by Karen Tuft
“My grandfather never had a daughter,” Louisa said.
“Which was undoubtedly the reason he agreed to the wager in the first place. The viscount in question was a young man at the time and unmarried. The marquess had long given up on having additional children, something he’d most likely assumed the viscount wouldn’t have realized when making the wager.”
“What you are saying is my grandfather made and lost a wager, not caring whether he won or lost because he assumed the terms of the wager could not be fulfilled.”
“Precisely, milady,” Mr. Swindlehurst said.
“However,” Mr. Heslop said, “the late viscount was exceptionally clever in how he wrote the vowel for the marquess to sign. He never explicitly stated which marquess or viscount the vowel pertained to. It is, therefore, still valid, in our opinion.”
“May I see this vowel?” she asked as calmly as she could, although her heart was pounding violently.
Mr. Swindlehurst handed it to her. She read the words and then read them again. There, at the bottom, was her grandfather’s signature, and there were witness signatures as well. Her grandfather had even affixed the marquess’s seal to it.
“Good heavens,” she whispered, handing the vile document back to Mr. Swindlehurst with shaking hands.
“As you are the first daughter of a Marquess of Ashworth to come of marriageable age since the vowel was drawn up, the current Viscount Farleigh has the right to claim the debt owed on it,” Mr. Swindlehurst said in a compassionate tone that did little to soothe Louisa.
“Which he wishes to do,” Mr. Heslop added briskly. “At the soonest possible convenience.”
“But it isn’t convenient!” Louisa cried, jumping to her feet. “This . . . this obligation has nothing to do with me. You cannot possibly mean to hold me to the terms of this vowel, which is decades old. We live in a modern age—this sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore.” She ran to her father and grabbed his arm. “Papa, tell them! Please!”
Her father kept his hands braced on the windowsill and took a deep breath before turning to face her.
“Papa, tell them,” Louisa begged, clutching at his lapels. “The vowel is meaningless. I am betrothed, or as good as betrothed. You will pay him whatever he wants, won’t you, Papa? There is no need for this. Tell them, Papa!”
“I cannot,” her father said. His face was all bleak, hard lines as he looked back at her and drew her hands away from his person, then kissed each one before letting her go.
Mr. Swindlehurst rose and took her gently by the arm and led her back to her chair. “You understand, certainly, that under the law, children are considered the property of their fathers, just as wives are, although I doubt this sort of claim has ever been made before, nor do I believe they would succeed if they were to take this to court.” He glared pointedly at Mr. Heslop. “I have advised your father not to honor the vowel.”
“So you have, Mr. Swindlehurst,” Mr. Heslop said. “Allow me to point out to Lady Louisa, however, that the debt remains; we have verified the vowel’s authenticity, as has Swindlehurst here, to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“Not to mine.” She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. She would not cry before these men. She would not show that weakness to them, and especially not to him, who had said nothing so far and still watched her too closely. “You don’t have to do this,” she said to the viscount. “You can rip up the vowel right now.”
“The viscount wishes the vowel to be honored,” Mr. Heslop said. “It is a debt the Marquess of Ashworth is honor-bound to fulfill.”
The viscount himself remained silent.
“Papa,” she entreated again. “Mama. Say something.”
Her mother stifled a sob.
“I cannot simply ignore the vowel, my dear,” Papa said. “I don’t know what my infernal father was thinking, but I cannot ignore the fact that the vowel is real. It bears his signature and seal. Honor dictates that I fulfill the obligation of the debt. That being said, however, I cannot force you to do so, Louisa. As I have explained to these gentlemen, you are free to decide the matter for yourself. I have taught you and your brothers to understand your worth. You are my daughter. I trust you. I must leave this in your hands.” He turned back to the window.
A dull weight settled heavily in Louisa’s stomach. Honor, her father had said. Honor was everything to a true gentleman. Duels had been fought; lives had been lost over honor. Despite her parents’ efforts to hide the shameful details of her grandfather from her, Louisa knew her father had dedicated his life to reestablishing the family honor after his own father had so capriciously ruined it. Honor had been bred into her and her brothers from the cradle.
Papa could not ignore the wager or the debt of his father, however ill-conceived and negligent her grandfather’s actions had been. He could not absolve his daughter of the weight of it either.
She herself would have to choose how to proceed.
“Perhaps Lady Louisa wishes to have a few moments to herself,” the viscount said, speaking for the first time. He rose to his feet, clearly expecting the others to take his lead.
Surprisingly, they did.
Her mother wrapped her in a hug. “Oh, my darling girl,” she whispered. “I should never have believed something like this could happen. I am in utter shock.”
When the door finally shut, leaving her alone, Louisa crossed to the window where her father had been standing. The view overlooked a terraced lawn bordered with a hedge of boxwoods. A line of yews in the distance marked the property boundary and offered privacy. How could it look so peaceful and orderly when she felt like she was being torn asunder?
What was she to do?
