He eyed her for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll tell him you’re indisposed.”
Beckenham leaned forward to give her a brotherly kiss on her cheek. “Get some rest. We’ll face all this tomorrow.”
She nodded, forcing out a grateful smile.
But rest was farthest from her mind. She needed to find a way to keep Luke with her. She needed to think of a plan.
Marriage to Constantine Black? She shuddered. There had to be some other way.
* * *
“For the hundredth time, George, no!” Constantine held on to his temper, forcing his lips to curve in a smile of amused tolerance.
Why couldn’t his noble idiot of a brother accept that selling Broadmere was out of the question? Ordinarily so even-tempered, George could turn mulish when an idea fixed in his head.
George glared at him. “It’s the only way you can stop this place from coming to ruin.”
Constantine shook his head. “I’d let it all go to hell before I’d sell the family home from under you. What kind of a blackguard do you think I am?” He gave a humorless laugh. “No, don’t answer that.”
Constantine turned to stare out the window at the sodden landscape. Lazenby was his now. He’d made a promise to himself that this would be his fresh start. He would not begin his stewardship of this estate by losing a major source of income and employment. He’d find a way to save the mill. He must.
But that imperative did not extend to selling the house that had been in their father’s family for generations. The house they’d grown up in, where George’s family and their mother still lived. The house Constantine hadn’t set eyes on since his disgrace.
When the infamous affair with Miss Flockton became known, his father had banished him from Broadmere, vowing to leave the estate to George. A pity the old gentleman had died before he’d had the chance to change his will. As the elder son, Constantine had inherited everything.
Knowing his father’s wishes, Constantine considered Broadmere his brother’s in all but name. George had proven stubborn, however. He wouldn’t let Constantine formally transfer title to the property.
George held out a foolish, selfless hope that Constantine would relent and ignore their father’s dying wish. But he never had. He never would. Instead, Constantine had left everything in his brother’s capable hands, refusing to draw more from the estate than a younger son’s allowance. And he’d never set foot on Broadmere soil again.
Sell Broadmere to save Lazenby? Damn it all, marrying the Ice Maiden would be preferable to that. That’s what men in his position did, wasn’t it? Form strategic alliances in exchange for bloodlines or money or prestige. Why should he be any different?
But something in him rebelled against the very notion. He’d sacrificed a vast deal to avoid a bad marriage once before. What bitter irony that fate should throw him that lifeline a second time. On this occasion, however, he had more than his own reputation to consider.
“If you don’t sell Broadmere, you’ll lose the mill,” George persisted. “Will you risk the livelihoods of your tenants for your pride?”
Pride? Not a bit of it. The one good thing he’d ever done was to give the family home to George. He’d be damned if he’d mess that up, too.
He set his teeth. “I’ll find another way.”
George was correct on one point, though. Constantine needed a substantial influx of funds. Immediately.
According to Greenslade, Frederick had mortgaged the Lazenby woolen mill and the surrounding few acres to a northern mill owner called Bronson. Frederick’s death triggered the debt, so that both interest and principal—an astronomical sum—fell due within forty-five days. If Constantine couldn’t come up with the money in that time, Bronson would foreclose and take ownership of the mill property.
What the hell had Frederick been thinking, mortgaging the mill? He’d put the livelihoods of everyone on the estate at risk. Worse, he’d thrown the whole tangle in Constantine’s lap and denied him sufficient income to repay the staggering debt.
Where had the funds Frederick raised against the mill gone? Into the coffers of one Lady Roxdale? Constantine’s mouth flattened into a grim line at the thought.
Then there was the question of Lucas Black. In that, the Ice Maiden was correct: how could Frederick be such an idiot as to suppose Constantine a fit guardian for a six-year-old child?
Still, Constantine was far from convinced Lady Roxdale was the proper person to take care of the boy. He hadn’t detected anything particularly maternal about her in the course of their acquaintance. Frederick must have had his reasons for not mentioning her when he’d provided for the boy.
