скачать книгу бесплатно
‘We have no reason to suppose Lord Mortenhoe is a card player,’ Marina pointed out, giving up the effort to turn her sister’s thoughts to a more seemly topic.
‘It might be anything,’ Lizzie countered. ‘Racing, cards, hazard—anything. Someone told me Charlie would even bet on which of two flies would land upon a window first. When I am out in society and playing cards I will be like dear Papa and always win. I do not know why Charlie never does.’
Marina contemplated a lecture on how fatally fast it would be to be seen gambling and decided it was pointless just now. There were two more years before Lizzie came out—if the money lasted that long. Time enough to instil some decorum.
‘He is very good looking, is he not?’ Lizzie observed. ‘Is he an earl?’
‘Lord Mortenhoe is an earl, yes. As for looks, I am sure he presents a most amiable and gentlemanlike appearance.’ She was certainly not going to agree that the breadth of Lord Mortenhoe’s shoulders, his classically moulded features or the flexible, deep voice were more than enough to flutter any lady’s pulse. They had certainly fluttered hers, an unusual occurrence in a well-regulated existence. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation. ‘That,’ Marina added firmly, more to herself than to her sister, ‘is all a lady should be concerned with.’
‘Poppycock,’ Lizzie announced reprehensively. ‘I think how a gentleman looks is very important. After all, fancy being married to someone with bad teeth like Mr Percival or to a man who looks like a codfish.’
Much struck by this, Marina swallowed a laugh and demanded, ‘Whoever do we know who looks like a codfish?’
‘Sir Willoughby Cavendish. Have you not noticed?’
Now it was pointed out, Marina could easily see the likeness. ‘Certainly not. And what are you about, young lady, thinking of gentlemen at all, let alone about marrying one?’
‘Well, I will have to, will I not?’ Lizzie pointed out. ‘A rich one, because of not having any dowry. So it would be nice if he was handsome too, I think.’
Kyte returned the now gleaming Hessians and assisted Justin into them with much play of gloved hands and soft polishing leather.
‘I venture to say, my lord, that your man will be unable to detect the slightest defect. We must be thankful that the Animal did not paw at them.’
Justin had a strong suspicion that Shepton would be distinctly put out that another valet had so much as touched the boots, especially since the finish obtained was so fine, but he smiled and thanked the man. With a final pat at the tassels, Kyte bowed himself out.
His host did not immediately take advantage of their privacy, fidgeting around the room and pouring himself another brandy before finally returning to his seat.
‘I suppose you find it strange that I should decide to sell Knightshaye after all this time,’ he said abruptly.
‘Considering that I have offered to purchase it on at least a dozen occasions since I came of age seven years ago, and first your father, and then you, has always refused to even discuss it, then, yes, you may say I am surprised.’ Justin kept his tone even. He had no reason to distrust the young baron, no reason to suppose that, however rackety his reputation, he took after his father in any way. To project his loathing for the late Lord Winslow on to his son would be both unfair and counterproductive.
‘My father always swore he would never sell to you, and he would never sell to anyone else either, in case you approached them. He told me I must do the same thing. Damned if I know why.’
‘You do not?’ Despite his control, the words sounded sceptical to Justin’s own ears.
‘And you do know? Something to do with a quarrel between our respective fathers, that is all I could ever gather.’ Charlie shrugged. ‘Ancient history now, and whatever it was, I can’t afford to cut off my own nose just to prolong some pointless feud.’
‘Then you definitely intend to sell?’ Justin was conscious of a tightness in his chest and switched his gaze from the face opposite him to the scene outside. Feigning indifference was pointless, but pride forced him to at least an appearance of calm. Miss Elizabeth threw the ball for her brother and an ecstatic hound to race after while Miss Winslow stood gracefully, watching. She had a calm poise, which suggested not only that she was past her green years but that, despite her single state, she had acquired much of the style of a young married lady. He found his lips had curved into a smile; she seemed to have that effect on him.
‘Fact is, I’m going to hell in a handcart,’ his host announced abruptly, startling his attention back.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I drink too much, game too much and, unlike my revered Papa, I lose too much. I’ve tried reforming my way of life, and it don’t last above a week or two, mostly.’ Winslow shifted uneasily in the high-backed chair. ‘But I’m not so far gone I can’t see what effect it’s going to have on the family if I don’t do something about it. So I’ve spoken to the lawyers and what I’m going to do is sell Knightshaye to you, put the whole lot in a trust and that will look after Giles’s education, Lizzie’s dowry and set Mama up comfortably in the Dower House, which is where she’d rather be most of the time anyhow. I won’t be able to touch a penny, even if I wanted to.’
