The marquis eyed his younger brother. He could no longer tell whether he viewed every other male in London through a jealous gaze, but Rafe was certainly upset about something. “They are her family. We are not.”
Rafe stalked to the sideboard and poured himself a snifter of brandy. “Yes, they are. The same ones who threw her in Charles Dunfrey’s direction before. And now that he’s gone and apologized to her, they’ll likely do it again.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Quin asked, mostly to have another opinion besides his own.
“Remember when you shoved me into the drawing room and nearly broke my neck? He took me up on my offer.”
“What offer?”
“To buy his pair of bays for a hundred quid. I had to backpedal like a madman to keep from getting saddled with ’em.”
“And?”
“Well, aside from the fact that I don’t need a pair of coach horses in Africa, they were worth twice that, easily.”
Quin set down his cue, keenly interested now. “Forgive me, Rafe, for not being as brilliant about shady dealings as you, but exactly what about this concerns you?”
His brother shrugged, rolling a billiard ball absently about the table. “It just seems to me that if Dunfrey wanted to sell his bays, he could have gotten a lot more for them than what he was willing to accept.”
Finally Quin began to catch on. “Then you think he wasn’t really interested in selling them.”
Rafe nodded. “Precisely. He was interested in—”
“The money.”
The marquis hefted his cue and returned it to its proper slot along the wall. “Excuse me, Rafe, I have an appointment.”
“With whom?”
Quin turned for the door. “I don’t know yet.”
The manager of the Bank of England was quite flustered to see the Marquis of Warefield stroll into the bustling building unaccompanied by accountants or lawyers, and even more so when Quin requested a private audience.
“What may I do for you, Lord Warefield?” he asked solicitously, folding and unfolding his fingers on top of his scratched oak desk.
“I have a rather unusual request to make of you.” Quin wondered why he didn’t feel a single pang of guilt over what he was about to do.
“Anything, my lord. The Bancroft family’s finances are beyond reproach.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wheating. That’s good to know.”
The bank manager loosened his cravat a little. “I meant no offense, my lord. Oh, heavens, no.”
“None taken. I don’t require a loan, however. I require a little information.”
Mr. Wheating’s tufted eyebrows furrowed. “Information, my lord? What sort of information?”
Quin tapped his chin. “I’m contemplating something of a business venture with one of my fellows. I’m not terribly well acquainted with him, though, and I wished to know a bit more about his financial stability.”
“Oh. Um, well—you know, my lord, information about all of our clients is, well, privileged.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to break any rules. And I don’t need any specifics.” Quin leaned forward, smiling confidently, attempting to ignore the tickle in his mind that knew exactly what Maddie would say about his throwing his title around. “Just a general overview. I would be extremely grateful.”
Mr. Wheating glanced about his empty office. “Who might this fellow be, my lord?”
“Mr. Charles Dunfrey.” Quin sat back expectantly.
“Charles Dun—Dunfrey, you say?” Wheating’s ruddy features paled. “Oh. Oh, my.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“Well, my lord, speaking generally, I would have to say….” Even with the door closed and no one else in the tiny room, he leaned forward across the desk and lowered his voice. “I would have to say that in general, Mr. Dunfrey’s finances are a bit shaky.”
Quin raised an eyebrow. “A bit shaky?”
The manager cleared his throat. “Quite shaky.”
“Ah.”
“Yes. Into negative figures, one might say.”
“Oh, dear,” Quin said in mock distress, disliking Charles Dunfrey more with every passing moment, “this is troubling. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Wheating.” He stood and strolled to the door of the tiny office. “You have saved the Bancrofts a great deal of embarrassment.”
Mr. Wheating climbed to his feet and bowed grandly. “My pleasure, my lord, of course.”
Quin rode Aristotle back to Grosvenor Square by way of Curzon Street. The avenue was well out of his way, and he knew damned well why he was going that route—the Willitses lived on Curzon Street. He paused outside the wrought-iron gates barring him from Maddie, staring at the curtained windows until the gelding began to fidget.
