Justin winced inwardly. Five days of being the ninth Duke of Thornborough was not long enough to accustom him to his new status. “I assume that you are going to tell me that the financial situation is difficult. I’m already aware of that.”
Another little cough, this one embarrassed. “While you are very knowledgeable about estate matters, there are, ah, certain other items that you might not know of.”
With sudden foreboding, Justin asked, “Had Gavin run up extensive personal debts?”
“I’m afraid so, your grace. To the tune of...almost a hundred thousand pounds.”
A hundred thousand pounds! How the devil had Gavin managed to spend so much? Justin wanted to swear out loud.
Seeing his expression, Mr. Burrell said, “It was unfortunate that your brother’s death occurred just when it did.”
“You mean the fact that he died while on his way to marry May Russell? It certainly would have been more prudent to have waited until after the wedding,” Justin said bitterly.
It would have been even more prudent if Gavin had stayed in the private Thornborough railway car. Instead, he had been taken by the charms of a French lady and had gone to her compartment. When the train crashed, the duke and his inamorata had both died, locked in a scandalous embrace. If Gavin had been in his own car, he would have survived the crash with scarcely a bruise.
Oh, damn, Gavin, why did you have to get yourself killed?
Justin swallowed hard. “Obviously drastic measures will be required to save the family from bankruptcy.”
“You could sell some land.”
“No!” More moderately, Justin said, “The land is held in trust for future generations. It should not be sold to pay frivolous debts.”
Burrell nodded, as if he had expected that response. “The only other choice is for you to make an advantageous marriage.”
“Become a fortune hunter, you mean?”
“It’s a time-honored tradition, your grace,” Burrell pointed out with dignity. “You have a great deal to offer a well-dowered bride. One of England’s greatest names, and the most magnificent private palace in Great Britain.”
“A palace whose roof leaks,” Justin said dryly. “Even as we speak, dozens of buckets in the attic are filling with water.”
“In that case, the sooner you marry, the better.” The solicitor cleared his throat with a new intonation. “In fact, Mrs. Russell hinted to me this morning that if you were interested in contracting an alliance with her, she would look with favor on your suit.”
“Marry my brother’s fiancée?” Justin said incredulously. He thought of how May had looked earlier at Gavin’s funeral, weeping copiously, her beautiful face obscured by her black mourning veil. Perhaps if he had looked more closely, he would have seen a speculative gleam in her eyes. “It’s hard to believe that even she would go to such lengths to become a duchess.”
“The lady implied that she has a certain fondness for you as well,” Burrell said piously.
“The lady has a deficient memory,” Justin retorted. It was May Russell who had first called him the Gargoyle. She had been demonstrating her wittiness. Even Gavin had laughed.
“She has a very large fortune under her own control,” the solicitor said with regret. “But I suppose you’re right, it would be unseemly for you to marry your brother’s betrothed. Do you have another suitable female in mind?”
“No, tor the last several years, I’ve been too busy to look for a wife.” Justin returned to his position by the window and stared blindly across the grounds. Burrell was right that marriage was the only plausible answer. Justin wouldn’t be the first, and certainly not the last, to marry for money.
Even as a younger son, Justin would have had no trouble finding a wife, for he was an Aubrey, had no appalling vices and he had inherited an adequate private income. Yet though Gavin’s entertaining had brought a steady stream of polished, fashionable females through Swindon, there had never been one whom Justin had wanted for a wife.
Except...
He closed his eyes, and instantly the memory he had tried to suppress for months crossed his mind. A perfect spring day, a tall, graceful young woman with a smile of such bright sweetness that she was nicknamed for the sun. The image was more real than the foggy landscape outside.
Though Justin had hated himself for his weakness, he had compulsively tracked Sunny Vangelder’s triumphant passage through English society. Scarcely an issue of the Morning Post had arrived without mentioning her presentation at court, or her glowing appearance at a ball, or the fact that she had been seen riding in Rotten Row. Rumor said that many men had asked for her hand, and daily Justin had steeled himself for an announcement of a brilliant match. Yet at the end of the season, she had left London still unbetrothed.
