“My husband will provide for them, and the trust is set up so they will always have a home at St. James Manor if need be.”
“That’s not good enough.” Geoffrey’s face was turning red. “You must stop this madness immediately.”
She looked at Monty for reassurance, then said, “Mr. Danielson, forgive me, but I do not know what business it is of yours.”
He stared at her and then looked sheepish. “I was not going to say anything at present, but you have rather forced my hand. I was hoping over time you would cease to see me as your late husband’s nephew and come to hold me in some affection.”
Ria blinked. Surely he did not mean… she glanced at Monty, who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He also appeared bemused by Geoffrey’s words.
Not wanting to address his comment directly in case she had misunderstood his meaning, she repeated her assertion. “I am sorry, but I still do not understand what business it is of yours.”
“Mrs. St. James—Honoria—you must know I care for you, and I am sure you feel the same way.”
She was very tempted to say she did not care for him and until this moment hadn’t known he cared for her—his actions certainly gave lie to that assertion—but was loath to provoke him. However, irritated by Geoffrey’s evasion and refusal to explain, she decided to give voice to her supposition. “When you say care for me, you don’t mean love?”
Geoffrey blinked at her forthrightness, then slowly said, “Why, yes. Of course.”
“And when you spoke of how the trust would affect my future husband, you were referring to yourself?”
Giving a tentative laugh, he nodded. Then, apparently oblivious to the fact she was staring at him as though he had two heads, Geoffrey said, “It makes perfect sense. You own the St. James estate but are not a St. James by blood, whereas I am, thus the estate would return into the ownership of the rightful heir. You are a woman alone and need a husband. A woman could never manage a property this size on her own. Particularly you—your decisions about the trust prove that.”
His words were an uncanny echo of John Blackwell’s. She wasn’t sure what to take most offense at. After all, she had much to choose from.
There was his continued assertion a St. James should own the estate, his belief a woman could not manage the property, the implication she was particularly incompetent, and his audacity in thinking she would ever consider him for a husband after what he had done. Not to mention what he had just said.
She bit her lip to stop herself from giving in to the temptation to ask him if he’d recently had brain fever. Instead she contented herself with saying, “You are Monty’s nephew, and as such I believe any other relationship between us would be inappropriate.”
Geoffrey waved his hand in the air, dismissing her comment as insignificant. “No, no. A word to the bishop, and I am sure there would be no problem.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Danielson, but it would not feel right to me.”
Geoffrey eyed her carefully. Something he saw in her face must have convinced him to say no more, or perhaps it was the firmness of her tone.
Ria was sure this desire to marry did stem from love—but for wealth, not her. Was he merely greedy or in dun territory? Hoping to reassure him if it was the latter, she decided now was the time to broach a rather delicate matter she had wanted to discuss with him. “Did the rumor also mention I am having a trust fund set up for you?”
“Yes, it did.” Petulantly he added, “It’s a paltry amount.”
Looking at him, and in particular at his lower lip that protruded in a sulky pout, she pitied any woman who became his wife. “The rumor mentioned the amount?”
Finally dropping his act, Geoffrey waspishly said, “I am not interested in your charity. No matter what the amount, it can’t compare to the St. James estate.”
“But the estate is not yours.”
Reverting to sulkiness, Geoffrey mumbled, “It should have been.”
Patiently she told him, “The estate was Monty’s, and he bequeathed it to me.”
“It was to be mine. It’s all your fault. If you hadn’t been orphaned. If he hadn’t married you…”
Geoffrey’s words and the expression in his eyes made Ria slip her hand into her pocket. The smooth wooden pistol handle provided a measure of comfort. As was Monty’s presence standing beside Geoffrey—next to a large vase.
Geoffrey continued, his voice becoming louder and sharper with each word. “The estate is mine. It was always going to be mine. It is mine. Always will be mine. It is mine!”
At that moment there was a knock, and the door opened. Flowerday stood, solid and reassuring, in the doorway.
Ria firmly though gently said. “No, Geoffrey. The estate will never be yours.” Her suspicions made her add, “Even if I were to die, you would not inherit. The trust I have set up will continue.”
“Trusts can be broken. I’ll be damned before I let you ruin the estate with your daft ideas.” And he stormed out the door, shoving Flowerday as he went.