He contemplated calling on her to inform her of Dunfrey’s shaky finances, but for God’s sake, she’d been gone from Bancroft House for only three hours. He’d look exactly like what he was—a complete fool, so in love with a ruined chit that he couldn’t stand being away from her for more than five minutes.
Besides, just because Dunfrey had called on her once or twice didn’t mean either of them was seriously considering marriage again. With Dunfrey’s money troubles, it was entirely possible he wouldn’t want to be saddled with volatile Maddie Willits for a wife. Marrying into an older, more respected title could do him more good than a few ready quid, if Viscount Halverston even had the kind of blunt that would satisfy him.
Feeling a little better, he kicked Aristotle into a trot and headed toward Bancroft House. They’d already planned to attend the Garrington ball tomorrow evening, and he would be able to see her and dance with her—and perhaps some miracle would occur and he would actually think of a way to get them out of this bloody big hole they’d fallen into. If not, he could always kidnap her and make off to the Orient. No doubt she would be furious, but at least she wouldn’t think him dull.
Maddie had barely finished breakfast when Everett entered the room to announce that she had a caller. Her heart leaped. “Who is it?” she asked, trying to hide her excitement and knowing she must be doing a miserable job of it. He’d come to see her, after all!
“Mr. Charles Dunfrey, my lady.”
The delight faded from her heart. “Oh.”
“My, whatever can Charles want?” her mother asked, looking curiously at her father.
“No idea, I’m sure,” he mumbled around his toasted bread.
When he glanced at Maddie, she quickly fixed a smile on her lips. They’d barely spoken since yesterday afternoon, and she had no intention of giving him an excuse to bellow at her again. “I’ll go see, I suppose.”
Charles turned away from the window as she entered the morning room. “Maddie. I’m so pleased you’ve returned home.”
“Yes, so am I, Charles. Thank you.”
“It seems everything has been set right again.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Well, almost everything, anyway. Maddie, I need to ask you something. You know I’m not one for speeches, but this has been weighing on me for some time now, and I can’t deny it any longer.”
Maddie sat in the chair Charles indicated. She had a fair idea of what he wanted to ask, and her own less than pleased reaction didn’t surprise her. He’d prefaced his first proposal to her in nearly the same way—and she’d accused Quin of being dull.
Back then, she’d been excited and nervous and thrilled, barely able to keep from throwing her arms about him when he’d finally asked the question. And then he’d kissed her, and she had thrown her arms about his neck. For a brief two weeks, she’d thought fairy tales really did come true—until she’d been proved very, very wrong.
Charles took her hands and knelt before her. “Maddie, we have been apart for five years, but I believe we were meant to be together. Will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
For a long time she looked at him, waiting for the thrill, the jangle of nerves, that had accompanied this moment five years
earlier. Nothing but a tremor of uneasy nervousness ran through her. Perhaps she was trying too hard—or perhaps it was just that he was no longer the one she dreamed of spending her life with. “May I have some time to consider, Charles?” she asked. “A great deal has changed for me over the past few weeks.”
“Of course.” He smiled and stood. “But at least allow me one liberty.” Slowly he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.
Maddie smiled at him, even less moved, if possible, than she had been a moment ago. “Thank you for your patience, Charles. I will give you my answer tomorrow.”
He kissed her knuckles again. “I do love you, Maddie. I always have.” With a last look, he left the room.
Maddie sat back. Marrying Charles would solve all her problems. It didn’t matter that she didn’t feel anything toward him. Nothing close to what she felt when Quin merely looked in her direction. But he was marrying someone else. She would never hear Quin laugh again when she insulted him, and she would never feel his arms around her again, holding her, and never—
“Maddie?” Her father stepped into the room. “Where’s Charles?”
“He left.”
“He—what did he want?”
“To marry me.”
“That’s splendid!” For a moment he was silent, looking at her expectantly. “Then why did he go?”
She looked up at him. “I told him I would give him my answer tomorrow.”