He drew a painful breath. It was absurd to think of such an incomparable female marrying someone as ordinary as himself. But Gavin had said that she was the greatest heiress ever to cross the Atlantic, which meant that she was exactly the sort of wife Justin needed. And it was also said that her mother wanted to see her a duchess.
Scarcely daring to hope, he asked, “Do you know if Miss Vangelder has contracted a marriage yet?”
“You want to marry the Gilded Girl?” Burrell said, unable to conceal his shock at such effrontery. “Winning her would be quite a coup, but difficult, very difficult. There’s a mining heiress from San Francisco who might be a better choice. Almost as wealthy, and I am acquainted with her father. Or perhaps...”
Interrupting the solicitor, Justin said, “I would prefer Miss Vangelder. I met her once, and found her...very amiable.”
After a long pause, Burrell said doubtfully, “Of course, you are the Duke of Thornborough. Perhaps it could be done.”
Justin smiled humorlessly at the slate-gray pools of the water garden. “How does one go about selling oneself, Burrell? My experience is sadly deficient.”
Ignoring the sardonic tone, the solicitor said, “I shall visit Lady Westron. She’s the girl’s godmother, you know. If she thinks the idea has merit, she can write Augusta Vangelder.”
“Then by all means call on her ladyship before the roof collapses.”
“There is one thing you should consider before proceeding, your grace,” Burrell said with a warning note. “There are more American heiresses than English ones, and they tend to be much more polished, but a drawback of such an alliance is that the families usually drive hard bargains. You would probably have restrictions placed on your control of the dowry, and you might have to return the balance if the marriage ends.”
Justin’s mouth tightened. “I wouldn’t be marrying the girl with the intention of divorcing her, Burrell.”
“Of course not,” the solicitor said quickly. After a shuffle of papers, he added, “If I may say so, you’re very different from your brother.”
“Say what you like,” Justin said tersely. Yet though he told himself that a rich wife was strictly a practical matter, the possibility of marrying Sunny Vangelder filled him with raw, aching hunger.
If she came to Swindon, there would always be sunshine.
* * *
Newport, Rhode Island
Laughing and breathless from the bicycle ride, Sunny waved goodbye to her friends, then skipped up the steps of The Tides, the Vangelder summer home. Like most Newport “cottages,” it would have been called a mansion anywhere else. But the atmosphere was more relaxed than New York City and she always enjoyed the months spent in Newport.
This summer was the best ever, because the Honorable Paul Curzon was visiting the Astors. He had arrived in Newport three weeks earlier, and the first time they had waltzed together he had confided that he had come to America to see Sunny.
She had almost expired from sheer bliss, for she had been thinking of Paul ever since their first meeting. They had carried on a delicious flirtation throughout the season, and she had sensed that there were deeper feelings on both sides. She'd been bitterly disappointed that he had not offer
ed for her then.
As they danced, he explained that he had not spoken earlier for he had feared that he would not be considered an acceptable suitor. But after weeks of yearning, he had finally decided to come to America and declare his love.
Breathlessly she had confessed that she also had tender feelings for him. Ever since that night, she had been living in an enchanted dream. Each morning she woke with the knowledge that she would see Paul at least once during the day, perhaps more than that. The business of Newport was society, and there was an endless succession of balls and dinner parties and polo matches.
Though the two of them had behaved impeccably in public, on two magical occasions they had had a moment’s privacy, and he had kissed her with a passion that made her blood sing through her veins. At night, as she lay in her chaste bed, she remembered those kisses and yearned for more.
His courtship had culminated this morning, in the few minutes when the two of them had cycled ahead of the rest of their party. After declaring his love, he had asked her to marry him. Dizzy with delight, she had accepted instantly.
