by Nichole Van
Though in his defense, Miss Heartstone was utterly nondescript. Forgettable. Brown hair, brown eyes, neither short nor tall, figure neither plump nor thin. Her round face was not unattractive, but neither was it conventionally pretty. More baby-soft than striking.
The only thing exceptional about her was the expensive cut of her pelisse and the height of her audacity. He still struggled to decide if he should laugh at the absurdity of this situation, salute the woman for her daring, or give her a blistering set-down.
But as with most things in his life, Colin chose to laugh. Life was difficult enough without taking himself too seriously.
Marriage, eh? He was twenty-three with barely two farthings to his name—marriage was his last concern.
Yes, the marquisate was paupered, mortgaged to the hilt. Yes, an advantageous marriage would set his finances to right almost instantly, but at what personal cost? Tied for life to a woman he barely knew?
No. That was not a life he wished to live.
He was accustomed to being let in the pockets. He had no desire to dig himself further into debt in order to attend the opera and balls every evening, socializing with people he hardly knew.
Colin desired more from life than that. He wanted freedom and adventure and purpose. His current course offered all three—a chance to voyage to far-off India and recoup his finances.
The multiple country houses he now owned were let with responsible tenants who oversaw the land. He made no money from them, as all available income went to debts, but neither did they require money of him. Once he secured funding for his venture, Colin intended to hire a man-of-affairs to oversee his lands while away in India. As for family, his mother and sisters were wed and cared for.
In short, there was little to tether him to England currently. He most certainly didn’t need or want a wife. No matter how much money she brought to the match.
Which brought him back to the young woman standing before him, all but wringing her hands in nervousness. To be honest, it was that very nervousness which endeared her to him. She was clearly facing her fears in confronting him. The least he could was hear her out and respond politely.
“Miss Heartstone, I do believe it is the time-honored tradition to express gratitude when receiving an offer of marriage, no matter how . . . irregular.” Colin fought to keep dry humor out of his tone. “I am not insensible to the honor you do me.”
“That sounds like the beginning of a rejection, my lord.” Miss Heartstone folded her hands primly and lifted her chin. “I would beg you to reconsider.”
She was courageous. He chose that word over its less flattering cousin—brazen.
He couldn’t help but appreciate her straightforward manner. She was honest and refreshingly direct. After weeks of fawning flattery from the ton—aristocrats who had only considered his acquaintance valuable once he inherited the marquisate—Miss Heartstone was a breath of fresh air. Her genuine sincerity and obvious trepidation were the only reasons he hadn’t sent her packing already.
Any woman who would seize the reins of her own destiny like this was to be admired. Just the machinations that had gone into arranging their current meeting spoke volumes about her capabilities. With those two characteristics and a fortune to boot, why did she need him?
His father had been a commissioned officer in His Majesty’s Army and, therefore, constantly overseas fighting in one war or another, leaving his family safe at home. Colin had been raised by his mother and older sisters. He knew, better than any man of his acquaintance, the capabilities of women.
That didn’t mean he was going to accept a marriage of convenience.
“Yes, Miss Heartstone,” he said, “I fear I must refuse your kind offer.”
She opened her mouth to speak. He held up a staying hand. Allow me to explain myself.
“Why do you feel the need to purchase a title?” he asked. She wasn’t the only one who could be refreshingly direct.
She winced, the motion barely visible but still obvious. Clearly, that was not the question she had anticipated.
Her spine straightened even further, if possible.
“A lord may marry for money or physical beauty. How is my proposal any different?” she scrambled to say.
She was a nimble thinker. He’d give her that.
“Forgive me. I phrased that poorly.” He clasped his hands behind his back, contemplating the Long Water for a moment. “Why do you respect yourself so little that you would eagerly enter into a loveless marriage with a man who—no matter how well researched—you do not know?”
She inhaled a sharp breath. “Pardon, my lord?”
“You are a young woman in possession of a tremendous fortune. It is also obvious you are courageous and intelligent.” He waved a hand toward her. “Why do you wish for a husband?”
“My mother wishes to choose my husband for me. I find her judgment somewhat lacking and prefer to find a husband for myself.”
“Yes, but your mother’s wishes aside, why must you have a husband? Why marry at all?”
Miss Heartstone opened her mouth. Shut it. And then frowned. Clearly struggling to answer his question.
Such foolishness. How could she embark on this path without knowing her own motivation?
Honesty was paramount for him, in all its forms—in his interactions with peers, with his family, and most importantly . . . within himself.
The unexamined life is not worth living—the famous phrase Socrates uttered when he chose death instead of renouncing rigorous mental debate.
Colin wanted to have the quote engraven on a plaque where he could see it daily. He refused to allow himself to be anything other than painfully truthful with himself. That meant carefully examining his reasons for actions. And to the occasional dismay of friends, his tendency to favor frankness over affectation or polite inanities resulted in awkward silences.
There was no other acceptable way to live.
