Chapter One
Cornwall, 1786
The carriage rocked as it traveled the road along the cliff. Kate grabbed the window frame with one hand and the edge of her seat with the other, to hold herself steady. She was nervous in a vehicle at the best of times, made worse after her father’s carriage careened off a bridge in Oxford.
Kate reminded herself that this coach her godfather had sent was a fine one. She was exhausted after being thoroughly jolted about for three days. It had been impossible to sleep in the inns where the coach stopped for the night. They were most dreadfully noisy, and the looks men gave her when she ate in the dining room caused her to lie awake with her gaze fixed on the chamber door, despite having locked it and placed a chair against it. She stiffened when the coachman’s curse was followed by a crack of the whip. The rugged coastline was different from anything she’d ever seen. Through the misty rain, she glimpsed the dark gray sea swirling around the blackened rocks. The lack of discernable color in the landscape reminded her of the drab-colored mourning clothes she’d worn, and the rhythmic boom, boom, boom of the waves filled her with the same dread she’d experienced when a tolling church bell signaled a village disaster like the fire which had spooked her father’s horses and ended her parents’ lives.
In an effort to overcome the fear of tumbling to her death, Kate pulled her cloak closer, and directed her thoughts to what might await her at St. Malin Castle. Unfortunately, this produced anxieties of a different sort. The last time she’d seen her godfather, the Marquess of St. Malin, was when she was fifteen. She remembered him as tall with a long thin nose which made him appear haughty. Her father had saved St Malin’s life when he fell overboard during a boat race on the River Cam in Cambridge, and despite their different stations in life, they’d continued to correspond regularly.
Now, at twenty years of age, her fate lay in this marquess’ hands, for apparently, he said as much to her father years ago. Papa made mention of it in his will. And a letter addressed to her with the waxed St Malin seal came shortly after her father’s funeral. Then the coach had arrived. The marquess seemed keen to keep his promise. Whatever that entailed. Kate was grateful for his kindness, of course, but would much have preferred to remain with Nanny in Oxfordshire. That was impossible, for her father left very little money. Poets were not good at business, and he’d lost a considerable amount of money on the ’Change. Subsequently, her childhood home had been sold to pay off the debts.
The coach reached a bend in the road, and the sheer stone walls of the castle loomed ahead, the outline of its battlements imposing against the darkening sky. At the sight of the massive structure, a prickling sensation rose up her spine. Kate half expected to see knights in armor riding toward her. Lights from the braziers along the walls fell upon lawns which must once have been a moat. The coach rattled across a bridge and entered the arched gatehouse. The horses came to a stop in a courtyard. Moments later, a servant rushed out. He put down the steps on the coach and opened the door.
Kate’s sense of relief faded when she stepped down onto mossy cobbles, and stood, disorientated, in the swirling sea mist.
A door was flung open, spilling candlelight into the gloom like a welcoming hand. She hurried toward it and entered a lofty hall. Heavy Tudor beams and ornate timber paneling spoke of its ancient origins.
A tall liveried footman stood waiting. “I’ll take ye to the master, Miss. He’s in the library.”
Kate’s heart beat unnaturally fast as she followed him up a stone stairway. Along the walls of the wide corridor, candles flickered in their sconces, throwing light on huge tapestries depicting bloody battles. As the moment approached when they would meet, Kate tried to rake up some clear memories of the marquess. But he’d been of little interest to her back then, beyond his eccentric manner. He’d smiled with warmth upon her father, she remembered. But that wasn’t surprising; a cultured man who quoted Shakespeare at the drop of a hat, Papa was possessed of enormous charm. Now she was in this man’s debt. Would he be kind to her?
The footman knocked on a solid oak door.
“Come.”
Apprehensive, she stepped into the room and was embraced by a welcoming surge of warmth. A fire crackled and spat in the baronial fireplace where a liver-spotted spaniel lifted its head from the rug to study her. After a thump of a tail, its head sank onto its paws again, lulled back to sleep by the heat. Above the fireplace, the painting of a hunting scene featured several dogs. Two china spaniels flanked the fireplace mantel. The walls were covered floor-to-ceiling in bookshelves, which made the room seem cozy.