As Sunny stepped into the cool marble vestibule of The Tides, she tried to calm her expression, for she knew that she was beaming like a fool. It was going to be hard to keep her lovely secret, but she must until the next day, when Paul would ask her mother’s permission. Her mother would not be enthralled by the match, but Sunny was sure she would come around. Paul came from a fine family and he had a distinguished career in front of him.
She handed the butler her hat, saying gaily, “It’s a beautiful day, Graves.”
“Indeed it is, Miss Sarah.” Taking the hat, he added, “Your mother has asked that you see her as soon as you return home. I believe that she is in her private salon.”
Such summons were not uncommon, so Sunny went upstairs with no premonition of disaster. She knocked on her mother’s door and was invited in.
When she entered, Augusta looked up from her desk with triumph in her eyes. “I have splendid news, Sarah! I’ll admit I was tempted by some of the offers I received for your hand, but it was right to wait.” After a portentous pause, she said, “You, my dear, are going to become the Duchess of Thornborough.”
The shock was so stunning that at first Sunny could only say stupidly, “What on earth do you mean?”
“You’re going to marry Thornborough, of course,” her mother said briskly. “For the last several days cables have been flying back and forth between Newport and England. The essentials have been settled, and Thornborough is on his way to Newport to make you a formal offer.”
“But I thought the Duke of Thornborough was going to marry Mrs. Russell.”
“That was Gavin, the eighth duke. Unfortunately he was killed in a train wreck several weeks ago, two days before he was to marry May.” Augusta smiled maliciously. “I would wager that May tried her luck with his successor, but clearly the ninth duke has better taste than his brother.”
Feeling ice-cold, Sunny sank into a chair. “How can I marry a man whom I’ve never even met?” she said weakly.
“Katie Westron said that you did meet him. In fact, you spent a rather indecent amount of time strolling through the Swindon gardens together,” her mother said. “He was Lord Justin Aubrey then, younger brother to the duke who just died.”
The fete at Swindon was when Sunny had met Paul. Beside that, other events of the day had paled. Dazedly she tried to remember more. The gardens had been superb, and she vaguely recalled being escorted through them by someone. Had that been Lord Justin? She supposed so, though she could remember nothing about him except that he was dark, and quiet, and...unmemorable.
But it didn’t matter what he was like, because she wasn’t going to marry him. Steeling herself for battle, Sunny said, “I can’t marry Thornborough because I’m betrothed to Paul Curzon.”
There was an instant of ominous silence before her mother exploded. “Nonsense! I considered putting a stop to that earlier, but I thought it was a harmless flirtation. I couldn’t believe you would be so foolish as to entertain thoughts of marrying such a man.” Her eyes narrowed. “I trust you’ve had the sense not to tell anyone about this so-called engagement?”
Sunny shook her head. “Paul only asked me this morning.”
“I shall send him a note saying he is never to call on you, or speak to you, again. That will put an end to this idiocy.” Augusta drummed her fingers on the elaborate desk as she thought. “Thornborough will be here in nine days. I shall give a ball in his honor a week later, and we can announce the betrothal then. The wedding should take place in October, I think. It will take that long to make suitable arrangements.”
Knowing that she faced the fight of her life, Sunny wiped her damp palms on her skirt as she struggled for calm. “You must cable the duke and stop him from coming, Mother. Paul Curzon and I love each other, and I am going to marry him.”
It was the first time she had ever defied her mother, and Augusta’s jaw dropped in shock. Recovering quickly, she said in a low, furious voice, “You are a Vangelder, my girl, and I’ve devoted my life to training you to be worthy of the highest station. I will never permit you to throw yourself away on a worthless, fortune-hunting younger son!”
“Paul is no fortune hunter! He said that if you refused permission, we could live on his income,” Sunny said hotly. “And he isn’t worthless! He’s a British aristocrat, exactly what you wanted for me, and he has a great future in British politics. He was recently made a junior minister, and he says that with me by his side he’ll soon be in the Cabinet.”
