after all! All you really need is some suitably endowed young female of acceptable breeding who fancies herself as a countess. Sadly, it would seem that this Season’s selection has very little of interest to offer. Why, only the other day I was talking to my stock-broker—trying to find out if any of my shares were worth more than a fig—and he was telling me—Oh! Good heavens! I do believe I may have hit upon the very thing!’
Giving little credence to the idea that the dowager might be seriously considering involving herself in his selection of a bride, Richard was, however, somewhat confused by her sudden change of topic. ‘Thinking of selling some of your shares?’ he queried. ‘I doubt if we have enough between us to cover even half of what’s needed to fix that roof.’
His grandmother shook her head impatiently. ‘Wheatley—my broker—I hear that he has been touting around for a leg-up into the beau monde for his girl for over a year now.’
‘You’re not about to suggest that I shackle myself to a Cit’s daughter, I hope!’
As she eyed him uncertainly, Lady Isobel’s brow furrowed. ‘Whilst it is perfectly true that Giles Wheatley is a man of business, he also happens to be positively dripping with lard. Besides which, it just so happens that the girl’s grandmother was a Coverdale.’
‘I’m afraid the name means nothing to me,’ said Richard, giving a careless shrug. ‘So, what’s she like—this daughter, I mean? She must be something of an anathema, since your man hasn’t been able to palm her off for a twelvemonth or more!’
‘That’s as may be,’ returned the countess, with some asperity. ‘She is, however, her father’s only heir and, apart from the fact of her dowry being something in the region of fifty thousand pounds, it would seem that her background is reasonably sound. In point of fact, if I remember correctly, I was slightly acquainted with her grandmother, Lady Joanna Coverdale, before she became Countess of Ashington. Be that as it may, it seems that Lord Ashington disowned their daughter—Louisa, I believe her name was—when she eloped with his accountant’s clerk—who is now my very wealthy stockbroker, Giles Wheatley. They—the Ashingtons, that is—died in a carriage accident shortly after the gel ran off and, since the estate was entailed to some distant cousin in the Antipodes, the daughter was left with nothing.’ Pausing reflectively, she then added, ‘Nevertheless, it seems that the pair did very well for themselves over the years, although it appears that Wheatley’s wife and son both died a couple of years ago. Can’t say that I have ever set eyes on the girl herself, but she is sure to have been brought up in a very proper manner, her mother being who she was.’
‘Well, there must be something deucedly odd about her,’ remarked her grandson, who was not at all happy with the direction in which this conversation was heading. ‘Plenty of fellows would be willing to sell their souls for fifty thousand!’
‘Perhaps she is just difficult to please?’ ventured the countess. ‘Her father is certainly wealthy enough for her to pick and choose—not that she will have been presented with a particularly inspiring set of individuals, if the usual set of fortune-hunters is still out on the prowl. You are sure to have far more chance with her than any of those ramshackle bucks.’
‘You are too kind!’ the earl ground out. ‘However, I am not sure that I care to join the ranks of such dubious company.’
Lady Isobel picked up her teacup and sipped tentatively at its now lukewarm contents. ‘Well, it’s entirely up to you, of course. However, I cannot help thinking that a readymade bride would certainly absolve you from having to go through all that tiresome business of formal introductions and correct procedures at Almack’s and so on.’
Although the idea of being obliged to contemplate marriage at all at this point in his life was sufficiently galling, without the added prospect of being saddled with a bride whose attributes had, it would seem, already failed to capture the interest of several previous suitors, the earl’s hitherto sceptical dismissal of his grandmother’s suggestions was now beginning to be replaced by the uncomfortable feeling that the dowager might actually be correct in her summation of the situation.
He was well aware that few men of his station married for love, an amicable mutual tolerance between the two parties being all that was usually required—and there was always the possibility that this Wheatley girl might not be quite as unprepossessing as she sounded, after all! It would mean giving up his occasional visits to Rachel Cummings, of course, although, in the event, that might not be such a bad thing, since that lady was beginning to develop rather expensive tastes of late—those ruby earrings he had recently presented her with had been a trifle extravagant, given his current financial position. Aside from which, the temporary cessation of his carnal delectations was a small enough price to pay for the restoration of the Markfield estate! Indeed, the very idea of being able to devote all his own resources to re-establishing the Standish Stud was beginning to prove an almost irresistible inducement.
Picking up his glass, he strode over to the window and stared pensively across the wide expanse of fresh green lawn that swept down to the river, which separated Westpark from its parent estate of Markfield—so very different from the baked and arid plains of the Iberian Peninsula where he had spent much of the past six years. The lush green landscapes of the English countryside were, as he knew, entirely dependent upon the weather, rainfall in particular. Just as rain could affect the outcome of a battle, so also could it affect the success of a harvest. He was well aware that his plans to utilise the returns from the forthcoming harvest to settle his outstanding bills lay very much at the mercy of the weather. And, given that they were still only in April, he was also shrewd enough to recognise that some of his creditors might be less than willing to hold out until August. Meanwhile, just the rumour of a possible alliance with a wealthy spouse could be all that was needed to deter further financial harassment. It would certainly make good sense to have, as it were, a second line of defence. After all, he then reasoned, it should not be too difficult to bring any such temporary relationship to a close, since it appeared that the female in question was merely out to gain herself a title and he was quite certain that there were any number of other fellows around who would be more than happy to fulfil that requirement.
As a Field Officer he had been used to choosing courses of action based on the information to hand and when timing was of the essence.
There was little doubt that this present situation required such an instant decision.
Draining his glass in one swift gulp, he swung round to face his grandmother.
‘Very well, you may go and see your Mr Wheatley and inform him that I’m willing to throw my hat into his ring.’
Chapter Two
‘Do come away from the window, Lottie, I beg of you,’ implored Helena. ‘It is not at all seemly to be seen twitching at the curtains in that manner!’
‘But are you not in the least bit interested in seeing what he looks like?’ queried her cousin Charlotte, reluctantly turning away from her self-appointed vigil at the window that over-looked the front doorstep.
‘Not in the slightest,’ returned Helena, with a weary sigh. ‘He will be much the same as all the others—rude, conceited and feigning an interest in me simply in order to get his hands on my dowry. If it were not for the fact that it upsets Papa so, I should have refused to go through this charade again. He seems incapable of understanding how very demeaning it is for me.’
As she watched Helena continue to ply her needle in silence, Lottie could not help but feel a certain sympathy for her cousin’s unusual plight. The Wheatleys’ runaway marriage had left their daughter stranded between the two distinctly separate