Kate looked around for the source of the voice, and when she saw no one in the room, she crouched on the Oriental rug and gave the dog a pat. “You’re a nice fellow, aren’t you?” Her stiff, cold muscles loosened, and the icy pit in her stomach began to thaw. Maybe she could be happy here. She loved dogs.
“Welcome to St. Malin Castle, Miss Katharina.”
Startled, Kate looked around. She hadn’t noticed the man who rose from behind a pile of papers and books on the massive mahogany desk. He crossed the room to greet her. He was not her godfather. The young man not yet thirty, was tall, his black hair drawn back in a queue.
She scrambled to her feet. “I’m here to see the marquess.”
“I am the Marquess of St. Malin. My uncle passed away a short time ago.”
Kate was so shocked she could think of nothing to say. There was something of the marquess’ haughty demeanor about his handsome face.
With a sense of foreboding, she curtsied on unsteady legs. She could only stare at his attire, her gaze locked on his exquisite gold embroidered silk waistcoat as he bowed before her. Black crepe graced the sleeve of his emerald-green coat.
“I am sorry.” Dead. She had an urgent need to sit, and glanced at the damask sofa facing the fireplace.
She must have looked unsteady, for he reacted immediately, gesturing to the sofa. “Sit by the fire. You must be cold and exhausted.” He turned to the footman. “Bring a hot toddy for Miss Bancroft.”
Kate sank down gratefully, her modest panniers settling around her.
“You shall feel better presently,” he said. “I find a hot toddy can cure many ills.”
“Why did you send your coach for me?” She leaned back against the soft cushions. “I wouldn’t have come had I known your uncle passed away.”
“I thought it best to sort the matter out here and now.” He rested an elbow on a corner of the fireplace mantel and stirred the dog with a foot. “Shame on you, Felix. You might accord Miss Bancroft a warmer welcome.” He looked at her. “My uncle’s dog. He’s mourning his master.” He raised his dark brows. “Notice of my uncle’s passing appeared in The Daily Universal Register.”
“We don’t get that newspaper in my village. What matter do we need to sort out?”
“I’ll come to that. To be honest, I wasn’t aware of your existence until the reading of the will. Then I learned of your parents’ untimely death from my solicitor. Please accept my condolences.”
“Thank you. How long ago did your uncle…?”
“He fell ill some months ago. He rallied and then it happened very quickly at the end.” The new marquess sighed and stared into the fire.
“You must have been very fond of him,” Kate said in the quiet pause that followed. Though, if she were honest, she was surprised the cool man she remembered could have provoked that level of affection.
He raised his eyes to meet hers and gave a bleak smile. “Yes, I was. He always had my interests at heart, you see.”
The marquess sat in the oxblood leather chair opposite and rested his hands on his knees. “I am his acknowledged heir, and the legalities have been processed. So naturally, I’ve inherited the title, plus the entailed properties. But the rest of his fortune will pass to another family member should I fail to conform to the edicts of his will.”
“His will?” Kate held her hands tightly in her lap, she found it difficult to follow him. Her mind whirled, filled with desperate thoughts. With her godfather dead, where would she go from here? She tensed as she envisioned riding off along the dark cliffs to join a theatre troupe or become a tavern wench.
“This must be difficult for you to take in, and I regret having to tell you tonight before you’ve rested. But I’m compelled to move quickly as you have come without a chaperone and have traveled here alone…”
She lifted her chin. “There was no one to accompany me.” She would not allow him to make her feel like a poor relation even though she was quite definitely poor. And alone. She hated that more than anything. What might her godfather have left her? She hoped it would allow her some measure of independence and wasn’t just a vase or a family portrait.
