Page 7 of Lady Beast's Bridegroom
Through all their years at war together, John had talked of his dream, the dream for which he fought.
Whereas Peter had joined up to escape his father’s toxic second marriage, John was driven by the conviction that Britain’s enemies must be defeated to preserve the peace John longed for. He had a vision of raising a family in the country, of living the life of a wealthy squire on the estate he had from the uncle for whom he had been named.
He had a heartbreak in his past he would never discuss, but it had not broken his faith in the idea of a love match. Presumably, Belinda shared his longings, and in a few years’ time, he and his wife would deep in love and surrounded by the children of his dream.
Despite Peter’s skepticism about love matches, the pull of that future sank him deep into sleep and followed him into dreams of Three Oaks Manor ringing with the sound of children’s voices and one low melodic female voice he didn’t know—a voice that laughed and sang with the children. Peter found himself searching for them through halls and rooms subtly transformed—warmer, somehow. More like the home he remembered from before his mother died. But however fast he hurried, however quickly he turned corners or opened doors, he did not catch up.
Chapter Three
The sense ofsomething just out of reach followed Peter into the morning. His appointment with Richards was at noon. He waited to be announced, feeling as he had sometimes before a battle: as if something momentous marched inexorably towards him, bring a change for better or for worse.
After civil greetings, Richards got straight to the point. “I have an opportunity for you, my lord. It will allow you to pay the estate’s debts and leave money and to spare over to bring your lands back into full production. And you will also be able to do a great service for another person.”
“It sounds too good to be true,” Peter commented. “What is this service that brings such great rewards?”
His solicitor leaned forward a little, his eyes intent on Peter. “Another of my clients has commissioned me to find her a husband, Lord Ransome. Her need is urgent and imperative.”
An obvious reason for haste occurred. “Pregnant, is she? I’ve no wish to make someone else’s son my heir, Richards.”
“No, my lord. My client is a lady and a maiden. I am authorized to explain her reasons, but only if you agree to consider the marriage. The lady does not wish her identity to be known or her circumstances to be discussed except with the candidates for her hand.”
Peter’s brows twitched upwards. “Candidates? I am not the only person to whom you are putting this proposition?”
“The lady commissioned me to select candidates and send them to her for interview, Lord Ransome. She will make the final decision.” He nodded, firmly. “After all, she will live with the results.”
“She, and her chosen groom,” Peter pointed out. “I wish the lady well, Richards, but I am not minded to sell myself in such a way.” He’d not sunk that low. Not yet.
Richards set his jaw, examining the blotter on his desk as if it contained some secret he could interpret if he stared for long enough. “You will forgive me, my lord, if I point out that your other choices are untenable. You have cut your outgoings to the bone, and yet you will still not have sufficient money to pay the mortgages when they fall due, let alone the other more pressing debts.”
Peter protested, “You advised me not to let staff go nor to begin selling off everything that is not entailed!”
Richards nodded. “I advised you not to frighten your creditors by behaving as if you were insolvent. You and I needed time to come to terms with what might be done. But, my lord, you are insolvent. I must change my advice. If you will not consider an advantageous marriage, then you must make haste to sell whatever you can.”
“It won’t be enough!”
“No, my lord.” Richards sat back in his seat, his hands in front of him on the desk, keeping his gaze steady.
Peter shivered, though the day was not cold. He had sunk lower than he knew, if a convenient marriage was his only option. “I daresay I could find an heiress on my own.” He had a little time, surely? The mortgages were not due until next quarter day, and Richards could continue to put his creditors off a little longer.
The solicitor tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Yes, my lord. A wealthy merchant’s daughter, perhaps.”
Peter sighed. “You think I am cutting off my nose to spite my face. Very well, Richards. I will consider your lady. Tell me why I should agree to be one of the supplicants for her favor.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought of being interviewed by the would-be bride, like a footman or a groom anxious to win a position.
Richards considered him for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You know the lady, Lord Ransome. Or, at least, you knew her once.”
Peter tried to think of a lady of his acquaintance who might seek a husband through a solicitor. No. He couldn’t imagine who it might be.
Richards ignored his confusion. “My client was seriously injured some years ago and was left disfigured. She has lived secluded ever since. When her father died some eighteen months ago, his title went to a distant cousin, but he left his private wealth to his daughter. Since the will was read, the cousin has been attempting to challenge it. Failing that, he is now seeking to have my client declared insane and himself declared her guardian.”
Peter snorted. At Richards’s raised eyebrows, he protested, “Come on, Richards. Surely the lady exaggerates. This is the nineteenth century, and not one of those ridiculous novels that women read.”
“On the contrary,” Richards’s gaze was steady and his voice cool. “The villain has already been thwarted by the lady’s neighbor in an attempt at abduction. I have received a letter from the man, who is the local magistrate. I can assure you, my lord, that my client is in very real danger. She has no close family and her scars have kept her from the society which is her birth right. These are the reasons she has taken the unusual step of seeking a husband’s protection through interview.”
Despite himself, Peter’s sympathy was stirred. The poor woman was even more alone than Peter. “You said I know your client.”
“Knew, my lord. She remembers you from childhood. Your father and hers were friends, I believe. Before the fire that killed her mother and brother and left her scarred.”
“Arial!”
