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“No. Couldn’t expect Rosemary to leave London during the Season.” He stopped in front of his guest. “Angela, I’d like you to meet Mr. Pettigrew.”
The man in question bowed stiffly to her, and they exchanged greetings. Almost immediately Pettigrew excused himself, saying that he was sure the Earl would wish to talk to his sister alone. Angela waited politely until the young man had left the room, then turned to her brother, eyebrows going up.
“Jeremy … what in the world is going on? What are you doing here in the middle of the Season? And who is that young man?”
“An American. An assistant to another American—whose name I don’t know,” he added darkly.
“But what has it to do with me? Grandmama said you wished to see me.”
“It has a great deal to do with you. Well, with all of us, but you are the one who—” He stopped and sighed. “I’m sorry. I am telling this all muddled. I have been in such a state recently … it’s a wonder I can make any sense at all. Here, sit down, and I shall start all over.”
They sat down in the leather wingback chairs, facing one another, and Jeremy, taking a deep breath, plunged into his story. “It started, oh, I’m not sure, a year or two ago. Someone bought a portion of my share of the tin mines. We needed to repair the house in the city, and somehow Rosemary and I seemed to have an inordinate amount of expenses as well, and, anyway, I sold a goodly block, I’d say about ten percent of the mine. Then, just this last year, I sold another portion of it, not that much. At the time, Niblett brought it to my attention that someone had bought others’ shares in the mine. You know, Aunt Constance had owned a part, and then it was split among her children when she died, and all of them sold their shares. There had been several sales like that. I thought it odd. Niblett didn’t want me to sell any more, but I couldn’t see any harm. It was not the same person who had bought the first amount I had sold, or so I thought, and the others had been sold to still other companies and people. So I sold another chunk, almost ten percent again. But three or four weeks ago, well, Niblett got this letter. It seems that a company in the United States claimed that it owned a—a majority of the mine. It turns out that Wainbridge—Grandfather’s friend, you remember him, don’t you?—had sold this company his fifteen percent. And Tremont—that’s the name of the American company—owned all the other bits and pieces that had been sold over the years, too, including both the ones I had sold.”
Angela gazed at him for a moment, assimilating the information. Finally she said, “You mean that this American company actually controls our mine now?”
Jeremy nodded, looking miserable. “I’m sorry, Angela. I don’t know how it happened. Even Niblett was surprised. He knew there had been some activity, but he did not know that it was all being bought by the same company.”
“Is it so very bad? I mean, I understand that you are getting less money than before, but that would have happened even if different people had bought from you.”
“Yes, but Tremont now has control over the decisions. I do not. It can do whatever it wants with the mine.”
“I see. So if they make poor decisions, you will suffer.”
“We will all suffer.”
Angela was well aware that this was true. She was completely dependent upon her brother, and her mother and grandmother largely were, also. Whatever wealth the Stanhopes had, had passed to Jeremy.
“Of course. But is it so bleak? We cannot assume they will make bad decisions, can we?”
“According to the letter, they intend to close the mine.”
Angela gaped at him. “What? You can’t be serious!”
He nodded vigorously. “I am. I couldn’t believe it, either, at first. But this week Mr. Pettigrew showed up in London. I’ve been meeting with him and Niblett and my solicitor. It is worse than bad. It’s. Oh, God, Angela, this American practically owns me!”
“Mr. Pettigrew?” Angela’s voice rang with disbelief. “But he seems so mild….”
“No, not him. Though he is not so mild when you are dealing with him in business. But I am talking about the company that bought the mine. It is owned by some American. I don’t know who. I haven’t met the man. Mr. Pettigrew is merely his representative, and he refuses to say who the principal is.”
“But, Jeremy, this doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone buy a mine only to close it down?”
“I don’t know! That’s what I argued. Pettigrew said that the mine simply was not producing enough. He showed me all these figures demonstrating how its production had gone down over recent years. Of course it has. That’s precisely why everyone was so willing to sell to Tremont. He went on and on about how we had been taking everything out of the mine and not putting anything back in. He talked about all the improvements that needed to be done to make the mine profitable again, though we had not used the profits to do so. We just took them out and spent them. You can’t imagine how lowering it was to have to sit there and hear him point out how foolish I had been, all in that quiet, prim way. Of course, Niblett had said the same thing to me time and again, but I had never done what he advised. You know me. I never have had a head for business. I assumed that Niblett was just complaining. And, besides, we were always desperate for money. You know how it’s been with us. Rosemary’s money wasn’t enough to save us, and after—” He stopped, red flaring up in his cheeks. “Well, that is, you know, we simply haven’t had the money.”