The footman entered carrying a tray with a cup of steaming liquid. Kate took the drink and gratefully held it in both hands enjoying its warmth. She put it to her lips and took a sip. It tasted of a spicy spirit. “What is in this drink?”
“A few spices, sugar, nutmeg, and a dash of liquor,” Robert said. “More of a restorative.”
“I don’t drink liquor, usually.” She was finding it even harder to concentrate on his words as her mind retreated into a fog. Her gaze wandered around the room. She finished the last of the delicious beverage and licked her lips. Her head lolled back against the squab as she studied her host. He would be handsome if he smiled. But this was a serious business. Whatever it was. And she was awfully tired. The fire made her drowsy. What was he saying?
“It’s the best thing for both of us. Don’t you agree?”
She shook her head in an unsuccessful attempt to clear it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that last bit.”
He frowned. “The will. It states we must marry. As soon as it’s possible to arrange it.”
“I’m afraid I’m most dreadfully tired. I’ve misunderstood you. Please forgive me. I thought you mentioned marriage.”
“Yes, that’s precisely what I said. We must marry.”
Kate placed her cup on the table and struggled to her feet, fighting fatigue and the effects of whatever it was she’d just drunk, which was a good deal stronger than he’d lead her to believe. She smoothed her skirts and edged toward the door through which she intended to depart at any moment. “I have no intention…”
“I know it’s perplexing. I didn’t intend to wed for some years. I would have preferred to choose the person I married as no doubt would you.” He shrugged. “Best we make the most of it, don’t you think?”
Her jaw dropped. What kind of man was this? She had been raised to believe that marriage was a sacred institution. He made it sound so…trivial. Like going for a Sunday ride. She stared at him. “Why would your uncle’s will stipulate something so outlandish?”
“That’s exactly what is written.” With a rustle of silk taffeta, he moved closer to the fire. She wondered if he might be as nervous as she was. “Unless I’m prepared to allow my uncle’s unentailed fortune go to a distant relative,” he continued. “Which I am not. As I have said.” His careful tone suggested he thought her a simpleton. Under his unsympathetic gaze, she sank back down onto the sofa.
“You are perfectly within your rights to refuse, but I see very few options open to you. As my wife, you will live in comfort. You may go to London to enjoy the Season. I shall give you a generous allowance for gowns and hats, and things a lady must have.” His gaze wandered over her cream muslin gown, and she placed a hand on the lace that disguised the small darned patch near her knee that she’d torn on a briar. “What do you say?”
She tilted her head. “I shall receive an allowance? For gowns, hats, and things a lady must have?” she repeated.
“Exactly,” he said with a smile, obviously quite pleased with himself. “I see we understand each other perfectly. So… Do you agree?”
What was wrong with this man? Slowly, Kate released a heavy sigh. She could barely contemplate such a thing as this, and yet he acted as though he’d solved all the problems of the world with fashion accessories. She’d hoped for a small stipend, but marriage! And to a complete stranger. She couldn’t! Not for all the gowns and hats on earth. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I say no, Lord St. Malin.” Her words were clipped and precise, and she hoped beyond hope he would accept her decision without argument.
His dark eyebrows rose. “No? Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“How disappointing,” he said quietly sitting down again.
Kate gulped as his heavy-lidded eyes studied her from head to foot. She was uncomfortably aware that the mist had sent her hair into a riot of untidy curls, and she smoothed it away from her face with both hands. With her muddy shoe tucked out of sight beneath her gown, she forced herself to meet his blue eyes. Might he like anything of what he saw? She had inherited her mother’s tiny waist, and she thought her hands pretty. But apart from that, she was perfectly aware she wasn’t a beauty. His lordship’s gaze strayed to her breasts and remained there rather long. She sucked in a breath as her heart beat faster. When their eyes met, did she detect a gleam of approval? She caught her lip between her teeth.
The grandfather clock struck eight of the clock. Kate’s stomach gave a loud, protesting growl. The embarrassing noise seemed to galvanize him into action. He leapt to his feet again.
