“Huntingdon. And yes”—he swallowed hard—“I know the boundaries that surround a love of such magnitude.”
Pierce scoffed. “Maybe the rumors I’ve heard about you aren’t true, since it’s obvious you know nothing about it at all.”
“I beg to differ. I am well acquainted with a love of great magnitude.”
“If you were, you’d know it has no boundaries. None whatsoever. That’s the kind of love my daughter has in her heart.”
The man was breathing heavily, his eyes bulging, his cheeks flushed. This meeting wasn’t progressing as Devon had envisioned. “May I offer you a bit of my cousin’s port, Mr. Pierce?”
Nodding, Pierce settled back in the chair and rubbed his fist over his chest. He gave Devon a weak smile. “That kidney pie I ate for lunch doesn’t seem to have agreed with me.”
Devon strode across the room to the liquor cabinet. The decanter clinked against the glass as he began to pour the wine. “I’ve made inquiries regarding you as well, Mr. Pierce.”
He set the decanter aside, walked to the desk, and extended the glass to the man he was beginning to view as his adversary. “I know you’re a shrewd businessman.”
“My daughter is not a piece of property.” Pierce snatched the drink from his hand. He downed the liquid in one long gulp before slamming the glass on the desk and skewering Devon with his glare. “I’ve no interest in dealing with a man who views women as such.”
His mind swirling with the implications, Devon returned to his place by the window. “I assure you that I meant no offense, nor would I deem her an object. As my countess, she’ll want for nothing.”
A gleam entered Pierce’s eyes. “That’s what I’m counting on. But I have three conditions you must agree to before I’ll give my blessing to this venture.”
“What would those be, Mr. Pierce?”
“First, my daughter is never to know about this arrangement. You are to make her believe you find her beautiful, you’re in love with her, and that’s the reason you asked for her hand in marriage.”
Make her believe she was beautiful? Dear God. What sort of woman would need convincing? An unattractive one obviously. Love her? Devon wasn’t even certain he knew what the word meant anymore. Still, he gave a brusque nod.
“Second, my daughter loves children. You are to give her as many as she wants.
“Finally, you’re to remain faithful to her. If I discover otherwise, I’ll have you gelded. Even from the grave.”
Devon spun around and faced the window. He felt as though he were a whore, selling himself to this old man so he could rebuild his estate.
“What exactly will my agreement to your conditions purchase me?”
“Unlimited access to everything I have—after the marriage, after I see she’s happy.”
Devon had not expected such prodigious generosity. He could quickly restore Huntingdon to its former grandeur. He looked at the gray skies and inhaled deeply.
“I accept all your conditions. We shall need to meet with our solicitors to negotiate the marriage settlement.”
“I’ve got no problem with that, once I see she’s happy.”
Turning away from the window, Devon gave him a long, hard perusal. “You’ll have to sign the settlement papers before I’ll apply my signature to the marriage license.”
“I’ll sign on the day you tie the knot,” Pierce stated. “Once you’re married, I’ll transfer money over to you. The happier she is, the more generous I’ll be.”
“We shall have to arrange an introduction.”
“She’s attending some fancy ball with Lauren tomorrow night. You can start wooing her there.”
Devon bowed slightly. “Very well. I shall count the moments until tomorrow evening.”
“I doubt that. I’ve never known a man to welcome Cupid’s cramp, but I’ll promise you this, Huntingdon. She’ll make you a far wealthier man than you can imagine.”
Devon hoped the old chap spoke true, because he could imagine quite a bit.
Chapter 2
“A t tonight’s ball, if you wish to speak to a gentleman, you simply catch his eye and snap your fan closed.” Lauren Fairfield demonstrated the proper protocol with a coy batting of her eyelashes that reminded Georgina Pierce of the rapid beating of a hummingbird’s wings.
