by KJ Charles
Fine. He’d use that.
He set his teeth, the picture of a man trying to keep his patience. “This is unjust. You rely on the fact that I have no desire to argue with the relative of a lady I admire and respect. You use your power and station to insult me with impunity. Well, I may be a mere countryman of limited means, sir, but I will not be bullied by you, and I would scorn to mete out abuse to anyone with whom my station had a similar disparity.” He’d got the grammar of that mixed up somewhere, but it sounded well enough. “Perhaps you think honest birth, a modest home, and a true heart are not sufficient for the niece you have sneered at. Perhaps you hope this dowry from her father will come to your family if she doesn’t marry.” That brought the blood into Hartlebury’s face in a very satisfactory way, also a dangerous look to his eyes. Robin pressed on. “But you could at least conduct yourself with more decency and dignity than to invent scurrilous and damaging accusations about a man who has never done you harm. And if you speak one more disrespectful word about my sister, sir, by God I will give you the thrashing you deserve, and I only wish I had the right to offer the same protection to Miss Fenwick!”
He let his voice rise on that last part, since he’d heard a rustle of movement in the hall. Mrs. Blaine was Alice Fenwick’s guardian, and Hartlebury had, legally speaking, no authority over her. He might denounce Robin, but he couldn’t forbid the match. If Robin drove a wedge between him and the women, he might outflank him.
“Enough speechifying,” Hartlebury snapped. “I know what I saw, and I know what you are.”
“You know nothing. You have invented an untruth because you believe I am a fortune hunter. I don’t know how I can persuade you that I am nothing of the kind; I can only tell you that Miss Fenwick’s wealth may be common knowledge in London, but I am not from here and nobody mentioned it to me. And I’ll tell you something else—”
“Is it possible to stop you? You should be on the stage, with this gift for the dramatic monologue.”
Utter prick. Robin spoke very clearly, so his voice carried. “You believe I am a fortune hunter because you cannot see any other reason a man might wish to marry your niece. You don’t think she’s worthy of love. That says a great deal more about your character than mine.”
“You little turd,” Hartlebury said savagely, and rose with real fury in his eyes.
Robin scooted behind the chair, and backed rapidly to the door. “That’s the last insult I will tolerate from you. You must be quite mad, sir. Good day.” He let himself out of the room in a hurry, and encountered Mrs. Blaine in the hall, very high coloured. He’d hoped she’d been listening.
“Mr. Loxleigh!”
“Excuse me, madam. I’m very sorry, but I have had some words with your brother, and I think it is best if I take my leave. Might I say goodbye to Miss Fenwick?”
“You will get out of here now,” said Hartlebury, from too close behind him.
“Excuse me,” Mrs. Blaine told him furiously. “It is my house and I decide who stays or goes. I want a word with you, John Hartlebury. —The girls are in the sitting room, Mr. Loxleigh. I think it would be best if perhaps—”
“We’ll go at once. I am deeply grateful for your hospitality.” Robin executed a graceful bow, and cleared out in a hurry.
Alice and Marianne were sitting together in the drawing room. Alice’s eyes were wide with alarm as he came in. “What on earth has happened, Mr. Loxleigh? Have you had an argument with my uncle?”
“He had one with me.” Robin put on a shaky smile that said, I am trying to keep countenance for your sake. “He said some very unkind things, about— Well, some very unkind things, and made certain accusations that make it impossible for me to remain under the same roof.”
“What? Why?”
“I thought at first he was protecting you. I could respect that, however wrong he might be about the need. But then— I must ask, is he unkind to you? Violent?”
Her jaw sagged. “Uncle Hart? Of course not. What on earth did he say?”
Robin raised his hands. “I’d rather not repeat it. The way he spoke to me was intolerable, and I had to tell him he lied. I don’t know why, but I believe Mrs. Blaine is with him now. Perhaps she will have an answer for you. But I promised her we would leave, so come, Marianne.” He stepped forward and extended his hand. Alice touched hers to it with some awkwardness. “You will of course need to speak to your stepmother but I hope—I very much hope—that this falling-out can be resolved. If I can mend matters, I will.” He paused, then said, in a rush, “I shan’t be driven off by anyone but you, Miss Fenwick. I feel too greatly for that.” He brought his lips to her fingertips in a swift movement. Alice snatched her hand back, cheeks scarlet.