His restless energy made her even wearier. “How can you make such a weighty decision on an empty stomach? You’d like to freshen up before dining, I imagine. James will show you the way. We shan’t dress as I’m sure you’d prefer to retire early. Tomorrow, I’ll have your answer. Come, Felix. Are you too lazy to eat your dinner?” The dog seemed to understand his words, and jumped up and stretched, wagging his tail.
The new marquess sounded confident he would get his way.
Kate suffered a keen sense of frustration and something close to anger at being dragged into this absurd situation, which left her stranded in a strange place. But when the footman arrived, announcing dinner, she rose quickly, eager for a meal. It had been a long day, and her nervous stomach had only allowed her to eat a small breakfast.
Kate visited the privy, and in an antechamber, was provided with a bowl of hot water. She washed her face, and did her best with her unruly hair, then scrubbed the splotch of mud from her half boot. James appeared again and escorted her to the dining room, a magnificent room brightly lit by the massive chandelier overhead and several silver candelabras placed about on mahogany tables. Gilt-framed oil paintings hung on the walls. Kate sat opposite St. Malin at a dining table long enough to seat King Arthur and all his knights.
The marquess poured her a glass of wine as the covers were brought in. She ate the fish soup and allowed the footman to serve her the sole in cream sauce, and the roast venison, which proved tender and delicious. While they ate, the marquess explained further. “If you decide to marry me, rest assured I shall not bother you overmuch.”
That was hardly a recommendation. Was he going to shut her up in the tower? She pursed her lips. “I believe I’ve refused.”
A glimmer brightened his attractive eyes. “Then I shall have to convince you to change your mind.”
Was he responding to the challenge? Or did he not like to lose? “I highly doubt that. I can be very stubborn.”
His gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth, then dipped to the bodice of her dress. “I can be very persuasive.”
Heat blazed across her cheeks. She stiffened. What manner of persuasion did he have in mind? “That I don’t doubt,” she murmured, wondering when she could leave. He would not get the opportunity.
He laughed and tossed a piece of meat to the dog. Felix caught it in his jaws. Swallowing the morsel with barely a chew, Felix danced on his back legs begging for more. The marquess cut off another piece, and it went the way of the first. “That’s enough, Felix, off to the kitchen with you.” The footman opened the door and the dog dutifully trotted through it. Lord St. Malin turned his attention back to her. “We need not always cohabitate. I have homes in London, Hertfordshire, and Italy.”
“Italy?” Kate paused, a fork of artichoke halfway to her mouth. She had longed to visit Italy since reading her father’s copy of Shakespeare’s play, Romeo, and Juliet.
He nodded, his long fingers toying with the stem of the crystal wineglass. “In fact, as I have said, we need rarely meet.” His gaze wandered over her face, then focused on her mouth. She shifted in her seat. “Although I do require an heir at some point, you understand.”
“Of course.” She dropped her gaze to the plate, her appetite gone. “An heir.”
“Yes.” He tossed back the ruby wine in his glass. “And, by all accounts, it was my uncle’s opinion that you and I could produce a fine son. He said as much in the will.” His speculative glance made her hot all over.
She swallowed. “But why? He knew my father well, but he knew little about me.”
He shrugged. “I’m as surprised by this as you are. My uncle was an unusual man.”
Italy? Her interest was piqued. To be left alone in Italy, to enjoy the arts, the statues, and the food, which she’d been told was delicious. “I shall need time to give this er… proposal, proper consideration,”
He gave her an impatient, sidelong glance as if he wanted the business of their marriage over quickly, as if he was purchasing a property. “How much time? Surely you must see the advantages it offers you.”
“I said I will consider it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you wish me to or not?”
His mouth twitched. “I do indeed wish you to consider it.”
“Then, rest assured I shall.”
“I must make it plain that I shall continue to live as I have done until now,” he said, rubbing his chin.
