Love with the Proper Husband

by Victoria Alexander

  “With horses?” Patience’s eyes lit.

  “And dogs?” Hope said eagerly. “What fun.”

  “Indeed.” Gwen nodded. “Of course stables do tend to attract other, less desirable creatures, but surely that won’t bother you.”

  “What kind of creatures?” Apprehension sounded in Hope’s voice.

  “Oh you know, the usual sort of thing,” Gwen said blithely. “Mice at the very least and I should think rats—”

  “Then we shall sleep outside,” Patience said quickly.

  “Certainly you could but”—Gwen drew her brows together—“well, there are rats outside as well. And all manner of unpleasant people.” Gwen shook her head. “No, I don’t think that will do. The best answer is for you all to get some kind of employment. Perhaps as house or scullery maids.”

  “That was my plan all along.” Charity smirked.

  Patience and Hope traded uneasy glances. Patience met Gwen’s gaze. “Aren’t we a bit young for that?”

  “Indeed you are, but”—Gwen heaved a heavy sigh—“I’m afraid we are back to that same question of money. Without it, one has very few options. Why, I myself had to face being without funds when I was scarcely older than Charity. It’s not at all pleasant.”

  Hope frowned. “Then what are we to do?”

  “We could come live with you.” Challenge rang in Charity’s eyes, and her unflinching gaze met Gwen’s.

  From the moment Gwen had turned and stepped back into the room—no—from the moment she’d heard that never forgotten note in Hope’s voice, she knew it would come to this. And knew as well it was the right thing—the only thing—to do. These girls were all the family Gwen had left in the world. Her nieces had lost so much already, how could Gwen allow them to lose one another? Besides, how could she let any girls—let alone these girls—grow up knowing they weren’t especially wanted? Grow up as Gwen had.

  “Indeed you could.” Gwen’s gaze never left Charity’s. “Although I cannot guarantee how we shall get along.”

  Patience snorted. “We shall certainly get along better with you than we do with Pickleface.”

  “We should get along better with anyone than we do with Pickleface,” Hope said pointedly.

  “Well then…” Gwen drew a deep breath, wondering how someone who did not especially like children now had three in her keeping. Forever. “It is decided.”

  “Wonderful,” Patience said with a wide grin.

  “We shall have a grand life together.” Hope beamed. “And perhaps we could have a dog as well.”

  “Do not think this means we are going to like you.” The relief in her eyes belied the note in Charity’s voice.

  “It doesn’t?” Hope’s brow furrowed. “Not even a little?”

  “Not at all,” Charity said.

  “You cannot tell me what to do just because you’re the oldest.” Patience glared at her sister. “I shall like her if I want to, and you can’t stop me.” She shot an apologetic glance at Gwen. “Not that I intend to, you understand.”

  “It’s really not necessary to like me,” Gwen said quickly. “I understand completely.” Of course she did. The girls had felt abandoned by her and she could not fault their resentment.

  “We shall, however, feel a certain amount of gratitude toward you,” Charity said grudgingly. “And we shall endeavor not to be rude or impolite.”

  Gwen nodded. “I can ask for nothing more.”

  “In return…” Charity straightened her shoulders. “We shall not expect you to like us.”

  “I expect her to like me,” Patience murmured.

  “Everyone has always liked me,” Hope said under her breath.

  “That seems entirely fair. However…” Gwen thought for a moment. “I do reserve the right to like you should that unlikely event occur.”

  Hope and Patience shared smug smiles, and Gwen was hard-pressed to stifle her own. “Is it agreed, then?”

  Charity nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” Gwen nodded with satisfaction.

  Her gaze slid from one girl to the next, and the oddest sense of affection stirred within her. She’d never felt anything near affection for children before. Of course, she’d never been around children that were, for all intents and purposes, hers. Perhaps that was the difference. She’d certainly treated them differently. Abruptly Gwen realized that, except for the first few minutes, she hadn’t really treated them as she’d always treated children. She’d treated them more like, well, people. People she might possibly, in spite of herself, care about. The strangest idea popped into her head that perhaps this would be as much a solution for her as for them.

