Page 7 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
Andrew closed his eyes for a moment, lost in thought. The idea was sound, if one thought rationally. But he could not do it coldly. If the girl was truly desperate, it might not be too terrible—she might be willing tolive in his house and be a noblewoman and have no interactions with him at all.
“I cannot quite say thank you, since you acted most rashly. However, since you have told the fellow I am interested, it would seem churlish not to visit him.” He didn’t know how he had managed to get the words out. It was easily the hardest sentence he had ever said.
Neville inclined his head. His eyes were wide with surprise.
“Good,” he said softly. “That’s good. Mayhap we could ride to London soon.”
Andrew blinked at him disbelievingly.
“I shall consider it,” he said slowly.
When Neville had ridden off, Andrew walked through the garden. He went to a place high up on the estate grounds, to where the estate grounds led into the farmland. He leaned on the gate and stared out over the property, lost in thought. He tried to imagine what the girl looked like—for some reason, he wished he knew, even though he supposed that it didn’t matter. It was only her dowry that mattered.
He shuddered. He didn’t believe that. He was not that cold and mercenary. He knew it would be torture for them both. And if it was not, if they actually found some affection and respect for one another, that would be even harder for him. He did not want to get close to another person.
“Be sensible,” he told himself aloud. “Youcangambleyour heart for fifteen thousand pounds.”
It was a king’s ransom. He could afford to rebuild parts of the manor that were neglected and pay his debts. He could even hire staff to ensure the maintenance of his home.
He closed his eyes, trying to think about what it would really be like. He could not do it.
He walked back to the manor, thinking about what he could tell Neville. The man that Neville had spoken to would be disappointed, but that was Neville’s matter to deal with. He could not condemn a young lady to a loveless life to make her father happy.
He walked up the stairs into the entranceway.
“My lord! My lord,” Mr Pearson yelled as he walked in.
“What is it?” Andrew asked confusedly.
“Your grandmother, my lord. The countess. She fell.”
“What?” Andrew was rooted in place, unable to move. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. Grandma! He could not bear it if she...
“She is presently in the drawing room. Mrs Hall found her.”
“Is it serious? Has someone sent for the physician?” Andrew demanded.
“No, my lord. Your grandmother was asking for you.”
Andrew was about to retort that they should have fetched the physician anyway, but they had already reached the door. He rushed in.
“Grandma!”
He ran to her side where she lay on the chaise-longue. Her face was papery white, her forehead livid bruising from the fall, and she looked lovingly at Andrew. She was tucked up under a blanket, a pillow under her head. Andrew took her hand in his and stared into her eyes. She was looking at him, awake and alive. That was all that mattered.
“Grandma,” he repeated softly. “You’re alive.”
“Grandson,” she greeted him. Her voice was a rasping whisper. “I wondered where you were.”
“What happened?”
“I fell,” she said softly. “Nothing serious. Just a shock. And some bruises,” she added, lifting a hand to her brow.
“What happened?” Andrew repeated, touching her forehead gently. He could feel no crack in the bone, though it was swollen, the skin warm, and he let out a sigh of relief.
“I just fell, Grandson,” she said gently. “I will be quite all right. I’m just tired.”
“I’m sure,” Andrew said quickly. He knew the pain of hitting one’s head—he had hit his head falling off his horse once and he had been terribly drowsy.
