Page 3 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
Andrew chuckled. “If that could happen, I’d be blind already, old chap,” he assured him with a grin. “I’ve been staring at the books for three hours.”
“Threehours!” Neville gestured to the door. “Come on. Out of here right away. We’ll take that tea to the drawing room when it arrives. At least it’s light in there. No point hiding in the dark. It’s not exactly a summery day, but it’s dashed better than it looks in the study.”
Andrew smiled to himself as he followed Neville down the hallway. His friend was the one person who would always lift his mood. Besides Grandma, Neville was the only person who Andrew let in behind his guard.
Neville’s father, Viscount Esterfield, owned land that neighbored Rilendale’s extensive holdings and he and Andrew had grown up together, going on long trips in the countryside with their horses. They had pushed each other in the stream and shared their thoughts and aspirations as they climbed walls and played sword-fighting with each other.
Andrew rang for the butler and Neville flopped down on one of the spindle-legged chairs in the drawing room. Andrew winced, but it was a new one that Grandfather had bought before they knew they discovered the deficit in their finances, and it held Neville’s weight easily. Andrew sat down across from him on one of the matching chairs.
“I had a pleasant ride to London yesterday,” Neville began.
Andrew found his gaze roaming around the room as he listened to Neville talk. He had become used to the scuffed, worn flocked silk that covered the walls, the velvet curtains that were threadbare, the floor that was damaged from years of booted feet and the fireplace that was smoky, since they could not afford to have the chimney unblocked. When helooked at everything with the thought of having guests there, though, it became plain how badly in disrepair it was.
“...and so, I took lunch at the Glendale club, and...” Neville paused. “Andrew, you’re half asleep.”
Andrew blinked and nodded. “I am.”
Mr Pearson came in, interrupting them for a moment, and left the tea on the table and Andrew reached for the teapot to pour.
“Dash it, old chap,” Neville said, reaching for a slice of the pound cake. “You’re working too hard.”
“It’s not that,” Andrew murmured, pouring tea for them both and adding sugar to his cup. “I just didn’t sleep much.”
“You worry too much,” Neville told him, echoing Grandma’s observation from earlier.
“I do not think it is possible to worry too much, Neville,” he told him, running a hand distractedly through his own thick, dark hair. “If it were, it would have made me sick years ago.”
Neville nodded. “I imagine that’s true. You need to take action, old chap.”
Andrew made a sour face. “Grandma already said that.” His humour lifted as he recalled something. “And you know what her solution was?” His eyes twinkled. In this context, it sounded amusing. “Find an heiress. That was what she said, more or less. Can you imagine?”
Neville blinked. “It’s an idea, Andrew, honestly.” His expression was bright as if Andrew had made a good suggestion.
“What?” Andrew stared at his friend, agog. “Neville! I could not.”
Neville raised a brow. “You’d be far from the first, old chap.”
“I could not. Truly.” He did not know how he could convey what he meant. “Besides, can you imagine what someone would say, seeing a house like this?” It wasn’t the reason, but it was one everyone might understand.
“It is only a house, old boy. Houses can be fixed, you know.”
“Mm.” Andrew made a vague noise that could have been dissent or acknowledgement. He reached for a slice of cake. At least if he was eating, Neville might stop peppering him with good suggestions.
“Well, I just came to chat, and invite you on a ride to London tomorrow, if you’re interested,” Neville said after a minute. “I have some business to discuss at the Glendale club, and I thought you might like to come along.”
“No, old chap,” Andrew said sorrowfully. “I have to stay here to keep an eye on things. Besides, those wretched accounts still need doing. I shall see the task through tomorrow.”
“Mm,” Neville said, sounding thoughtful.
“It was very kind of you to come and see me,” Andrew said sincerely. “And I wish I could come with you. I just—cannot.” He couldn’t show his face in London for so many reasons. And he did not want to meet new people. What if the curse he seemed to carry around touched them, too?
“No bother, old chap,” Neville said kindly. “I shall go to the Glendale club tomorrow, then. And who knows? I might have some news for you when I get back.” That thoughtful look was back again.
“Mm,” Andrew replied distantly. “I wish you luck,” he added. He knew Neville was going to talk to some investors about investing in a sea voyage to India. He couldn’t invest, even if he had wanted to, so there was little point in Neville’s informing him.
“Thank you, old chap,” Neville said after a few minutes of talk. “I’ll call on you as soon as I come back.” London was a two-hour ride from Rilendale Manor, but it was not unusual for Neville to drop in on the way to his own home.
“I shall see you tomorrow, then,” Andrew said a little sadly as his friend went to the door. He enjoyed talking to Neville, and it would have been pleasant to ride with him. He just could not go into London again. He walked with him to the door, where Neville cantered off on his big brown thoroughbred.
Neville’s advice drifted through his thoughts, but he pushed it aside. It was preposterous. Nobody would wed a man with no money who rumours whispered was a murderer. He would have to find some other solution.