  Raising her nieces would give her future purpose. Certainly she hadn’t been much of a governess, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be an acceptable aunt. Why, wasn’t she already off to an excellent start? Saving them from the separation planned by the wicked Pickleface? Rescuing them from the need to run away and possibly be tossed into the ocean as food for fish? Or eaten by rats in the gutters?

  They would indeed have a lovely life together. Gwen would make certain they never felt unwanted or unworthy or unnecessary. She would provide them with an excellent education, and when they were old enough, give them the season she’d never had. Not specifically with an eye toward marriage, but that would be entirely up to them. Who they married and whether they married at all would be their choice. She would make sure of it. It would simply take determination and dedication and…money.

  She sucked in a hard breath.

  “Have you changed your mind?” Hope said with concern.

  Charity frowned. “You look rather ill.”

  “Like you’re going to lose your dinner.” Patience peered at her closely.

  “No, no I’m fine. Of course I haven’t changed my mind.” Gwen smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner but her heart had plummeted to the pit of her stomach, and Patience’s concern wasn’t at all farfetched. “Indeed, we should be off as soon as possible. Get your things together and I will speak to Pic—Miss Hilliard.”

  “Are you sure?” Patience said, apprehension pulling her brows together.

  Any second thoughts Gwen might have had were swept away by the look on Patience’s face, and the identical look on Hope’s and even Charity’s. “I have never been so sure of anything before.” She rose to her feet. “Go on now. And do hurry.”

  Patience and Hope leaped up from the sofa and raced from the room. Charity too started toward the door, then stopped and turned to Gwen.

  “We really are grateful,” she said with a slight nod, then turned back and followed after her sisters.

  These girls needed her, Charity perhaps most of all. It must be exceedingly difficult to try to start a new life at her age with two sisters to care for. It had been exceedingly difficult for Gwen, who had been both older and unencumbered when she had found herself on her own. No one had needed her before. How different her life might have been if someone had.

  “Take care, Charity,” Gwen said softly. “You may find yourself liking me in spite of your best intentions. And I may well like you. Quite a lot.”

  She smiled after the girl, then drew a deep breath. It was all very well to conjure dreams of the future out of thin air, but real plans had to be made.

  The legacy her father had left her would take care of her own needs and, in truth, she’d been dependent on wages for so long, simply not having to work for the money was a luxury in itself. But realistically, it was not overly substantial. And while it would provide nicely for one person and perhaps two extremely thrifty people, it certainly would amount to only bare survival for four.

  It would take a great deal of money to support a family of four, let alone provide for dresses and seasons and dowries. Gwen simply did not have the finances. But she well knew where she could find it.

  Whether she liked it or not, the means to the future was within her grasp.

  All she had to do was marry it.

  C
hapter 5

  Even the most intelligent of men rarely knows as much as he thinks he does.

  Francesa Freneau

  “What you need is a plan of action,” Reggie said once again, as if the simple saying of it would magically provide such a plan. The viscount lounged on the sofa in an indolent manner, a precariously tipped glass of brandy in his hand.

  “We’ve determined that.” Marcus rested his hip on the desk and swirled the liquor in his glass.

  Indeed, that was all the men had determined. They had planned to spend the evening at their club but instead still lingered in the library at Pennington House. Thus far they’d agreed on nothing other than the need to come up with a course of action to entice Miss Townsend into marriage. Just what that should be remained annoyingly elusive.

  “And with Miss Townsend, it must be a good plan. The stakes are exceedingly high, and she is no fool.”

  “A good plan is always difficult. However, an adequate plan is possible.” Reggie sipped thoughtfully at his brandy. Both men had years ago agreed decisions of any magnitude could not properly be made without endless glasses of decent liquor. “I find flowers work well.”

  Marcus snorted. “That’s scarcely a plan.”

