by Lavinia Kent
The porter looked him up once, and then again. He should have gone home to change. The wrinkled linen of the night’s adventure clearly did not match his tone.
Peter stared at him.
The stare and the tone won. The porter stepped back, granting him entry into the hall before disappearing to seek his master.
He reappeared a moment later to lead Peter deeper into the house. It was a gloomy place, far different from Violet’s comfortable abode. There was no smell of lemons and beeswax here among the dark woods and baroque furniture.
Masters sat at his desk writing, pinched between two high bookshelves overwhelmed with volumes. He looked up at Peter’s entry. Peter saw something of Violet in the cool direct gaze. Masters’s eyes were darker than Violet’s, almost black, but there was bit of that mysterious purple tinge about them. And the hair, it too was darker, but with a hint of copper at the ends. Masters was far more like Violet than Peter had ever realized.
“This is unexpected. How can I help you? I imagine that it involves my sister.” Masters let his pen drop.
“Yes.” Peter let the single word hang.
“I should tell you straight off that I and my sister lead completely separate lives. I do not see how I could possibly be of service.”
“Don’t tell me stories. I know she lives here with you.” Peter could not keep the impatience from his voice.
“She most certainly does not. Violet has a house of her own, as I am sure you know. Quite a damn bit nicer than this one, too.”
“Not Violet, Isabella,” Peter replied, turning to look away.
Masters stood. He was several inches shorter than Peter, but still well above average height. “Why would you want to inquire about Isabella? It’s Violet you are involved with.”
Peter looked back at Masters and glared; so much for all Violet’s careful discretion. He waited for Masters to continue.
“You didn’t think I knew about that.” Masters strolled out from behind the desk. “I’ve always made it a point to keep an eye on my sister. I don’t like unpleasant surprises, and with two sisters life is full of them.”
Peter’s hackles rose. “Both your sisters are careful of their reputations.”
“I would have said you were correct,” Masters said.
“Violet has shown surprising sense and discretion, but you clearly haven’t heard about last night. I imagined that was what you were here about. Although what you thought I could do about it I am not sure.”
“Foxworthy.”
“Yes, Foxworthy.” Masters looked away. His tone was carefully measured. “I’d always felt a bit of guilt at marrying her off to men so much older. I knew it was for the best, though. But between Carrington and Foxworthy she clearly has a preference of her own for older men.”
Peter cleared his throat. “I would have thought that you’d understand Foxworthy was also your problem—Violet only pursues him because of you.”
Masters choked a little, but then gathered himself together. “Forgive me, but I really would rather not discuss my sister’s reasons for choosing her lovers, whether younger or older. You said you’d come about Isabella?”
How could any man display such a lack of emotion while discussing his family? The man could have been discussing spring planting or a new pair of boots. Indeed, Peter had heard both matters discussed with more emotion and enthusiasm.
He tried again. “You really should understand that Violet—”
This time Masters answered with a tightness to his voice that betrayed at least the beginnings of emotion. “I will repeat. I do not intend to discuss Violet and her lovers. The story is already halfway around London that she sat at dinner with Foxworthy’s hand, not to mention his mouth, down her bodice and didn’t blink once. If anything, she smiled. I hardly think this is fitting conversation. It has nothing to do with me. Now, do you truly wish to discuss Isabella, or must I ask you to leave?”
Peter debated insisting. Masters had driven Violet to the extreme. It was maddening that he’d refuse to discuss it. Peter forced his thoughts to Isabella. Violet needed him to think of Isabella. Masters might deny his part in the whole matter, but it didn’t change the outcome. Foxworthy had to be removed from the picture. “I’ve come to request your younger sister’s hand in matrimony.”
“Isabella’s?” Masters jaw tightened and he turned to meet Peter’s gaze.
“Yes.”
“But I thought—Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” Masters shook his head as if to clear it and then gestured Peter to a seat. It was clear that Foxworthy had not yet visited Masters again. Masters would not entertain Peter’s suit if Foxworthy had already called.
Masters continued, “That is interesting. I was not aware you were of close acquaintance with Isabella. I assume Violet introduced you.”
If Masters wanted this played by the rules, Peter could manage that. He bit back all the words he wanted to say and answered, “No, I was first introduced to her by Lady Smythe-Burke. Then we became further acquainted at Summerton’s. I am surprised you were not aware of our meetings there. I may even admit that matrimony entered my mind in regards to your sister on several occasions during the party.”
“I was otherwise occupied during Summerton’s party. I must confess there have been some recent difficulties with Isabella. I might well welcome your interest. I would, however, need to be assured that you could take care of her properly and that there would be no difficulties with Violet. There have been other offers and they were not as they first appeared.”
No difficulties with Violet. Peter wanted to swing hard at Masters’s emotionless face. It was hard to believe any man could be as frozen as he appeared. “Foxworthy, again. Yes, I understand that you have run into a few slight difficulties there—difficulties that perhaps I can help you with.”
