Heiress in Love (Ministry of Marriage Novels)

by Christina Brooke

  How wrong, how deluded, how prejudiced she’d been.

  Far from wrecking the estate, he’d made it thrive. His people loved him. He’d met the crisis at the mill with a cool head and a strong, compassionate heart.

  He was a hero to his tenants.

  He was her hero, too.

  Mine. Pride and possessiveness swelled in her chest until she could barely breathe, until she thought she might burst like ripe fruit.

  She’d let him go. Driven him away. She’d not been able to bring herself to trust him, but wasn’t the ability to trust someone implicitly the foundation of love?

  Fierce denial rose up within her. It wasn’t too late. She would chase him down and make him see …

  And she knew exactly where to go for help.

  * * *

  “Oh, my God, no!” Constantine glared at his brother, then sank his head in his hands.

  George grimaced. “I tried to fob them off, but they demand to see you. Lady Arden looks like Athena, about to ride into battle.”

  “And Montford?”

  “How can one tell?” George spread his hands. “The man’s an icicle.”

  Constantine groaned.

  “I told them you were indisposed,” said George. He threw himself in a chair opposite Constantine. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he mimicked the west country accent, “But I be jest a simple coun’ry squire, at that. They won’t pay no mind ter me.”

  Constantine ought to smile, but his mouth seemed weighted down at the corners. Thank God for George. Despite their argument after Frederick’s funeral, he’d rallied around as soon as Constantine had sent word he needed him.

  Constantine laid his head back against his chair and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. Once again, he’d fallen asleep at his desk. His neck and back ached and the roof of his mouth felt like the devil’s shoe leather, though he’d scarcely touched a drop last night. He’d arrived in London the day before and spent all his time wrangling with ways and means to make back the fortune he’d lost by breaking his engagement to Jane.

  When the news came out—as it would, since he’d sent the tidings to both the Duke of Montford and Lady Arden—he would be a pariah. All the prestige of the Roxdale title wouldn’t save him. The only women of means who might possibly be brought to marry him under those circumstances were wealthy merchants’ daughters on the hunt for a title, any title.

  And even then, they would only choose him as a last resort.

  He ran his hand over his jawline, feeling the stubble that had grown overnight rough beneath his fingertips. He ought to shave and wash and dress. But he couldn’t seem to summon the will to move.

  His weaker self screamed at him to go back to Jane on bended knee. He needed her. What kind of master, what kind of man could he be without Jane at his side? When she’d looked up at him, so trusting and confident, he’d felt like a god, not the lout she’d once called him.

  Ah, but she didn’t trust him, did she? Her admiration was for his looks and his skilled caresses, not for his character. Her love had been a lie.

  And now he needed, more than anything, to show himself he could survive without her. The first step was to prove he didn’t need her money.

  There was one way. But George, George … How could he do it to his brother? He couldn’t sell Broadmere from under George’s feet.

  “Whatever you need to do,” said George quietly, clapping a hand on Constantine’s shoulder, “I’m with you.”

  Constantine bowed his head. His brother’s steadfastness never failed to amaze and humble him. “Thank you.”

  “You know, I’ve often thought of moving to Gloucestershire,” began George.

  “Don’t. George, you will not lose Broadmere. I have … a number of irons in the fire. All will be well.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re speculating again! Constantine, that’s almost as bad as turning to the gaming tables to win your fortune!”

  He didn’t need to hear these doubts. He had enough of his own. “Only if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  What Constantine didn’t tell George was that he’d borrowed against his expectations while still betrothed to Lady Roxdale. His bankers had been all too willing to accommodate him. No one had mentioned his forthcoming nuptials, but of course that had been the reason for the loan, granted on such generous terms.

  He’d managed to double the money since then, but a large part of those funds had gone in the service of the estate.

  Once news spread about his breaking the engagement, the bankers would call in the loan, and he’d be left with nothing. He had to do something, and quickly.

  But first, he must face the unpleasantness downstairs.

  * * *

  “My dear Lady Arden,” said Montford. “Calm yourself. All this agitated pacing is most wearying to watch.”

  She rounded on him. “I don’t know how you can be so cool! He has jilted her, Julian!”

  “Yes. If this gets out, you’ll never show your face at the Ministry again.”

  “What do you think I care about that? Constantine has ruined himself. I had such hopes for him, and now…” Lady Arden turned her back, one hand clenched at her side, the other gripping the mantelpiece.

  Montford felt in his pocket for his handkerchief. Moving to stand next to her, he proffered it, but she waved it away. Her eyes, when she turned her head to look at him, were bright with unshed tears, but she seemed mistress of herself again.

  Her face took on a look of determination he knew from old. “We must do something.”

  “We will. When we find out how matters stand.”

  Truthfully, he was not so calm as he appeared. He wanted to rip Constantine Black limb from limb with his teeth, but if he showed that murderous impulse to Lady Arden, she’d fly to Constantine’s defense. He didn’t want that. When Arden set her mind to something, she usually got her way. She wasn’t above exploiting her feminine appeal to do it, either.

  It was one of the reasons he found her so … stimulating … as an opponent.

  This time, however, the stakes were too high for such games.