The viscount opened and closed his mouth. “What precisely did you do that for?”
She heard the anger in his voice and tried to answer in a reasonable tone, however tense and uncertain and lonely she might feel. “I wanted a few hours to think about things, Papa.”
He folded his arms, his expression darkening even further. “To think about what things? He was good enough for you before. And being gone God-knows-where and doing Lucifer-knows-what for five years has hardly elevated your social standing.” Lord Halverston narrowed his eyes. “Or is it that you think you’re too good for all of us, now that the grand Duchess of Highbarrow has shown you some charity?”
“No! Of course not. Just give me until tomorrow to answer him, Papa. That’s all I ask.”
“Just so long as you give the correct answer, Madeleine.”
When he’d left and closed the door behind him, Maddie shut her eyes. Everything had been so much easier at Langley Hall, where she could be Miss Maddie and spend her evenings playing whist or word puzzles with Mr. Bancroft and Squire John. But she couldn’t deny that she’d been lonely there, too—nor that when John Ramsey asked her to marry him, as she’d sensed he eventually would, she would have said no.
“Miss Willits?” Everett scratched politely at the door.
“Yes?” she asked halfheartedly, signing.
“Miss, a Mr. Rafael Bancroft is here to see you.”
Unexpected tears welled up in her eyes. Perhaps there was still some hope. She wiped at them hurriedly. “Show him in, please.”
A moment later die door opened, and Rafe strolled in past Everett. With his usual jaunty grin he bowed, pulling a bright bouquet of flowers from behind his back. “My lady.”
She mustered a smile, fighting more tears. “Hello, Rafe.”
He looked at her for a moment, and then thrust the bouquet at the butler. “Put these in water, will you?” he asked, and closed the door in Everett’s face. “Whatever is wrong? You look like a damned watering pot, Maddie.” He dropped into the chair beside her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she muttered irritably, wiping at her eyes again. “I’m just glad to see you.”
“If I’m so popular with you, then you shouldn’t have left Bancroft House or my illustrious company,” he commented, reaching out to pluck a hard candy from the dish on the table.
“I had to.”
“Mm-hm,” he said around the candy, nodding. “Well, you can tell me all your troubles if you like, but it won’t do you a bit of good. I’m not the one you need to talk to.”
She looked at him sideways. “I don’t need to talk to anyone.”
Rafe sighed heavily. “Suit yourself, Maddie. I am absolutely not going to get pulled into the middle of this mess. I have enough problems of my own.”
“Like what?” she asked innocently. Something had been bothering him from the moment he’d arrived in London, but as far as she knew, he hadn’t confided in anyone.
“Like something I have no intention of telling you about,” he answered easily. “But I will tell you this. My brother has had his entire life planned out for him, and he’s been perfectly happy with it—until now. He’s never had his head twisted around before, Maddie, and you can’t expect him to be anything more than a complete idiot about it.” He patted her on the hand, and stood. “And that is all I intend to say on the subject.”
She looked at him, amused. “Is that why you came by? To inform me that you weren’t going to say anything?”
“Actually, it was to invite you to go riding with me in Hyde Park tomorrow morning. I believe Quin was supposed to go with you this morning, but he’s a bit…preoccupied.”
“So you’re fulfilling a familial obligation by offering to spend time with me?” she asked, hurt.
“I’m taking advantage of his stupidity.” Rate winked at her. “I’ll come by at seven. Do you have a mount here?”
“No.” As she was beginning to realize, she had nothing here. Nothing that meant anything, anyway. Not anymore.
“I’ll bring Sunny, or whatever her name is.”
Maddie grinned. “Honey.”
“Honey,” he repeated, half to himself. “Sounds like something fat old Prinny would own.”
That caught her attention. “What?”
He squinted one eye. “Nothing.”
“Rafe,” she warned, chuckling. “What did you say?”
The younger Bancroft leaned back against the door. “Well, apparently my daft brother searched all over London for the perfect mount for you—you know how he is—and Prinny—drat, I mean King Georgie—had the exact one Quin wanted.”
