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To his mind, amassing a fortune was vital. At the same time he believed that no amount of money would keep his granddaughters secure.
After all, wealth hadn’t helped his mother. At eighteen she had made a brilliant match, at twenty she had become a widow, a year and a half later her solicitor had squandered her fortune and left her pregnant.
“Madeline will do the right thing, Grandfather. You raised her to be strong and resourceful. She will not make that mistake. I know she will not.”
For all that she said so, she knew her cousin had acted rashly and followed her heart as she tended to do. Clementine wondered if she had given more than a passing thought to what might happen to her by going off with—well, a stranger. No matter what Madeline might feel for the fellow in the moment, he was surely a philanderer.
“Maybe so, but she’s used to having money to rely upon and now she does not. She might cling to the wrong sort of man.”
Was he picturing the faces of the many wrong sorts of men his mother had clung to? If the faraway look in his eyes was anything to go by, he was remembering them.
“Madeline,” she pointed out, “is not your mother.”
“No, but she is a woman and thereby helpless.”
“Well, she does take after you in being resourceful. I’m sure she will be fine.” As long as the Pinkerton agent found her before she was not fine.
“A woman is only as fine as the man in charge of her funds is honest. You’ll know that a part of the reason we are here is because I’m going to earn a fortune in Scotland. You being titled will ensure the venture is a success. But Clemmie, my girl, it won’t be enough. Wealth on its own will not keep you secure.”
“So far it has.”
“Because I’m a man. All I ever earn will be mine. All I give you will belong to your husband. But a title will protect you.”
“But why is this business in Scotland so important to you? Surely there is money to be made back home.”
“Diversification. You’ll recall that I’ve lost a fortune and then gained it back again. By having ventures in more than one country I am not depending upon only one country to be prosperous. I’ll be more likely to stay afloat financially with ventures in other parts of the world.”
“If your business succeeds, I’ll be financially secure on both sides of the ocean and have no need to marry.”
“Did you not hear me when I said money can vanish in an instant? Look at your cousin. She was a wealthy young woman a short time ago, and now? You must marry well, Clementine.”
She must not have looked suitably convinced, for a worried expression flitted across his face, which made her more than uncomfortable.
Grandfather was the most confident man she’d ever met. She had never seen the anchor of the family defeated in anything. His strength had always been her refuge.
Many years ago—she’d been only three then—he had snatched both her and Madeline from certain death while a flash flood washed the rest of the family away. He had held them secure in his strong arms while hell surged all around. He would not give them over to the killer current. She vaguely remembered how his muscles trembled, how he groaned with the effort to keep them locked to his chest. Even though he was being pelted and cut by debris, he’d shielded them and refused to let death have them.
Afterward, those wounded arms had held them through the grief of losing their parents, even while he dealt with his own. Over the years he had kept them fed and clothed, despite being busy rebuilding the fortune he’d lost.
He’d raised them and loved them. Truly she and Madeline owed him complete devotion.
And now he was asking her to give up everything.
While she did owe him everything, could she really pay the price he wanted?
“We’ll have word of a good outcome soon enough,” she said, focusing the conversation on Madeline.
Someone came into the dining room and set a plate of bacon on the table between them.
Grandfather did not speak again until the servant had left the room.
“Do you understand the reason you will marry the earl?”
She understood why he wanted her to. Things from her perspective looked a bit different.
“You cannot assume that I will. I do have a say in it. For all we know the earl might be as greedy as most of the suitors I’ve already crossed paths with. You are aware that they wanted your fortune and not me?”
“I am, indeed. Still, you’ll need to marry someone. And have you forgotten that I’ve met Fencroft? I’d hardly arrange a marriage that was not in your best interest. I will not see you bound to a common fortune hunter.”
“But you would a titled one?”
“Yes, indeed, I would. Please understand that a title is more enduring than money. No matter what, your children will never face one day of humiliation. They will never go to bed wondering about their next meal or what might go bump in the night. The respectability that comes with being a peer will be a hedge about them.”
“My children! Surely you are ahead of yourself. The earl is a complete and utter stranger.”
And surely not half as compelling as the stranger in the garden last night. Given that she was here in London to consider wedding an earl, she was giving far too much thought to the intriguing fellow.
“He’s not a stranger to me. I spent considerable time with him during the negotiations. He’s a decent sort, and while not in the best of health, he enjoys his entertainment. In fact, he would have suited your cousin quite well had she given the union a chance.”
“And you truly believe I would be happy doing so?”
“I do, Clemmie. We would not be here if I thought otherwise.”