“I know.” Angela looked down at her hands in her lap. She knew what he had been thinking but had stopped himself from saying. Angela was the reason that they had not had the money. When she fled Dunstan, she had lost his money for the Stanhopes, and in that way she had failed her family, finally and enormously. It was to Jeremy’s credit that he had never thrown that up to her. He had never even tried to convince her to go back to Dunstan.
“Anyway, Pettigrew said that they had considered making those improvements, putting money into the mine so that the profits would be greater. But he said that they had decided that they did not have enough—connection was the word he used—to make that great an investment.”
“What did he mean?”
“I didn’t know. I asked him, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled out a number of papers—notes and deeds. He had the deed to that piece of land that Grandfather sold to Squire Mayfield before he died, as well as the hunting cottage I sold two years ago. I sold it to an Englishman, but apparently he was merely a solicitor buying the cottage for someone else, an American. Last year Squire Mayfield sold his plot to the same man, as well.”
“The same one who owns the mine? But, Jeremy, who is this man? Why is he buying so much of our property?”
“Apparently he is obsessed with the English nobility. That’s the only thing I can think of. It is all so bizarre. He must be excessively wealthy, and I assume he is trying to—to buy his way into Society. I am not sure what his reasons are. Pettigrew would not explain it, really. He is quite polite, but you cannot pry anything out of him that he does not want to say. Believe me, I tried all the way up here from London. But he would just start talking about the scenery or asking questions about the estate.”
“But why did this man choose you to buy these things from? And how can closing down a mine and buying property in England make him a part of Society?”
“I can only assume that the Stanhopes must have been an obvious choice—titled and desperately in need of money. Besides, we have the other main requirement.”
He stopped and eyed his sister a little uneasily. Angela looked up at him. “What is that?”
“A female of marriageable age and condition in the family.”
Angela froze, staring at her brother mutely. She felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs.
When she said nothing, Jeremy went on hurriedly. “That is the plan, apparently. He wants to marry into the British nobility. I presume he must realize that no matter how much land he might buy or how much wealth he might have, he would never be accepted. So he wants to marry a daughter or sister of an earl or a viscount or.” He trailed off miserably, sneaking a glance at Angela’s stricken face. “I am sorry, Angie. You don’t know how sorry I am that he should have chosen to fix on this family.”
“Oh, he chose well, all right,” Angela said bitterly. “A family with a daughter so disgraced that they could not hope for any better marriage for her. One they would be happy to sacrifice for a little money.”
She jumped to her feet and began to pace agitatedly, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “I won’t do it, Jeremy! You cannot ask this of me. Our grandfather already sacrificed me once for money for the family. You cannot ask me to do it a second time!”
Jeremy rose and went to her, reaching out to touch her shoulders. She flinched away from him, and he sighed. “I wish there were some other way, Angela. I talked to Pettigrew until I was ready to drop. I pleaded and argued and pointed out the unfairness of it. He apologized and flushed and looked perfectly miserable, but he would not budge. He is not the one who makes the decisions. He is merely representing someone else.”
“Why should you have to beg and plead and argue?” Angela turned to face him, her eyes bright with anger and a touch of fear. “Just because he owns some land that was once ours does not mean he can bend us to his will. They’re closing the mine, anyway—Oh, wait. Of course. I see. That’s why he talked about shutting down the mine. He will close it only if I don’t marry him. Is that it?”
Jeremy nodded, unable to meet Angela’s eyes. “And if you marry him, he will make the improvements so that the mine will earn more money.”
“Ah, I see,” Angela’s voice was bitter. “Both the carrot and the stick. So if I don’t agree to marry this—this bully, the family will not only lose the money we are getting now, we will lose the added amount we would have gotten. Well, he has certainly contrived to put me into a thoroughly untenable position.”
Jeremy groaned, turning away and plunging his hands into his hair. “That isn’t even the worst of it. He bought up my notes, as well.”
“What notes?”
“Practically every one I have ever signed. Personal notes, all the encumbrances on the property—almost every cent I have borrowed in the past ten years. I owe it all to him now! If he chose to call it due, I would be ruined. I could not begin to pay it. He could take half our land. Oh, God, Angela, I don’t know what I am to do!”
“Jeremy!” Angela gazed at him, shaken. “What kind of man would do that? Arbitrarily choose a family, people he has never met, in an entirely different country, even, and inflict such damage on them? Bend them to his will by any means, fair or foul?”
“You, of all people, must know that there are such men,” Jeremy blurted out.
“Sweet heaven, you are right.” Angela passed a suddenly trembling hand over her face. “Doubtless Dunstan would have done the same if he had lacked position in Society.”
“No. I should not have said that.” Jeremy swung around to face her. “This man is not necessarily like Dunstan.”