It wasn’t a bad exit, under the circumstances. Robin and Marianne returned in silence to their rooms, where Marianne snatched off her shawl and threw it on the settle. “What the fuck, Rob?”
“Fucking Hartlebury is what. He called me a card cheat.”
“Why?”
“Because I am one, I expect!” Robin paced up and down. “I think he caught me at it last night. He’s been watching me.”
“Nobody’s supposed to see you do it! That’s the point!”
“I’m aware of that!” Robin snarled back. “I can’t help it if he decided to stare at my hands all evening!”
“Well, why did you cheat when you were being watched?”
“How was I to know? Did you want me to lose?”
They glared at each other. Marianne stalked to the mirror and jerked out hairpins in a testy manner. “What did he say?”
Robin flopped into a chair. “Asked my intentions, made it clear he didn’t believe me. He asked if Alice had given me a leveller. Sarcastically.”
“Oh, that’s charming,” Marianne said, with vitriol. “Is she not beautiful”—she made wiggling finger-motions around her own lovely face—“enough for his high standards, when he has a mug like that? Arsehole. What did you say?”
“I asked if he was insulting her looks, and suggested he wanted to get his hands on her money.”
Marianne’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, wonderful. I’m glad you said that, it’ll definitely help.”
“I had to say something! Anyway, he isn’t her guardian so he can’t forbid the banns. And mostly, if he was sure he’d caught me he’d have made a fuss last night. He was guessing. I don’t think this is a disaster yet.”
“It’s not far from one,” Marianne said grimly. “You’ve set your cap at her clearly enough that if you switch to another heiress, it’ll be obvious.”
Robin scrubbed at his face with the heels of his hands. Fortune hunting was not proving the smooth path to riches he might have hoped. “We shouldn’t risk it. Tachbrook is the bigger prize.”
“If I can land him.” Marianne lifted one shoulder irritably. “Did I tell you, the fathead must have his mother’s approval?”
“What? Why? He’s forty-five if he’s a day.”
“He doesn’t need her permission, but she is the chief trumpeter of his greatness, and he lives only to be told how marvellously important he is.”
“Therefore he doesn’t dare lower himself in her eyes? Got it.” Robin exhaled. “What are our chances?”
“They were better before you got caught cheating at cards.”
“I didn’t get caught. I can deny it.”
“You do that. As to our chances, that depends. If it’s a matter of being sufficiently awed by my unworthiness, I can give her the perfect meek daughter-in-law. But I have to meet the old trout first, and Tachbrook’s dragging his heels.”
Robin sighed. “If we go through this whole palaver and the only people who end up rich are the modistes and tailors...”
“Then at least we tried. Come on, Rob. I could be a marchioness yet, and Alice might decide she wants you in the teeth of her uncle’s disapproval. Do you know what, you should make your declaration.”
“Now?”
“Why not? The prospect of being par
ted from her focused your mind, et cetera. Bring it to a head. If she refuses you, you can be pale and interesting at other women before the end of the Season, and spend a lot more time in hells.”
“Unlucky in love, lucky at cards,” Robin agreed. The maxim had always held true for him, although he wasn’t so much lucky as manipulative when it came to cards. Mind you, he could say the same about love.
“We’ll win this,” Marianne said. “I’ll marry someone.”
She could unquestionably find a husband to give her a life of security, with clothes on her back and food on the table. It was less likely she could switch from the marquess to another man with the sort of wealth that would let her fund her brother too. Robin didn’t say anything, but Marianne put out a swift hand. “We’re in this together, Rob. I’m not looking after myself at your expense.”
“You should if you have to.”
“I don’t have to. This is a mild setback, that’s all. We’ll get you your heiress. Should I charm Hartlebury, do you think? Or seduce him. Shall I put him on his knees?”
