Page 118 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“I believe Trelawney has made a tidy profit from the Radham estate over the years, if my ledgers are anything to go by,” Andrew said. “Not that I hold it against him, of course,” he added, as Baxter frowned. “I fear my late brother indulged in wine to excess.”
And women.
“Oh, forgive me,” Baxter said. “I quite forgot—you’re still in mourning for your brother.”
“No matter,” Andrew said. “Robert lived life to the fullest, most likely treating each day as if it were his last—until, of course, that day finally came. He’d not have wanted me to hide myself away and wallow. Besides, I have my father for that. But Father prefers to remain in London mourning his favorite son. And so I find myself here—defined by my title, an indentured servant, if you will, slave to a viscountcy and heir to an earldom.”
What a sorry creature I am.
Most would sneer at his self-pity, arguing that thousands of men would envy his position. But Baxter nodded, sympathy in his eyes. “Do you miss your profession?” he asked. “Beggin’ yer pardon if I’m speaking out of turn.”
Baxterhadspoken out of turn, but his open honesty, delivered with a thick country burr, rendered him worthier to be called friend than any other living soul Andrew had encountered.
Except perhaps…
Stop it!
There was little point in thinking abouther.
Andrew nodded. “I do miss it,” he said quietly. Then he rose and gestured toward the window overlooking the garden. “But I have a new profession now.”
“That of a gentleman?”
“Being a gentleman is a matter of perspective,” Andrew said. “Many would define a gentleman as one who lives off an inherited estate without having to lift a finger, idling his way from day to day while others tend to his whims. By virtue of possessing a title, I am considered by many to be a gentleman. But with the title comes an estate, with servants and tenants, all needing someone to care for them. An estate is like a living, breathing entity, much like your business, Mr. Baxter.”
“But my business is atrade, Lord Radham.”
“Yes, but you have employees, do you not, who work for you in order to earn a wage? Your business yields a profit from which you pay your employees, much as my estate yields a return from which I pay my servants and maintain the homes of my tenants. You intend to pass your business on to your sons, and I am bound by duty to furnish the earldom with an heir. So far, you and I are equal. Or, at least, we will be once my estate is solvent once more.”
“Then perhaps you stand to gain from accepting our invitation, Lord Radham,” Baxter said. “You’d find our acquaintances are of a similar mind to yourself, and a wider acquaintance can only be to your advantage—in one respect, at least.”
“Such as?”
“My Bella has a number of interesting friends. There’s one in particular who’s our guest at the moment. Charming creature she is, and though I’d never advocate marrying for money, she has a sizeable dowry. She—”
Andrew interrupted, his gut twisting with revulsion. “Mr. Baxter, I’m certain your intentions are good,” he said, “but I amnotin search of a wife. If your wife’s invitation is for the purpose of matchmaking, then I must decline. My title is not for sale, Mr. Baxter—Iam not for sale.”
“My apologies,” Baxter said, rising from his seat and approaching the door. “I ought to be getting on.”
“Wait,” Andrew said. “Forgive me—I meant no offense, and I know you meant none yourself. I just… I wasn’t meant for allthis. I was meant to be a country vicar, not the heir to an earldom.”
“I understand,” Baxter said. “I wasn’t born to live in a grand house with the daughter of a duke, but love happens in the strangest of places. My Bella and I were never meant for each other—our marriage was one of convenience—but we grew to love each other.”
Andrew shook his head. “How in the name of the Almighty did you enter into a marriage of convenience with the daughter of a duke?”
Baxter grinned. “That, my friend, is a story I’ll save for when you honor us with your company. If that don’t tempt you to come, I don’t know what will.”
Andrew held out his hand. “Then I’ll gladly accept,” he said, “if only to have sight of the most extraordinary woman in the kingdom. Your wife must be unique.”
Baxter raised his eyebrows, then took Andrew’s hand, enveloping it in his great paw. “An extraordinary woman may be the rarest of creatures,” he said, “but I’ll wager she’s not unique. It’s just a matter of findingyourextraordinary woman.”
And therein lay the problem. Andrewhadfound her. Then, in his folly, he’d let her slip through his fingers.
Perhaps Baxter was right—a marriage of convenience was the only solution. It would raise funds for the Radham estate and enable Andrew to furnish the title with an heir. And, mostimportantly, it would not present any risk to his heart, given that he’d irrevocably lost that to another.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Longford Hall, Sussex, November 1817