Curled up in a plush chair beside the window, Georgina slowly sipped the flowery pekoe tea. The serving girl who’d brought her the steaming brew had explained it was suitable for morning but not afternoon or evening—as though Georgina truly cared if the proper tea was poured from the teapot at the appropriate time of day.
The things these Brits fussed over and were concerned with baffled Georgina no end.
“If I’ve a mind to speak to someone tonight, why can’t I just walk across the ballroom and talk to him?” Georgina asked.
Not that she would consider talking to one of these Englishmen, much less approaching him. Or any other man for that matter. She couldn’t determine a topic that they might find fascinating. During the few conversations to which she’d been privy, the men had spoken to the women as though their heads served no other purpose than to provide a place for their hair to take root.
Rolling her blue eyes for the hundredth time since Georgina’s arrival, Lauren plopped onto the bed. “Because that’s not the way it’s done, silly goose. I’m certain if you could simply master the proper etiquette, a gentleman would favor you with a dance.”
Georgina had always thought her friend beautiful, but the years away from Texas had added a grace and confidence that came from knowing how she fitted in the world. Georgina had yet to figure out that aspect of her life.
Shortly after the war her father had uprooted her and her mother so he could deliver goods throughout Texas. Since she’d finished her schooling by then, her education hadn’t suffered. And in some ways she’d learned more than she’d ever wanted to know—about people and what they considered important.
“Ah, Lauren, it ain’t my etiquette that’s got the men shying away from me.” They’d attended two balls since her arrival, and she’d yet to attract anyone’s attention. Although in truth she hadn’t come here with flirtation in mind. Her features were as plain as the day was long. She was as steady as a rock—which more often than not made her as dull as muddy water.
“‘Ain’t’ is not a word. Please desist from using it in my presence.”
Unable to believe how easily she could rile Lauren these days, Georgina grinned. “I simply do it to irritate you.”
Lauren stuck her nose in the air and looked down at her. “I’m well aware of that. I don’t remember you being quite so annoying.”
“I don’t recall you bein’ such a prude.” Georgina followed her comment with a small chuckle to mask her quandary. While she cherished her friendship with Lauren, she also found herself discomfited by Lauren’s love of societal rules, rules that in New York had served to humiliate her.
Three years ago, her father had decided they should stop their wanderings, establish roots, and set up residence in New York. But they found none of the warmth and acceptance they’d left behind in Texas. Georgina was certain the “old money”—those who comprised the socially elite—were responsible for her mother’s death. They had snubbed her and her mother in public, had pointedly never issued them an invitation to their balls. Her father’s hard-earned money made no difference to their social standing. They were never accepted, and acceptance had meant everything to her mother, who had grown up in poverty.
Georgina had been taken aback when she’d first seen Lauren after so many years of separation. She fought not to equate Lauren with the Knickerbockers of New York, the people she’d come to loathe for their pretentious displays of snobbery.
Lauren touched the closed fan to her right ear.
“I know I’ve changed,” Georgina said solemnly. But her friend was a far cry from being the same as well.
Georgina continually searched for the girl who had run through the flo
wer-laden fields with her, climbed trees, and sneaked out the window at night to meet her by the creek. Beneath the vast, star-filled sky, they’d woven their dreams of marriage, husbands, love, and children. They’d promised to remain friends until they died.
She’d felt bereft and alone when Lauren had left Texas eight years ago after her mother had married Christopher Montgomery. She’d hardly cared when a few months later her father had decided to sell their house in Fortune and take her and her mother with him on his travels.
Lauren placed the fan in her lap. “So you do know the language of the fan.”
The language of the fan, the glove, the handkerchief, the parasol…Why couldn’t these people be content to simply talk to each other? Why did they have to play these irritating games? It didn’t seem quite honest to have all those objects do the communicating.
“I took a gander at those books you loaned me. The rules over here seem foolish. If a man is walking down the boardwalk in Texas, he tips his hat to me and says, ‘Howdy, miss.’ Here a man can’t tip his hat unless I give him some kind of bow, and until I speak to him, he can stand in front of me until the cows come home, but he can’t speak to me.”
