The School for Heiresses: 'Wed Him Before You Bed Him

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Apparently she’d been able to spare her pugilist servant after all. And how clever of Charlotte to drum up a scandal-proof excuse for David’s presence.

  “I have quite a number of friends who would be honored to enroll their daughters here,” he evaded.

  “Good,” said the burly servant. “We could use more young ladies these days.”

  Trying not to dwell on why that was, David followed the man out. “It’s Terence, isn’t it?” David asked.

  “Yes, sir,” he clipped out.

  The man must not be too keen on this duty. That wasn’t surprising, given that his talents would be better used elsewhere. He was a few inches taller than David, and his arms were big as oak limbs. He looked as if he probably ate a heifer for breakfast every day.

  “Are you the same Terence who fought Jack Higgins about twelve years ago at Salcey Green?”

  Terence Sullivan had killed Higgins, a bare-knuckle boxer of great renown, in the ring that day. He would be about this man’s age and size now, too.

  “Do you want to see the school or not?” Terence said belligerently.

  Apparently he’d struck a nerve. “Only if you want to show it to me. I don’t mind striking out on my own if you have more pressing duties.”

  Terence shot him a veiled glance. “Forgive me, my lord. I prefer not to speak of those days.”

  “As you wish. Though I am curious about how the great Terence Sullivan came to be hired as a footman.”

  “I started out as one. I only got into fighting later. After the bout with Higgins, I went back into service.” He clenched his fists at his sides. “Except nobody would hire me. Until Mrs. Harris took a chance on me.”

  “Ah.” No wonder he was so protective of Charlotte.

  “Now here is what we call the ‘great hall,’” Terence began, clearly eager to leave the subject.

  For the next hour, the fighter took David through every room. David found it fascinating to see the place for himself after years of seeing it only through Charlotte’s eyes in letters. He’d been to the Elizabethan-era building when he and Pritchard had signed the lien, and remembered it as chilly and cavernous, with a hodgepodge of questionable improvements made by Pritchard’s grandfather.

  He didn’t recognize it now. “I gathered from things my late wife said that Mrs. Harris made a number of renovations when she first moved in.”

  “Indeed she did,” Terence answered. “Got permission from her cousin to do so.”

  David bit back a smile, since he’d been the one forced to ask Pritchard’s approval on every improvement. In those days, Pritchard had been glad to have someone else improve his property, since it had been naught but a burden to him.

  What a difference a little paint and carefully placed furnishings made to a stately old pile like this. The mahogany furniture and the draperies of dark green velvet lent it a courtly grandeur that would inspire any young girl. This was no cramped brick box where girls were packed in like biscuits in a barrel, but a place to roam and discover, a place that kept a person ever mindful of England’s past.

  No wonder she was reluctant to leave it.

  David well understood the attachment one could have to a building. He’d fought hard to keep his family’s manor from sinking under the detritus of time. And the enormity of what he’d done to Charlotte by encouraging her to fall in love with this place sent a blow to his chest.

  “It’s a shame her cousin doesn’t ever come here,” Terence added, “or he’d know how much she’s put into it.”

  “I understand that he helps her only under condition of anonymity,” David said, curious to hear her footman’s perspective on the odd arrangement.

  “Aye.” Terence took him down a hall past several classrooms where girls were being taught arithmetic and natural history and Latin, an unusual curriculum for young ladies.

  “Has she never attempted to learn his real identity?” David prodded.

  “It isn’t allowed. She had to sign a paper saying that she understood she would lose the low rent on the property if she ever tried to discover it.”

  David feigned a look of male camaraderie. “Yes, but surely she lets you do some digging around.”

  “Not if it means breaking the agreement. She told me to keep my nose out of it, and I always do as I’m told.”

  “Ah.” Thank God for loyal servants.

  “Though I think I know what sort of man he is,” Terence went on as he led them into a large room that was clearly used for dancing.

  This should be interesting. “Oh?”

  Terence stopped in the center. “The mistress says he’s probably some philanthropist who doesn’t want people looking too closely at his private affairs.” His eyes narrowed. “But I figure he’s a rich and ugly old codger who took a liking to her, but knew he hadn’t a chance in hell of winning her. So he set matters up to make her beholden to him.”

  “You mean, by his cunning donation of money to the school and his wicked provision of low rents,” David said sarcastically, more than a little annoyed that Terence was so close to the truth. Or what used to be the truth, anyway.

  “Nobody ever gives something for nothing.”

  “Interesting theory.” David fought the urge to defend himself. “And what exactly do you think he wants for his ‘something’?”

  “The same thing most gentlemen want from a beautiful young widow.” A dark frown crossed his brow. “One day he’ll pounce, and there will be hell to pay.”

  “He’s certainly taking his time about pouncing,” David said irritably. “Hasn’t he been helping the school for years?”

  The footman shrugged. “I didn’t say his plan was clever. It doesn’t take brains to be a randy bastard.”

  “Just a great deal of money, apparently.”

  Terence fixed him with a level gaze. “As my old da used to tell me, ‘never trust a rich man.’”