She was joking, Robin knew, but it brought up an unexpected mental image of doing that himself. He took a second to picture Hartlebury begging for his touch, all that scowling temper and physical power reduced to pleading. It was a satisfying thought.
“Best not,” he said. “Or at least, not unless Tachbrook drops out of the running. Then again, Hartlebury’s not poor. Why don’t you take him and I’ll have Alice? We could have a double wedding.”
“Oh, that would be lovely, with you panting after the other groom.”
“What? I am not panting for anyone, especially him.”
“Please. You’re a fool for legs like that.”
Robin was easily swayed by thighs, no denying it, but he preferred them when they weren’t standing between him and twenty thousand pounds. Sir John Hartlebury was an obstacle to his future prosperity, and a threat to his current solvency if he chose to spread accusations about card-sharping around. Robin would need to play his hand very carefully indeed. And if that meant playing foul, so be it.
Chapter Four
The Loxleigh siblings had left Mrs. Blaine’s house in haste, but in harmony with one another. The same could not be said for the brother and sister who remained behind.
“What on earth?” Edwina demanded in a voice that tried to be at once a whisper and a screech. “What have you done?”
“What you wanted. You asked me to look into the man—”
“Look into! Not drive off!”
“Yes, and I looked, and I don’t like what I see. I don’t trust him. I don’t like him.”
“You aren’t being asked to marry him,” Edwina said through her teeth. “That is up to Alice, for heaven’s sake. If you had something to say about him why didn’t you say it to me first?”
“I think he cheated at cards last night.”
It ought to have been a clincher. Unfortunately, that would require his opponent to care about the codes governing gentlemanly behaviour. Edwina threw up her hands. “And?”
“That matters!”
“Of all the male nonsense. Games. I’m talking about marriage!”
“It’s a matter of honour. Doesn’t that count in a marriage?”
She rolled her eyes. “So men who play cards the right way are always good, honourable husbands?”
That was not an argument he could make, given her unlamented second husband. Nobody could have accused Blaine of cheating at cards, given how much money he’d lost at them. “Men who don’t probably aren’t.”
“Do you know, Hart, it’s quite hard to find a good man without making some compromise,” Edwina said. “Perhaps he has a temper, and one hopes its violence is not turned against oneself. Perhaps he has a wandering eye that one must ignore. Fenwick was twenty years my senior and a widower, not to mention that I married beneath myself in the world’s eyes.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what? Card games! As if that matters! And you only said you ‘think’ he cheated. Did you accuse him without being sure?”
Hart cursed internally. In truth, he couldn’t be certain. But he’d had Evangeline Wintour’s suspicions in his mind, and he’d thought he’d seen Loxleigh’s nimble hands do something odd, and then the man had started winning.
He hadn’t meant to mention the cards. He’d intended to hold that in reserve, but something about Loxleigh irritated him like a splinter in his thumb. The man was so false, with his flowery speeches and his smiling good looks and that full, inviting mouth spouting cant and false virtue. A mouth shouldn’t be at once so detestable and so desirable. It made him think of a fairy tale about an unkind princess cursed to have toads drop from her lips when she spoke. And Loxleigh intended to take Alice’s money, doing God knows what to her in the process. At best he’d abandon her, at worst—well, there was little bottom to ‘worst’ for a woman in a bad marriage.
Or, at least, Hart was fairly sure that was what Loxleigh intended. Unfortunately, he had no proof but instinct, and Edwina had her arms folded and a martial light in her eye.
“Do you believe he loves Alice?” he tried.
“I believe that he likes and respects her and thinks she would make him a good wife. Is that so implausible?”
“Yes!” Hart said, saw her swell, and added hastily, “For him. Not Alice. Of course anyone might love her.”
“So why did he say you didn’t believe she was worthy of love?”
“He twisted my words!” Hart protested. “I don’t think someone like him would love her.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t want to spell it out. Of course a glossy young Adonis like Loxleigh wouldn’t court plain Alice for her delightful character, even if he wasn’t a prating liar. That was not the way of the world. But he didn’t feel like embarking on that conversation, and he had plenty of other objections to raise. “He’s false all the way through. Can you not see? Smooth-tongued and calculating and manipulative. He’s a fortune hunter, I’m sure of it.”
