Page 3 of The Beast of Beswick
Her aunt’s mouth thinned. “Her future husband will tell her what to think.”
“Said no woman with half a spine ever.”
“Would you rather her end up like you, then?” her uncle said. “Unmarried, ruined, and a bloody burden to your aunt and me?”
She sucked in a gasp. Her father, the previous viscount, had made sure that his daughters would live comfortably, with the hope that his brother would do his duty by his nieces. Her sister and she had learned early on that that would not be the case. Their father’s old family solicitor, Mr. Jenkins, who checked in on them once a year, had advocated for their father’s wishes, including a Season for Isobel once she came of age, but Mr. Jenkins had passed away a year ago. His firm oversaw the estate, but there was no one left to keep the greedy Everleighs in line.
“Papa made sure we would not be,” Astrid said, striving for patience. “We did not come to you cap in hand.”
“That blunt is gone.”
Riled beyond belief, she threw caution to the wind. “Where, Uncle? Where did all of it go? Papa bequeathed us a fortune by any standards.”
His nostrils flared, eyes bulging as he rose behind his desk. “Howdareyou, you insolent chit! After your aunt and I took you in, this is how you repay us? With mistrust and suspicion? That demmed money went to gowns, shoes, food, and finishing school.” He snorted. “To those books of yours. Your sister’s dancing and pianoforte instructors. Do you think it’s inexpensive to raise two demanding chits? And what about your horses?”
The horses he spoke of werehisthoroughbreds bought with his dead brother’s money, but Astrid didn’t point that out. She glued her lips together, stifling her anger. If Uncle Reginald decided to throw her out on her ear, she would be destitute and homeless. She would not come into her own portion until she was six and twenty, months away, and until then, she had to guard her tongue. Without her, Isobel would be on her own and vulnerable.
“And what aboutyou?” he went on, eyeballing her. “You were supposed to make an advantageous marriage. Instead, you’ve brought ruin upon the Everleigh name.” He sneered at her, his eyes cold. “What? You thought your sins would not leach to your poor sister?”
A sound of pain escaped Astrid’s lips. Hersins. She’d done nothing wrong, and yet she had been the one punished. Excoriated and summarily dropped by thetonupon the faithless account of a scorned liar.
“You know what he did,” Astrid whispered, hand clutched to her chest and eyes burning with unshed tears. “What he did tome, and yet you still welcome his presence. How could you be so cruel?”
Her craven uncle would not meet her eyes. “He is an earl. And perhaps he wants to make it right.”
Her uncle was wrong. Beaumont didn’t want tomake it right. He wanted to make Astrid pay.
“Please, Uncle Reggie,” she tried, resorting to begging. “Even if that is so, surely you see how poor of a match it is. Beaumont is twice her age. He isn’t fit for someone as tender as Isobel. Can’t you see that?”
Uncle Reginald’s mouth thinned as he stood and indicated the opened study door. “Nonetheless, he is an earl. A rich earl. And you’re forgetting that reformed rakes make the best husbands. He intends to join our estates and revive them. Isobel will be a countess and want for nothing. Now begone and leave me be.”
What he really meant was that he and Aunt Mildred would want for nothing. Astrid’s heart sank as she obeyed the rough dismissal.
Upstairs, she found her sister in the bedroom they shared. Isobel’s eyes were red-rimmed as though she’d been weeping, and Astrid went to her immediately.
“What will we do? I don’t wish to marry him.” Isobel sniffled. “But Aunt Mildred says I must do my duty to our family.”
Astrid took her sister’s hands into her own. “You won’t have to, I promise.”
“But how?” Her pale eyes watered. “He’s an earl. And since Uncle approves the match, I have no choice.”
“Don’t worry, Izzy—fortune favors those best prepared.” She hugged her sister tight, her resolve hardening. “I will find a way to see us out of this.”
Their options were limited. It was clear what her uncle intended—to sell Isobel’s virtue to someone willing to pay for the privilege, in this case, Lord Beaumont. It was unconscionable and it sickened her, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. Not without help.
Astrid blew out a frustrated breath.
If only her father were still alive or she had a husband of her own…
She blinked, an outrageous idea blossoming.
It would solve everything. It was a dreadful, desperate plan, but it was something. It was achance.
At five and twenty, she was well on the shelf, but she wasn’t dead. She might be ruined in the eyes of theton, but she had a sound brain, she’d been raised to run an aristocratic household, and she was the daughter of a viscount. It could work.It could work.
She would just have to marry a different kind of beast than the earl to save her sister.
And she knew just the man.