  “No, but it’s a start. A prelude to a plan, so to speak. Soften her up for the real thing and all that.” Reggie thought for a moment. “Although it may not be enough in this case.”

  “No, it’s not nearly enough. Still, in the belief that it couldn’t possibly work against me, I have done my best to fill her residence with flowers since our meeting yesterday. I have had them delivered and indeed brought them myself today but she was not at home.”

  Reggie frowned. “I didn’t think she knew anyone in London.”

  “Neither did I.” Marcus did think Miss Townsend’s absence rather odd, especially as Madame Freneau had politely but firmly declined to answer his casual query as to Miss Townsend’s whereabouts. Still, it was probably not at all important, and Marcus set it from his mind.

  “At any rate, I have thus far deluged her with blossoms, a remarkably expensive proposition, I might add. I have already spent a small fortune.”

  “Excellent. You don’t want her to think you cheap. You might as well spend it while you have it, I say.” Reggie shrugged. “I do.”

  Reggie had never been at all hesitant to shower the current object of his affections with flowers or whatever else he deemed suitable. Not that it had ever done him a great deal of good, as he tended to select women who not only needed rescuing but were more often than not completely unsuitable or already had their affections engaged elsewhere. Reggie pursued love with a rash, single-minded determination and gave his heart as easily as he tipped his hat. Marcus viewed that same emotion with a cautious eye and a protective attitude.

  Still, in spite of their differences, both friends had the unfortunate gift of setting their sights on the wrong women, and both harbored a desire for love. Only their ways of seeking it varied. But Marcus had long ago realized, even if Reggie never would, that such desire was at once overly romantic, highly impractical, and quite improbable.

  “Poetry is a nice touch as well.” Reggie’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “They like it if you write it yourself.”

  “I do not now, nor shall I ever write poetry,” Marcus said in a lofty manner.

  Reggie laughed. “You say that like it’s quite disgraceful.”

  “Not at all. I simply realize my limitations.”

  “Helmsley writes poetry.”

  “Helmsley writes bad poetry and everyone who reads it knows it.”

  “Yes, but I’d wager it’s that bad poetry that won him the hand of his lovely wife.” Reggie grinned. “It’s the sentiment, Marcus, not merely the words that touch a lady’s heart.”

  “Nonetheless, I—”

  “You could try someone else’s poetry.”

  “Are you suggesting I borrow something of Helmsley’s?” Marcus raised a brow. “I daresay neither he nor his wife would appreciate my absconding with his words, no matter how bad they may be.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Reggie grimaced. “I doubt if Helmsley’s poetry would have the same effect on a woman who wasn’t already in love with him. However, I was going to suggest a few of Lord Byron’s words. All that she walks in beauty nonsense.” Reggie raised his glass. “It can be most effective when used correctly. And women do seem to love it.”

  “Women seem to love him,” Marcus said wryly.

  “He’s always been scandalous. That dashing, even dangerous image, coupled with his poetry, makes him rather irresistible, I suspect. Thank God he’s out of the country.”

  Reggie thought for a moment. “Perhaps that’s been our problem all along. We are simply not rakes or rogues or scoundrels.”

  “Yet our reputations are not spotless.”

  Reggie scoffed. “Petty infractions. Youthful high spirits. Nothing of true significance. Nothing to make a woman wonder how exciting dipping her toe into the waters of our dangerous characters would be. We are altogether far too respectable.” He leaned forward in his seat. “Perhaps what we need is to be involved in a scandal of epic proportions.”

  “Given this a great deal of thought, have you?”

  “The circumstances you find yourself in have had the strangest effect of forcing me to reconsider my own life. And I find it rather disappointing.” Reggie fell silent, obviously pondering his now recognized wasted years. At last he heaved a heartfelt sigh. “However, I suppose that discussion will have to wait for another night. Our first order of business is the arrangement of your life. Right now we must determine how to encourage Miss Townsend to consent to marriage.”

