choice is between legal defense, six weeks with a man who might be an angel, then a life of freedom. Or my whole life with a man I know to be a devil. It’s obvious how that book balances. And every hour I am not married is another hour Henry is in the care of that…” She couldn’t even think of the right word.
“Fiend,” Caroline spat.
“I am not having my brother brought up by such a man, and Rayner will not give him up without a fight. And Alnott Stores…” She shook her head. “Under Lord Rayner’s care there would be nothing left for Henry when he comes to manage it himself.”
“You could stay with us longer, find a peer you could care for,” Maurice replied.
No. If she hesitated, if she worried about being loved, she would falter and Henry would suffer. The last time she’d placed too high a priority on her own happiness, others had been hurt. Irrevocably.
“I can’t live on your charity.” Anna and Mary would need their monthly allowance soon. “And really, if I didn’t manage in all of last season to find a lord whom I liked, and who liked me, what chance is there now, at the tail end of this season?”
“Lord Westbury is not a kindly old duke marrying to save his estate, who will conveniently die. He’s a man…” Maurice seemed at a loss to explain what exactly he was. “He’s not like Mr. Brooker.”
Samuel Brooker was the past. Her future, and Henry’s, was at stake if she wavered now. “Lord Westbury’s just a procurer of my dowry so I can get back my little brother.”
“Your best chance is if you’re considered safely and unobtrusively married, nothing unusual or out of place. Just go to church, sew a sampler, and try not to cause too much talk. Chancery will be particular about your character if they are to give you Henry’s guardianship.”
She nodded. “No further scandal.”