Improperly Wed (Aristocratic Grooms 3)

Colin tried to avoid looking long-suffering. He detested the way some women were able to throw proverbial knives at each other. His mother excelled at it.

“I am sure, Mother,” he said, an edge to his voice, “that you will make Belinda feel comfortable. She needs to learn her way around, and our house is vast.” He’d put a subtle but noticeable emphasis on the word our. This was Belinda’s home now, too, and his mother would need to reconcile herself to the reality.

Belinda turned to face him. “My job is in New York. How will I manage to be employed at Lansing’s and reside here?”

“Yes, Easterbridge,” his mother joined in. “Do tell us, dear.”

Colin lifted the side of his mouth. He had somehow managed to shift the conversation so that Belinda and his mother were aligned against him. If he had any idea how he’d done it, he’d pat himself on the back.

He shot Belinda a glance. “You can arrange a transfer to the London office of Lansing’s. We can spend our weeksdays in London and retire to Halstead Hall for weekends.”

Brilliant. He was satisfied that he’d walked the tight-rope—that is, until he saw Belinda’s expression.

She turned from him to his mother, a tight smile on her face. “However, a transfer may be difficult to obtain, so I may be based in New York indefinitely.” She tossed him a pointed look. “Colin and I haven’t yet discussed our living arrangements in depth.”

“You will continue to have a career?” his mother asked cryptically.

Belinda kept her smile. “Yes, at least until I am entitled to receive back my family’s property under the terms of the postnup.”

His mother looked horrified.

Colin was almost amused by Belinda’s determination. He’d married no retiring English rose.

He folded his arms. “Are you shocked by the fact that we didn’t have a prenuptial agreement, Mother, or by the fact that we’re negotiating a postnuptial one?”

“I should have known a Wentworth would be in this for money,” his mother sniffed.

“I would toss him back if it weren’t for the properties I stand to regain,” Belinda said cheerily.

His mother looked pinched. “My son is not a fish.”

“Of course not,” Belinda replied before he could say anything. “I don’t catch fish—or kiss frogs for that matter.”

Colin gave her a sardonic look. “Thank you for clarifying the issue.”

At least she was willing to allow he wasn’t a frog—while refusing to be cast as a money or title hunter.

His mother looked from one to the other of them until her eyes came to rest on him. “I will see you at dinner, Colin.”

She turned on her heel and headed to the door. The subtext of her words, of course, was that she intended to rest until this evening and, with any luck, awaken to the realization that this was all a terrible nightmare.

When the door shut, Colin addressed Belinda. “Well, that went rather well.”

She shot him an ironic look. “I’m looking forward to dinner.”

Dinner was a pained affair.

Colin watched his younger sister, Sophie, concentrate on spearing her food and chewing while she cast the occasional glance around the table.

Sophie was eight years younger than he was and thus more of Belinda’s contemporary than his own. His mother had suffered a miscarriage between their two births and then had had difficulty conceiving again.

As was his mother’s preference, dinner was a formal affair in the main dining room, though it was only four who were present for the meal.

Still, even the arrangement of the seating had been a fraught affair. One of his aides had come to see him about it before the appointed dinner hour.

He’d instructed that he’d take his usual seat at the head of the table, and Belinda would be seated to his right. Because of Belinda’s presence, his mother had been moved to his left and Sophie farther down the table.

Colin glanced at his sister again. He doubted that Sophie minded being away from the fray. And fortunately, there was plenty of spacing between the seats at the long Victorian dining table.