Page 11 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“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 pocketand 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. Shecould 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 attendthem 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.”