  No mistaking that warning. “Good thing I’m only moderately rich,” David said dryly.

  “Which is why I only moderately distrust you,” Terence shot back.

  David blinked, then burst into laughter. “You are the most unusual footman I’ve ever met.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Terence shrugged. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I didn’t mean it as one.”

  For the first time, the man smiled. “I know.”

  Oddly enough, that defused some of the tension between them. As they continued around the school, David said, “It sounds as if you spend plenty of time protecting your employer from unwanted attentions.”

  “Plenty enough.”

  “What if the attention is not so unwanted?”

  “That doesn’t happen,” the footman said decidedly.

  “Not even with Charles Godwin?” he bit out.

  Terence shot him a curious glance. “Why do you want to know?”

  He opted for honesty. “I find it’s always useful to gauge one’s competition before one enters the ring.”

  Terence bristled. “If I were you, my lord, I’d first be worried about leaving here with all your teeth.”

  David chuckled. “Believe me, that concern is high on my list as well. You forget—I’ve seen you fight.”

  When the footman let out a reluctant laugh, he knew he’d scored a point, even if he was no closer to learning the nature of Charlotte’s association with Godwin.

  By now they’d finished with the interior. They were already strolling toward the front entrance so they could go out to see the gardens when Charlotte appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Terence, could you come here for a moment, please?”

  “Certainly, madam.”

  “I’ll go walk about the gardens,” David said.

  It didn’t take him long to tour the gardens in front of the house. He’d finished there and was admiring the cherry orchard on the edge of Rockhurst when an unwelcome figure emerged from the trees.

  Pritchard. Confound the bastard.

&
nbsp; Samuel Pritchard was the firstborn scion of a wealthy London merchant. Though he was now nearing sixty, he’d been quite the reckless blade most of his life, as his ravaged features and look of dissipation attested. Indeed, Pritchard’s penchant for debauchery was how the man had come to be at David’s mercy during their fateful card game years ago.

  David had been drunk, as he’d often been in the early days of his disgrace. When Pritchard had made a nasty comment about the Garish Goer, David had set out to fleece him. And he’d succeeded beyond his wildest expectations, something he was still paying for.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Cousin Michael,” Pritchard remarked.

  “You’d better pray no one heard you, Pritchard,” David snapped. “Or have you forgotten that revealing my identity voids our agreement? You can be sure I’ll be happy to demand the full fifty thousand pounds on the spot. Since you can’t pay it now any better than you could pay it then, I suggest you hold your tongue.”

  Though the man paled, his nasty smile didn’t dim. “So the poor widow still doesn’t know who you really are, does she? Well, it won’t be long before she learns of it, in eight months, when she’s thrown out on her pretty arse. Then nothing you can do or say will keep me from telling her who’s the real culprit behind her troubles.”

  David clenched his hands to keep from throttling the bastard. “Why don’t you sell Rockhurst to me and be done with it? You know I’ll pay you more than it’s worth.”

  Pritchard thrust his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers, which only accentuated the gut he was rapidly acquiring. “Why, so you can move the good widow and her school over onto it? No thank you. Since the entailment prevents me from selling the school’s property, I mean to make good use of it. And I won’t have Mrs. Holier-than-Thou hanging around causing trouble for me. I want her gone from both parcels of land, her and her pack of girls.”

  “A smart businessman would see the abundant advantages to having a girls’ school as a tenant. They’re not hard on the property, and they’re willing to pay for the improvements themselves.”

  “But they’re not willing to pay much of a rent, are they?”

  “I’ll subsidize the rent if necessary,” David said. Pritchard would be a fool to refuse such an offer. “And I might point out that your kindness to the school might help you repair your poor reputation in society.”

  Pritchard’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve begun to see that a poor reputation can gain a man more than a good one.” He jerked his head toward where a thin fellow was wandering the orchard some distance behind him, appearing to measure it out. “Watson there is fairly serious about buying Rockhurst and turning it into a racing establishment. And do you know why?”

  David merely stared coldly at him.

  “Because I’ve promised him that as soon as the lien is discharged, I’ll be turning the school building into an impressive hotel, with a restaurant and a taproom that will tempt any young blade. I’ll have half the racing community here every week, paying good money for their gin and ale while my friend there gets their money on the races next door.”

  Sheer glee showed on the ass’s face. “So you can see why I don’t want the good widow hanging about. And why I have better prospects than whatever extra money you can offer for her rent.”

  David’s stomach sank. A hotel. The building would be perfect for that. How clever of Pritchard to have thought of combining a racecourse with a hotel, especially with Richmond being so close to London, and right on the river besides.

  “The town will never allow it,” David said.

  “No? They’ve already agreed to approve licenses for both me and Watson.” He smiled. “Very hush-hush, of course. They know I have a financial obligation to someone else that prevents me from taking possession of this property until next year. But I’ve assured them that it will occur.”

  So that was what the bastard had been planning. “And they are willing to see the school go under for your benefit?”

  Pritchard gave a condescending laugh. “They don’t care about that. When I pointed out that her girls don’t spend nearly as much money in town as would be brought in by a racecourse, they were fairly salivating over the prospect. The town fathers are not fools—they know a sure success when they see one.”