  “They are in love,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “That was something I’d never bargained for.”

  She raised her brows. “If you had, you wouldn’t have lent your support to the match, I suppose.”

  “Of course not.” One side of his mouth raised in a cynical smile. “Nothing good ever comes of excessive passions. This fiasco proves it.”

  She swallowed and looked away. “I warned them. Constantine told me it was a business arrangement, but I knew otherwise.”

  “And what has their so-called love brought them?” he replied. “Scandal and disgrace.”

  “Not yet, it hasn’t!” Her ladyship’s delicate jaw firmed. “I won’t let it.” She whirled away from the mantel to take up her pacing again. “Where is the stupid boy? Making his toilet? Anyone would think he’s one of the dandy set!”

  “Heaven forbid!”

  The rasping voice came from the doorway, where Roxdale himself stood.

  Montford studied the man carefully. He appeared much as he had that day after the flood: pale, drawn, unutterably weary. His mouth turned down slightly at the corners. There was suffering in those heavy-lidded eyes.

  “You look burned to a socket,” said Montford. “Been dipping deep, have you?”

  Constantine stared at him with a touch of hauteur. “I’m not answerable to you, Your Grace.”

  “You damned well are, and you know it.” The words were spoken without heat, but Constantine took a hasty step toward him.

  “Give over, both of you.” Lady Arden rushed to take Constantine’s hands in hers. “Why, Constantine? How could you do such a thing?”

  The hard, drawn features softened a little as Constantine gazed down into Lady Arden’s face. “You know I can’t answer that.”

  Between his teeth, Montford said, “Then let me inform you, sir, that I do not take k
indly to your besmirching Lady Roxdale’s name. Her cousins are baying for your blood, but I have reserved to myself the satisfaction of spilling it.”

  A gasp came from Lady Arden. “Julian, don’t!”

  “I regret your presence, my dear,” he said gently. “Perhaps it’s time for you to leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not going to fight. That won’t solve anything!”

  “He is a blight on his family’s name,” bit out Montford. “My lady, you ought to thank me for removing this thorn in your side.”

  “I’m not going to fight you,” said Constantine, folding his arms. “It’s no use trying to provoke me.”

  The duke raised his brows. “You think the difference in our ages sets me at a disadvantage? Let me assure you otherwise. Besides, I believe you said you were not a swordsman.”

  “What I said was I don’t fence.”

  “No, and you shall not do so today!” Lady Arden rounded on Montford. “How can you be such a … such a man, Montford? I expected better of you!”

  With grim humor, Montford said, “And how am I supposed to take that?”

  “You may take it that I thought at least you would show some sense! If news of a fight between you gets out it will pile scandal upon scandal. We came here to contain the damage, not provide more fodder for gossip!”

  Some part of Montford’s brain knew she was right, but his bloodlust, that ancient, primal part of him that had been passed down through generations of Westruther warriors, beat strongly within him.

  He wanted to carve Constantine up and throw him to the dogs for daring to expose Jane to the world’s scorn. “We’ll do it here, now, without seconds. No one will find out.”

  “Julian! Julian, this will not help her!” She took his face in her hands, gazing steadily into his eyes until they focused on her. “I know you love Jane like a daughter, but you must use your head now. Think, or you will lose her forever.”

  The words penetrated the red mist in his brain. He had already lost Jane once. She believed she loved this blackguard, or she would not have forced him to beg off the betrothal.

  That gave Montford pause. The smallest reflection showed him Lady Arden was right. It was not something he enjoyed admitting.

  With a disgusted snort, he turned his back on Constantine and stared out the window.

  Behind him, Lady Arden took up her pacing. “The betrothal has already been announced, or we could pretend it had never taken place. Constantine, you have not made your decision public?”

  “No.”

  There was a strained pause that caught Montford’s attention. He turned to see Constantine’s mouth twist. “I’ve had other things to think of.”

  Lady Arden set her hands on Constantine’s shoulders. “Is there no possibility of a reconciliation? Constantine, consider carefully before you do this. If not for your own sake and Jane’s but for the sake of your people!”

  At her urging, Constantine turned white. If ever Montford had seen a man ready to crack, it was Roxdale.

  Montford’s anger lost some of its heat. Whatever reasons Constantine had for breaking that betrothal, he was suffering for it. Perhaps more than Jane herself. At least Jane had hope, reckless and foolish though that hope might be.

  “Ma’am.” Constantine removed her hands from his shoulders and held them between his own. “My lady, believe me, I—” He broke off, his voice suspended by an emotion that seemed to cause him physical pain. He dropped her hands. “I must ask you both to leave this house. I am not fit for company.”

  Lady Arden’s face took on an aspect of grim determination. “This is not finished, Constantine. We have only just announced your betrothal. I refuse to announce its end!”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Do what you wish, ma’am. Announce it, or don’t. You won’t change the facts.”

  “I’d thought better of you, Lord Roxdale,” said Lady Arden, her voice aching with sadness. “It seems I was wrong.” With a last, despairing look back at Montford, she left.

  Montford stood his ground. “Lady Arden’s right. We won’t announce this for the moment. You may yet come to your senses.”