‘An admirable plan,’ Justin said drily. ‘I am honoured by your confidence.’ Odd he had made no reference to Miss Winslow, but perhaps she would be expected to become her mother’s companion. Or perhaps there was a respectable suitor in the background.
‘You do still want it?’ Lord Winslow looked anxious.
‘Yes,’ Justin admitted, suddenly wary. ‘Considering it is my family home and I have been intending to retrieve it for twenty years, you may be confident that I still wish to buy it back from you.’
‘Twenty years? But you must only have been, what, six, seven...?’
‘Eight. I was eight when my father lost Knightshaye to your father in a card game and eight when he...died three months later.’ And he had been ten when his mother died, apparently of no other cause than a broken heart.
‘Why do you question whether I still want it?’
‘Well, I, er... Have you been there recently?’
‘No. I have never been back.’ As the carriage had pulled away, his mother weeping, his father with a face set like stone, he had vowed never to set foot on Knightshaye land until it was his again. But he saw no reason to confide that to the son of the man who had taken it from the Ransomes. ‘Why do you ask? Is something wrong there?’
‘Shouldn’t think so,’ Charlie said with a somewhat suspicious carelessness. ‘Never been there myself. The tenanted farmland’s all in good enough heart—the rents are fine, so my steward tells me. The house is shut up. My father left instructions for its maintenance, so I just told our steward to get on with everything in the same way as before.’
So, the late Lord Winslow had taken Knightshaye entirely for revenge, not because he wanted it for itself. If spite had not been the reason, then surely the family would have used it: it was a far finer mansion that their own small estate. It was as Justin had always suspected, and he knew the reason why, even if apparently old Winslow’s heir did not.
‘Why not name your price?’ Justin suggested, unclenching his left hand, which had fisted until the nails cut into the palm.
Charlie Winslow got to his feet and began to pace again, finally coming to rest by the window where he stood watching his brother and sisters. ‘There’s a price—and a condition,’ he said finally.
Justin raised his eyebrows. He had been willing to buy back Knightshaye without negotiation and without insisting on examining the books. Winslow had him over a barrel as far as striking a bargain was concerned; it was not possible to conceal his interest, not after seven years of persistent requests to buy the place. ‘What condition?’
‘That you marry my sister.’
‘What?’ Justin found himself on his feet, staring at the baron.
‘That you marry Marina,’ Charlie said stubbornly. ‘Or I won’t sell. There won’t be enough for a dowry for her as well as for Lizzie and she doesn’t deserve to dwindle into a spinster aunt or my mother’s unpaid companion. I’m dashed fond of my sister,’ he added, ‘and I am damned sure my reputation and the lack of the readies is what scuppered her chances on the Marriage Mart.’
‘So you hit on this idea to provide for her,’ Justin observed coldly. ‘And what does Miss Winslow have to say to it, might I ask?’
‘She knows nothing about it. And that’s another thing, you must not tell her, not a word, or she will never agree.’
‘You flatter me.’
Charlie flapped a hand, dismissing his own tactlessness. ‘Don’t mean you’re not as eligible as they come—title, fortune and all that—and now that other matter with Miss Henslow has blown over, there’s no reason why—’ He broke off in the face of the hard glint in Justin’s eyes. ‘Well, no need to go into that, all a hum, I dare say, but you aren’t involved with anyone now, are you? You’re not engaged—if you ever were, that is...’ He found himself in the mire again, took a deep breath and restarted. ‘Thing is, Marina’s dashed proud and she wouldn’t like it if she thought I was fixing something up, do you see?’
‘I think I do,’ Justin said grimly, trampling firmly on thoughts of his former love’s golden beauty and avaricious little heart. The two men sat down again, eyeing each other warily. It was as though they were sitting over the opening hand of a game of cards, sizing up the odds, deciding their wagers. ‘And what is the price—beside your sister’s hand, that is?’
Lord Winslow named a sum that was at the top end of Justin’s expectations and sat there, looking hopeful.
‘I will pay that and add another two thousand—but I will not marry your sister.’
‘Thought you might say that,’ Charlie said equably. ‘But it’s the money and Marina, or nothing. If you won’t buy on my terms, I’ll sell to someone else and I will get the lawyers to put a clause in the deeds so it can never be sold to you or your heirs.’
Justin felt the anger surge up hot and powerful and was surprised to find himself still sitting down, hands calmly clasped. His self-control must be better than he thought.
‘So, like your father, you have a talent for blackmail,’ he observed evenly.