“Your money would certainly help his career,” Augusta said grimly, “but he’ll have to find himself another heiress, because I will never give my consent.”
“I don’t need your consent!” Sunny said fiercely. “I’m of legal age and can marry whomever I wish. And I will!”
“How dare you speak to your mother this way!” Augusta grabbed Sunny’s elbow, then marched her down the hall to her bedroom and shoved her inside. “If you think a humble life is so splendid, you can stay locked in here and live on bread and water until you change your mind!”
As the key turned in the lock, Sunny collapsed, shaking, on the bed. She had never dreamed how painful defiance could be. Yet she could not surrender, not when her whole life’s happiness was at stake.
She must see Paul; he would know what to do.
The thought steadied her churning emotions, and she began to consider what to do. Her bedroom opened onto the roof of one of the porches, and her older brother Charlie had showed her how to climb to the ground. Her mother had never dreamed that her well-bred daughter would behave in such a hoydenish fashion.
Paul was staying at Windfall, which was only a mile away. Would he be there this evening? Yes, he'd mentioned that the Astors were giving a dinner party. She would wait until her mother retired, then escape and walk to Windfall.
With a veil over her face, no one would recognize her even if she was seen. She’d go to the servants’ entrance and ask for the butler. He knew her, and she thought that for a suitable consideration he would summon Paul and let them have a few minutes of privacy.
Once they were together, everything would be all right.
* * *
Sunny’s plan went smoothly and by ten o’clock that evening she was pacing nervously around the Windfall servants’ sitting room. She hoped Paul would be able to slip away quietly when the butler delivered her message. But what if the butler betrayed her to Mrs. Astor? Or if Mrs. Astor suspected that something was amiss and decided to investigate?
The door opened and she whirled around, ready to jump from her skin. With a wave of relief, she saw that it was Paul, devastatingly attractive in his evening dress. Coming toward her with concern on his face, he said, “Darling, you shouldn’t risk your reputation like this. But it’s wonderful to see you unexpectedly!"
He opened his arms and she went into them eagerly. She loved his height, which made her feel small and feminine. It was the
first time they had real privacy, and his kiss far surpassed what they had shared before. Her resolve strengthened. She would never give up his love for the dubious pleasure of marrying a nondescript duke. Never!
Remembering the reason for her visit, she reluctantly ended the kiss. “Oh, Paul, something dreadful has happened!” she said miserably. “Today my mother told me that she has arranged for me to marry someone else. I told her about our betrothal, but she won’t hear of it. She locked me in my room and swore I’d stay there on bread and water until I changed my mind.”
“How dare she treat you in such a way!” Paul exclaimed. “I won’t permit it!”
“I refused to agree to her wishes, of course, but it was so difficult. I...I think we should elope. Tonight.”
“Right now?” he said, startled. “That’s not what I want for you, darling. You deserve the grandest wedding of the century, not a furtive, hole-in-corner affair.”
“What does that matter?” she said impatiently. “I’m trying to be strong, but my mother is...is not easy to resist.”
“Who does she want you to marry?”
“The new Duke of Thornborough, Justin Aubrey. His brother, Gavin, just died, and Justin needs a rich wife.”
Before she could say more, Paul said in a stunned voice, “The Duke of Thornborough! You would be one of the most influential women in England.”
“And one of the unhappiest.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back angrily. “I need to be with you, Paul.”
“We must reason this out.” He stroked her back soothingly. “Your mother flatly refused to consider me as a suitor?”
“She said that it was unthinkable that I should marry a nobody.” Sunny relaxed again, comforted by his touch. “Such nonsense! Titles mean nothing. What matters is being a gentleman, and no one is more gentlemanly than you.”
After a long pause, Paul said gravely, “Sunny, I can’t marry you against your mother’s wishes. Though I knew that she would not be enthusiastic about my suit, I thought I would be able to persuade her. But to be Duchess of Thornborough! With that in prospect, she will never accept me."
Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Wedding Novellas Page 8