“Women must marry, my lord,” she finally replied. As an answer, it was a poor one.
“Why?” he countered.
Miss Heartstone’s eyes flared. “Society expects a young woman to marry—”
“You appear comfortable flouting the expectations of society. Your proposal this morning proves that. You needn’t live any part of your life according to a strict rule book, Miss Heartstone. Marriage doesn’t have to occur before a certain age . . . or even at all, for that matter.”
She blinked. But Colin was just getting started. He had listened to his mother and sisters too many times over the years. He started pacing, hands still clasped behind his back, trampling the fresh green grass under his boots.
“You, as a person, are worth far more than a marriage of convenience.” He shook his head, gesturing toward her. “I am worth more. Marriage is a lifelong contract. It should not be entered into lightly. I do not want a convenient wife who will feather my nest with her money. When I do finally marry, money will have no place in the decision. I value myself more than that. I cannot imagine entering into such a binding agreement for anything less than the deepest love and respect. Why would you settle for less?”
“As I said, my mother insists that I must marry; she is most persistent—”
“Does your mother control your fortune?” he continued, pacing. “Is she forcing you into this somehow?”
“Aside from her constant henpecking?” A wry smile tugged at her lips before melting away. Miss Heartstone shook her head. “My father was wise enough to ensure my mother had no control over my inheritance. My late father’s solicitor and I make all decisions for my estate. But until I reach my legal majority, obviously my mother and uncle must give approval for my marriage.”
“At what age do you take sole possession of your fortune?” Colin knew that legal majority and assuming possession of her fortune were not one and the same thing—the former was set by law, the latter by her late father’s will.
“If I am still unmarried at the age of twenty-one, the entirety of my fat
her’s estate comes under my care.”
“At the legal age of majority then?”
“Yes.”
Colin wanted to shake some sense into her. Heaven save him from young women! She did not remotely understand the power she held.
“Though your mother deserves your regard, it does not follow that she be allowed to control your future, telling you whom to marry and when,” he said. “No one can force you to marry unwillingly, even before you reach your legal majority. Our English laws forbid forcible marriage at any age, under any circumstance. So if and when you do marry, it will be of your own choice.”
Despite her nervous demeanor, she was definitely pretty enough to capture a husband, even without her enormous fortune. But could a marriage that started out so loveless bring true contentment ten or twenty years from now?
“Miss Heartstone, allow me to paint a clear picture for you. If and when you do choose to marry, your fortune will pass to your husband’s purview. You will cease to be a person in the eyes of the law.” He stopped pacing and studied her. “If you continue in your current course of action, you will marry a man you do not know and, perhaps, gain entrance into the highest levels of the peerage. For the dubious honor of taking another man’s name, you will turn over your fortune and freedom. Under English law, your husband will control not only your money but your every move.
“I know that many women have no choice but to marry or face lives of penury. However, an unmarried woman of fortune has the world at her feet. Without a husband, you remain a person under English law. You can hold property, make decisions, and retain control of your estate. You simply must take courage and decide to marry when you wish to, not when Society or your mother dictate.”
Miss Heartstone’s eyes had grown three times in size as he spoke. “But such a thing would be highly irregular, my lord. I cannot establish my own household as a single woman. ’Twould not be proper.”
Colin shot a glance at the older companion behind Miss Heartstone. The tall woman might have been a ways off, but she kept a hawk’s eye on them both.
He raised his eyebrows. “You most certainly can establish your own household, madam. If you are properly chaperoned, no one will think ill of you.”
Her forehead creased.
He held out a staying hand. He was not quite done. “Marriage is an admirable state, Miss Heartstone, but given its lifelong permanence, it is not something to be undertaken lightly. If you fall in love with a man who respects you—a man who sees you as his equal—then by all means marry. If you reach a point where you want a permanent companion or children, then seek out a man to share your life. But only marry because it is your heart’s desire, not out of some societal notion that marriage is required of you.”
“You are a revolutionary, my lord.” She shifted on her feet.
“Perhaps. Though you must be something of one yourself, given your behavior this morning.”
“I concede your point.”
“I ask you, Miss Heartstone, to be honest with yourself. When you imagine your future in ten or twenty years, what do you see? Is it truly marriage with a stranger? Have you taken time to listen to your heart?”
That stopped her. She froze, eyes darting out to look over the large lake beside them.
Her pause was telling.
“You need to think beyond your narrow sphere.” He pressed his advantage. “My mother and sisters are tremendous followers of the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft. I have never been able to view women as mere subordinates of men. My mother would box my ears. She has always insisted that women have tremendous intellect and fortitude. You are capable of amazing things, Miss Heartstone. You merely need to believe in yourself.”
The young lady blinked at him. A cool breeze floated off the Long Water, ruffling the feathers in her fashionable bonnet.
She clearly did not know how to respond to his words. Granted, few people did, which is why he rarely voiced them. He knew his ideas were . . . revolutionary, to use her term.