‘Damn it—’ the younger man looked hurt, but not insulted ‘—I’m doing it for my sister.’ He frowned. ‘What do you mean about my father?’
‘That there was no reason why my father, had he wished to gamble with yours, could not have met any money stake, however high. He wagered Knightshaye because he was blackmailed into it.’
‘Why?’ Charlie demanded bluntly. ‘He was a hard devil, my father, I’m not denying that, but blackmail? What did he know about your father that could force him to that risk?’
‘He had nothing on Father, but it was a matter that concerned two other people, one dead now, one still alive. It is not something I can speak of. You will just have to take my word for it.’
The younger man grimaced. ‘Very well. But you can call it what you like, you won’t insult me—take Marina or the deal is off.’
‘And if your sister does not wish to marry me?’ Even as he spoke, Justin knew he was giving way simply by letting himself consider the proposition. There was something about Charlie Winslow’s demeanour that warned him the younger man was absolutely determined on this plan. He might be weak, but that very weakness made him stubborn when he was driven into a corner. If Justin wanted Knightshaye, he was going to have to dance to Winslow’s tune.
‘If you give me your word of honour you will do your best to attach her interest and she still won’t take you, then we’ll call it quits. Damn it, I can’t blame you if she turns down a chance like that. But I want your pledge you’ll give it your best effort for two months—and that you won’t ever breathe a word of this arrangement to her.’
Justin got to his feet and walked to the window. The Winslow family were making their way back to the house: young Giles was more or less in control of a muddy, panting Hector; Miss Elizabeth was talking vehemently and using her hands to describe what appeared to be an elaborate hat. And Miss Winslow—Marina—was listening attentively. As they reached the steps she glanced up at the window, saw him—and smiled.
It was a flash of friendly goodwill in a face distinguished more by pleasant symmetry and colouring than beauty. And it conjured up a vivid opposite in his mind. Golden hair, blue eyes, a perfect little nose and red lips always trembling on the edge of a calculated pout.
He turned back, holding out his hand. ‘Very well. I agree to your price and your condition. You have my word on it.’
Chapter Two (#ub7ce7f01-2d02-5e90-ade4-0c7dc70e01f1)
‘Take Hector down to the scullery and do not dare to bring him back up until he is completely clean and dry,’ Marina ordered firmly, as Giles with his hound bundled through the front door behind his sisters.
‘Charlie should engage another tutor for Giles,’ Lizzie said crossly, twisting to examine the hem of her walking dress, which had been trodden on by large paws.
‘It seems such an extravagance when I can teach him; besides, recall how distracted he made poor Mr Livingstone. When he is older, of course, and needs to begin classics—’
She broke off as the study door opened and Lord Mortenhoe emerged, her brother on his heels.
‘Miss Winslow, Miss Elizabeth. How was your walk?’
‘Very pleasant, thank you, my lord.’ What was Charlie about? He appeared to have positively propelled his guest into the hallway and now was making no effort to either call Bunting or show him out himself. Lord Mortenhoe was regarding her and she felt her colour rising; no doubt she was unbecomingly windswept from the excursion. ‘If you will excuse me...’
‘I’ve invited Mortenhoe to dinner tomorrow night,’ Charlie said abruptly.
‘Oh! I mean...how delightful.’ Charlie must be out of his mind! Aunt and Uncle Thredgold and Cousin Hugh were no sort of company to entertain an earl. Leaving aside Uncle Thredgold’s tendency to talk of nothing but his experiments in cattle breeding, Aunt’s deafness and Hugh’s almost perpetual fit of the sullens, the table would be unbalanced with too many men, and the menu, unless some drastic alterations were made, would be decidedly uninspiring, having been chosen with the Thredgolds’ bland preferences in mind.
‘I am sure it will be.’ The earl was accepting his gloves and hat from Bunting. ‘Until tomorrow evening, Miss Winslow.’
Charlie escaped back into his study before the front door had closed on Lord Mortenhoe, leaving his sisters regarding each other speculatively in the hall.
‘It is too bad of Charlie,’ Marina declared, pulling off her gloves. ‘Now who can we possibly ask at this late notice? For, fond as we are of the Thredgolds, I really do not think Lord Mortenhoe will be much entertained by them.’
‘They are dead bores,’ Lizzie retorted. ‘Thank goodness they have taken rooms and are not staying with us as they did last year.’
‘They are family,’ Marina said repressively, leading the way into the drawing room before Lizzie made any more unfortunate remarks in front of the servants. ‘It behoves us to be hospitable, and besides, it gives Mama much pleasure to be with Aunt.’ She cast off her bonnet and sat on the sofa, not troubling to remove her pelisse. ‘Now, who would not be offended by a late invitation? We need another lady and another couple at the very least to leaven the mix.’
