American Heiress [1]When The Marquess Met His Match

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  “I wouldn’t dream of arguing,” he said, giving in. “I never refuse to take walks with beautiful women.”

  That made her laugh again. “I’m not, but it’s very gallant of you to say so,” she said as a footman opened the front door for them and they walked out into the morning sunlight. “And you are such delightful company. I hate that you are going.”

  “I think it’s best. I shouldn’t want Sir William to be staring daggers at me for the next week.”

  “You men, so silly, fighting about politics. Odd, though,” she added, “I’d never have taken you for the sort who gets heated about that particular subject. And I’d have said Sir William is far too diplomatic to engage in such arguments.” She shot him an inquiring sideways glance, but when he didn’t take the bait, she changed tactics.

  “I’m sure Sir William regrets his outburst of temper, and the two of you could become friends before the week is out. Also, I have heard that you desire to marry, and if that is so, there are plenty of young ladies here. You see? I’m giving you heaps of reasons to stay longer.”

  “Perhaps Sir William and I could become more fond, but as to the other . . .” He shook his head. “No, I have come to realize I’m not the sort who can marry for material considerations. There are . . . other things that matter more to me.”

  “I see. Deuced inconvenient, that.”

  “Yes,” he agreed with feeling. “And given that I have no money of my own, it leaves me rather nowhere.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. It’s amazing what a determined man with good looks, brains, and charm can accomplish.”

  “You flatter me, Duchess.”

  “It’s not flattery,” she said as they started along the path to the gardens. “It’s more along the lines of a hint.” She paused, smiling a little. “There’s one lady here who might be susceptible to those qualities, at least in you.”

  He pretended obtuseness. “If you are referring to Miss Harlow—”

  “I am not.” She stopped on the path, causing him to stop as well. “Miss Harlow wasn’t the one you were staring at all through dinner.”

  He forced himself to smile in a deprecating fashion. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh, don’t dissemble with me, Trubridge. I’m not blind, you know. Half the time you were ignoring those around you and staring down the table to where Belinda was seated.”

  His throat felt dry, and there was a sick knot in his stomach at the notion that he had so exposed his feelings. He forced out a laugh. “How rude of me. And how ghastly to know I am so transparent.”

  “You can’t help it, I daresay. Men always look like woeful sheep when they are falling in love.”

  The knot in his guts twisted. “Duchess, you are mistaken. I’m not—”

  “I told you, I’m not blind,” she said, cutting right through his denial. “Tactless, perhaps,” she added, flashing him a smile, “but not blind. And so, I’ve just given you a superb reason to stay. Why go back to London when the woman you want is right here?”

  This conversation was making him feel far too vulnerable, and as was his usual custom, he tried to make light of it. “As much as you may appreciate all my fine qualities, Duchess, there are women who don’t. Belinda is one of them.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Now who’s being gallant?” He gave up any attempts at dissembling. “The truth is that Belinda hasn’t the time of day for me. I’m too much like her late husband to suit her book. In her eyes, I am nothing but a worthless fortune hunter.” It was a hard admission to make, but there was no point in ignoring hard realities.

  The duchess tilted her head, looking at him thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t have thought a man like you would shy at the difficulties involved in winning a woman.”

  “I’m not shying away. I intend to change her mind about me, though precisely how I shall accomplish that feat isn’t quite clear to me yet. Still, sometimes a strategic retreat is what’s needed to win a war. Or a woman.”

  She laughed. “Good man,” she said with approval. “In my opinion, Belinda could be convinced to overlook your flaws if you can find her soft spots. She has them, trust me.”

  He gave her a rueful grin. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what they are?”

  She shook her head and turned to start toward the carriage in the drive. “I will say this much—Belinda has forgotten—deliberately—how it feels to be a desirable woman. Despite any painful past experience, every woman longs to feel desirable. Even me,” she added with a little smile, “and I’m as jaded as they come. Make Belinda feel desirable again and you’ll win her over.”

  “That may be the most delightful advice anyone’s ever given me. Have you any other words of wisdom? Such as how I can support her once I’ve won her over?”

  She turned her head to look at him, her green eyes wide with a surprise he didn’t quite understand. “Why would you need to support her?”

  “Well, it’s no secret I haven’t a bean, and Belinda hasn’t much more. Featherstone left her very badly off. So—”

  “Belinda, badly off?” The duchess began to laugh. “Did she tell you that herself to keep you at bay?”

  Taken aback, Nicholas frowned. “No, Jack told me—that is, Lord Featherstone. He said his brother left both of them without a farthing. But Belinda did confirm it.”

  “Ah, Featherstone. Well, that explains it. If Jack were my brother-in-law, I should tell him the same. He’s terribly reckless and irresponsible. I’m sure Belinda’s very grateful he lives in Paris. He’d soon learn the truth about her finances if he lived in London, and he’d be after her for a loan quick as lightning. In fact, I’m surprised she’s kept her money a secret from him as long as she has. Of course, Belinda doesn’t flaunt her wealth, but—”

  “Wait.” He cut her off, stopped walking, and turned toward her as his mind tried to make sense of what she’d been saying. “Belinda is rich?”