He was laboring that point. He didn’t like this anymore than she did. What a conundrum. But he must be quite sure of her answer. And why wouldn’t he be? When she really considered it. What choice did she have? Marry him or live in poverty. Still, she wasn’t going to give in easily. Something about his supreme self-confidence irked her. And she didn’t know him. He might hurt her, make her life a misery. What would her father have made of him?
He rose to refill their glasses. After the footman cleared the table, leaving a bowl of nuts, he left the room. When the door closed, St. Malin held his glass up to the light. “And once you have provided an heir, you can take a lover if you wish. But take care, for I don’t intend to house any bastards.” His brows snapped together in a dark scowl as if she planned to take a lover straight after they’d exchanged their vows. Had one waiting in the wings, in fact.
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” Kate sputtered, wondering if he’d lost his reason.
He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Forgive me. That was uncalled for, and I’m not sure where it came from.” He shook his head as though clearing bad thoughts. “I’ve never negotiated the terms of a marriage before.” He smoothed his hand over his black hair, and she realized that he was as unsettled about the prospect of marriage as she was. “This has been a shock for me,” he added, confirming her thoughts.
“Yes, of course.” She selected a nut and reached for the cracker. Her godfather was dead, and she found she wasn’t able to mourn him, for she’d hardly known him. Her mind refused to form a coherent plan, but all her senses seemed to have come alive. The taste of the superb vintage on her tongue, the tang of beeswax candle smoke, the crystal, and the silver gleaming on the white linen cloth. The dark hairs on his wrist below his cuff. Surprised, she batted that thought away. She’d been thrust into another world—a beautiful world filled with elegant things she’d never dreamed she could call her own, along with a man who, at one time, might have fulfilled her every fantasy. He was inviting her to remain in this world, but not with him, at least not very often with him. She put down the wine as her head swam. The man sitting across the table from her was handsome with a strong, trim body. He was wealthy and titled, and yet he needed something from her.
Without her consent, he would lose a fortune.
And she suspected he was far too used to getting his own way. Aristocrats were spoiled from birth. Hadn’t her father always said so? Why the former marquess wished for this union, she couldn’t fathom. Surely, he would have wanted someone titled for his nephew? She couldn’t think of it now. The long exhausting trip, the shock of his words, plus the wine, had all taken their toll; she simply must sleep. Her eyelids began to droop, and she fought to focus on his face.
She put down her napkin and rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord—”
“Robert.”
“Robert,” she said hesitatingly. It felt odd to say it. “I believe I’ll retire.”
“The footman will show you to your bedchamber.” He stood and seized the bell cord, pulling it with the same energy he applied to everything he did. It made her think of him as a prospective lover, and her eyes widened.
“Good night, Katharina.”
“I prefer to be called Kate,” she said faintly, wishing to hang on to some semblance of her past life. “My father named me Katharina. It’s from Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew.”
“It is to be hoped you and she have little else in common,” he said with an elegant bow.
“I like to think I do.” Kate ignored his arched brow, gathered up her skirts, and curtsied, hoping she appeared as graceful as he, but rather doubting it. She was too short for imposing gestures. Resigned, she followed the footman from the room, up the winding staircase, and down a long corridor hung with tapestries and impressive works of art to another heavy oak door.
Her chamber, filled with solid mahogany furniture, echoed with the ocean’s loud roar which filtered through the arched, leaded windows. A young maid waited in attendance. A pile of Kate’s faded gowns lay over a chair. Kate was gripped again with embarrassment and consternation. Her father was an academic, far better at verse than providing his wife and daughter with glamorous gowns. It had never mattered to her before, but now she would welcome a lift in her confidence.
“You’ve unpacked my trunk. What is your name?”
“Rebecca, Miss Bancroft.” The sturdy, fresh-faced maid bobbed, her brown curls bouncing.
“Thank you, Rebecca.”
Kate moved closer to the fire to warm her hands, cold again after negotiating the chilly corridors. The carved tester bed festooned with royal blue velvet hangings beckoned enticingly.