“Someone who wields a club like that over your head? Someone that ruthless? That unfeeling? What else would he be like?”
“It does not mean that he would be the—the same sort of husband. That he would … would …”
“Beat me?” Angela supplied, when Jeremy could not get the words out. “Make my life unbearable? Of course he would. Do you think such a man would brook disagreement in a wife? Or refrain from taking it out on me when he is in a bad temper? Jeremy.” Angela felt panic rising up inside her. “You said when I ran to you that I would never have to marry again. You promised me!”
“Oh, God! Don’t, Angela. I won’t make you. I could not force you, anyway.”
“I am dependent upon you.”
“You think that I would turn you out if you refused to marry him? Is that the sort of man you think I am?”
“No.” Angela sighed. “I think you are a very good man. A kind one.”
It was that very fact that made her hate to refuse him. Jeremy had been kind and loyal to her. When she ran away from Dunstan, he had taken her in and given her his support and protection. She was certain that Dunstan had brought pressure to bear on Jeremy, but he had not crumpled. He had not given her up. He had stood by her through the horrid mess of the divorce, through the rumors and snide gossip, through the awful, damning testimony. He had passed through a crucible, too, during that time, suffering the snubs of some of his peers and the whispers of most of them. Yet he had supported her, both emotionally and financially. He still did. She lived in his house, on his land, ate food at his table. He even brought her the news and gossip from London periodically to enliven her days. He had allowed her to heal, and had never asked anything from her in return. Indeed, she did not know of any way she could have repaid him … until now.
If she married this man, this loathsome, coercive bastard of a man, then she would be giving back, in full measure, what Jeremy had done for her. He had saved her life, despite the loss of money and face he had endured. Now, she would be giving him the money he so desperately needed and saving his name from the stigma of bankruptcy—at the price of the rest of her life.
“I can’t. Oh, Jeremy, I cannot,” she moaned, hating herself for her cowardice even as she said it.
“I won’t ask you to marry him. I just want you to consider it. Please, could you not do that? Could you not meet him and see for yourself what he is like? You do not know that he is a man such as Dunstan. Not every man is that way, even one who is ruthless. This one is interested in a business arrangement. Perhaps that will be enough to satisfy him. He might be well pleased to be connected to the Stanhopes, and not ask anything further of you. Perhaps you could even live in separate houses. You could stay here, say, and he could live in London—or he might even go back to the United States.”
Angela’s hands twisted together. She felt as if she were being torn apart. How could she refuse Jeremy anything, after he had done so much for her? On the other hand, the mere thought of marrying again sent cold chills through her.
“I am sorry,” she said in a low voice. “I want to help you. Honestly, I do. But I am so scared…. I know you think me a terrible coward. No doubt I am. But, oh, Jeremy, is there no other way?”
“I don’t know of one,” he replied leadenly. “Do you think I would have come to you with this proposal if I knew another way? I realize what I am asking of you, how selfish I am.”
“Don’t say that. You are not selfish. It is I who am selfish—to refuse to help you, after everything you have done for me. I know that I am the reason we are in such dire straits. If I had not left Dunstan—”
He shook his head. “No. Do not blame yourself. Generations of Stanhopes have contributed their bit to this mess we find ourselves in—and I am one of their number. I have not put anything into the mines or the estates. I have not exercised proper restraint. No, I have done precisely what I wanted and spent however much I pleased. I was foolish in the extreme. Now I will simply have to pay the price.”
His resignation tore at Angela’s heart. She loved Jeremy dearly, and she owed him so much. Why did what he asked of her have to entail so much sacrifice? She could not—simply could not—marry again.
Angela spent the rest of the day in her room, lost in thought, but she could find no solution that did not sacrifice either herself or Jeremy. She thought of the unknown man who had forced this decision upon her, and she hated him with all her heart.
She expected her mother and grandmother to visit her, her grandmother to harangue her into accepting the marriage and her mother to sigh and wheedle and moan until Angela gave in. However, neither lady came to her room, which could only mean, Angela thought, that Jeremy had not revealed the dilemma to them. His kindness in not turning the Ladies Bridbury upon her to change her mind only made Angela feel lower and more guilty for not coming to his rescue.
The next morning, Jeremy came to her bedroom, looking nervous. He closed the door behind him and started to speak, then stopped to clear his throat and began again.
“Ah, Mr. Pettigrew wired London last night. It, uh, seems that his employer is in London. I assumed he was still in the United States, but, in fact, he was merely letting Mr. Pettigrew handle the … the … arrangements.”
“The dirty work,” Angela corrected.