  “Rich as Croesus.” She laughed. “You seem quite stunned, Trubridge.”

  Stunned? He felt as if he’d been hit in the head with a cricket bat. “Rather,” he murmured. “You’ve knocked me flat with this news, I admit.”

  “I don’t see why it should be such a surprise. You were staring at her so thoroughly last night, you must have noticed those gorgeous pearls around her throat.”

  “Roman pearls, surely.”

  “They’re so perfect, you’d think they’re false, I agree, but no. Belinda can afford real ones, believe me. In fact, I’d wager she has more money than some of the American heiresses she represents! As I said, she doesn’t flaunt it, but still, I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out. You must have discovered what she charges when you hired her. Do the arithmetic.”

  “Actually, we never discussed the monetary details of the arrangement,” he confessed, still trying to accept the idea of a Belinda with money. “I have no idea what her fees actually are.”

  “Ten percent of the marriage settlement. When I married Margrave, Belinda’s fee was nearly a hundred thousand pounds.”

  “Good God.”

  “It is a bit staggering, isn’t it?” she said, as they resumed walking toward the carriage. “But American millionaires are happy to pay it if it means social acceptance for their families. My father is exceptionally wealthy, and I was fortunate to have an enormous dowry. Not all Belinda’s fees are quite as high as what my father paid, of course, but they’re high enough. And Belinda is very frugal. She’s partial to her pearls, true enough, and she likes beautiful clothes, but other than that, she lives modestly, saves and invests her money, and doesn’t do any lavish entertaining. She doesn’t have to. She’s invited simply everywhere. I can’t imagine what she’s worth, but it’s a lot. There,” she added, laughing, as they paused beside the carriage, “if you marry Belinda, all your problems are solved.”


  He couldn’t laugh with her. “It isn’t that simple, I’m afraid. As I said, she hasn’t the time of day for me. It’s going to be hard going to convince her to want me, much less marry me. And if somehow I do manage to persuade her, her dowry is irrelevant because I wouldn’t take it even if she offered it. As I said, material considerations aren’t part of this. Not for me. Not with her.”

  “Your integrity does you credit.”

  He laughed as he stepped into the carriage. “Duchess,” he said, grinning at her through the window, “I believe that is the first time anyone has ever complimented my integrity.”

  NICHOLAS DIDN’T MISS the train though it was a near shave. Before the carriage had even stopped in front of the station, he could see the steam from its engine curling overhead, a clear indication that it was about to depart. The moment the carriage came to a halt, he was out of the vehicle and beckoning for a porter as he headed to the ticket window. Thankfully, porters paid attention to gentlemen who arrived in the duchess’s carriage, and Chalmers received assistance at once while Nicholas purchased tickets.

  When the train whistle blew, he shoved his valet’s ticket into his hand, grabbed the last suitcase himself and jumped up onto the first-class carriage. He’d barely found his seat before the train jerked into motion, and he could only hope Chalmers had been able to do the same.

  Once the rush to make the train was over, however, and his journey under way, Nicholas’s mind turned to what the duchess had told him.

  He couldn’t blame Belinda for deceiving him as to her financial situation. And the information didn’t change his course. As he’d told the duchess, he didn’t want Belinda’s money. Not only because he was out to gain her respect but also because he wanted to regain his own. That meant making his own way, and that meant earning a living.

  But how? That was the crucial question. He resumed his speculations of the night before, but after over an hour, he confessed himself still as unenlightened as before. His education was that of a gentleman, which meant it was of no practical use whatsoever. Not being a second son, he’d never studied law or medicine or engineering or anything remotely useful. Latin and Keats weren’t of much commercial value. Had he been able to study the sciences as he would have wished to, that might have made a difference. He felt a hint of bitterness at the thought, but he shoved it aside. That was water under the bridge now, and bitterness was hardly helpful.

  Still, the brutal truth was that he had no skills for which anyone would pay. He wasn’t trained for anything. No one would hire a duke’s son to be a clerk in a bank, especially when the duke would surely come along at some point and queer the pitch. He had good health and brute strength, but he’d guess longshoremen made barely enough to keep body and soul together.

  He considered post after post, but as he did, he knew it was a futile exercise. All other considerations aside, there was no job of any kind that Landsdowne couldn’t manage to get him sacked from.

  That fact also prevented him from going into diplomatic service. Landsdowne’s influence was too great. One word in the proper ears, and he’d find his career in diplomacy over before it began.

  If he had capital, he could invest it in funds or shares, but of course, his lack of capital was the heart of his problem. Belinda’s words about saving for a rainy day came back to haunt him, and he thought with infinite regret of all the money he’d frittered away on empty pursuits. But like bitterness, regrets were of no use. All he could do in the future was vow to do better than he had in the past.

  He’d been over all these same considerations last night, as well as when he’d first been informed his trust had been cut off, and as he contemplated them again now, no new ideas presented themselves. As Belinda had pointed out, he was a lily of the field, but what other fate could there be for a man like him?