“So Quin bought Honey from King George, for me?”
“Well, not precisely. Prinny’s been after some architect to design a palace somewhere, and—”
“Brighton,” she supplied, becoming more intrigued with every disjointed sentence.
“Oh, then you know the story.”
“Rafe!”
“All right, all right. Prinny’s got this architect at Brighton, but he couldn’t get Parliament to put up enough blunt to keep him on the job. Quin agreed to make up the difference.”
Maddie sat and looked at him in disbelief, a delighted grin tugging at her lips. “Quin helped King George keep John Nash on salary to renovate Brighton Pavilion, so 1 could have a horse to ride in London?”
Rafe nodded. “Mm-hm.”
A peal of delighted laughter tumbled from her throat. “Oh, good grief! No wonder he didn’t say anything about it to me.”
“I say, that’s right. I’m not supposed to tell you, you know.” He winked again. “Tricked it out of me, you did. Honey and I will be by at seven.”
She stood and came forward to rise up and kiss him on the cheek. Before she could complete the gesture, he turned his head and touched his lips to hers. Startled, Maddie rocked back on her heels. “Rafe?”
“I’m not some castrate, you know,” he muttered, “and you’re quite impressive.” He pulled open the door. “Good God, he’s an idiot.”
“Rafe, this morning Charles Dunfrey asked me to marry him,” she blurted, flushing.
He closed the door again. “And?” he asked slowly, his light green eyes sharpening perceptibly.
That was what she liked so much about Rafe: he wasn’t nearly as daft as he liked to pretend. She wondered how it must be for him, to be a second son and have the Duke of Highbarrow for a father. “I’m to give him my answer in the morning.”
He drummed his fingers against the door for several moments. “You’ll be at the Garringt
on ball tonight, won’t you?” he asked finally.
She nodded.
His eyes held hers. “I’ll see you there, then.”
“Yes, I’ll see you there.”
After he left, the room seemed quiet and gloomy, and Maddie sat wondering why, precisely, she’d bothered to tell him about Charles. She sighed. Because he would tell Quin, of course. And because no matter what she’d said about wanting the marquis to leave her alone and do his duty by Eloise, she was still in love with him. “Oh, drat it all.”
Eloise sat in her coach and watched Rafael Bancroft retrieve his horse and ride away from Willits House. The damned interfering rat couldn’t seem to stay out of her affairs. No doubt he’d spent the entire visit with Maddie, trying to convince her to return to Bancroft House before Quin forgot about her.
Well, Maddie was not going to return to Bancroft House. Dunfrey had timed it perfectly, having her parents arrive in London before Quin’s stupid sense of honor could ruin everything. How he could possibly think pity was a respectable reason to marry a completely unsatisfactory person she had no idea. But something of that sort had been on his mind; she could see it in his eyes when he looked at Maddie. And she didn’t see it in his eyes when he looked at her. That didn’t matter so much, though, as long as she ended being the one wearing his ring, and his title.
From his brief note of this morning, Dunfrey’s plan was working so far—but there were some things she didn’t dare leave completely to chance. Not with her future at stake. With a deep breath she lifted her umbrella and rapped on the roof of her coach. The driver started the team and turned into Willits House’s short drive. Another coachman jumped down from his perch to open the door and help her to the ground.
“Wait here,” she instructed, climbing the shallow steps.
The door swung open just as she reached it. “I am Lady Stokesley,” she announced, before the butler could inquire. “I am here to see Miss Willits.” She handed over a gilded calling card.
The butler, who had the ill manners to look flustered, showed her into the foyer. “If you’ll wait here a moment, my lady.”
She had barely enough time to note the inferior artwork lining the hallway before Maddie, accompanied by a plump woman who must have been her mother, appeared. “Maddie,” she said warmly, coming forward to take the smaller woman’s hands, “how pleased I am to find you here, back with your family. I never expected it.”
By Love Undone Page 26
