The Earl’s Bluestocking Bride (Unconventional Brides #2)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I must say, I’m surprised to see you away from your wife,” Andrew said to the Duke of Ashford as they met outside the entrance to the Regent, the gentleman’s club of which they were both members.

Vaughan grimaced as the doorman held the door for both of them. “I’d rather not be in London so soon after Lilian’s birth, but I had an urgent business matter that needed attending to. I’ll return to the country as soon as possible.”

They shucked their coats and passed them to an attendant.

“A private room?” their host asked, bowing deeply.

Andrew glanced at Ashford. For the conversation he had in mind, privacy would probably be best. “Yes, please.”

The host led them through the foyer and down a corridor. He turned into the third room on the left, which contained only two well-padded leather chairs and a small drinks table.

“Brandy?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ashford said. “Thank you. ”

The host nodded. “A server will be with you momentarily.” He bowed again and backed out of the room.

Andrew dropped onto the chair farthest from the door, ensuring he’d be able to see anyone passing by. He did not wish for gossip of his changed circumstances to spread.

“How is the lovely Emma?” he asked, gesturing for his friend to join him. “Is she recovering well after the birth?”

“She is incredible.” The corners of Ashford’s mouth twitched up. On anyone else, it could hardly be considered a smile, but for him, this was practically beaming. “She is wonderful with Lilian, and she’s already up and about the house. She’s taken a couple of walks outside, but I’ve asked her not to do so while I’m gone so I don’t have to worry.”

Longley grinned. “You’re smitten. And this from the man who didn’t want to wed.”

“Marriage agrees with me,” Ashford said simply.

A server entered, carrying a tray on which stood a decanter of brandy and two glasses. He placed a glass in front of each of them and filled them, then retreated to the corner to await further instruction.

Andrew raised his glass and inhaled the sharp scent of brandy along with the underlying hint of cigar smoke that permeated the Regent. He sipped and then set the glass down. He steeled himself. If anyone could understand his situation—at least in part—it was Ashford.

“I hope marriage will agree with me too,” he said, watching the duke for a reaction.

Ashford frowned. “I distinctly recall you saying last season that you did not intend to wed for quite some time.”

“Yes, well, circumstances have changed.”

Ashford picked up his brandy and cradled it between his palms. “How so?”

Andrew glanced at the server, who was gazing at the wall, obviously listening but doing his best not to appear as though he were. “Excuse me,” he said.

The server looked over.

“You are dismissed. Please close the door behind you.”

His face creased with disappointment, but he sketched a quick bow and glided out.

“This is confidential,” Longley murmured to an intrigued Ashford. “The only other people who know are my mother and the company that manages my affairs. I’ve lost almost our entire fortune.”

Ashford’s eyebrows flew up. “I beg your pardon? How can that be?”

Andrew grimaced. “We are not near to the poorhouse, but unless I take drastic action, we will have to release the majority of those employed by the Longley estate and begin selling off our higher-value items.”

He briefly explained the situation with Mr. Smith and his mismanaged and misappropriated funds.

“I’ve been over the records. I’ve combed through every detail. Unless Mr. Smith is apprehended upon arrival in Spain, with my money still in his possession, we’re in trouble. Even if we get back what’s left of our fortune, we’ll have to substantially change the way we manage the estate.”

Ashford rolled the glass between his palms. “Hence the need to marry. You’re seeking an heiress, I assume?”

“I am,” Andrew confirmed. “Mother has provided me with a list of suitable options.”

She’d been rather quick to do so, as a matter of fact. It made him wonder how closely she’d been monitoring the marriage mart over recent years. Perhaps she’d hoped he might take an interest and she’d wanted to be ready if he did. Of course, he doubted she’d ever have expected that to happen under such dire circumstances.

Ashford emptied his glass in one gulp and plunked it on the table, then held out his hand. “Do you have the list on you?”

Andrew extracted the folded paper from his front pocket and passed it over. Ashford carefully unfolded the paper, then smoothed it out on the table. His eyes skimmed down the names. There were six in total.

“I believe they’re ordered according to the size of their dowry.” He hated how crass that was, but unfortunately, it was necessary.

“I met one of these girls last year.” Ashford didn’t look up. “Lady Esther Bowling. If I recall correctly, she had a penchant for elaborate feather hairpieces.”

Andrew smirked. “Yes, I remember meeting her too. She made quite an impression.”

“Do you know any of the others?” Ashford asked.

“Miss Caroline Wentham is very pretty.” Although she reminded Andrew of a bird of prey. There was always a hungry gleam in her eye that made him feel hunted.

Ashford tapped the paper. “What about the chit at the top of the list? Miss Hart.”