“While that assurance might be fine for you, I can’t simply hand my life over to some man! Why, I don’t even know what he looks like.”
“Oh, he has a pleasant face. Fair hair and friendly brown eyes. He’s slight of build.”
Quite unlike the tall, muscular man in the pond whose eyes were—well she didn’t know the color, but they were quite mesmerizing.
“He seems a merry fellow who laughs easily and does not look at life in an overserious manner. He attends all the grand balls.”
“You know I dislike grand balls.”
“Yes, I do know that, Clemmie. The earl would have suited your cousin grandly. It’s why I picked the man for her. But here we find ourselves. Try to look at the good side of this. You will have a fine London town house—there it is. You can see it just out the window across the garden. If you don’t like that there is a lovely country estate, even a seaside cottage, I’ve been told. I’m certain that would be to your liking. A lovely spot by the seashore?”
Truly, there was not much she would not do for the man she loved above anyone else—but this?
How could she possibly?
* * *
As he walked in the garden late at night, Heath’s steps felt heavy. His fate was nearly sealed.
He was to become betrothed, again.
As much as he tried not to think of Willa it was impossible not to, given the turn his life had taken. He’d always been smitten by her, he supposed. As a boy his heart had swelled whenever she deigned to look his way. He’d grown and given his heart to a few others for a time, but he’d never really forgotten her.
Nor would he now. She continued to influence his life in a way he would never have imagined.
Heath walked slowly about the perimeter of the garden, reliving what had happened.
He shook his head. For once the tinkling of the fountain did not bring to mind his former fiancée’s desperate weeping.
Apparently Cinderella in all her dripping glory had replaced the grim reminder with something delightful. She had become a happy vision in his mental angst.
He didn’t often dwell on Willa’s betrayal, but with another marriage looming, it all came back.
It had seemed a miracle at the time: his Willa seeking him out after so many years. They had become engaged within a week—she was in a hurry to marry him. Not for any tender feelings she had toward him, he’d discovered later on, but because she was pregnant. She confessed it before they wed, so he thought she must have come to care for him a bit. Even so, it was not the fact that she was expecting a child that made him break the engagement. He might have accepted it had Willa loved him. But she did not. He’d been broken for a bit by the way she’d used his affection.
Heath sat down on a bench and watched as wispy clouds drifted across the moon.
While he hadn’t gone through with the marriage, he could not find it in him to cast her out. He’d put her up in an apartment away from everyone she knew, so that her shame would not be exposed. He visited her, brought her what she needed to live in comfort. Oddly enough, a friendship had grown between them during that time, a true one. He wanted to confront the cad who had left her in this state, but she would not say who it was.
One day, when he paid his weekly call, Willa was huddled in her bed, weak and feverish. She admitted to giving birth the day before and walking two miles to Slademore House to give her baby over to the charity there, run by Baron Slademore. As soon as she’d done it, she regretted it. She looked in desperate condition, cursing Slademore in her near delirium. Perhaps he was the culprit and that was why she had taken her child to him and not because it was a well-reputed orphanage? Willa claimed it was not true, but still, Heath had wondered. In the end there was nothing to be done but send for the doctor.
Even now, sitting here on the bench, he felt the cold lump that sickened his belly when the doctor reported that Willa would not likely see the dawn. She’d wept, clutching Heath’s shirt, and begged him to bring back her daughter.
That trip to Slademore House had changed his life in a way that nothing ever had before.
It had surprised him when Baron Slademore—a man respected by the highest members of society—denied receiving a newborn. Perhaps Willa, in her fevered state, had imagined she’d come here. If not, the baron was lying. But why? Was Heath correct and the baby his? Was he lying to keep from being caught out?
In any event, he had to try to bring Willa’s baby home. When it seemed the orphanage had gone dim for the night, he’d gone in search of the child. Luckily someone had left the back door open. Indeed, he’d sensed a presence just out of sight, seeming to lead him down this ill-lit hallway and down another until he came to the half-open door that led to a dark, dank room. He found the baby there, wailing in a strident newborn voice. While there was no nurse present, there were other children sleeping on cots with thin blankets offering scant warmth. It was so different a picture from how he’d seen them treated earlier that day.
He’d snatched up Willa’s child, tucked her under his coat and raced back to the apartment. Willa had held her daughter to her heart for an hour before she passed away.
Baby Willa was the first orphan to be kidnapped by the villain whom the papers named “the Abductor,” and the first he sheltered at the seaside in Rock Rose Cottage.
That had all happened two years ago, and now, suddenly, marriage was in his future again.
