it had been common knowledge in the ton that she had been a bit, well, strange for a time after she had regained consciousness. No gentleman of breeding wanted a wife who might become a resident of Bedlam, the home for the insane. Her eyes hardened. She had Bethune to thank for that bit of lingering gossip. He had wanted to make certain that no blame ever fell in his direction for the ending of the engagement and so he and his family had made certain that her mental state was touted about as being far worse than it had actually been. Supercilious swine.
Touched by her father’s concerns, she sank down onto a chair near Sir Edward. Leaning forward, she said earnestly, “Papa, you know that I do not wish to marry. We’ve discussed it many times—and, no, it is not because I am heart-broken over Bethune. I simply have not met any gentleman who rouses my interest.” She smiled. “With my fortune, there is not the necessity for me to marry. Even when you are gone, which I pray will not be for years and years yet, I am well provided for. You do not need to worry about me.”
“But it is unnatural for you to remain unmarried,” he muttered. “You are a beautiful young woman and, as you just said, you are wealthy, and while we may not have a great title, our ancestry is as proud and grand as any in England.”
Nell dropped her gaze and, her expression demure, she drawled, “Well, there is Lord Tynedale…”
Sir Edward sucked in a breath, aghast. “That scoundrel! He has gambled and whored away his entire fortune. It is common gossip that he owes so much money that, peer or not, he stands a good chance of being thrown into debtor’s prison.” He shook his finger at her. “Everyone knows that he is desperate and hanging out for a rich wife. I heard it from Lord Vinton that he actually tried to kidnap the Arnett heiress. Said her father caught up with them before any harm was done. You be careful around him. If you don’t watch your step, you might find yourself in the same position.” He shook his finger harder at her, saying fiercely, “I ain’t blind, you know. I’ve seen him sniffing around you this past month. Probably thinks that your fortune will do him nicely. You mark my words, gel, he’ll beggar you pulling himself from the River Tick.” His fire fading, he asked anxiously, “Surely, you would not consider such a match?”
Nell raised a pair of laughing eyes. “Papa! As if I would! Of course I would not consider throwing myself away on such a fellow. I am aware of his reputation—even the gossip about the Arnett heiress—and I assure you that I am very careful around him. If I were to marry, it would not be to a poor creature like Tynedale.”
Sir Edward relaxed, a smile curving his mouth. “You should not tease your dear old papa that way, my dear,” he scolded. “You could send me off to meet my maker sooner than any one of us would like.”
Nell snorted. Rising to her feet, she kissed his bald pate again and made for the door, tossing over her shoulder, “Papa, you worry too much about us. Robert will marry one of these days and I am sure that the twins will not be far behind him. You shall dandle those grandchildren you long for before too many more years pass. You wait and see.”
Across town, a few hours later, in the grand London house of the Earls of Wyndham, a similar conversation took place. The present Lord Wyndham, the tenth, having endured one unhappy marriage for the sake of his title and his family, was not about to undertake another. No matter how many tears and scenes were staged by his young stepmother.
Looking across the scattered remains of their breakfast into her tear-filled eyes, Lord Wyndham murmured, “Now let me see if I understand you correctly. You want me to marry your godchild, because if I were to die, your godchild, presumably having presented me with an heir, would ensure that your future was secure?”
The Countess Wyndham, looking far too young to be his stepmother, stared back resentfully. She was a lovely little thing, possessed of speaking velvet-brown eyes and enchanting dusky ringlets that framed an equally enchanting face. She was also, at five and thirty, three years younger than her stepson.
“I don’t see,” she muttered, “why you have to take that tone with me. Is my position so hard to understand? If you die without an heir, your cousin Charles will step, no, leap, into your boots. You know that he will toss me and my poor, darling child out onto the streets.”
“I thought that you liked Charles,” Lord Wyndham replied innocently, amusement glimmering in his eyes.
“I do like Charles well enough,” she admitted. “He can be very amusing, but he is a rake and wild to a fault. And his women! You know very well that if Charles inherits that he won’t want Elizabeth and me underfoot. You know that he’ll toss us out onto the streets.”
Lord Wyndham grinned. “Yes, he would most likely toss you out onto the streets—out onto the streets where you and Elizabeth will pick yourselves up and order your carriage brought round to drive you to the Dower House at Wyndham.”
Her dainty fingers tightened on her teacup. “Yes, it is true that we could live there…buried in the country, in a house that has sat empty for decades and is in need of repair. It is also true that your dear, sainted father settled a handsome sum on me when we married.” She leaned forward. “But don’t you see, Julian, it isn’t just about money. You must remember it may not be Charles who inherits—don’t forget that he barely escaped with his life this past summer when his yacht sank and there was that terrible accident with his horses just last month. With his reckless ways Charles may die before you and it may be Raoul who inherits.”
She looked pensive. “I like Sofia Weston, but you have to admit that Raoul’s mother is a strong-minded woman. If Raoul were to inherit, she would see to it that he wasted little time in marrying, and you can be sure that it will be to some little mouse that Mrs. Weston can keep under her thumb. Mrs. Weston will be the Countess Wyndham in all but name—not my sweet-natured godchild, Georgette. If Charles or Raoul inherit, I shall probably never be allowed to step foot in these halls again.”
She buried her nose in a scrap of lace. “These same halls,” she said in muffled tones, “that your dear, dear father first brought me to as a bride five years ago. How different things would be if something did happen to you, and you were married to Georgette! She would see to it that I would always be welcome. And Elizabeth, too. If she doesn’t run away and marry that awful Captain Carver.” She peeped over the top of her handkerchief. “You know the one, the captain in the cavalry, who goes around looking romantic and dashing with his arm in a black sling. Why, I don’t even believe he needs it. He is, no doubt, wearing it just to impress my dear child.”
Julian sighed. Following Diana’s thinking always exasperated his supply of patience, but this morning her thoughts seemed even more disjointed and confused than usual. He glanced at her curvaceous little form and delicate features and he could understand, at least partially, why she had so captivated his father. Of course, he thought dryly, that was the basic difference between him and his father: he would have enjoyed a discreet affair with the young widow, not married her. He sighed again. Not that he blamed his father. His mother had died some twenty years ago and his father had been alone, except for the occasional ladybird, for some twelve years before the taking little widow Diana Forest had caught his eye.
Polite society had been stunned when the ninth Earl of Wyndham had suddenly married the impecunious widow of a lieutenant in the infantry. Not only was she poor, and younger than his only child, but she came with a child herself, her twelve-year-old daughter, Elizabeth.
But the odd marriage had worked and, Julian reminded himself, Diana had made his father happy. Very. His father had adored her and he had doted on Elizabeth, going so far as to settle a nice tidy sum on his young stepdaughter so that she was not penniless. It was too bad that he had died within two years of his marriage, three years ago, leaving his son with the care of a young stepmother and stepsister. Not that Elizabeth
