When a Lord Needs a Lady

by Jane Goodger

  Perhaps the worst of it was, before all the damning evidence against her had been presented, Graham had felt a large bit of joy over the prospect of marrying Katherine. As difficult as it would be to watch his legacy crumble beneath him, his heart had sung. Now? He battled with a heart that still loved Katherine and a brain that knew such love was misplaced.

  A hundred times Graham had gone over every minute he’d spent with Katherine, from the day they’d met in Brighton to that terrible night at Rufford Abbey when he’d lost his head—and any chance he had at saving his estates. The evidence against her was damning, yes, but at nearly every turn he had been the one to pursue her. It seemed hardly likely that she’d planned it all from the beginning. Perhaps the idea had grown, like a virulent weed in her brain. Perhaps her mother had put her up to it.

  I’m sorry.

  What are you sorry for?

  She hadn’t answered. She’d kissed him and moments later they’d been caught. He could explain that away, even though she’d been the one to arrange that meeting. He could explain it all away, even Lady Marjorie’s concerns, if he hadn’t seen Miss Von Haupt hug Katherine and thank her. He could not envision a single scenario in which the woman who had been betrayed was thanking the betrayer.

  Unless it had all been planned. Unless Miss Von Haupt had been involved, had perhaps helped formulate the scheme—as unlikely as that seemed. Claudia should loathe Katherine. Should have slapped her, screamed at her, cried. Instead, she’d hugged her and said thank you.

  God, how could he have been so blind? How could he have fallen in love with such a woman? And he had fallen in love, if the way he was feeling now was any indication. His entire body hurt as if he’d been run over by a train.

  He’d left Rufford Abbey, unable to face her without doing her bodily harm. In the last ten days, his anger had waned somewhat, turning away from her and toward himself. He’d always prided himself on his control, on putting his duty above all things. How he’d let a charming and beautiful woman sway him from his course, he didn’t know. He was disgusted with himself and philosophically cold about Katherine. Why wouldn’t a title-hungry girl do what she could to nab him? Being angry with her was the same as being angry with the fable’s scorpion that stung the frog, drowning them both. It was her nature, he supposed, and he was the idiot frog who’d trusted her.

  He simply couldn’t believe he’d been so easy to fool. And there were times he couldn’t believe it of her. She was either the greatest actress he’d ever known or she’d been as surprised as he to see they had an audience for their lovemaking. Or maybe he was simply blinded by lust and love.

  Graham swore viciously, and then again as he saw a man who could only be Katherine’s father standing still on the crowded wharf. Hell, the man was huge. He looked like a pugilist, not a successful businessman, even dressed as elegantly as he was. He wore a bowler pulled down low over deep-set eyes that scanned the wharf with purpose. Superfluous sideburns only enhanced the man’s lantern jaw, which at the moment was clenched rather fiercely. But he didn’t look angry, so perhaps Mrs. Wright’s cable had been brief.

  Graham jammed his hat on his head, climbed down from the coach, and walked toward the man he believed to be Bartholomew Wright.

  “Mr. Wright?”

  “I am. You are Spencer?”

  “Yes sir.”

  The next thing Graham felt was a fist to his gut, and his vision momentarily went dark. Doubled over, trying to catch his breath, Graham swallowed down the bile forming in his throat. Good God, the man could punch. Apparently, Mrs. Wright hadn’t been concerned about the cost of sending a detailed cable.

  “All right, then. I didn’t hit you that hard.” Graham looked up at the man as if he were mad. He felt like he’d just been kicked in the gut by an angry stallion. “Let’s get you married.”

  Graham tried to straighten to look the madman in the eyes, only to find Mr. Wright looking about as if nothing had happened. “I suppose I deserved that, but not much of a greeting, eh?” he managed to say, trying desperately not to vomit.

  Mr. Wright gave him a curious look, as if wondering whether Graham had expected some other sort of greeting.

  “My daughters are the lights of my life. It’s best you remember that. And you also might remember that I’m in the ring toeing the line three times a week.” He pointed to his rather mashed nose. “I didn’t get this sipping tea and eating crumpets.”

  Despite himself, Graham laughed, gaining him the first non-murderous look of the day.