“Yes, I suppose so. But that augurs well, I think.” Jeremy brightened. “Don’t you see? If he was truly ruthless, without feeling, he would not care how he appeared to us. I think his not wanting to negotiate himself shows that he wants to have an amicable relationship with us. Don’t you think?”
“I suppose. But we both know that it is he who pulls the strings. Poor Mr. Pettigrew is merely a puppet.”
“Well, it does not signify, anyway. The point is that Mr. Pettigrew informed his employer of our decision, and the man wired back. He caught a train last night to York and will hire a post chaise there for the rest of the journey. It seems that he is on his way to visit us.”
“What?” Fear clenched Angela’s stomach. She did not want to have to face this ruthless man.
“Mr. Pettigrew says that his employer, ah, wants to press his suit in person.”
“You mean he wants to badger and bully me into accepting!” Angela put a hand to her stomach, as if she could control the turmoil there. “Oh, Jeremy, I cannot! Please don’t ask me to face him.”
“I—Well, we must. There’s nothing else we can do. Don’t you see? Perhaps if you meet him, you will find out that he’s not so bad. You might even like him.”
“Jeremy!”
“All right, all right. Most likely you will not. But at least we would be able to plead our case in person to this man. We might be able to make him see how absurd the whole thing is, and he will drop the idea. Surely he cannot want a reluctant wife.”
“I cannot face him.”
“I will be there with you. It won’t be so bad.”
Angela suspected that it would be excruciating. However, Jeremy was right when he said that there was little else they could do. She refused to hide in her room like a scared rabbit the whole time he was here. She had had the courage to escape from Dunstan, and she had sworn that she would never again let a man terrorize her. That included, she thought, letting him make her a virtual prisoner in her room.
He did not arrive until that evening, after supper. Mr. Pettigrew had taken up a post outside the front door, pacing and smoking a small cigar. Angela sat with her grandmother and Jeremy in the formal drawing room, a large and elegantly furnished room chosen in the hopes that it would in some measure intimidate the man. Laura, Angela’s mother, had retired to her bedroom with a book after supper, saying that the waiting had wrecked her nerves.
Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside, and Mr. Pettigrew came into the room. His face was a trifle flushed, and his usual impassivity was replaced by excitement.
“He has arrived at last.” He turned back toward the door. At that moment, a black-haired man strode through the doorway. He glanced about the room, his dark eyes moving from one person to another until they settled on Angela. Angela simply stood there, staring at him, her heart skipping a beat. She pressed her hand to her chest; suddenly it seemed terribly hard to breathe. It could not be….
“May I present to you my employer,” Pettigrew was saying proudly, “and the president of Tremont Incorporated, Mr. Cameron Monroe.”
Angela’s eyes rolled up in her head, and she slid quietly to the ground.
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN ANGELA OPENED her eyes, the first thing she saw was her maid’s face. Kate was kneeling on the floor beside the couch on which Angela lay, frowning down worriedly at her as she waved smelling salts beneath Angela’s nose. Angela coughed at the acrid scent and feebly pushed Kate’s arm away.
“There, now. She’s coming round,” Kate declared triumphantly.
For a moment, Angela could not remember what had happened or why she was lying on a sofa. She was aware only of a ferocious pain in her head and a certain queasiness in her stomach. She blinked and looked up from her maid’s face to the people behind Kate.
Jeremy and Mr. Pettigrew were standing back and to either side, flanking a frowning, dark stranger. Angela remembered now what had happened. “Cam …”
“Yes, my lady. I beg your pardon. I am usually not so fearsome as to drive young women to collapse.”
“I am not usually a young woman who collapses,” Angela retorted, pride compelling her to sit up.
She regretted it immediately, for her head swam, and Kate reached out to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Take it slow, my lady. No need to be getting up yet, now, is there?”
Kate then rounded on their visitor, setting her hands on her hips pugnaciously. “Cam Monroe, what do you mean coming in like this, never giving a soul a hint of it? I would have thought you’d have better sense. It’s no wonder Her Ladyship fainted.”
Jeremy colored and said in a quelling voice, “Kate. Mr. Monroe is our guest.”
On the other side of Monroe, Pettigrew gazed at her with a mixture of awe and amazement. Kate dipped a curtsy toward Jeremy, murmuring a faint “Sorry, sir,” but she did not apologize to Cam. She had grown up next door to him, and she had no fear of him.
“What the devil is going on?” the dowager countess snapped, banging her cane once on the floor for emphasis. “Angela, what’s the matter with you? And who is this man?”
Jeremy turned toward the old lady. “Angela was a trifle startled, Grandmama,” he assured her. “We have not seen Mr. Monroe in several years.”
“Monroe?” The countess frowned fiercely. “I don’t know any Monroes.”
