The Unexpected Marriage of Gabriel Stone (Lords of Disgrace 4)

‘My prompt attention, indeed.’ Gabriel tapped the note on the table. Lady Caroline would have done better to have written begging him to reconsider their agreement. He was in half a mind to stop playing wi

th her, tear up her IOU and send it back to her via her obliging pianoforte teacher. He would never act on it.

Would I?

As a gentleman he most certainly should not, but part of him admired her outrageous logic. It was certainly one sure way to hit back at her father’s schemes to marry her off advantageously whatever her own inclinations. Not that losing her virginity was going to save her from marriage, not unless she was prepared to inform her hopeful suitors in advance of the ceremony.

Yes, he should tear up the note and forget her and she would spend her entire married life giving thanks for a narrow escape. On the other hand he was bored, the situation was novel and a little internal devil prompted him to see just how this game played out a little longer.

He opened the next letter in the pile, noticing that it was from his old friend Crispin de Feaux and that the wax was impressed, not with the Marquess of Avenmore’s usual seal, but with the discreet abbreviated version. Cris was up to something.

Not only that, he discovered, but requiring Gabriel to get himself involved as well. ‘Collect information about Lord Chelford’s debts...obtain a sedan chair and bearers...send to Stibworthy, North Devon... North Devon?’ What the blazes was Cris up to now?

The study bookshelves returned no answer to his questions. This was too intriguing to deal with by post. Gabriel tugged the bell pull. ‘Hampshire, I am going into Devon by way of Bath. I will want my travelling coach.’ He glanced at Cris’s letter again and smiled. ‘Tell Corbridge to pack for action rather than amusement, I think.’

By the time he got back from whatever was brewing on the wilder western shores of England he would have located his better nature. He would do the right thing by the innocent Lady Caroline immediately and he would not yield to the temptation to discover just what the delicate skin at the base of her throat tasted like. Strawberries, perhaps...

* * *

June was drawing towards July, complete with sunshine, roses in bloom, a flurry of fashionable parasols—and no indication from her father that he would be leaving for the country for at least another week. Caroline could only be grateful because she had just realised the great flaw in her scheme, the gaping black hole in the centre.

She had the deeds, so Anthony’s future was assured, she had told herself. Then, when she was locking them away in the base of her jewellery box, she realised that in solving one problem she had created another—or two, if she counted the looming shadow of Lord Edenbridge and her promise to him.

Anthony’s estate was safe, but estates had to be managed. Plans must be made, orders must be given, wages paid, staff supervised, income banked and invested. Somehow Springbourne had to function for five years until her brother reached his majority and could take control. Meanwhile, she had no resources, no experience and no legal standing in the matter. Anthony was a minor, so neither did he. And if either of them tried to employ a solicitor or a land agent to act on their own behalf the first thing the man would do was consult their father.

Lord Edenbridge. Papa thought the earl was about to take over Springbourne and doubtless he had already notified all concerned. If Lord Edenbridge took nominal control it would solve everything. Would it be a huge imposition? Perhaps she could offer him a percentage of the income, or might he be offended by that? She needed to ask his advice.

It was the day she realised that she must speak to him that Lord Edenbridge disappeared from London. She looked for him in vain at balls and parties, she heard no gossip about him and, when she contrived to have the barouche drive along Mount Street, she saw the knocker was off his front door.

There was nothing for it, she would have to write to him. Caroline sat in the little room optimistically referred to as her boudoir, chewed the end of her pen and racked her brains for a tactful way of phrasing a request that a virtual stranger take on the supervision of an estate she had extracted from him in return for the dubious value of her own virtue.

The knock on the door was almost a relief.

‘Yes, Thomas?’

‘His lordship requests that you join him in his study, my lady.’ The footman had doubtless translated a grunted command to fetch my daughter into a courteous message, so she smiled at him, even though he had thrown what little she had managed to compose into disorder.

As she went downstairs she wondered what Papa wanted. Perhaps he had decided to go back to Knighton Park, in which case life would become immeasurably more complicated, for not only would all her correspondence with Lord Edenbridge have to go via Miss Fanshawe, but then be posted on to her in the country.

‘You sent for me, Papa?’

For once he was not buried in a pile of plans and estimates, sparing her only a glance. To be the focus of his attention was unnerving. ‘Sit down, Caroline. I have good news for you.’

That was definitely unnerving. ‘Yes, Papa?’

‘I have received an offer for your hand in marriage from Edgar Parfit, Lord Woodruffe. What do you say to that?’

‘Lord Woodruffe? But he’s...he’s...’

‘Wealthy, a good neighbour, in excellent health.’

‘Forty. Fat. He thinks of nothing but hunting. His first wife died only a year after they were married.’

‘It is hardly his fault the foolish chit fell off her horse.’

‘Miranda was frightened of horses and she hated hunting. He forced her to ride, to follow the hounds. He is a bully.’ And he frightens me. She managed not to say the words, for she had no justification for them, simply instinct.

‘He is a well set-up, mature man who expects loyalty from his wife.’