  The two men immediately went to a nearby pub, which drew a small amount of attention, for it was the sort of place that rarely—if ever—attracted a titled gentleman. Graham needed a drink and it was the closest place that didn’t look like it harbored gin-soaked cutthroats, and he had a feeling Mr. Wright wasn’t the sort who would be comfortable in Brooks’. And St. James was too far to wait for a drink at any rate.

  Mr. Wright ordered a whiskey and downed it like water, then ordered another before Graham had even taken his first sip. His stomach was still a tad sick after that hard blow. They sat silently at a table decorated with the rings of drinks long consumed, breathing in remnants of cigar and pipe smoke. The place was nearly empty, since it was early afternoon, and even the hardest drinkers had yet to venture in.

  After downing his second glass, Mr. Wright broke the silence. “I kept wondering on the trip over here, what kind of man you were. Here you have a girl, pretty enough, who comes with a million pounds. That’s more than a million dollars, you know. That’s a lot of money for any man.”

  “And fifty thousand a year, you mustn’t forget that,” Graham said bitterly. Mr. Wright looked as if he just might punch him again, so Graham stopped talking.

  “So here’s this man, this broke, titled man, in desperate need of money. He’s got his bird in his hand. He’s ready to win the prize. Indeed, the prize is already his. This man, I’m thinking, is one lucky bastard. Beautiful girl. Lots of money that he hasn’t had to work a minute for. He’s in a good position now. An envious position.

  “This man, this desperate man, loses it all”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that. I have a question for you, Mr. Spencer.”

  Graham didn’t bother pointing out he wasn’t a mister; he simply nodded and waited for the question.

  “Did you ever in the course of these past weeks ever truly consider marrying my daughter instead of that Von Haupt girl?”

  Graham swallowed, and as much as he dreaded feeling another blow, he told the truth. “No sir, I didn’t.”

  Mr. Wright slapped his hand down so hard on the table, Graham couldn’t help but wince. “That’s what I thought,” Mr. Wright declared loudly. “So, I’m thinking, why would a man take such a chance? He knows the rules. He knows if he gets caught dallying with this other girl—my daughter—everything will be ruined. All that money—poof.” He gestured with his beefy, but somehow elegant, hands. “Why would a man do such a thing?”

  Graham stared at the older man, briefly wondering whether that question wasn’t rhetorical. He breathed a small sigh of relief when Mr. Wright answered for him.

  “Is he a moron? I asked myself. Could be, could be.” He looked at Graham as if assessing his intelligence or lack thereof. “Is he an immoral reprobate? Does he have no conscience? Is seducing innocent young girls a hobby of his?”

  Graham felt his anger grow. “Sir, you have—”

  “No need for a show of outrage, Mr. Spencer,” Mr. Wright said, holding up a hand. “I know how you English feel about honor and whatnot. But you must imagine how difficult it is for me, the father of my lovely, innocent daughter, to imagine why a man—an engaged man with more than a million dollars at stake—would put his entire future in jeopardy. So is it stupidity or arrogance?”

  Love. It was love, with a large dose of stupidity.

  “Stupidity,” Graham said softly. For wasn’t falling in love with Katherine the height of stupidity?

  Mr. Wright gave
Graham a grim smile. “Now, why would I give a dime to a stupid man?” Mr. Wright said, his tone suddenly as cold and hard as stone on a winter’s day.

  Chapter 14

  From a distance, Avonleigh took one’s breath away. It was situated in a valley surrounded by brilliant green rolling fields dotted with sheep and backed by a thick forest. A small lake sparkled to the west, creating a scene that could be conjured for a fairy tale. Katherine looked up and felt her world tilt slightly. It was the strangest feeling, to look at a building she’d never before seen and feel as if she had come home. Her heart actually hurt, looking at Avonleigh. It was not the largest home she’d seen in England, but it was by far the prettiest.

  Unlike so many homes they’d toured, it was not a hodgepodge of different centuries’ architectural styles tacked together, but a lovely building with peaked copper roofs above mellow golden stone.