“For myself, I am more than merely a title and handful of estates,” he continued. “You researched my life and fortunes and, from that, have extrapolated a series of behaviors and attitudes. But, at the end of the day, I believe myself to be greater than the mere summation of numbers and a handful of desirable qualities. You do not see me, Miss Heartstone—the man I truly am. So, though I am sorry to disappoint your expectations this morning, I am also quite sure you will one day thank me for my reticence in accepting your suit.”
She raised her chin a notch, shoulders straight. She was so young. So untried in the ways of the world.
“My lord, I would ask you reconsider—”
He cut her off. “God has granted you wings, Miss Heartstone. ’Twould be a shame if you never learned how to fly.”
He did not wait for her response. Instead, he tipped his hat in her direction and, clicking his heels together, gave her a short bow.
“I bid you good morning, Miss Heartstone.”
3
. . . I value your opinion, daughter mine, and desire to know your insight into the matter. You say that the muslin fabric designs from last year were drab and uninspired. Do you truly feel that a more lively pattern would boost sales by 73 pct? Have your calculations led you to that conclusion, or your unerring sense of intuition as a woman? Please tell me your thoughts. You possess a brilliant mind. I feel you are destined for great things, my Little Heart-Full . . .
—excerpt of a letter from John Heartstone to his daughter, Belle, age 16, on the purchase of a cotton mill outside Harrogate.
Belle walked briskly to her London townhouse, needing to return home well before her mother awoke. Not that Mrs. Heartstone ever rose before noon, but Belle refused to take any chances. The mere thought of the raptures—and Machiavellian machinations—her mother would resort to if she knew Belle had stolen out to meet with a marquess . . .
Ugh. Just the thought underscored why Belle had taken the drastic risk of seeking a husband herself.
Miss Rutger was quiet and gave a comforting pat of her hand, clearly understanding that Belle’s conversation with Lord Blake had not gone as Belle had hoped.
Belle swallowed back the disappointment burning in her throat, thankful for her friend’s silence.
What to do now?
Lord Blake had been by far her best choice for a husband. She had prepared an extensive list of potential grooms—cross-referenced with their financial need and statistical probability of being a caring spouse—but no other man met all her criteria quite so readily. Did she want to move on to the next candidate? She chewed on the inside of her cheek.
Lord Blake’s words hummed through her head, a buzzing hive.
You are courageous and intelligent.
I ask you, Miss Heartstone, to be honest with yourself. When you imagine your future in ten or twenty years, what do you see? Have you taken time to listen to your heart?
She could see him yet, rimmed in morning light, the wind tugging at his greatcoat, chestnut hair curling from under his top hat, eyes alternating between humor and firm belief in his opinions.
A crusading angel, fighting for her. A woman he did not know.
God has granted you wings, Miss Heartstone. ’Twould be a shame if you never learned how to fly.
Her heart gave a painful thump.
What had he truly meant by that? What would it mean to fly?
Blink, blink, blink.
And why did his words bring her to tears, of all things?
She handed her bonnet, cloak, and pelisse to her butler, still fighting the tightness in her throat.
“I believe I shall lay down for a moment,” she murmured to Miss Rutger. “I fear a headache is coming on.”
“Of course, dear.” Miss Rutger’s tone was soft. Belle didn’t miss the concerned, knowing look in her companion’s eyes.
Belle all but fled to her bedchamber. She intended to rest and sort through her next course of action.
Instead, she p
aced the floor.
Lord Blake’s words would not be silenced.
You are worth far more than a marriage of convenience.
When was the last time Belle had said such a thing to herself?
And why did it take a complete stranger stating something before one actually believed it?
Lord Blake’s words had taken the neat box of her life and upended its contents upon the floor, leaving all the uncomfortable bits and pieces of her bare to the glaring light of truth.
She paused, staring sightlessly into the back garden below her window.
She was worth more than a marriage of convenience.
Her life was worth more than committing it to another without truly loving and trusting him. She wiped a fugitive tear away, swallowing back the rest.
Not even her father, God rest his soul, had ever spoken to her in such a forthright manner.
Had he?
When you marry, I would see you equally yoked, my Little Heart-Full.
Her breath caught, remembering her father’s pet name for her, a play on their last name—Little Heart-Full. Papa said he called her that because his heart was full of overwhelming joy the day she was born.
As I’ve always said, a lady should have options, Belle.
Options . . .
She had taken that to mean she could choose whom she married. Her father had educated her in the ways of business so she could relate to her future husband, meet him as more of an equal. But after Lord Blake’s words today . . .
Had that truly been her father’s aim?
“Come, my Little Heart-Full. I have matters to discuss with you.” Her father slid a comforting hand under her elbow, steering her away from her mother. “You cannot talk ribbons and embroidery all day—”
“Bother, John!” Her mother pulled three more ribbon samples out of her basket. “However will she ensnare a husband if you keep dragging her off to talk shares and investments?”
