Page 26 of Lady Controversial
‘Not yet. I don’t want to alert anyone to our intentions, at least until such time as we have the necessary access,’ Marcus replied, not adding that he couldn’t afford the exorbitant professional fees his surveyor had demanded in return for his discretion. The man was aware of the confidential nature of the project and was exploiting his expertise quite outrageously. Marcus was not prepared to be held hostage. There were other marine surveyors, and he would find one who was prepared to be more reasonable.
‘Well then.’ Harling stood up, drained his glass and reached for his hat. ‘Let me know when that situation arises. You have two more weeks, after which I shall withdraw my support. Good day to you, gentlemen.’
Marcus and Victor watched the door close behind Harling.
‘What’s got into him?’ Marcus asked. ‘I thought he was fully on board.’
Victor shrugged. ‘His wife just gave birth to their fourth daughter. He despairs of her ever producing the son he so craves and he’s taking his frustration out on you. Don’t worry, he’ll remain committed—but you do need to get a move on, Marc. You have been dragging your feet rather.’
‘That’s because the Misses Crawley aren’t prepared to sodding well move,’ Marcus replied, running his hand through his hair in agitation.
‘What?’ Victor threw back his head and laughed. ‘Nonsense! Since when did you ever have the slightest bit of trouble bending a couple of silly females to your will?’
‘The elder Miss Crawley is not silly, that’s my problem. Finchdean has latched onto her and I think she now suspects me of—’
‘Surely Finchdean isn’t aware of your plans.’ Victor sound highly perturbed.
‘Most likely not.’
Marcus didn’t want to scare Victor off. Without his blunt, their project would never have even got off the ground. He was loyal but he had his limits and, Marcus suspected, was a little in awe of Finchdean. His family enjoyed their society and would not thank Victor if a rift was created. That rift would be inevitable once Marcus got his scheme off the ground, but Victor wasn’t the brightest of sparks and clearly hadn’t thought that far ahead. Far be it from Marcus to enlighten him.
‘Why not simply offer for the younger girl, the pretty one,’ Victor said. ‘Then your problems will be solved at a stroke.’
‘A somewhat drastic solution,’ Marcus said.
‘There are worse faces to wake up to.’
‘True, but hopefully it won’t come to that.’
‘Well, I have to be off too.’ Victor stood and offered Marcus his hand. ‘Let me know if you need me to do anything.’
Alone in the shabby room, Marcus poured himself another large measure of the indifferent brandy and then thumped the wainscoting with his fist in frustration.
‘Damn you, Isolda Crawley!’ he shouted, aware that offering for Jane Crawley if he became that desperate would likely not resolve his problems. That hovel of a cottage belonged to Isolda as the elder daughter, and even if Jane accepted him, he doubted whether Isolda would cede control of it and agree to live beneath Marcus’s roof, as a dependent relative should.
The independent young hussy was very much a law unto herself and far more challenging than her prettier sister. Marcus knocked back his drink and wondered idly what it would take to bring her into line.
He found himself smiling at the prospect of discovering the answer to that question, even as he wondered about enlisting their aunt’s assistance after all. She had her own reasons for wanting to see Jane and Marcus united in matrimony, and he knew her help would be dependent upon Marcus making the ultimate commitment. But he also knew why Lady Bellingham had not offered to take the girls in, contenting herself instead with sponsoring Jane’s come-out.
Perhaps, Marcus mused, if he was artful enough, he could exploit that reason and also get his way without having to marry Jane. They were, in a manner of speaking, partners in deception, the keepers of one another’s secrets. Secrets that neither of them could afford to give up without damaging themselves.
A call upon Lady Bellingham and a frank exchange of views was, it appeared, overdue.
Isolda fell into bed that evening feeling the effects of her accident and also feeling mentally exhausted. A headache pounded behind her temple and sleep was slow in coming. She listened to Jane’s even breathing on the other side of the chilly room into which draughts found their way through the gaps in the window frames and envied her sister the ability to go to bed and sleep like a baby. But then Jane shouldered none of the responsibilities that fell to Isolda’s lot and had nothing more pressing to keep her awake other than the horror of being overlooked at her first, eagerly anticipated ball.
Perhaps she should have tried harder to persuade their aunt to take them in, she thought, although Isolda would hate to live under the same roof as the pretentious woman who made little effort to hide her contempt and disapproval of Isolda’s independent character. Easy for her to criticise when she had never had to wonder where the next meal was coming from, Isolda thought irritably. That irritability turned to amusement when she imagined their aunt’s reaction if she actually knew how Isolda managed to supplement their income and keep the wolf from the door.
She would most likely have apoplexy, Isolda knew.
Which was all well and good, but the thought reminded Isolda that she had an engagement of that nature to keep the following evening. She would never make the admission but her head still felt light following her accident and she wondered how she would be able to put up a convincing performance, given the energy and creativity that was required. Her aching muscles protested at the mere prospect but if she could just manage to get some sleep, perhaps she would be well enough recovered to at least appear both proficient and competitive.
If she failed, she was well aware that there were those on the sidelines who were anxious to replace her. Mr Barker kept her on for her novelty value, which rankled. But since the occupation paid well and made that a vital difference between remaining independent and falling back upon their aunt’s charity, there was really no choice at all.
Isolda turned over and thumped her thin pillow, kicking her legs and drawing a growl of protest from Brutus, who was slumbering at her feet. She apologised and tugged at the dog’s ears. He flapped his tail, turned in a tight circle and was asleep again in seconds. Jane had still not stirred. It was only Isolda, it seemed, who was destined for a sleepless night.
Her thoughts turned to Lord Brooke’s visit, causing her to scowl at the cracked ceiling. No doubt remained in her mind that he urgently needed to get his hands on Rose Cottage; Lord Finchdean had got that much right. But Isolda still had difficulty deciding why it was so important to him.
For the access road, obviously, and because whatever he had planned would undoubtedly inconvenience his nemesis. But what lengths would he be prepared to go to in order to achieve that ambition? That was the question that plagued Isolda’s mind more than any other, precluding any possibility of sleep.