George’s jaw tightened. “If you would just let me—”
“I need to go over the books and tour the estate,” Constantine interrupted. He had no wish to prolong a futile argument. “There must be some way to claw back the money to repay the debt. I have investments in the funds…”
He broke off, narrowing his eyes. A number of those investments had yet to mature. If he sold them off now, he might very well make a loss. His investments would never cover a debt that large, though. He might be forced to speculation. George would not approve.
He fixed his gaze on his brother. “I want no more talk of selling Broadmere. I’ll instruct my man to draw up the transfer documents as soon as may be.”
George banged his fist on the table. “I will not accept your rightful inheritance. Damn it, Constantine! It’s our father all over again. You’re the living spit of him. You can’t see reason, you’re so blinded by pride.”
Constantine felt George’s words like a stab to the gut. No different from his stiff-rumped, unforgiving father, was he? Ordinarily, he’d laugh and let the jagged edge of such a remark glance off his armor. But this was George, his greatest—his only—ally.
From the pain, anger erupted, hot and destructive. With a clear, brutal intention to offend, Constantine curled his lip. “Brother, you grow even more tedious than our aunt. Go home to your family, George. Let me go my own way.”
For a long moment George stood there, his face a study of impotent fury.
Constantine lifted an eyebrow, as if to say, Well? What are you waiting for?
With a biting curse, George turned on his heel and strode toward the door. “You can go your own way, all right,” he ground out. “You can go straight to hell!”
CHAPTER FOUR
“I don’t see why you’re so upset about coming into an obscenely large fortune,” said Cecily. “If I had control over my inheritance, I should be in ecstasies.”
Cecily lay on her stomach on Jane’s bed, idly swinging her legs in the air. Rosamund perched in the window seat, an unaccustomed frown in her clear blue eyes.
Jane couldn’t be still. She wandered restlessly around the room that was not her bedchamber anymore. Much good her inheritance did if she couldn’t use it to barter for Luke.
“Think of it, Jane,” breathed Cecily. “You are a wealthy widow. If I were you, I’d turn myself into a fashionable eccentric and do exactly as I pleased.”
“You are a fashionable eccentric,” Jane said. “Anyway, it’s all very well for you. No one turns a hair when you behave outrageously.”
Rosamund smiled. “Oh, I expect Cecily will do her duty when the time comes. We cannot escape responsibility any more than someone like the duke or Beckenham can. Though I did hope you would have some sort of respite now, Jane. I’m sorry it has come to this.”
Surprised, Jane darted a glance at her cousin. But Rosamund couldn’t know the extent of Jane’s unhappiness in her marriage. She’d never spoken a word of it to anyone, not even to Rosamund and Cecily.
Surely her cousin hadn’t guessed? Impossible. Rosamund was far too guileless, too willing to believe there was good in everyone.
“You should run away,” said Cecily. “And while you’re about it, you should take us with you.”
Rosamund’s face lit. “Where would we go, if only we could?”
“Everywhere!” said Cecily. “Paris, Rome, Egypt.” She propped her chin in her hands, dark curls bouncing, eyes bright. “Wouldn’t it be a brilliant adventure?”
“I should think it would be exceedingly uncomfortable,” said Jane. She bit her lip. “And if it were only the estate, it wouldn’t be so bad. But there’s Luke.” She broke off, biting her lip.
Rosamund shook her head. “Frederick knew how much you love Luke. How could he do such a thing?”
“I don’t understand it, either.” Jane gripped her hands together. “Perhaps he made that condition a long time ago and simply never troubled to change it.” She worried at her lip with her teeth. “Or maybe it was more than that. Luke is, after all, a Black, and you know how fiercely proud they are. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Frederick wanted Luke brought up by his own family, regardless of anyone’s feelings in the matter.”
Least of all Luke’s, she thought bitterly. Frederick had scarcely noticed the boy existed.
“You don’t mean the scoundrel won’t let you keep Luke!” said Cecily.
The injustice of it burned in Jane’s chest. “He says he cannot allow it. I might not be a fit and proper person to care for Luke, if you please!”
