Page 3 of The Best Husband Money Can Buy

Chapter 2

The solicitor blinked at Emma’s bald announcement. Then he gave a very unprofessional grin. “You’re a very direct young lady, Miss Stone. What sort of husband would that be?”

“I’m not that young, Mr. Evans, but I am practical and not at all romantic.” At least, not in the last ten years. Once Emma had been as romantic as any young girl. A man’s face appeared in her mind. Ruthlessly she suppressed the image. “I want someone of good character who will treat me with kindness and respect. Well-bred. Pleasing to look at, but he needn’t be handsome. If fact, it would be much better if he is not.”

If a handsome man married a plain woman, everyone would think it was only for money. Emma did not want that to be said of her, even if it was true.

The solicitor gave an approving nod. “In other words, what any wise woman would want in a husband. But you mentioned ‘well-bred.’ Did you mean a titled aristocrat?” He hesitated, then said with some awkwardness, “Forgive me, but men of that class can be…difficult. There are those who would happily take your money while despising you for being of lower birth.”

She raised her chin. “My mother was a Vaughn. No man would dare look down on my birth.”

“You are one of the Vaughns of Harley?” Mr. Evans’s raised brows were a surprised comment on her status as a little more than an upper servant.

“The relationship is close enough that I am invited to the castle on great occasions,” she said dryly, “but not close enough for me to have any money.”

As she spoke, Emma suddenly realized that she could accept the Christmas invitation to Harley. That prospect was far more vivid and compelling than the abstract knowledge that she had just inherited a fortune. She could return to the scene of her happiest days, a Vaughn once more. She wanted to laugh aloud with joy.

The solicitor’s tone changed from avuncular interest to crisp professionalism. “No matter whom you marry, I suggest that you allow me, or another competent solicitor, to set up a special trust so that, say, half of your capital is reserved to you and your children. Normally, a woman’s property automatically becomes her husband’s when she marries, but a woman of great wealth, such as you are now, often prefers to keep some control in her own hands.”

She was now a woman of great wealth. Emma wanted to laugh again, this time in disbelief. “An excellent idea. I’ve seen women ruined by profligate husbands.” She bit her lip. “I have no idea how to manage so much money. Will you act for me, as you did for Mr. Greaves?”

“It would be my honor, and my pleasure,” the solicitor said promptly.

“I shall need rather a lot of help, and not only financial.” She smiled with wry self-mockery. “Would you be able to use your connections to compile a list of possible husbands? Men who fit the requirements I mentioned earlier, and whose circumstances compel them to seek a rich wife. In other words, the better grade of fortune hunter.”

Mr. Evans regarded her with fascination and a certain shock. “As I said, you are…admirably direct. I shall make inquiries among my legal colleagues about suitable candidates. Character will be of the utmost importance in these circumstances.”

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Actually, I can think of several men who might suit myself. There’s the Honorable George Martin, a widower with four fine children. An admirable fellow. Or Sir Edward Wyckham, a rising young politician. He has great ability, but he’ll need a wife of means to make the most of his opportunities.” The solicitor smiled dismissively. “We wouldn’t want you to pledge yourself to a charming wastrel such as young Lord Verlaine.”

“Verlaine?” She caught her breath. “If the current viscount is a young man, I presume that means the second viscount has died and his son Anthony has inherited.”

“Yes. Sorry, I forgot that Verlaine is a Vaughn,” Mr. Evans said, expression stricken. “He is related to you?”

“A distant cousin,” Emma said, her heart pounding. “I…I remember him from Christmases at Harley. I’m fearfully out of touch with the family. I presumed that he’d married another of my cousins. Or is he a widower?”

“As far as I know, Verlaine has never been married. Certainly he is single now.” The solicitor frowned. “If you know him, you’ll also know how unsuitable he would be. Too handsome, too charming, and thoroughly unreliable. His name is a byword for every kind of wild prank, and they say he gambles heavily. I know for a fact that his estate is on the brink of foreclosure.”

Anthony. Single and in need of a rich wife. “I agree that he is probably inappropriate. Still, Verlaine has the advantage of being known to me.” She rubbed her damp palms on her skirt. “Please look into his circumstances. If it appears that he would be interested in the kind of…arrangement I propose, he might be worth considering.”

“As you wish,” the solicitor said without enthusiasm. “But I will be able to present much better prospects.”

“I’m sure you can,” Emma said, pleased with her calm tone.

Yet after she and the solicitor concluded their business and he took his leave, she leaned back in her chair, her cold hands locked together. A fortune, Christmas at Harley—and Anthony. Granted, he’d always been a bit wild, but there had been no real vice in him. In his casual way, he’d been kind to her. If he really needed money enough to be willing to marry for it…

She tried to control her turbulent thoughts, but without success. She wanted to buy herself a husband. If so, why not Anthony Vaughn if he was willing?

Anthony, the only man she had ever loved.

* * *

Events moved quickly after Mr. Evans left. Full of curiosity and bad temper, Mrs. Garfield had immediately confronted Emma about the purpose of the solicitor’s visit. Since Emma no longer had to tolerate her employer’s rudeness, she promptly quit her position, effective in one week.

Another governess was found. Emma silently wished her well with the Garfield daughters. Then, because she needed a maid to be considered respectable, she hired away one of Mrs. Garfield’s housemaids. Becky was a pleasant, quiet young woman who was bullied unmercifully by the housekeeper because she could read and write and wanted to better herself. She accepted Emma’s offer to be a lady’s maid with relief and enthusiasm.

The day after Emma and her new maid took up residence in the very expensive and fashionable Grillon’s Hotel, a sheaf of papers arrived from the solicitor. Each page listed a prospective husband. With amusement, Emma noticed how Mr. Evans had done his best to make each sound appealing. One man had “a bright, engaging manner,” while another was “owner of a splendid Yorkshire estate, only moderately mortgaged.”

She paged through the pile impatiently. The very last was “Anthony Vaughn, third Viscount Verlaine.” No enticing descriptions for him, only comments like, “His estate, Canfield, is on the brink of foreclosure.” “Gambles heavily” came with the grudging note, “Usually wins, though he has never been publicly accused of cheating.”

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