The debt a gentleman owed another gentleman was a matter of extreme honor. Louisa knew, from listening to her brothers’ conversations, that a gentleman paid his debts to another gentleman, and he did so promptly. To do otherwise was not acceptable. Dishonorable. It was beyond the pale.
Today, her father, the Marquess of Ashworth, known for his hard-won integrity and honor, had been made aware of a debt his father owed—worse, a debt the Marquess of Ashworth owed, regardless of who had held the title when the debt had been incurred—and he could not resolve it and maintain the family honor without it impacting the life of his only daughter.
The existence of the vowel had created a horrible dilemma for him, and he was suffering deeply, for Louisa knew her father loved her. And rather than order her to comply, as many fathers could and would have done as head of the family, he had left the decision entirely to her. He had put his honor, his family’s honor, into her hands.
She moved away from the window and wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to hold back the pain and anxiety she felt. Only last evening, she had been with George at the theater, and he had strolled with her so everyone would understand his intentions toward her and had kissed her in a secluded corner.
How much one’s life could change in less than a day.
Chapter 3
William could barely contain his surprise.
Regardless of the fact that he and his solicitor had walked into the home of the Marquess of Ashworth and issued what had amounted to a marital ultimatum to the man and his daughter, William was being treated with unexpected, albeit frosty, courtesy. In truth, he’d fully expected the two of them to be tossed out on their ears.
They were currently in an elegantly appointed anteroom not far from the marquess’s study. Lord Ashworth had offered William a drink, but he had politely declined. The day was still young; he did not want the marquess to add excessive drink to a list of grievances he must already be forming against William.
The plan he and Heslop had devised this morning was that Heslop would do the talking and William would remain largely mute. Heslop was familiar with the details, could answer the questions, and was not emotionally invested in the outcome. They had both concluded that William’s interests would be best served if he maintained his silence. The odds of su
ccess were better that way.
It was critical to weigh the odds, understand the stakes—not only one’s own but also those of the other wagerer. William’s father had stressed this time and time again throughout William’s youth.
It was also important to keep one’s expression neutral. One does not give away one’s hand, ever. It was better to remain silent, mask one’s feelings and reactions, and wait for the other person to make their move. He’d learned that convenient fact over and over again whenever he’d had dealings with his father.
He had also learned as a youth that he loathed gambling in any form.
He thoroughly detested what he was doing today. If it weren’t for the responsibility—the love—he felt toward the good people of Farleigh Manor, a loyalty to his deceased mother he’d been forced to keep buried with her these past several years, and an intense longing for home that had emerged upon his return, he would not be attempting this—even though it was perfectly justifiable and within his rights that he should do so.
He’d never met Lady Louisa; still, he’d belatedly recalled seeing her when he’d been a student at Eton. Her brothers had attended Eton during his own time there, and Lady Louisa, along with her parents, had visited once or twice. She’d been a mere child at the time, dark-haired like her brothers, and overly chatty, if he was remembering that bit correctly. He wasn’t entirely sure, as he hadn’t run in the same circles as Ashworth’s sons and, therefore, hadn’t been particularly interested in anything to do with them, other than to take the briefest mental note of a talkative little sister.
Beyond that early reference, he hadn’t spent much time thinking about her in a personal sense while he and Heslop had made their plans. She had been a theoretical figure in his mind, the means by which he could salvage his home and save the people he loved, who were dependent upon him as their new viscount.
On the rare occasion when he had thought of her, it was with the full understanding that he was sacrificing any future hope of marital happiness for himself in saving the estate and its people this way. As a result, he’d envisioned either an Amazon of a female, tall like her brothers and full of her aristocratic self, or a twittering bird-wit of a debutante, who would undoubtedly speak nothing of sense.
But today, the young lady herself, Lady Louisa Hargreaves, had entered the study and been a radiant bloom of youthful vitality, and William wouldn’t have been able to speak even if it had been in the plans for him to do so.
He’d been caught utterly by surprise, and his disposition had shifted from one of resolute and gloomy self-sacrifice to hopeful longing in the space of an instant.
His eyes had taken in their fill. He suspected he already knew every flutter of her eyelashes, the curve of her ear, the line of her cheek. He had very nearly had to sit on his hands to keep from reaching for her, so badly had he longed to touch her and assure himself that she was not a vision.
His surprising reaction had also set off alarms clanging within him. That he found himself so strongly drawn to her was an unexpected bonus, to be sure, but William could not afford to be vulnerable or show any weakness whatsoever. He could not forget his purpose in being here. There was too much at stake.
He listened as Heslop and the other solicitor quietly discussed potential marriage settlements based on what had been in progress between Lady Louisa and Lord Kerridge in the matter-of-fact way that seemed unique to solicitors, in William’s estimation. The marquess had gone to stand by the fireplace and was staring at the cold grate, one arm raised to rest against the mantel. The marchioness sat like a statue nearby.
William wanted to assure them both that he would do his best to be a good husband to their daughter, but he knew the words would ring hollow. Even so, he crossed the room to stand next to the marquess, as if his nearness would lend support to the man.