“Infamous!” said Cecily.
“The obvious course is to marry Constantine Black, is it not?” said Rosamund quietly.
“Marry that—that lout?” said Jane. “Beckenham said the same, but … oh, Rosamund, I thought at least you would understand my feelings.”
Rosamund held up a hand. “I would not for the world condemn you to matrimony with such an arrant rogue as he is reputed to be, but it appears your affairs and his are inextricably tangled. The estate has been decimated by Frederick’s actions. He made no financial provision for Luke. Beckenham was most upset about it. He told me there’s nothing else for it; for the good of Lazenby, you and Constantine Black must wed.”
Cecily said, “She’s right, Jane. And more importantly, you could keep Luke.”
Panic twisted in Jane’s belly. “I can’t.” She gripped her hands together. “I can’t marry him. Not him. Not anyone.”
“They say he is devilishly handsome,” said Cecily. “That must be some consolation. I mean, if you have to do It with someone you don’t love, better he be handsome, don’t you think?”
Constantine Black’s strongly marked features appeared before Jane’s mind’s eye. No, somehow his spectacular dark looks made the prospect of … of It … worse, not better.
Her panic climbed, threatening to choke her. “I can’t. I’m not fit to be a wife.”
Sympathy softened Rosamund’s face. “Just because you did not bear a child doesn’t mean you’re not fit to be a wife, Jane.”
Oh, but it does, Jane thought. However, she could not bring herself to discuss such an intimate matter, even with Rosamund.
“Besides, the lout’s scarcely fit to be a husband, is he?” said Cecily, with her infallible logic.
“I daresay you’d rub along tolerably well,” put in Rosamund.
“You could take a lover.” Cecily rolled the word around her tongue and gave it a French twist.
Rosamund nodded. “You wouldn’t even have to live here if you didn’t want to. Or, better yet, you could send him up to Town while you manage things here. I think it sounds like a good arrangement.”
No, it sounded appalling. Impossible.
Rosamund reached up to take Jane’s hand. She swung it gently to and fro. “You’d be wise not to dismiss the notion out of hand.”
Jane squeezed Rosamund’s strong, slim fingers. She sighed. “I never thought to have any say in my own destiny. I regret Frederick’s death, of course I do! But … marriage to Constantine Black! How could he do this to me?”
Yet, it was out of the question to leave Luke at Lazenby Hall with no one to love him and only a wastrel libertine’s example to follow. Even more powerful than the ties of duty, the bonds of love would keep her here if she couldn’t take Luke with her. And she simply couldn’t remain indefinitely in the household of a libertine like Constantine Black unless she married him. Her reputation would never survive the disgrace.
Rosamund’s face was puckered with dismay. Clearly, she considered Jane’s fate sealed. A Westruther heiress simply had no choice in matters of matrimony. They’d all accepted it long ago. Even if Jane’s widowhood had granted her freedom from such lofty expectations, Frederick’s legacy imprisoned her once more.
All that wealth … She’d happily see it at the bottom of the Thames.
“I hate Frederick for doing this!” Jane fought back tears of frustration. She would not cry again today. “If not for the stupid way he left everything, I could have Luke. We could be free.”
“Jane, Jane.” Cecily slipped off the bed. “You poor deluded female. You know what Montford is. If not Constantine Black, it would be some other likely candidate as soon as you were done with mourning. At least this way, you’ll get what you want, too.”
Jane shook her head in denial, but she knew what Cecily said was true. The duke always succeeded in whatever he set out to accomplish. Oh, he wouldn’t force her into matrimony. He simply had a way of making it impossible for her to refuse.
Cecily sighed. “Give her the speech, Rosamund.”
“You may do it this time,” said Rosamund generously. “You’re better at it than I.”
Cecily smoothed her sleeve. “Well, I fancy I’ve heard the speech more often than anyone, including Xavier. In fact, I know it better than Montford does. I had to set him straight on the wording last week.”
“He’s losing his touch,” said Rosamund.