“Because this is civilization. In England the men are gentlemen.”
“You don’t consider Tom to be a gentleman?”
Lauren bolted off the bed and stomped to the window that overlooked the most beautiful garden Georgina had ever seen. Elizabeth Montgomery’s adoration of roses was evident everywhere she looked. Cuttings in crystal vases adorned each room.
“Why did you have to mention him?” Lauren asked.
Georgina shifted in the chair, tucking her legs up beneath her, not caring one whit that she was wrinkling her skirt. Perhaps the Knickerbockers had been right in excluding her from their society. “I thought you loved him.”
Lauren stroked the burgundy velvet drape a servant had pulled aside first thing that morning. “As a child loves another child, perhaps. I was only fourteen when we left Fortune. I barely remember what he looks like.”
“Is that the reason you haven’t bothered to ask about him since I’ve been here?”
“Why should I think of him when he’s forgotten me? He promised to write, and I’ve never received a single letter from him.”
“Maybe because he’s been too busy making a living.”
“Do you ever see him?” Lauren cast her a sideways glance reflecting such longing Georgina knew her friend did indeed think of Tom—and often.
“From time to time when Papa’s business takes us back through Texas. He’s a very respected trail boss. He gets top dollar, because he’s hard-working—”
“The gentlemen here don’t have to work. Therefore they have plenty of time to devote to the women they love.”
“If they don’t work, where do they get their money?”
“They inherit it.”
Georgina set the delicate china teacup on a little table with spindly legs that didn’t look strong enough to support it. “They have to do something to generate income.”
“Maybe they invest it. I don’t know. I just know they don’t have to work. They don’t sweat. I remember when Tom would come over at the end of the day, he smelled no better than a cow, his clothes were dusty, and his fingernails had dirt wedged beneath them. English gentlemen are always clean and they smell nice.”
“There’s nothing wrong with honest sweat and dirt.”
“Except that it’s reserved for the lower classes,” Lauren said softly. “We’re above all that here.”
Georgina noticed that Lauren was drawing the fan absently across her cheek. “I love you” according to the language of the fan. Was she thinking of Tom? Was Tom the reason she’d declined the numerous marriage proposals that had come her way?
“You’re a full-grown woman, Lauren. You could go back to Texas any time you wanted.”
Lauren scoffed lightly. “I daresay I’d fit in as well there as you seem to think you do here.”
A fit Georgina knew was as easy as trying to snap into place a wooden puzzle piece that had somehow managed to get associated with the wrong puzzle. Hadn’t their years in New York taught her that? She’d been incredibly relieved when her father had told her they’d leave the mansion they were leasing in New York. But instead of going back to her beloved Texas, they’d sailed to England. Georgina had been heartbroken. She wanted a home, but more she wanted to feel as though she belonged somewhere.
With a sigh, Lauren turned away from the window and strolled gracefully to the canopied bed. “I wish you’d select a fan. I spent most of yesterday afternoon on Regent Street, searching for one I thought you’d like.”
Georgina eased out of the chair and walked to the bed. A dozen fans were spread over the burgundy comforter. “I suppose I think of a fan as something to cool you off in July, not something that tells a man what you’re thinking.”
“People here are much more sophisticated than they are in Fortune. I felt as though I was a country bumpkin for the longest time. I thought I’d never be accepted.” Lauren’s eyes filled with understanding. “Is that the reason you don’t think the gentlemen have asked you to dance? Because you lack the sophistication to which they’re accustomed?”
“That and other things.” Georgina picked up an enormous fan and opened it, spreading wide the ostrich plumes. The wounds delivered in New York were still too fresh. She couldn’t explain to Lauren how she’d tried to fit in once and had failed miserably. “I could hide my face with this one.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your face.”