Andrew shrugged. “Never met the girl. Her father is in mining. Rich as Midas, and in search of a titled husband for his darling daughter.”

“Does the origin of his money bother you?” Ashford asked.

“Not particularly.” Andrew tended to think men ought to be applauded for becoming successful enough to rise above their station of birth. However, not many members of the ton agreed with him, and he imagined the Harts’ social invitations were few and far between. The more snobbish of their number wouldn’t want to sully themselves with such an acquaintance.

“Lady Elizabeth Holden.” Ashford drummed his fingers against the wood. “Why is that name familiar?”

“She married young to an extremely rich elderly gentleman who left her most of his fortune. Now, she seeks a husband her own age.”

Andrew didn’t fancy his chances with Lady Elizabeth. She could afford to be selective, and something told him that she may not find favor in a nearly destitute earl, even if he was passably handsome.

Lady Esther and Miss Wentham were not societal outcasts, nor were they on the shelf. They also had options—although he gave himself better odds with them than with Lady Elizabeth. Miss Hart, on the other hand, was not in a position to cast aside potential suitors.

“The other two?” Ashford asked. “Miss Cahill and Miss Carruthers?”

Andrew shook his head. “I have not made the acquaintance of either. I have it on good authority that Miss Cahill is something of a shrew and that this is intended to be her final season. If she does not find a husband, her parents are retiring her to the country.”

He felt for the girl. Considering he had a younger sister of his own, he knew how difficult life could be for women who could not—or chose not to—marry. Their futures were almost always dictated by their male relations. It was only right for family to care for their own, but all too often there didn’t seem to be much “care” involved.

“Miss Carruthers is the youngest of the six. This is her first season. Her father is a cousin to the Earl of Wembley, and both he and her elder brother are independently wealthy. They have large holdings in Cumbria.” He hadn’t heard anything of her temperament, as no one he knew had met the chit.

“On the basis of what you’ve shared, do you have a preference?” Ashford asked.

Andrew shrugged. “I need to meet them. As usual, I have been inundated with invitations to balls. Unfortunately, I have had to accept far more of them than I usually would. If I want to meet these women without simply turning up on their doorsteps, then I must put in appearances.”

Ashford winced. “I’m sorry that I can’t be here to attend them with you. It would be only right of me to stand by your side the way you did for me when I decided to take a wife.”

Andrew waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t dwell on it, my friend. I was in London and had nothing else to do with my time. You, however, have a duchess and a baby waiting for you in Norfolk. Such domesticity may be foreign to me, but I recognize its importance to you.”

Ashford cocked his head. “Why is it that you’ve always delayed choosing a bride? You like to be around people—unlike myself—and women seem to find you charming. Why the resistance?”

Andrew paused to drink more brandy. Really, he ought to have asked the server to leave the bottle. “I’m not resistant to marriage. However, I’ve had no reason to rush until recently, and I don’t want to be trapped with a woman I do not care for. I always thought the right woman would simply appear one day.”

Ashford chuckled. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Doesn’t it? Did or didn’t the Earl of Carlisle turn up in your office and propose a marriage between you and Emma? It sounds to me like that opportunity landed in your lap.”

He scoffed. “Only because I put in the effort with Violet first, and I made up for not trying with Emma at the beginning—or at least, I did as much as I could. You know I’ll never take her for granted.”

Andrew softened. “I know. The entire ton knows how much you dote on that woman.”

He’d once feared that Emma and Ashford would be a terrible match, given that they wanted such different things, but the sweet, reserved Emma had proven to be exactly what the surly duke needed.

“Perhaps marriage will surprise you,” Ashford said.

“It’s certainly turned you into a romantic.”

A little smile twisted Ashford’s lips, and he didn’t seem at all bothered by the assessment. “Maybe so. But I think we’ve reached our limit of deep conversation for today. Would you like to join a card game?”

“I’d better not. I have no money to lose.” He wasn’t about to compound his poor luck by gambling away what little he had left.

Ashford shrugged. “Play with my money.”

Andrew’s heart squeezed. “No, but thank you, my friend. I appreciate the offer. Why don’t you tell me more about your daughter?”

“Lilian is such a sweet baby. Good-natured. She looks so much like her mother.” Ashford gazed somewhere over Andrew’s shoulder, his smile turning dopey. “She’s so small. The first time I heard her, I was afraid I might accidentally hurt her.”

“But you didn’t,” Andrew reminded him.

“No, I didn’t.”

Ashford continued to wax poetic about his daughter for several minutes. Listening to him was easy. Andrew was glad to see his friend so happy. He was also pleased that Ashford hadn’t been upset when Emma had given birth to a daughter. Considering he’d married her purely to obtain an heir, it had been a possibility he’d be displeased.