“Hello, cat,” he said to the feline twining about his trouser leg. It looked a bit like the one that had spooked him in the dark and led to his meeting with his mystery woman.
“What do you think?” he asked the fluffy creature looking up at him with great, dark eyes. “Perhaps a marriage of convenience is for the best. No secrets, no expectations. No heartache, either.”
No passion, no love. Eyes wide open. The cold, formal circumstances of this union were for the best.
The cat, in apparent agreement, gave a hollow meow and then went on his way toward the fountain.
Earlier today he’d gotten word from James Macooish that he was in London and prepared to present his granddaughter at Lady Guthrie’s intimate gathering a few days hence.
From past experience, he knew that the intimate gathering would be grand rather than cozy. He wondered if his future bride was any more prepared for this meeting than he was.
As vibrant and socially accomplished as he understood Madeline Macooish to be, he could not help guessing that the duchess’s soiree would be different than what the American would be accustomed to. For all that the lady was admired in America, England was a vastly different place. He feared she might be shunned by the other women because she was an outsider. And not just any outsider, but one who threatened to dash their ambition of gaining a titled marriage.
Heath pitied his bride-to-be as much as he did himself. He could not imagine why she had agreed to marry Oliver. It was not as though her family would fail without the money like his would. And not only the family of his blood but those he was now responsible for: parlormaids, footmen, butlers, cooks and farmers. Even the merchants Fencroft frequented could suffer if he failed to keep the estate solvent.
If he could choose the direction of his life, it would not be this.
Heath was far better suited to the bucolic life of the estate. Helping farmers tend the land and the livestock—it was all he’d ever needed of life. He’d been grateful to be born the second son.
None of that mattered now. There was a crown pressing on his head and the legacy Willa had unknowingly bequeathed him burdening his heart.
It hurt his brain to think about everything all at once. He’d rather let his mind wander to Cinderella. He’d come out tonight, half hoping to see her again. Thoughts of her had interfered with his daily duties; they’d even invaded his nighttime dreams.
If he could only see her one more time, discover who she was.
He glanced the length and width of the garden. While he’d been woolgathering, fog had rolled in. The vapor swirled brown and ugly in the light given off by a gas lantern beside the gate.
A movement caught his eye. A woman stood beside the fountain dabbing her eyes with a white apron. He heard her softly weeping.
She was not the lady he sought, but a chambermaid who worked on the third floor. He recalled seeing her hustling about her duties.
Since he could not turn away from a weeping woman, he approached her.
“Miss?” He spoke softly but still his voice must have startled her, because she jumped.
“Oh, Lord Fencroft, sir,” she sniffled. “I beg your pardon for being out here but, but I—”
“May I be of help, Miss—?”
“Oh, I’m Betty, sir. And no one can help, I fear.”
“Is there a problem with your employment?”
She shook her capped head, and her breath shuddered when she inhaled. “No, not that—I shouldn’t trouble you about it.”
“As Fencroft, I’m the one you ought to trouble about it.” Maybe he could not help in any way but to listen, but perhaps he could.
“It’s to do with my cousin, sir. She’s a sweet and trusting soul but gullible to go with it. Well, the poor wee girl trusted the wrong man. She gave birth to a child and now has no way to support it. No one will hire a fallen woman. She’s gone to leave the baby at Slademore House. Not to speak ill of the sainted charity—they’ll care for the wee one fine enough—but I fear the grief of the parting will send my cousin headlong into the Thames.”
Betty did not know how wrong she was about the charity being “sainted.”
And why would she? Heath would think the same had he not stumbled upon the truth while searching for Willa’s baby.
He would have been as blind as the rest of society, believing that Slademore House was exactly what it appeared to be.
Living luxuriously was easier, he supposed, when one thought one’s donations went to ease the lives of those who did not. It was the only reason he could think of that no one ever looked beyond what their eyes saw when it came to the place—or the man.
Slademore House might appear to be a haven for the hopeless, but in truth it existed for the purpose of feeding the baron’s lust for wealth and prestige.
In Heath’s opinion, the baron put on a display of opulence to disguise the fact that his social position was a few steps below that of a duke or a viscount.
The fellow drew attention wherever he went. Even the small dog he toted about wore jewels on its collar.
Where everyone else seemed to see an angel in Slademore, Heath saw the devil. Who else would house children in poverty while keeping the gifts of the wealthy to benefit himself? What kind of man would allow a sick child to die before he would spend money on a doctor’s visit?
Or might it not be giving up a few pounds so much as having a doctor suspect the conditions in which the children really lived?
Well, he would not get away with it forever.