  “I have come to my senses, believe me.”

  The duke sighed. “This is why I prefer dealing with young people whose affections aren’t engaged in the process. It makes things so much simpler.” He looked about him. “Shall we sit down?”

  “No. I believe you were just leaving.”

  “Ah, but I have something to say to you about your finances that you will wish to hear.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Constantine returned the duke’s gaze steadily. Nothing the duke said could possibly change his mind. Nothing. But if it was a questions of finances, he ought to listen to what Montford had to say.

  He indicated a chair with a wave of his hand and they both took their seats.

  The duke settled back, crossing one leg over the other in a relaxed pose. “I saw Frederick, oh, about a month or so before he died. He knew the end was near, had been expecting it for some time.”

  That caught Constantine’s interest. He said nothing, however, but waited for Montford to continue.

  “Frederick was agitated, knowing the estate would go to you.”

  “If he was so concerned, why didn’t he secure the succession?” Constantine ground out. “I never expected to inherit.”

  “Whatever the case, there was no child of the marriage.” If the duke suspected the reason for that, he gave no sign.

  “It was my notion to carve up the estate,” Montford continued.

  Shock slammed into Constantine like a fist. “What?” He could barely catch his breath. “You did this?”

  Montford spread his hands. “Jane is an intelligent woman with great force of character. Frederick agreed with me that if anyone could ensure you didn’t lay waste to Lazenby, she could. Our design was, of course, that the two of you would wed.”

  “My God,” whispered Constantine. “This beggars belief!”

  The duke continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “However, in case you did not agree to marry, Frederick appointed me to see how you fared in your new role. If I judged you deserving, I was instructed to release the funds held in trust to you. If, after six months in the role, you did not prove yourself worthy, you would forfeit the entire fortune to Lady Roxdale.”

  Constantine couldn’t get past the first part of the duke’s disclosure. “But you forbade me to even think of marrying her!”

  Montford inclined his head. “You are such a headstrong young firebrand, Roxdale, I would have been stupid to do otherwise. And at the time, I meant what I said. As you appeared to me then, I couldn’t possibly countenance your marriage to Jane. Now…”

  He shrugged. “I saw you in action during that flood, you will remember. I spoke with your steward and with your tenants. Despite your recent behavior toward Lady Roxdale, I thought—and still think—Frederick misjudged your integrity and your ability to run the estate. That being the case, I’m prepared to recommend to the trustees that they release the funds and the property to you. Lady Roxdale will have her jointure and she will be satisfied with that.”

  Constantine knew he ought to feel triumphant. The estate was saved. He’d be able to repay the loan and secure the mill property.

  He was free.

  Yet, it didn’t feel like freedom. It felt more like a life sentence.

  He eyed the duke. “You didn’t do all this out of altruism.”

  Montford raised his brows. “Of course not. Why would I? Frederick’s family was happy enough to accept Jane’s inheritance when it suited them; the least they could do was uphold their end of the bargain and offer a substitute when Frederick died. Frederick himself was not under any illusion that I acted out of pure motives. But he was in a bind. He believed strongly that you were entitled to the estate, but he wanted some sort of assurance you’d take your responsibilities seriously. The solution I proposed sui
ted him, too.”

  “You were manipulating me—us—the entire time!”

  “Set you to dancing like marionettes, yes,” murmured the duke with a cynical twist to his mouth. “I goaded you into running after Lady Roxdale and then left you to it, knowing Lady Arden would soon be there to move matters along.” He raised his brows. “Clever of me, was it not? But you’ve had the last laugh, haven’t you, Roxdale? I never bargained for Jane falling in love with you.”

  The tightness in Constantine’s chest threatened to crush his lungs. Harshly, he said, “She hasn’t.”

  “That’s not what she says. And it’s not what I’ve observed, either.” Montford rose to his feet. “I tell you now, I do not want this for her, all this upheaval, this confusion. She was ever an anxious child. She needs peace and stability and she won’t get that from you with your wild passions and your overweening pride. I will convince her to release you from your betrothal and we will say nothing more about your attempt to jilt her.”

  His Grace spread his hands. “So. I give you your precious freedom. You don’t need Jane anymore.”

  The glaring, painful untruth of that statement screamed in Constantine’s brain, squeezed his heart and turned his guts into a roiling mess. He put his head in his hands, so full of conflicting emotions, he was near crazed.

  The duke’s voice sounded far away. “I’ll make the arrangements. You may leave everything to me. You’re an exceedingly wealthy man, Roxdale. I wish you joy of it.”

  “Joy.” His voice cracked. He wanted to laugh like a maniac at the mere notion, but he couldn’t seem to make another sound.

  “In the meantime,” said Montford, “I have two requests. You have a card for the ball at Montford House tomorrow night. Use it. And … find a lady friend for the evening.”

  Oh, God, no! There could only be one reason for this suggestion. Constantine looked up. “She’s here? In London? She’s going to the ball?”

  Montford nodded. “You will not speak to her. You will not look at her. You will make it clear to her and to everyone else that you have no intention of resuming that unfortunate betrothal. And then you will leave and you will never see her again.”