“What fortune do you think he’s hunting?” Edwina demanded. “We kept her portion secret!”
“But the world knows her father was a successful man. Anyone might guess he left her something. Will you believe me if I can prove he knew about her money?”
“Is it unreasonable to ask about a girl’s portion?”
“If he found it out before he made her acquaintance—”
“How will you possibly prove that? You’ve decided you don’t like him and you’re looking for reasons to justify it. If you have anything concrete to say of Mr. Loxleigh, tell me. But if you’ve just taken against him because he’s handsome, that’s not fair.”
Hart felt himself redden. He did mistrust beautiful people as a general rule; he hadn’t realised that was obvious to others. “I don’t have anything concrete,” he said, jaw set so hard it hurt. “But I do not believe he’s honest. Everything about him is wrong. And I love Alice a great deal too much to see her made miserable by a fraud.”
“I want her to be happy too.” The self-control was audible in Edwina’s voice. “I want her to enjoy herself. To experience a London Season and meet new people and realise there is more to life than her books. And I don’t want you to spoil it by frightening off every new friend she might make!”
“He isn’t a friend if he’s after her money. And anyway she doesn’t like new people. She’s much happier doing algebra with Dr. Trelawney at home.”
Angry colour flared in Edwina’s cheeks. “That is exactly the problem! She will never pay attention to the wider world if I don’t make her. It’s not that I want her thinking of marriage now: it’s that if she buries herself in her studies to the exclusion of all else, she won’t be fit to find a husband by the time she does want to. You ought to understand that, Hart. Alice needs to acquire polish. She needs to learn to be comfortable in society, and how to talk to people. She can’t simply sit with her studies and then expect to find a good husband—which does not simply h
appen, you know, she will have to meet new people and show herself to advantage, not just depend on her fortune to bring the right man along. Goodness me, do you want her to be as awkward as you?”
That was a low blow. Hart was well aware he’d never acquired the social poise Edwina described. He’d never gone to university, attended rural festivities to prepare him for London ones, or even had a dancing-master. He hadn’t learned to make elegant conversation or to look as if he belonged in the society to which his birth entitled him. Probably he would never have been a graceful man since he lacked any natural gifts in that direction, but he could, undeniably, have been a more polished, confident one.
“I’m doing perfectly well,” he said, rather defensively.
“You are a man, a Hartlebury, and a baronet. You will always command some respect for those things, no matter how gracelessly you conduct yourself. Alice is none of them, so she needs to make the most of what she is. I’m not a fool, Hart; I know she isn’t greatly enjoying this. But she is my daughter and I have to think of her future. I could not bear to have her ask me in later years why I didn’t guide her better. I’d rather she sat through a few parties now and was relieved to go home than that she should ever believe I didn’t consider her well-being. She suffered too much of that.” Her voice shook.
Hart passed her a handkerchief. “I do understand.”
“I want her to be happy,” Edwina said, muffled. “And she truly likes Miss Loxleigh. She had started enjoying London. Why did you have to spoil it?”
That felt unjustly accurate. “If I’m wrong about Loxleigh I’ll apologise,” he made himself say. “If I’m right, it isn’t I who will have spoiled anything.”
“And if you’ve insulted him so grossly he doesn’t return and Miss Loxleigh takes offence, and she marries Tachbrook, and all that starts up again—”
“Let’s not borrow trouble. And don’t you find that odd, Edwina? Two siblings, unknowns, both setting themselves at wealthy possible spouses?”
“It’s what people do!” Edwina almost shouted. “That is the entire purpose of the Marriage Mart, to exchange wealth for beauty! Why shouldn’t Miss Loxleigh set her sights at a marquess, if one is willing to marry her? Why should Alice not use her riches to find a husband when she’s ready for one? My goodness, Hart, do you think Blaine married me for my looks?”