  That was at a distance. As they grew closer, it became clear that what looked like a lovely garden—perhaps at one time it had been—was nothing more than an overgrown mass of flowers choked by weeds. The drive was rutted, and if it ever had been gravel, the stones had long been mashed into the ground to become part of the wild landscape. Weeds had even taken over the drive, poking up valiantly to brush against the horses’ shins as they pulled the coach to the front drive.

  No footmen appeared to help them from the carriage, and the women waited for Mr. Chase to slowly step down from his place next to the driver so he could assist them. He pulled down the steps and offered his gloved hand, grimly looking at his two charges.

  “No wonder he wanted cash,” Elizabeth said, when she’d exited the coach. She looked up at the home with no small bit of dismay. “It looks abandoned.”

  “He doesn’t care about the house. It’s his people he’s worried about,” Katherine said.

  Mr. Chase furrowed his brow sharply at her words as he helped Clara and Patty from the carriage, and Katherine felt as if she’d said something unforgiveable. Did Mr. Chase think she was belittling Graham’s need to help his tenants and the people who depended on this little town to thrive?

  Just then, the front door opened and a man who appeared to be in his nineties peered at them with rheumy eyes.

  “Ah, Mr. Stanfield,” said Mr. Chase in a booming voice. Mr. Stanfield must be deaf, Katherine thought. “I suppose you did not get my cable.”

  “No, Mr. Chase,” the ancient man said in a voice so thin as to almost be nonexistent. He sounded as if he were being choked. “No cable.”

  “We got a cable,” a woman, who seemed not quite so ancient, said from behind Mr. Stanfield. “I knew you were comin’ even if this old coot forgot.” She tapped her head and rolled her eyes.

  “Mrs. Alcourt, allow me to introduce Miss Katherine Wright and her mother, Mrs. Bartholomew Wright,” Mr. Chase said. “Miss Wright is betrothed to his lordship.”

  Katherine couldn’t help but give Mr. Chase a look of exasperation. The words themselves were innocuous, but it was the way he’d said them. He had the unique knack of making anything he said sound completely derisive.

  “This is Clara, my maid, and Patty, my mother’s maid. I’ve been looking forward to seeing Avonleigh, but for now, we’d like to go to our rooms.”

  “You’re staying here?” Mrs. Alcourt said with horrified surprise.

  Katherine shot a quick look to her mother. “Of course. This is where we plan to live. At least I do.” Was the woman daft?

  Realization finally registered on Mrs. Alcourt’s face. “Oh my goodness, we’re not ready at all. Not at all!” She glared at Mr. Chase, who seemed completely nonplussed by events.

  “That is why I sent the cable, Mrs. Alcourt. To warn you of our impending arrival.”

  “All right, then, Mr. Chase. No need to get snippy, is there. We’ll have their rooms right as rain in no time. Meanwhile, you can wait in . . .” A small bit of panic ensued, as Mrs. Alcourt apparently tried to think of an appropriate place to put the two women. “. . . the master’s library,” she finished triumphantly. “Mr. Chase, could you show their maids to the servants’ quarters?”

  It was soon apparent why Mrs. Alcourt had chosen the library, as it appeared to be the only room on the main level to have furniture. Their footsteps echoed ominously as they walked down a long, uncarpeted hall. Her mother whispered fiercely, “Why would he send us here? As bad as Bryant Park is, at least some rooms actually have furniture in them.”

  Even the walls had been stripped bare, the ghosts of paintings long gone the only adornment on the faded wallpaper. “I have no idea,” Katherine said, but she was growing ever more alarmed. She could explain away why Graham had left Rufford Abbey in haste without saying good-bye, but how could she explain sending her and her mother practically to Scotland to live in a home that clearly was barely habitable? She knew he had to be bitterly disappointed about what had transpired. She felt purely awful that it had come to this—even as her heart celebrated. Every time a bit of joy filtered out of her, guilt for the consequences of her actions was close behind. During the trip here, she had resolved to make the most of it and make Graham as happy as she could. She might not come with one million pounds, but her dowry was impressive. Surely he could do much good with the one hundred thousand dollars she would bring to the marriage. It wasn’t as if all was lost. He hadn’t loved Claudia. So why did she feel as if she were being punished?

