Page 2 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
“Grandma...” Andrew began, not sure how to argue since her advice was undeniably wise.
“I know whereof I talk,” she said simply. “Being miserable does no good. I miss Randolph terribly. I know you miss him too, but he would not wish either of us to shut ourselves away.”
“I'm sure that’s true, Grandma,” Andrew began gently. He sometimes forgot that his grandmother had lost Grandfather too. His own experience of Grandfather’s death had been so horrible that horror had isolated him from her and from everyone around them. He had not discussed it, or the fact that he blamed himself. His death just confirmed his belief that he was cursed somehow and that those near him would always pass away.
“You require companionship, my dear boy,” Grandma insisted, her soft voice interrupting his thoughts. “You can’t go rattling about in this empty house by yourself.” Her gaze was intense and shrewd.
“I have you for company,” Andrew said instantly, but she smiled.
“That’s not what I mean, Grandson. You need a family. Someone to fill these walls with laughter and light again.” Her expression was sorrowful, and Andrew reached for her hand, guessing she was thinking of her own son Hugh, his father, who had been taken from them both so early. Andrew’s father and mother had perished in a carriage accident on the road to Brighton when Andrew was just three. His parents had been heading to the coast to take the restorative sea air and Andrew had been too young to join them. He had remained at Rilendale with his grandparents, which was the only reason that he had survived the accident. Losing his grandfather, and in such a tragic manner, had been all the more traumatic because he had already lost so much of his family. Blaming himself for all of it was easier than accepting that tragic things can simply happen without reason.
“Grandma,” he said gently, “I cannot...start a family. How could I bring anyone here? The place is falling apart.”
She raised her eyes to meet his own. “Well, a woman could help with that,” she said slowly. “Women bring substantial dowries, you know.” She wasn’t smiling, but her eyes sparkled.
“Grandma!” Andrew blinked in astonishment. His grandmother always surprised him, and she did so severally before the day had even started. “I couldn’t do that! I...” He trailed off. She smiled at him warmly.
“You could, you know. There’s no reason not to,” she told him honestly. “And besides, a match that begins as a cold arrangement need not remain so. I did not expect to fall in love, yet I did. And so shall you,” she said softly, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Randolph and I were not in love at first, but as we came to truly know one another, affection soon blossomed.” A tender smile graced her lips at the memory.
Andrew shook his head. The thought horrified him.
“No, Grandma,” he said directly after he had gathered his thoughts. “I do not think I can.” He looked down at the table, not wanting to meet her gaze.
He had no words to offer her—he couldn’t even understand why he, himself, believed he wasn’t capable of falling in love. He was eight-and-twenty, and it seemed to him as though he had lived a hundred years of bitter sadness.
“You can, Grandson,” she told him, holding his stare. She lifted her napkin and dabbed her lips again, then drank her tea and stood up slowly. Andrew pushed back his chair and stood too.
Andrew smiled at her. “Mayhap someone will visit me,” he told her. He stood as she went to the door.
“Good. Good, Grandson.” She tilted her head, her eyes—crinkled with her smile—holding his gaze. “Every person you talk to helps.”
Andrew nodded, agreeing with her. When she had exited the room, he ate a pastry, wincing at the taste, then drank some tea and went to his study.
His thoughts were reeling. His grandmother’s idea held some appeal, but it would be almost impossible to carry out. He avoided London ever since the rumours started. Even if he had wanted to follow her suggestion, what young lady in theTonwould wed a man who was accused—by rumour at least—of murdering his own family member?
He stifled a yawn and tried to focus. He had a lot of work to do. Checking the household accounts was something he had to do once a month, and it was a torment. Perhaps fear of the horrid task was partly responsible for the bad dreams, he thought wryly. He sat down at his desk, drew Mr Pearson’s neatly ordered accounts book towards himself and peered at the pages.
As the clock struck, Mr Pearson knocked at the door. Andrew gazed up, exhausted, from the books. He had been checking the tallies for hours.
“What hour is it?” he asked, sounding weary even to his own ears.
“Ten o’clock, my lord.” Mr Pearson sounded grave.
Andrew sighed and ran a weary hand through his hair. “Is there something amiss?” He knew the man well and knew he would never disturb him unreasonably.
“Apologies, my lord. Lord Neville is here to see you,” Pearson said smoothly.
“Neville!” Andrew exclaimed happily. “Show him in, please.”
“At once, my lord,” Mr Pearson agreed, bowing low.
A few seconds later, Neville stood in the doorway. His long, thin face lit up with a grin, his brown eyes bright with warmth as he saw Andrew there. He was a neighbour, but he was also a valued friend.
“Andrew! There you are,” Neville greeted warmly. “I say, old fellow! You don’t look well. Have you slept at all?”
Andrew chuckled humorlessly. “Somewhat, yes.”
Neville took a seat opposite him at the desk, then rested his hand on the account book that lay there. “Do stop reading through that thing,” he told Andrew firmly. “You’ll just make yourself blind staring at those figures in this light.”