But no, he adored his little girl, and he and Emma would simply try again for an heir when she was well enough.

As Ashford trailed off, a thought struck Andrew.

“I say.” He straightened in his seat. “You have a successful estate. I need a new man of business. Do you have any recommendations?”

Ashford hummed in thought. “My estate is managed differently than yours. I have an estate manager for Ashford Hall—you remember Cal, from school—and another who manages our smaller holdings. My estate managers do not involve themselves in my investments or business dealings unrelated to the properties.”

“Hmm.” Perhaps Andrew ought to consider arranging something similar, although he now only had two property holdings, thanks to Mr. Smith: Longley Estate in Suffolk and Longley House in London. But he could hire an estate manager to be based in Suffolk and another person to oversee his finances.

“You want my opinion?” Ashford asked.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “I did ask, didn’t I?”

Ashford looked irritated. “You ought not to rush into making any decisions while the loss and betrayal are still fresh. You’re emotional, and any decisions you make now will be influenced by that. You’d be better off to wait for a week or two and then choose a plan of action based on what’s rational.”

Andrew tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Good point. I’ll keep that in mind.”

They talked for a while longer; then Andrew summoned a carriage to take him home, and Ashford headed to a business meeting.

As Andrew watched buildings pass through his window, it occurred to him that this was the time of day at which he’d usually be going to visit Florence. His gut twisted. Now, there was no willing woman waiting for him. He’d lost her, and all because he’d been foolish enough to put his trust in the wrong person.

The carriage turned off the street and passed through the stone gateway of Longley House. They stopped in front of the main door, and Andrew waited for the carriage to open, then stepped down. After a quick thank-you to his driver, he trudged up the stairs. His footman knocked, and Boden opened the door, welcoming Andrew inside and locking it behind him.

The downstairs area was dimly lit. He grabbed a candle and used it to light his path as he climbed the stairs and turned left toward his bedchamber. As he entered, he came to an abrupt stop at the sight of his sister, Kate, sitting on his bed.

He set the candle on the cabinet. “To what do I owe the honor of this ambush?”

She sat forward, her pale auburn hair spilling over her shoulders, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “Is it true that we are broke?”

Oh dear.

Heart heavy, he perched on the edge of the gray-blue bed cover and angled himself toward her. He couldn’t hide this from her. That would be a disservice to her. Their financial situation would affect her as much as anyone else.

“We are not broke, no. We will not starve. However, we have lost nearly our entire fortune.” Guilt swept through him. He should have protected her better.

He had let her down.

She took this in, biting her lower lip, her pointed chin—so like their mother’s—quivering as she gathered herself. “What does this mean for us? Will I still be able to come out next season?”

“We will ensure it happens,” he assured her, reaching for her hand. It sat limply in his. She did nothing to return the gesture.

“If I do not come out, how will I find a husband?” She met his gaze, her eyes—the gray of their departed father’s rather than the hazel of his and his mother’s—gleaming with tears. “Will I have to marry someone we already know? Or will I become a spinster and fade away in a cottage in the middle of nowhere?”

He winced internally, thinking of the country cottage he had, in fact, purchased for her in case she needed it, but which was no longer available to her.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, at a loss as to what to do with her. He liked to make women laugh and smile, but he didn’t know what to do with them when they were upset. “ Whatever happens, I’ll make certain that you are not miserable. If you want a season next year, then you will have it.”

He didn’t know how yet. She would require an array of dresses, jewelry, and a dowry. But he couldn’t bear to see her unhappy, so he would find a way to ensure that she got her season.

He pulled her into an embrace. “Don’t worry yourself, Katie. Mother and I will take care of it. Do you trust us?”

She nodded and swiped at her shining gray eyes, ready to spill over with tears at any moment. “Yes.”

“Then believe me when I say that everything will be all right. Now, shall we get you to bed?”

He stood and helped her off his bed. She’d left a lantern on his cabinet, and she carried it as they walked the short distance along the corridor from his room to hers. He waited until she was tucked beneath her pastel pink bedclothes before closing the door quietly behind himself.

He rested his forehead against the door and closed his eyes, his bravado gone now that she wasn’t around to see. He’d made a lot of promises to her. How could he possibly keep them?

With a groan, he straightened and strode on leaden legs back to his bedchamber. He helped himself to the bottle of whiskey hidden in the lower drawer of his nightstand, unscrewed the lid, and swigged it, enjoying the burn down his throat.

Soon, there would be no more bootlegged whiskey either. He returned the bottle to its hiding place and flopped onto the bed.

There was nothing else for it. He would simply have to find a wife with a hefty dowry.

Tomorrow, the hunt was on.