It was Masters’s turn to blink in confusion. “How? Ah, Foxworthy told Violet. Bloody mess, interfering female.” He caught Peter’s glance, “Let us get down to the practicalities of the current manner—your marriage to Isabella. Tell me of your estates, trusts, any reason that I should believe you can adequately support my sister in the manner to which she has become accustomed and dreams of expanding upon. I have always been concerned for my sister’s comfort in matrimony.”
Peter had known from Violet that money was the core of the issue, but still he was shocked at how quickly Masters moved the conversation to the subject. The man darted away from any mention of Violet and right on to finance. Peter would have stood up and stormed out if his goal has simply been matrimony.
He looked around the dark room. Sunlight poured through the window, and still the room felt cavernous. It was, however, in good repair and the finishings were of the highest quality. Masters was not in the poorhouse. He forced himself to speak politely. “I can assure you that I am of more than adequate means.”
“Forgive me, but I’ve learned to be cautious in such matters. I’ll need to see accounts, but a personal description will do for the moment.” Masters sat opposite Peter.
“I’ll have my man visit yours—call the solicitors in. Do the whole thing properly.” Peter resisted the urge to roam. He would stay calm and collected, not give Masters any clue how important he found the outcome of the meeting.
“That will be fine for later,” Masters continued.
“For now I would like to hear from you. I believe a man should know his own worth, the condition of any estates, how much he pays his tailor each month. Do you?” Masters’s glance moved over Peter and he felt stripped to his breeches. He could almost see Masters cataloguing each item, before moving on to the next—and not just the clothing, it felt that every part of him was being given a price and the total added up.
Peter fought to keep his voice calm. “I’ve most often resided with my brother, Lord Wimberley. I did this for convenience, not economy. I do maintain separate apartments, but rarely use them. I also own three rural properties, one a few miles from my brother’s home, Glynewold
e; one in Devonshire, which has quite a lovely house and turns a tidy profit; and some land on the Scottish border. I would confess I have never been to the last and have little intention of ever visiting. It was an inheritance from a great-aunt I was unaware I had.”
“I don’t approve of not visiting your estates. How can you be assured they are run well?” Disapproval dripped from Masters despite his flat tone.
Peter matched his tone to Masters’s. “I am quite capable of hiring a more than adequate estate agent. All my properties turn at least some profit. I have overseen the books of all and the personal management of the first two. Do you have further questions? Or can I send my man to yours?”
“Oh, I definitely have further questions,” Masters replied before beginning on a list of questions that left Peter’s blood rising. It seemed there was not a detail of his life that Masters was not prepared to explore. Every crevice, every secret was Masters’s to examine. And each question brought Peter closer to the edge—he was not sure how much he would put up with even for Violet. Violet. He bit his tongue and continued to answer. He was not prepared to discuss his past mistresses.
Finally he could be silent no longer. “Did you question Violet’s husbands like this? I can’t believe another man would have answered any of these questions.”
Masters paused and looked up. “I didn’t ask Dratton. It didn’t occur to me that I could. With Milber I asked and should have checked his answers more scrupulously.”
“And Foxworthy?”
“Foxworthy does not concern you. Now, how many chickens do you own?” Masters pulled out his tally.
Peter turned to the window and began to answer again. No, to the best of his knowledge he had never gotten a maid or member of his staff with child. He did not care for politics—left that to his brother—
That caught Masters’s attention. “Ah, Wimberley. I was forgetting that opinion seems to have changed greatly about him over the last year—from foolish rakehell to master of intrigue. I am sure there is quite a story there. Why don’t you tell it? Is he still a spy?”
That was a step too far. He’d had enough. He might be willing, if forced, to explain himself, but he was not going to give Masters the details of his entire family. “My brother was never a spy. I don’t think he need be involved in this.”
“But he is. Do you think the proud mamas who have considered you for their daughters do not look at your brother’s title and speculate? It may be coldhearted to debate how many deaths stand between you and the title, but I assure you it has often been discussed.”
Peter curled his fingers into the edge of the chair. “The answer is two. My brother is in perfect health and has become father to a son. If a title is necessary, I am afraid that I am sorely lacking beyond the honorary one.
“Foxworthy did not have a title,” Peter continued.
“No, Foxworthy did not have a title. He had other attractions.”
“What attractions? I know there was more to his offer than money.” There, it was out in the open.
Masters paused and gave Peter a long, penetrating look. “Do you truly desire my sister? This is not merely a passing fancy?”
Peter avoided thinking of which sister he desired. He answered the only way he could. “I am proposing to marry her.”
“That means something, but not everything. I am sure you know of many marriages that are based on anything but emotion.”
“Such as the one you proposed with Foxworthy?”
Masters pursed his lips. “Exactly. If we are being frank, I do think he would have made Isabella an adequate husband. He might not be the man she dreamed of, but he would have cared for her needs and kept her safe. She needs a calming influence in her life. But, yes, there were other matters involved.”
“Matters that you expect me to take over.” Peter leaned back in the chair, his own lips tight.
Masters came and sat across from him. “That is actually the difficulty. While I am sure you are looking forward to rewarding me for the delight I will bestow upon you, there are other matters you cannot help with. I have, however, heard things about your brother, Wimberley, that imply that he might be of service.”
