Page 11 of The Earl's Heiress
Relief gleamed in the other man’s eyes. “I am gratified to hear it.”
Temple’s gaze sharpened. “Have you discussed the matter with your daughter? Does she consent?”
Mr. Anderson hesitated, then said, “My wife and I came from America for the express purpose of finding Arabella a husband. I am a wealthy man, Lord Stanford. I made my fortune in the goldfields of California before settling in Boston.”
How crass to speak of money so openly, Temple thought coldly. He had recognized the name the moment Anderson was announced. The very man his mother had been eager to meet. Temple had laughed at the coincidence, yet it seemed she had her wish after all.
“I will provide Arabella with a dowry of two hundred thousand pounds,” Anderson hurried on. “You will agree this is substantial—more than enough to restore your family’s fortunes.”
Temple stiffened. How the devil had the man discovered the extent of his family’s straits? “An impressive sum indeed. I suppose, in exchange, you would benefit from suitable connections.”
“Yes.”
“There is a scandal attached to my family name,” Temple reminded him.
“It does not matter,” Anderson said quickly. “As a countess, my daughter will do splendidly.”
Temple bit back a caustic reply. Wealth for a title—it was nothing new. Such bargains had long formed the foundation of marriage.
“This has long been the basis of many unions,” Mr. Anderson said.
It was as though the man had plucked the thought straight from Temple’s mind.
“I do not disagree,” Temple said evenly, “but I would still know your daughter’s mind. Have you asked whether she desires me as her husband?”
Mr. Anderson tugged at his neckcloth, visibly discomposed. “You seem remarkably concerned about this point.”
Temple arched a brow. “That is because Miss Arabella and I are strangers. While I consent to the principle of the marriage, your daughter should have time to adjust. The entire affair must have been a shock. From her perspective, she merely suffered a fall—and awoke to find herself promised to a man she does not know.”
A flicker of relief softened the American’s eyes. “I take your meaning, Lord Stanford.”
“Then let us have our solicitors see to the negotiations. I shall obtain a special license, but in the meantime, I will spend time with Miss Arabella—so that she may find the prospect of marriage less objectionable.”
Mr. Anderson hesitated briefly, then inclined his head. “You are a reasonable man, Lord Stanford. I agree.”
“Very well. I shall call upon you next week. By then, I trust Miss Arabella will be well recovered.”
The man smiled, rising to his feet. “Thank you, Lord Stanford. I look forward to it. I bid you good day.”
Soon after Mr. Anderson’s departure, the countess knocked lightly and entered the library. “Were you lurking in the hallway, Mother?”
“Of course not. I was waiting in the morning room upstairs and came as soon as Mr. Anderson had gone,” she replied, taking a seat opposite him.
Temple recounted the particulars of the meeting. At the mention of the dowry, the countess exclaimed.
“Good heavens! That is a fortune. Think of all you might accomplish with such a sum—even after setting aside her widow’s portion.”
Her smile softened into warmth. “This incident is nothing short of providence. Miss Anderson is precisely the American young lady I had hoped for you to meet.”
“I am aware,” he returned dryly.
“The manner of your meeting seems almost fated to me.”
When had his mother grown so fanciful?
“That may be, but Mr. Anderson understands my position.”
“As do I, Temple. I am here whenever you are ready to make the arrangements.”