  “She has done nothing to you!” he snapped. “I understand your anger at me, but if you’re using her to punish me—”

  “Don’t be a besotted fool, Kirkwood. This is strictly business. It has nothing to do with you or her. Indeed, you ought to be thanking me.” He sneered at David. “Your presence here indicates that she’s found a better way to save herself.” He thrust with his hips in a vulgar motion that left no question as to what he meant. “Giving you some…extra services, is she? In exchange for the new fortune you inherited from your poor wife?”

  David saw red. Before he could think, he had his hands around Pritchard’s throat and had slammed him into the nearest tree. “Listen to me, you bloody ass, and listen well. If you ever insinuate anything so vile to her or anyone else, I will hunt you down, cut off your ballocks, and shove them down your throat! Do you understand me?”

  Pritchard’s eyes were wide with fear as he struggled for breath. He nodded in agreement, his fingers clawing futilely at David’s hands.

  Abruptly, David released him, watching as he slid down the tree gasping. “Do whatever you feel you have to with Rockhurst. But I still have a lien on the school’s property, and a great deal can happen in eight months.”

  With his temper still raging, he turned on his heel and marched off before he beat the bastard to a bloody pulp.

  But he hadn’t yet passed out of earshot when he heard Pritchard mumble, “You’d think the damned woman was your wife or something…Christ!”

  The words echoed in his brain as he stalked back to the school. His wife.

  He let the idea sink into him, calming his murderous rage. What if he were to marry Charlotte? Then she wouldn’t even need the school. After all, he could afford to support her. And if he made her his wife before the eight months were out, he’d never have to reveal the double game he’d played with her all these years. She’d simply close the school, and that would be that.

  Yes, it was the perfect solution. Simple, practical.

  Well, not entirely practical. There were difficult issues…like the fact that he was still in mourning. He wasn’t even supposed to think about remarrying for another six months, but the longer he waited to secure her, the more chance she would find out about what Pritchard was up to and why.

  Fortunately, society tended to be more lax with regard to men and mourning. He had no heirs, so people expected him to look for a wife to bear one as soon as possible. Though Charlotte would balk at marrying before the mourning period was up, he could surely change her mind.

  He frowned. That was assuming he could persuade her to marry him in the first place. She still barely trusted him. He couldn’t even think about proposing marriage until he had softened her toward him.

  Very well, he’d go on as before, trying to convince her to move the school, offering her Sarah’s legacy. And in the process he’d play on the attraction that still burned between them. That shouldn’t be too difficult. She was a vibrant, sensual widow who’d spent the last sixteen years celibate. Surely she was eager to change that.

  Unless she hadn’t spent it celibate. After all, there was a reason society called widows “merry.” And she hadn’t answered his question about her relationship with Godwin.

  He scowled. If the man had been sharing Charlotte’s bed, that would end right now. So would any courtship between them. Because David didn’t mean to let that damned newspaperman have Charlotte.

  Take care, man. Such an obsessive desire was what got you into trouble with her last time.

  But that was different. He’d been young and foolish. He’d believed in love, confusing a perfectly normal and healthy lust for a pretty woman with some ridiculous emotion. This was merely a practical decision. A
nd if, in the process of gaining Charlotte as his wife, he also got to have her in his bed, all the better. Why shouldn’t he have a wife he desired?

  Absorbed in his thoughts, David didn’t see Terence approach until the man was nearly upon him. “Having a few words with our neighbor, I see,” Terence said bluntly.

  Confound it all. The footman must have seen his encounter with Pritchard. David considered rebuking him for not minding his own affairs, but it might be better to engage the man as an ally. “He insulted your mistress. I merely warned him not to do so again.”

  Something like admiration gleamed in the man’s eyes. “And very handily, too. Mayhap you’ll leave here with your teeth after all.”

  David acknowledged the veiled compliment with a nod. “I must ask you not to mention my…er…loss of temper to Mrs. Harris. I wouldn’t want to have to reveal what that bastard said about her.” And if Charlotte ever did go digging and discovered that Pritchard owned the property, David didn’t want her wondering about their connection.

  “As you wish.” Terence fell into step beside him. “Incidentally, she ordered me to tell you that she regrets she’ll be busy with interviewing for the remainder of the afternoon. She said that if you’ll leave the list that you showed her, she will look it over.”

  “The hell she will,” he growled.

  The footman blinked.

  David restrained his temper with some difficulty. Clearly, she feared that if he stayed around until she was free, he would tempt her into bed. And she was right to be afraid, too. Because he wasn’t giving her up this time.

  Nor would he let her dictate the terms of their new association. “You may tell your mistress that I’ll be happy to hand over the list tonight when she comes to my town house for my mother’s dinner. If she can’t attend, then I’ll be here in the morning to give it to her personally. Understood?”

  “Perfectly, my lord.”

  “Good.” With that, David turned and strode toward the stables. He’d tried to be patient. He’d given Charlotte every chance to refuse the legacy and his part in it.