  “I believe we’ve gone back in time,” Elizabeth whispered as they followed Mrs. Alcourt down a series of halls. The walls held no gaslight, only naked candle sconces. She supposed even candles weren’t needed in a home where no one lived.

  “Here we are,” Mrs. Alcourt said happily, pushing open a heavily carved door.

  Katherine almost wept with relief. It was a lovely room, with rich carpeting, polished wood paneling, and windows that were clean and allowed sunlight to stream in once the heavy, velvet curtains were pushed aside. She noticed with pleasure that only the smallest amount of dust fell from the curtains when Mrs. Alcourt thrust them aside, and the room itself was immaculate.

  “A lovely room, Mrs. Alcourt. Thank you.”

  Mrs. Alcourt beamed. “I’m afraid it’s the only room below stairs that’s been kept up, but it should be comfortable enough. His lordship eats in his rooms, you see. I expect he’ll be here shortly?”

  “I believe he’s about a week behind us. He’s meeting with Mr. Wright and they are traveling here upon my father’s arrival.”

  Mrs. Alcourt was about to leave the room, then stopped. “The staff here is very excited about his lordship’s marriage, Miss Wright. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen him happy with all that’s weighing him down.”

  Goodness, they must not know she was not the original American heiress. No doubt they’d all been quite excited about the prospect of having funds in the coffers again. She’d let Graham explain things to them and said only, “I look forward to a long and wonderful life here, Mrs. Alcourt.”

  When the housekeeper was gone, her mother collapsed onto the nearest chair, looking as if she were in shock.

  “I had no idea,” she said. “I cannot allow you to stay here, Katherine. It’s completely out of the question.”

  Katherine forced a smile. “It only needs a bit of furniture. It’s a lovely home.”

  “A bit of furniture? Lovely! It has no gaslight, no carpets, no paintings. No staff to speak of. I hardly think a house this size can be run properly with two elderly people. I wouldn’t be surprised if they handed you a chamber pot.”

  Katherine sighed. “I’m actually fairly certain this home doesn’t have water closets. I’ll just make do. Goodness, Mother, if a chamber pot is my biggest worry, I daresay I shall be quite happy here.”

  “You’re not staying. My daughter will not stay in a home without adequate staff or furniture.”

  “Perhaps you should have thought of that before forcing me on this trip to hunt for a title.” Katherine continued even as she registered the shock on her m
other’s face. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mother, but a very many titles in need of cash have homes much like this one. They want to marry an heiress so they can update their homes. At least Lord Avonleigh is not so self-involved to only care whether he has pretty paintings on the wall. I’m quite certain that every penny he made from selling it all off went to his farmers and the village. And I’m glad of it. You have no idea what that man has endured, how seeing his people suffer has hurt him. If I have to use a chamber pot for the rest of my life, that’s what I’ll do.” Her mother looked as if she were about to have an apoplexy, and Katherine was about to burst into tears, but the sudden appearance of Mr. Chase acted like a stopper. She swallowed and composed herself, excruciatingly aware she’d just been talking about chamber pots. “Yes, Mr. Chase?”

  He stared at her a long moment and raised one eyebrow. “Your rooms are being readied, Miss Wright, Mrs. Wright,” he said. “I’ll send Mrs. Alcourt when they are nicely turned.” He gave a small bow, then left the room.

  “No doubt we’ll be sleeping on the floor,” Elizabeth said darkly.

  And that’s when Katherine burst into tears.

  Graham had never been so tense in his life. Bartholomew Wright was one of the most intimidating men he’d ever met, and the memory of that beefy fist sinking into his stomach was never far from his mind during their long trip north. He supposed he’d imagined Mr. Wright as an elderly businessman, a bookish gentleman who spent his life behind a desk. He could not have been more wrong. He couldn’t fathom how a man like Wright could have produced a beauty like Katherine.

  Long silences as they sat together on the interminable train trip north were often interrupted by pointed questions in which Graham felt every syllable he uttered was being judged. Numerous times he had to squelch the urge to point out Katherine’s duplicity, for this constant barrage of animosity, when he was the true victim, was getting wearing.