Page 8 of Not his Marchioness
“I am solicitor to a number of lords. There is a certain understanding among the people you now rub shoulders with: discretion. Most of them are married and have respectable families to present to the world, shielding their private affairs.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes. “And?”
“And that is why you are here. You need to build a respectable public image. You must marry. You can continue visiting every pleasure house in London if you please, but you must have a wife at your side to appear respectable.”
He snorted. “You expect me to lure some innocent little doll into a marriage under false pretenses when I have no intention of being a devoted husband?”
“It may not be under false pretenses. There are many ladies who would marry for the title alone. Agreements can be?—”
“No,” he said. “No agreement will be reached. Not now, not ever. I have no desire to.”
Mr. Beale leaned back. “It may not be up to you. As you yourself noted, many gentlemen indulge in certain… liberties. But there have been a number of younger, unmarried lords who’ve been less than private about it—not as overt as you, I dare say, but enough. The matter has been raised among the Lords, and pressure is being put on them to correct their behavior.”
Rhys said nothing, turning his face to the side.
Mr. Beale leaned forward in his chair.
“They seek to protect their reputations. Association with those who lead more… shall we say, boisterous lives is frowned upon. Business partnerships may be… reevaluated.”
“Now my ventures hinge on whether I take my vices behind closed doors?”
“I am saying the more conservative faction is considering it. And I’m afraid, My Lord, that several of your holdings may be at risk.Your father purchased many of his mines and all his vineyards in partnership with others. I know you’ve been looking to expand into horse breeding.”
“With the Duke of Windsor. He has carte blanche in Dover and another in Edinburgh.”
“And yet the public does not know that because he isdiscreet. Even if they did, his wife is very popular. I’m afraid, My Lord, your future may not look as bright as you imagined. And it’s not just business. If you ever hope to pass any bills in the House of Lords, you’ll need allies. Who will support you on a bill to improve the lot of farmworkers when all anyone will discuss is which lady you’ve scandalized most recently?”
Rhys gripped the arms of his chair, his knuckles whitening. This couldn’t be. He was being forced to marry?
What a shameful, hypocritical society he lived in.
“I will not be forced into marriage.”
“No one can force you. But as I said, the future—should you continue on this path—is not a bright one.”
He sat for a moment, his nostrils flaring, before he stood up. He stormed out of the offices and back onto the street, glaring at passersby.
What were they saying behind his back? He had never truly cared about his reputation before, hadn’t thought of it as a hindrance. But now…
Now, there were things he wanted to accomplish, things he disliked about society. Improvements he wanted to make.
Should all of that be taken from him because of the way he chose to live?
What was he meant to do?
He couldn’t marry.
He’d never believed in marriage.
It was impossible. The very thought was?—
“Earl’s daughter causes commotion at Swanson soirée!” one of the paper boys shouted near him.
Rhys stopped in his tracks and looked back. The little boy passed him, waving a newspaper high over his head.
“Earl’s daughter causes commotion at Swanson soirée!”
He turned, followed the boy, took the paper, and paid far too much for it.