Rebecca closed the windows and pulled across the thick velvet drapery, the sounds of the sea muffled to a dull roar. She assisted Kate out of her gown and unlaced her stays. Then she withdrew after saying a quiet goodnight.
Discarding her shift and panniers, Kate washed herself from head to toe at a basin of lukewarm water with sweet-smelling soap. Cold despite the fire, she shivered and toweled herself dry, then donned her nightgown. She plaited her hair and climbed into bed to discover a bedwarmer at her feet. With a moan of delight, she pulled the covers up to her chin.
Her thoughts turned to the marquess—Robert. She must remember to call him by his given name. It seemed friendlier, and if all went according to her godfather’s will, he would be her husband. Her heart raced at the thought. She would have to learn to be a marchioness, and nothing in her life up until now had prepared her for such a role. She might fail and embarrass him. Or, he might remain a stranger she seldom saw, keeping her shut away somewhere. Either of those possibilities wasn’t exactly heartwarming. But what other course was open to her?
A governess? She felt sorry for governesses. They lurked in corners at social gatherings like poor relations, and even though Nanny had enjoyed a comfortable life with them, she’d never had a family of her own. Well, Kate was rather like a poor relation herself. Could she really refuse Robert and have him lose a substantial part of his fortune? It would be foolish for them both to lose out when they might gain something valuable by marrying.
“Robert. My husband,” she said to the empty room.
Such a declaration did not result in the happy emotion that should come with the thoughts of a husband, instead, it induced a quiver of alarm. Her tired mind refused to deal with it anymore. His handsome face kept distracting her. Were his eyes more blue than green? What sort of man was he? His broad shoulders and hard jaw made him appear very strong and determined. But there was something else she sensed in him that worried her. It was as if he’d donned a metaphorical knight’s armor for protection and would never allow her to get too close.
He was not the kind of man she’d wished to marry. She’d wanted someone kind and quite desperately in love with her. Someone brave who would fight her battles for her like a chivalrous knight but would never keep her at arm’s length or make her feel she was an inconvenience. Her husband would be like her father, who adored her and wrote love poetry to her mother. She had rejected two offers of marriage because she’d been waiting for such a man to appear in her life, and if she married Robert, she would never find him.
Kate sighed, what was expected of a marchioness? She had no idea. Would she be prepared for that role or thrown into it, to sink or swim. It was all so disturbing, she’d expected to lie awake all night, but sleep claimed her as soon as she snuggled down into the comfortable bed and nestled her head on the feather pillow.
*
Robert returned to the library and splashed a liberal portion of brandy into a goblet. He sat down at the desk with Felix settled at his feet. He’d never owned a dog, because his parents hadn’t approved of them as pets, but he found that he did. He wasn’t fond of this place though. The castle was too isolated and drafty. The old man had loved it here. The climate was superior, but with good society scarce, life was dull. Apart from fishing and riding, there was little to offer that could equal life in London.
Uncle Alford offered him love and support when his family had failed him. Robert fully intended to honor his memory and make him proud, but if his uncle had believed Robert marrying this young woman would improve his character, or that it might heal Robert’s emotional wounds, he was wrong. His uncle’s will was unfair, and it asked a great deal of him.
He leaned down and absently patted the dog. Robert quickly banished the disloyal thought that his uncle might not have been of sound mind when he made the will. He shook his head, bemused. He should be outraged that such a trick had been played on him, but he couldn’t find it in himself, because he knew his uncle had cared deeply for him. And this might have resulted from his uncle’s disapproval of Millicent, the one thing he’d shared with Robert’s mother and her husband.
Robert shrugged and went to add coal to the fire. He stood close to the burgeoning heat as if it might melt the tense knot in his chest. It mattered not whom he took to wife. Society beauty, Millicent Borrowdale, who set the ton on its ear, had rejected him for a nabob’s son. Her choice of husband was neither titled nor distinguished, but heir to one of the richest men in England.
