Colin grunted in reply, wincing at the baron’s choice of words. Pleasure? What pleasure? Colin’s wince became a frown. A few bold strokes of his pen had forced him into the ultimate sacrifice. He’d sold himself for a few million pieces of silver, sentenced himself to a lifetime of marriage to a girl who had foolishly entrusted her heart and her virtue to a scoundrel who had eloped with her, then abandoned her at an inn in Edinburgh. A scoundrel impersonating a government agent. A scoundrel impersonating him.
Colin didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the irony. After a lifetime of avoiding society misses, he was about to marry one. His betrothed was damaged goods, but her good name and her place in society were safe.
Miss Gillian Davies was about to become a blushing bride.
He was merely the groom.
Baron Davies took the marriage contract Colin had just signed, scrawled his name at the bottom, and set his seal beside his signature. When he was done, he blotted the ink and passed the paper along to Wickham and to Mr. Hayes, the solicitor, who had delivered the marriage contract a half hour earlier and who had stayed to witness the signing of it.
After verifying the signatures, the solicitor returned the document to Lord Davies.
Lord Davies barely allowed the ink to dry before he carefully folded the contract, slipped it into a sheepskin folder, and locked the contract in the top drawer of his desk. He pocketed the desk key, then rubbed his palms together. “I believe this calls for a celebration.”
Colin didn’t know if the situation called for a celebration, but he made no objection as Lord Davies walked over to the drinks table and began pulling out bottles.
He didn’t need the ceremony, but he certainly needed the drink.
“Brandy, Madeira, claret, or whisky?” The baron asked, looking first to his future son-in-law, then to his solicitor and the Bow Street detective.
“Whisky,” Colin answered.
“Claret for me, sir,” Wickham replied.
“Brandy, if you will, sir,” Mr. Hayes responded.
“And whisky for me.” Lord Davies couldn’t keep the note of glee from his voice. He poured the drinks and handed the glasses around before lifting his in toast. “Here’s to a long and successful union.”
“Hear, hear,” Wickham and the solicitor echoed.
“To Lady Grantham,” Colin murmured softly, briefly clinking his glass against Lord Davies’s before taking a hefty swallow of the bracing whisky.
“I’ll have Hayes draw up another copy of the agreement,” Lord Davies offered, “and have it sent around to your solicitor for review. We can negotiate the points you deem less than advantageous once your solicitor has had an opportunity to read it.”
Colin nodded. “I’ve no complaints with the generous dowry or the general terms of the contract, Lord Davies. I find it quite favorable.”
“Mr. Hayes and I decided any marriage contract we devised must offer a few more incentives once my daughter returned from Scotland without her groom. Her purity can no longer be guaranteed, and we thought it prudent to make allowances for that fact. Mr. Hayes suggested that we treat her as if she were a new widow and proceed accordingly.”
Colin bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that a new widow wouldn’t need to worry about protecting her good name and would, most likely, have inherited at least a widow’s portion of her husband’s estate, whereas the illegal wife of a bigamist might be haunted by the specter of scandal and gossip for years. But the solicitor’s suggestions explained the modest amount of the pin money he was to provide while he lived and the generous and extremely favorable terms regarding the jointure and children’s portions after his death.
The marriage contract Lord Davies and his solicitor had crafted minimized the bridegroom’s expenses and maximized the gain. In this marriage document, the husband benefited from the alliance to a much greater degree than the bride. He gained a fortune and the prospect of an heir. She gained safe haven and protection from those who would sully her name. Lord Davies had waived a number of the customary safeguards generally included to protect his female offspring and ordered a contract drawn up that virtually guaranteed that his daughter’s intended would have no reason to cry off at the last minute.
While Colin didn’t object to benefiting financially, he greatly objected to the idea that Gillian Davies might suffer financially. “I’ve signed the existing contract,” Colin reminded him, “but I’d consider it a personal favor if you would have your solicitor include a larger separate estate for your daughter’s protection.” He looked Lord Davies in the eye. “My father is an inveterate gambler. I’ll not have it said that I entered into an agreement that left my bride-to-be vulnerable. As an heiress, she should be protected from financial ruin in the event I develop a similar propensity for losing vast quantities of my wife’s fortune.”
Lord Davies bit back a smile. “I don’t foresee that happening.”
“I’m sure my maternal grandfather didn’t foresee that happening to my mother, either,” Colin pointed out. “And as a consequence of losing her fortune, my mother and my siblings are dependent upon my generosity and the generosity of strangers in order to survive. I would not have a similar situation thrust upon your daughter or upon my heir, should God see fit to grace me with one. I insist upon that modification of the contract.” He glanced at Mr. Hayes. “I admit that I can be bought, but that particular issue is not negotiable.”
“Agreed.” Lord Davies was wise enough to realize that the young viscount was smarting from the impending loss of his bachelor status and the manner in which it had come about. Grantham was a good negotiator, but an older, more experienced and ruthless one had bested him. In large part, because the young viscount was more far more honorable than he believed himself to be.
After witnessing that exchange between Lord Davies and Viscount Grantham, the Bow Street runner drained his glass and set it on the drinks table. Lord Davies’s solicitor immediately followed suit. “We should be going, sir,” Wickham said.
“Yes, of course.” Lord Davies pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to the detective. “Thank you, Mr. Wickham. I appreciate the work you’ve done on my daughter’s behalf.”
Wickham took the envelope and tucked into his pocket. “I?
?m pleased everything has worked out to your satisfaction, my lords.”
Saunders knocked on the study door.