  He shook his head. “I confess, I don’t understand her reluctance. You have everything any woman could ask for. In truth, Marcus, you are an excellent catch.”

  “Only for a woman interested in marriage.” Marcus blew a long breath. “And unfortunately, Miss Townsend is apparently the only woman on the face of the earth who is not.”

  “We have to make it look exciting then. We have to make you exciting. Yes, of course, that’s the answer.” Reggie downed his drink and sprang to his feet. “You have to change, Marcus. Become a rogue, a rake, a scoundrel. Seduce virgins. Dally with married women. Flout convention.”

  “I’m not sure I have enough time for that,” Marcus said wryly.

  Reggie ignored him. “Embroil yourself in a good, juicy scandal. Your name on every gossip’s lips and in every woman’s heart. Why, look at what happened to that Effington chit. She ran off and wed a near stranger who then croaked, practically before the ink was dry on the marriage certificate. Everyone is still talking about that, I tell you.”

  “Somehow I don’t think marrying the wrong person, whether they survive or not, is the way to attract Miss Townsend.”

  “Probably not.” Reggie thought for a moment. “Still, there are no end of things you could do. Adopt a wicked grin and a wickeder look in your eye.” Reggie flashed his idea of a wicked grin, and Marcus tried not to laugh. “Sweep her off her feet, Marcus. Be mysterious. Women always want what they can’t have. Be aloof. Dangerous. Be”—Reggie smiled slyly—“forbidden fruit.”

  “Forbidden fruit?” Marcus laughed. “I daresay, as I am pursuing her and it is my fortune at stake, I am scarcely the stuff forbidden fruit is made of. Rather I am all too readily available and ripe for picking.”

  “Ah well, then, it was just an idea.” Reggie plopped back on the sofa and held out his glass for a refill. “Do you think that’s a flaw in their characters? Women, I mean? The men they seem the most taken with are the ones I wouldn’t let alone in a room with my sister for so much as the blink of an eye. A crowded room at that.”

  “No doubt one of many flaws, Reggie. I am not certain trying to study them with an eye toward rationality is at all possible.” Marcus grasped the decanter beside him and reached forward to refill Reggie’s glass. “However, what makes men superior is that we can turn their flaws t
o our advantage. The chinks in their armor are to our benefit.”

  “Does your Miss Townsend have flaws?”

  “Every woman has flaws. Miss Townsend is no different. Thus far, I can confidently say she is stubborn and opinionated. She is overly independent, annoyingly outspoken, and has the oddest views on marriage and the relationships of men and women. Although, I believe if any woman could take care of herself, Miss Townsend would be the one. In addition, I understand she can be quite impulsive as well. And worst of all”—he grinned—“I suspect she is nearly as clever as I am.”

  “Pity. Still, I assume you are not allowing a few minor defects to dissuade you. You are still determined to marry this termagant, are you not?”

  “She and her attitudes are a blasted inconvenience, but my resolve is unshaken. What choice do I have? I have three months until my birth date, and I shall spend every day of that in pursuit of her until she relents or I am impoverished. In truth, though, now that I have met the lady”—Marcus grinned—“the prospect of marriage to her is not unappealing.”

  “I cannot believe your luck. In spite of the fire in her eyes”—Reggie returned his grin—“she did have the face of an angel.”

  “Both the face and the fire make her a most interesting challenge. I’m surprised to find I am quite looking forward to it.” Marcus wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to confess just how much he was looking forward to it, either to Reggie or to himself.

  He had conceded that Miss Townsend—Gwendolyn—had had the oddest effect on him and had spent the day since their meeting trying to determine why.

  Certainly she was pretty, and he would be eternally grateful for that, admitting to himself that he was shallow enough to wish for a pretty wife. But he had seen prettier, indeed had had prettier cast their eyes in his direction. It was not Gwendolyn’s appearance, although he had always had a particular fondness for red hair, that intrigued him. No, it was something entirely different. Her manner, perhaps; her attitude, indeed; even her mind.