And at that time, Robert had little to offer her. It was expected his uncle, who was in rude good health, would live for many years. Perhaps all women were calculating, and that small, sweet-faced young woman asleep upstairs would most likely prove to be the same when put to the test. It would be a shame to see that happen, for she had an honesty and a frankness that he liked. He liked her pretty, green eyes which tilted up at the corners in a most intriguing way, below straight brows.
With a frown, he returned to his desk and mended his pen. He dipped the quill into the ink pot and paused. He’d barely made a dent in the mountain of paper he worked through. His uncle had vast interests and owned several businesses including an iron works in Birmingham and a pottery factory on the lands of his great aunt’s estate in Vauxhall.
There were tenant farmers who had been left to the care of a steward which required his attention. When his uncle grew ill, he lost interest in his investments and left it all to his man of business, Mr. Garvie. Mr. Garvie also rested below ground now. Consequently, Robert had inherited a fine mess to sort out. He needed to employ a new business manager, another steward, and would need to inspect all the properties to ensure the staff were up to scratch.
He’d been gratified to find that St Malin Castle at least, was well run. Although his uncle discussed business with him and attempted to prepare Robert for the responsibilities which lie ahead, he sorely missed his sound advice, and the weight rested uncomfortably on his shoulders. His agreeable life in London seemed to have been thrown into chaos. Despite obtaining a first in mathematics at Cambridge, he’d never actually had to employ it much, beyond toting up bets at White’s or the races, and now felt totally unprepared for what was now required of him.
His marriage might prove the easiest part of this new order to manage. Kate seemed the sort who would be content with the comfortable life he could give her and ask little of him.
He threw down his pen and took a liberal pinch of snuff, admiring the large ruby on the quaint silver box engraved with a stout pig which had belonged to his uncle. It was so like him to have such a thing made. The pig was a delightful jest at what he perceived as the shallow habits of the ton, although he did enjoy his own special blend of tobacco. Robert flicked snuff from his coat, preferring to mull over his bride-to-be instead of what was on the desk before him. There was nothing for it, but to accept his lot with as much grace as he could muster.
Kate’s appearance and bearing would improve considerably with a more fashionable and costlier wardrobe. Robert had not been blind to her charms beneath the shabby, old-fashioned clothes. In time, she may even trump a diamond of the first water like Millicent. He’d studied Kate over the dinner table. Her un-powdered, dark, honey-colored locks, tied up with a green ribbon, had curled around her shell-like ears. When startled, those large eyes appeared greener. She was every inch an innocent country girl, completely unaware that the way she bit her full provocative bottom lip was bordering on erotic. He soon realized his attraction to her would serve to make the act of producing an heir far more pleasant. Yes, he was more than willing to bed her, but he would have to go gently. She might become too dependent on him too quickly. Even though she’d refused him, as was the fashion, he was confident that she would agree.
Kate’s family was unimpeachable although poor as church mice. He smiled. His eccentric uncle didn’t care for most of his own kind. He’d thought aristocrats too lazy and dependent on others to care for them, and at times too inbred. Indeed, it was unusual, but Uncle Alford had admired all forms of endeavor, from poets to inventors. He’d talked at length of James Watt’s invention of a steam engine to work a mine pump and had often said he wished he’d lived a more productive life.
Might this be the reason he’d chosen Kate? Was it his belief that a more satisfactory life could be had for Robert with someone of her background? His uncle might have asked him. Robert would have been happy to set him straight. A man could go about his business without needing a wife at his side. An heir and a spare were necessary, of course, but he should have liked to choose the lady and taken his own good time to do it.
Robert topped off the brandy in his glass. A wedding as soon as possible would be wise, and hopefully an heir would quickly follow. Perhaps Kate was the perfect choice. This unsophisticated young woman would never have the wherewithal to get under his skin or have the power to hurt him as Millicent had done.
Once married and his heir secured, he would return to the caresses of his accomplished mistress and the life he enjoyed in London.
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