Lord Ashworth sensed his presence. “I would ask again that you consider a monetary amount in exchange for meeting the terms of the vowel,” he said in a low voice. “For my daughter’s sake.”
“I’m sorry, your lordship, but no,” William replied. Heslop had explained at length that it was the connection to the Ashworth family that was essential—that this was more than a matter of mere money. The mortgages on Farleigh Manor were too extensive, even after any potential sale of unentailed properties. William needed the connections he would get from marriage to the daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth, one of the most powerful men in England, if Farleigh Manor was to survive and thrive. “Nothing will satisfy but the original terms of the wager.”
“Come, man. There must be a price we can agree upon. My daughter’s very future is at stake.”
“As is mine, sir, as well as the future of my title and tenants,” William replied. “I did not make the wager, nor establish its terms; two other gentlemen did. I find it ironic that their combined recklessness now holds the means of restoring my family’s honor. I intend to hold them both accountable.”
The Marquess of Ashworth was silent for several moments, and William watched and waited for him to speak. “Honor and accountability,” the marquess finally said. “It has been instilled in the English gentleman for centuries—that he is nothing without honor. One is prepared from birth to give one’s life for one’s honor.”
He spoke the truth. William had been taught the same—at Eton and then at Oxford and even, to a certain extent, at home from his father—not that his father had been a shining example of it. Far from it; he had exemplified the opposite and had dragged the family name down with him as a result. William intended to rectify that now that he was viscount.
“Honor is in the very fiber of my being,” the marquess continued. “I have always been prepared to sacrifice my life for my family’s honor. But I never expected to be called upon to sacrifice the life of my daughter.”
His words cut deeply. William understood the emotion behind them, and yet he was not without some pride, after all. “I should like to think I am offering Lady Louisa a fate that is not quite worse than death.”
“With all due respect, Lord Farleigh, that remains to be seen.”
“As you say. The opposite could just as well be true.” William nodded and moved away. Nothing would be gained by allowing this conversation to continue, and much could be lost.
A subtle knock at the door drew everyone’s attention. “Lady Louisa has requested Lord Farleigh join her in the study,” a footman announced upon entering.
William glanced at Heslop, who was subtly shaking his head no. It had not been part of the plan. He sent Heslop a look he hoped conveyed confidence and crossed to the doorway.
“Lord Farleigh,” the marquess said, stopping William in his tracks. “Ten minutes. That is all you get, and then I will be returning to my daughter’s side.”
William acknowledged the words and left the room.
These could very likely be the most important ten minutes of his life.
* * *
Louisa paced, sat, and then stood and began pacing again. The solicitors had explained the situation. Her father had made his position clear. If Louisa was to make a decision, the only way to do it was to acquaint herself with the individual to whom she would find herself married and at least assure herself of his character. She would not believe that honor took precedence over marriage to a villain. It was her very life that had been wagered away, after all. Her father would surely agree.
She forced herself to sit again and be calm. She could at least be grateful that her father had left the final decision in her hands.
There was a soft knock at the door, and Louisa turned abruptly in her chair; he was here, and she must discern his character swiftly, for she knew she would have little time alone with him.
“Lord Farleigh, milady,” the footman who opened the door announced. He discreetly moved out of the way so Lord Farleigh could enter the room and then closed the door, leaving the two of them alone.
The viscount bowed formally to her. “You asked for me, Lady Louisa. How may I
be of service?” he said.
For some reason, his tone made Louisa’s teeth clench. She rose to her feet but did not reply immediately. She would turn the tables on him and study him for a few moments, as he had done her. She looked him up and down, hoping she wore the same bland expression on her face as he did.
The first thing she noticed was that he was tall—not as tall as her brothers but tall enough. He was dressed suitably, albeit not in the latest style, and his boots were well polished, she begrudgingly noted. His hair was a light brown, thick and straight, and neatly cut. His eyes, by contrast, were a deep brown with full, arched brows. His cheekbones and jawline were sculpted, as was his nose.
His lips were—well, perhaps she wouldn’t study them too closely.
His expression told her absolutely nothing of what he was thinking, yet the corner of his mouth twitched briefly again, as it had done earlier.
“Does what you see please you?” he asked.
“Don’t be impertinent,” she responded. “I am only doing what you did to me.”
“Fair enough.” He spread his arms out at his sides. “Look your fill.”
Now that he knew what she’d been doing and had given his permission for her to do so, studying him was the last thing she could possibly do, and he knew it. She turned and reseated herself in her chair, her back ramrod straight. “You may sit,” she said, using as regal a voice as she could, considering the tension she felt.
“Thank you.” He chose the chair closest to hers and sat, resting his arms on the arms of the chair. His hands didn’t move. His feet didn’t move. He didn’t move.
She, on the other hand, began to fidget. She stilled her tapping toes and fingers, intent on having the upper hand with this man who had shown up this morning to wreak havoc on her life. He wasn’t at all like Lord Kerridge, who was all elegant charm. Theirs was a match that would make sense to everyone when it was officially announced.