“Political things.” It was the only possibility.
“Yes, political things.” Masters leaned back, duplicating Peter’s posture. “Do you think that Wimberley, once we became family, would feel an onus to help his newly acquired brother out?”
Peter wasn’t sure that Wimberley felt an onus to do anything. He might occasionally dabble in political matters, but Peter had always felt he did it strictly for his own amusement. “Wimberley is at Glynewolde celebrating the birth of his son. It will be several weeks before he returns.”
A faint smile formed on Masters’s mouth, the first that Peter had seen. “Ah, you are good at not answering. Still, it will have to do. I can’t imagine that Wimberley will want a disgrace in the family. He will keep things from going too far. It’s not as if I have much choice.”
Peter had to lean forward to catch the last part.
Masters looked directly at him. “Well, I imagine that you are eager to be on with the rest of it. Give me the name of your agent and I’ll have the documents drawn up. It may be necessary to await your brother’s return to Town. Foxworthy must be dealt with before any of this can be made final.”
Peter nodded and stood. “Then perhaps you should send for Isabella. We must discover her feelings on this sudden turn of events.”
“Surely there is no need to speak to her today,” Masters began. “I imagine that you will want all the papers signed first.”
“I would like her answer to the matter before we proceed. I do not want an unwilling wife. I must know that this is her wish.”
Masters pushed to his feet and moved to the door. “In most instances I would demand you wait, but your background does grant you certain leeway. I am sure that once promises are spoken you would never dream of breaking them. Am I wrong?”
“No.” That was the crux of the matter. Once he had spoken to Isabella he would hold true to his word—no matter what.
Masters paused at the door. “Do you have reason to think she’ll refuse you? If that is why you are impatient, I can assure you she will not.” Masters opened the door and stepped into the hall. The transaction was complete.
Transaction. He was thinking of it as a transaction. Peter felt like he’d taken a quick blow to his stomach. This was not what his marriage was supposed to be. It went against everything he’d ever believed, imagined.
Masters paused on the other side of the door. “I’ll have Isabella summoned. Would you like to do it here or in the garden?”
“Send her here.” Peter turned away and walked to the window to wait. He felt chilled despite the bright sun pouring into the room.
He could do this. He would do this—for Violet.
It might seem reckless, but this was the one way he could protect her. He would save her, no matter the cost.
There was a rustle at the door. He turned. Isabella had replaced Masters. She stood still, staring at him with serious eyes, but with a slight lifting at the corner of her mouth. She walked into the room, letting the door shut behind her. Had her brother told her the purpose of his visit? She looked about the room as if to choose a seat. Was it his imagination or was she trying to choose one that would give him room to drop to his knees before her?
A large wing chair in the far corner was her choice. She sat down graciously, adopting the stiff posture that Violet favored. She did not giggle or titter. She watched as he walked toward her, measuring each stride he took.
He stopped a few feet before her. Her hair shone far brighter than her sister’s. It was much lighter in color and lacked the curls that gave such life to Violet’s. She had the barest sprinkling of freckles upon her nose, surprising given that her skin looked as if it had never seen the sun.
Violet loved to loose her bonnet. A warm golden glow colored her all summer long. Isabella’s complexion
looked as if it could be January, the sun shrouded for months.
Her figure was slighter than her sister’s. He doubted that she ever sat for hours over dinner sampling and savoring each delight in life. In fact, Isabella didn’t look as if she savored much. She looked so solemn and thoughtful as she sat there awaiting his question. A library seemed the proper place for her. He wondered if she was as studious as she appeared.
He hadn’t thought so at Summerton’s. He’d thought her one more girl among many—perhaps more amusing than the rest, but not significantly different in any way. Except that she was Violet’s sister.
Violet. Isabella.
Could he really love one and marry the other?
His plan didn’t seem so brilliant as he looked down at Isabella’s quiet face. He couldn’t imagine kissing her, much less anything else.
“Are you ever going to speak or will you just keep staring at me? You were not so forward when last we spoke,” Isabella said, breaking the silence. “I can assure you I am unchanged since last we met.”
“Actually, you have changed,” he answered.
“Nonsense. Now, did you have something you wanted to say?” The smile was threatening to overcome her stiff lips.
He should have remembered the girl who placed his hand on her breast, the girl who kicked him in the shins trying to escape from behind a curtain to her own ruination. He was all too aware that each word he spoke fastened the shackles tighter about him.
“Are you asking me to hurry?”
“I’d rather be done before my brother returns. He will not leave us alone for long. I do want this to be done properly.” She gestured to the space in front of him.
Damnation, he’d been right. She wanted him to kneel.
After the cold interview with her brother it was too much. He almost turned away—almost. He had to remember why he was doing this—he would set Violet free.
He looked at Isabella again. She remained stiff despite the curve of her lips, not at all the look of a girl about to receive a proposal. Maybe they could discuss this sensibly, plan how it would work. No, he had promised to love and care for Isabella. From the moment of his proposal he must convince her that this was what he wanted. He must make this be what he wanted.