‘I could come,’ Lizzie offered hopefully, then subsided at a look from her sister. ‘How about Mr and Mrs Philpott? They never stand on ceremony.’
Certainly their next-door neighbours were a sensible suggestion and, as they had just that morning returned from a visit to an ailing parent, such short notice could be explained away. ‘And I will ask Priscilla Hinton,’ Marina said with a flash of inspiration. ‘Her husband is out of town and we are good enough friends for me to explain the situation.’
‘Mrs Hinton is very pretty.’
‘Well, yes. What of it?’
‘You do not want Lord Mortenhoe to flirt with her, and he is sure to.’
‘I am sure the earl will do no such thing, and, even if he should, Priscilla is more than capable of dealing with it,’ Marina retorted, flustered. ‘Now, I must go and speak with Cook about the menu. I do wish Charlie would think things through sometimes.’
‘He is very good looking.’ Lizzie, the picture of innocence, was twirling the strings of her bonnet.
‘Charlie?’
‘No, silly, Lord Mortenhoe. I think he looks nice.’
‘And I think he looked angry,’ Marina said thoughtfully, recalling the flash of green in his eyes as they parted in the hall and the controlled tension in his long frame. ‘I do hope Charlie is not up to something.’
Marina gazed distractedly around the drawing room and prayed she would never have to live through another evening that threatened so much social embarrassment.
Mrs Hinton, the sprightly wife of a diplomat and an old friend of Marina’s, was giving an excellent impression of fascination with Uncle Thredgold’s lecture on the finer points of Devon Red cattle, Mrs Philpott was doing her best to communicate with Mrs Thredgold, who stubbornly refused to use her ear trumpet in company, and Lady Winslow was discussing the benefits of the Harrogate waters with Mr Philpott while anxiously watching her nephew Hugh.
With a sinking heart Marina saw the young man had abandoned his usual sullen slouch, adopting instead a brooding silence that he doubtless believed to be Byronic. From under thick brows he stared moodily at Mrs Hinton, who fortunately appeared unaware of his attention.
Charlie meanwhile was quite impervious to any awkwardness or lack of social sparkle. ‘What is Cook intending for dinner?’ he enquired with a glance at the mantel clock. ‘I’m devilish hungry.’
‘A loin of pork, lobster with a white wine sauce, Milanese escalopes, a timbale—’ Marina broke off the recital of the dishes she had persuaded Cook were the bare minimum to lay before an earl and regarded her brother with a frown. ‘Why are you looking at me like that, Charlie?’
‘Just thinking you look dashed pretty this evening. Why have you got that cap thing on, though?’
‘Because I am a twenty-six-year-old spinster and it is appropriate evening wear.’
‘Wish you’d take it off.’
‘Certainly not! Really, Charlie, since when have you taken the slightest interest in what I wear?’
‘Um...’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘Ah, there’s the knocker, must be Mortenhoe.’
Oh, good! What dreadful timing, Marina thought, flinching as Aunt Thredgold raised her voice in the apparent belief that Mrs Philpott was as deaf as she. ‘...disgusting behaviour! I said to the Vicar...’
‘Need sturdy hocks if they’re to be the slightest use at stud...’ That was Uncle Thredgold, well away now.
‘...unfortunate smell of rotten eggs, of course,’ Mr Philpott remarked just as Lord Mortenhoe entered the room.
Marina fixed a smile of welcome on her lips and wondered if it were possible that his lordship had missed any of this sophisticated conversation. His eyes met hers and he bowed gravely. There was just the hint of a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he straightened up and turned to his host. No, of course not, he had heard every word. At least he showed no sign of considering himself above his company; her apprehension ebbed a little.
‘Lord Mortenhoe.’ Mama sounded her usual placid self as she shook hands, blissfully impervious to the fact that one of the leading lights of society was facing an evening of the deepest boredom at her table. ‘May I introduce you to my sister Mrs Thredgold, her husband...’
She moved around the room, making the presentations, finishing with her daughter. Justin smiled. ‘But I already have the pleasure of Miss Winslow’s acquaintance. How are Master Giles and his hound?’
Lady Winslow drifted away, apparently content that her guest of honour’s entertainment was in safe hands. ‘In what can only be described as rude health, my lord, although Hector is in disgrace and has been confined to the stables for treeing Mrs Philpott’s cat in the Square and then growling at the gardener when he tried to rescue it.’