  The speed of the train slackened, and he glanced up, startled to discover that the two hour journey was nearly over. The train had just crossed Grosvenor Bridge and was nearing Victoria Station, and he stared out the window as it lumbered along beside the canal. Beyond the canal were industrial buildings and blocks of flats for the working classes, with their costermonger carts out front and lorries clogging the streets.

  The train’s speed slackened even more, almost to a crawl, and Nicholas stood up. He lowered the window and looked out to see if he could determine why they were moving so slowly, but they were on a curve and he could see nothing ahead but the train itself.

  He shut the window and sank back into his seat. It made no sense to be impatient. After all, it wasn’t as if he had anything useful to do when he arrived. Sitting in a train was as good a way of passing the time as anything else, especially when a man needed to think.

  He returned his mind to his situation and wondered about the possibilities of business and commerce. A gentleman who messed about with business affairs was looked down upon as some sort of bad seed by many in society, and though being a bad seed had never bothered him in the least, it didn’t alter the fact that what he knew about commerce and trade would fit in a thimble.

  The train slowed even more, if that were possible, then for some reason known only to railway engineers and conductors, stopped altogether, still several blocks from Victoria Station. Directly out the window in front of him was a soot-covered brick building with boarded-up windows, a vagrant stretched out across its doorway sleeping in the sun, and weeds sprouting up among the cracked pavements and along the foundation. A sign tacked to one of the boarded-up windows proclaimed the building had once been a brewery, and that it was available for let or for sale.

  Nicholas stared at the sign, fragments of conversations and scraps of information swirling through his mind—his discussions with Freebody, the crops at Honeywood, Denys’s family—bits and pieces that suddenly coalesced into one simple, straightforward idea. When he glanced again at the abandoned building and saw the name painted above the doorway of the place, he realized the solution to all his problems might just be staring him right in the face.

  WHEN HE ARRIVED back at South Audley Street, he learned that Denys was not yet out of bed, but he had no intention of allowing that to stop him. Heaping a tray with eggs, bacon, kidneys, and hot buttered toast from the warming dishes on the dining room sideboard, as well as the entire pot of coffee and two cups, he went up to his friend’s room.

  Carefully balancing the tray on one forearm, he tapped the door, then opened it without bothering to wait for permission to enter. “Morning, Denys,” he said in the voice he usually reserved for his deaf Aunt Sadie as he shifted the tray back to both hands and kicked the door shut behind him.

  “What in blazes?” Denys bolted to a sitting position at the bang of the door, flinging back covers. But with one quick glance at the man who’d disturbed his rest, he fell back into the pillows with a groan. “Nick? Good God, man, why the devil are you waking me at this ungodly hour? Do you know what time it is?”

  “Half past ten.”

  “Half past ten?” He groaned again. “No one rises at half past ten! Not in town during the season anyway.”

  “Scarcely found your bed, have you?”

  “While I suppose you haven’t been to bed at all?”

  “I haven’t, actually. Unless turf could be deemed a bed.”

  “What are you blathering about? And what are you doing in London? Aren’t you supposed to be at some house party this week?” Denys stared at him, blinking sleepily for a moment, then he grinned. “And what the devil happened to your face?”

  “It’s a long story. I shan’t bore you with it.” He lifted the tray. “I’ve brought breakfast.”

  Denys waved aside breakfast, peering at him closely. “Your jaw’s swollen and you’ve a graze on your cheek. I do believe you’ll have another black eye,” he said, sounding thoroughly pleased. “Who is the splendid fellow who bestowed it? I must meet him and shake his hand.”

&nb
sp; “I don’t have time for explanations this morning.” He glanced around, then set the tray on one side of the washstand. “Coffee?” he asked as he poured himself a cup.

  “I should love some,” Denys replied as he rolled over, turning his back on his friend, “but I don’t intend to stay awake long enough to drink it.”

  Nicholas ignored that and poured a second cup. “Would you like milk and sugar?”

  “God have mercy,” Denys mumbled and pulled the covers over his head. “Why?” he asked, his voice muffled by sheets and counterpane. “Why do you have to keep reappearing in my life and wreaking havoc?”

  “Because that’s what friends are for. And I do live here.”

  That caused Denys to flip back the sheets and glare at him over his shoulder. “Only temporarily.”

  “Just so. And that’s partly what I want to discuss with you.” He brought both cups of coffee to the bed. “Come along, Denys. Do sit up, have a coffee, and attend to me. I’ve something very important to do, and I need your help.”

  “My help? Haven’t I done enough for you already?”

  “You’ve been a brick.” He settled himself on the edge of the bed. “And I’m about to ask you for more, I’m afraid. But if it’s any consolation, this is something I think you might actually want to help me with because it helps you as well. It might even make us rich. Or at least prosperous.”

  “Sounds too good to be true.”

  “Well, there is one sticky wicket. We’ll have to obtain a loan, and neither of us has the blunt that’s necessary for this venture. I was thinking of your father—”

  Denys groaned. “Really, Nick, there are limits to our friendship!”

  “Well, we certainly can’t go to my father.”

  “And what is this idea?”

  “Beer, Denys. We’re going to make beer.”

  His friend heaved a sigh and sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “Pass me that coffee.”