“Except that it’s not elegant or dainty. And I have a tendency to speak my mind, a habit some men find unappealing.” She tossed down the fan. “I’m not comfortable in the parlor, Lauren. I’d rather be outdoors.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come to England during the Season. You should have waited until August, when we’ll be in residence at the country estate.”
“I didn’t know about the Season when Papa told me he wanted to come over here. I just wanted to visit with you—not with all these prim and prissy people who set my teeth on edge with their high and mighty ways.”
“You’re my guest, Gina. People will think I’m rude if I don’t take you to the dinner parties and balls with me.”
“Well, we certainly can’t have people thinking that.” Georgina reached for a fan with intricate flowers carved into the ivory leaves. “I’ll carry this one to the dance tonight.”
Lauren flung her arms around Georgina and hugged her tightly. “You haven’t changed. You still care more about others than you do yourself. Maybe some lucky gentleman will notice you tonight. Wouldn’t it be splendid if you married a man with a title? You could stay in England, and we could visit all the time.”
Merciful heavens. Marrying a stuffy old English dandy was the last thing Georgina wanted.
“You have to tell her, Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel Pierce wasn’t certain if he was sitting in the day room, the morning room, or the afternoon room. He simply knew he was in a room, but he also understood that those with money preferred to give their rooms a name, as though in doing so they not only added to the importance of the room, but increased their own significance as well.
Elizabeth Fairfield Montgomery was an exception. She stood near the window, giving him a pointed look that indicated she’d accept no argument on this matter. She and Edna, his wife, had been the best of friends. They’d written often until Edna’s death.
He wiped his roughened hand over his mouth. “I don’t want Gina to know that I had anything to do with Huntingdon’s interest in her.”
“Nathaniel, you can’t give her a fairy-tale romance and a storybook marriage,” Elizabeth insisted.
“Why not? I’m an old man who made mistakes.”
“Only when you gambled.”
Only Elizabeth would remind him of his greatest failing. He’d amassed fortunes only to lose them when Lady Luck turned against him. Many a night Edn
a had cried while he’d been rubbing elbows with the demon of gambling. He’d stop gambling to halt her tears.
And when he’d climbed back onto the mountain of gold, he’d taken her to New York…and her tears had returned.
“It was more than gambling, Elizabeth. I never should have taken Gina and Edna with me. Traveling from town to town. Sleeping in the wagon when we couldn’t find an inn. Never staying in one place long enough for either of them to make any new friends. I didn’t realize women needed to have friends nearby. Now I can give Gina back some of what I took from her.”
“She doesn’t feel as though you took anything.”
“I feel it!” He lunged out of the chair. How could he explain the loneliness his daughter had experienced? She’d had no friends other than those she’d left behind. Although they’d always rolled from one town to another, she’d never complained. That wasn’t her way. She simply accepted what life dished out and made the best of it.
Too late he’d realized the unfair cost of his ambitions. She’d never been courted. Or wooed. Or made to feel special. She’d never had beaux lined up at her door, seeking her favors.
He’d thought New York would provide her with the opportunity to obtain a husband. Instead the experience had only worsened her isolation, had made her feel more apart. She’d been the country girl striving to fit into the city life.
He’d brought her to England, hoping to find her a husband, someone among the aristocracy who would appreciate her. Someone to show those New York Knickerbockers that his daughter was good enough.
“Huntingdon’s right for her, Elizabeth. I went to the village on his estate. I talked to those who know him—”
“You made inquiries about him?” she asked, clearly horrified.
He’d made inquiries about all of them—every aristocratic man who’d approached him in the gentlemen’s clubs or the gaming hells. Huntingdon alone had chosen a clandestine meeting. Huntingdon alone wasn’t lounging in clubs and running up debts.
By God, he wasn’t lazy. Nathaniel would give him that. The man had tried his damnedest to better his situation. Familiar with the instability of wealth, Nathaniel felt comfortable giving the man a leg up. Every aspect of life was a gamble. He was gambling now that his instincts were honed, that he’d measured the man accurately.
To Marry an Heiress Page 2