“Mmm. Very sad.”
Jane scowled. “I don’t need the speech. I know my duty. That’s why I’m in this mess.”
Rosamund and Cecily looked at each other, then both intoned at once, “What do you think it means to be a Westruther, Lady Rox—”
“No!” said Jane, half laughing, half incensed at the kind but misguided attempt to lighten the situation. “No speech!”
She pressed finger and thumb to her temples. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I must marry him. It’s the only way I can keep Luke. Even if Constantine Black granted me custody, he could take Luke away any time he felt like it. That is simply not acceptable.”
Rosamund regarded her anxiously. “Do you think the rogue will agree?”
Jane shrugged a shoulder. “He’d be foolish to ignore the advantages to the match. After all, he needs my money, doesn’t he?”
She thought of certain other things Constantine could require of her as his wife. Heat flashed through her body but her stomach churned with sick apprehension.
He was so … so masculine, so intensely alive.
She ought to be accustomed to an overabundance of male charisma. Her Westruther cousins possessed that kind of magnetism to a ridiculous degree, after all. Yet, on some primal level, Constantine Black alarmed and unsettled her more than anyone she’d ever met. Instinct warned her to set him at a distance, but that would not help her get Luke.
She wiped her suddenly clammy hands on her skirts. “I’ll put the proposition to him logically. A marriage of convenience in which each party gets something they want. He’ll be a … a substitute Frederick, that’s all.”
Rosamund looked doubtful. “Do you think you ought to be so frank about it, darling? Some gentlemen might take offense.”
Better to offend him than give him the upper hand. She strongly suspected it wouldn’t take much encouragement for Constantine Black to press home his advantage.
“I’ll try to be conciliating,” she said. “But I daresay it won’t be easy.”
Ignoring her cousins’ skeptical looks, Jane marched over to her escritoire. Fumbling but determined, she opened her desk. Dawing out paper and ink, she sat down and picked up her pen.
“I need to speak to Lord Roxdale before I face the duke in the morning. I shall arrange a parlay.”
* * *
Constantin
e eyed his empty glass, then glared at the dregs in the decanter beside him. He’d already called for another bottle, but who was he fooling? There wasn’t enough wine in England to make him sufficiently drunk to escape this appalling state of affairs.
He’d quarreled with George, which he almost never did, and offended his aunt, too. Lady Endicott had retired to her bed with a fit of the vapors, so at least she wouldn’t trouble him for the next few hours.
A rift with his aunt didn’t bother him. She’d made a career out of disapproving of him, after all. Besides, she’d undoubtedly make good her threat to bring the formidable Lady Arden down upon them, so he couldn’t feel too repentant about that.
George was a different matter. He was the only one of their family who’d believed in Constantine, when the rest of society turned their backs. George had stood by him in open defiance of their father, who had forbidden all contact with the family’s black sheep.
Regret made Constantine hiss through his teeth. Ah, but better to offend George than see him sacrifice his dream on Constantine’s behalf.
Dusk had deepened into night, until the silence of this profoundly rural setting pounded in his ears. He hadn’t lit candles. Only the flickering firelight provided any illumination or warmth.
Ignoring Lady Roxdale’s express wish that he quarter himself elsewhere, he’d commandeered this bedchamber in the east tower, far from her own apartments. It wasn’t the master suite—that would have been too brash, even for him—but it was a comfortable, spacious room overlooking a set of formal gardens.
Constantine rose and crossed to the window, which he’d left open. The rain had ceased, for the moment, but storm clouds blanketed the sky, smothering the stars and moon. The quiet had an expectant quality to it, disturbed only by the occasional snap of a twig or thump of a log burning down in the grate. He stared into the thick darkness, seeking answers.
He would have to decide. And soon.
Well, of course it made sense to marry her. Of course it did. She had the money, he the property. Yes, it would all be tidy if they wed. His aunt demanded it; George put forward the sale of Broadmere as the only other solution.
Heiress in Love (Ministry of Marriage Novels) Page 5
