Page 71 of Too Scot to Handle
Lately, nothing appeared to cheer poor Winthrop.
Rosalyn did so enjoy tooling about beside him in his phaeton, though. “You’re the chairman of the House of Urchins board of directors. You have to be at this party even if you aren’t my escort, which you most assuredly will be, Winthrop. What do you care if Twilly and Pointy lose a few more groats? They’ll come around when they get their quarterly allowances.”
Rosalyn never got a quarterly allowance. She received pin money, which dear Papa hadn’t increased since her come out. Thank heavens she could sell last year’s wardrobe and otherwise contrive on her own.
“You don’t understand, Rosalyn. MacHugh paid every last bill immediately, and that’s insult enough. He hasn’t complained, he hasn’t muttered, he hasn’t so much as grumbled. Now he’s rubbing all of our faces in his filthy lucre by insisting we turn out for this damned charity do. Even MacHugh grasps that one doesn’t refuse an invitation from the Duchess of Moreland.”
Lord Colin hadn’t paid a call on Win or stood up with Rosalyn for the past month. She’d seen him turning down the room with Anwen Windham and her sisters, but that was to be expected, given the family connection.
Maybe Anwen had tried to win his lordship’s favor and failed, poor thing.
“I’m confused, Win. When a man pays bills he doesn’t owe and keeps silent about his ill-usage, that’s not the done thing?”
She should not be baiting him, but really, somebody had to save Win from making a complete cake of himself.
“I don’t expect you to understand the finer points of gentlemanly honor, but no, it’s not the done thing as MacHugh has gone about it. He’s insulted every one of us, and now we’re to contribute to his infernal charity, regardless of whether we can afford such a pointless gesture. I’ve half a mind to let on to the others that MacHugh excused thievery by one of the boys.”
Win had to pause in his diatribe to watch Mrs. Bellingham drive by. He couldn’t acknowledge such a creature with Rosalyn sitting right beside him, but he could admire her.
And for what? Because Mrs. Bellingham had pretty ways, and had tossed her virtue into the ditch? Sometimes, Rosalyn wanted to smack all men with her parasol, though that would hardly be ladylike and might ruin a fine article of fashion.
“Win, I sympathize with your exasperation where Lord Colin is concerned, but you are the director. If one of the boys is committing crimes, might that not have unpleasant consequences for you as well as the other children?”
“Those boys will be back on the streets by Michaelmas. The sooner the orphanage closes its doors, the better. False hope is cruelty by another name.”
“I agree entirely. If I didn’t enjoy a good hand of whist above all things, I’d not be going to this card party either.” Bad enough Anwen expected Rosalyn to beg yarn from her friends, bad enough Rosalyn had had to sell her favorite pink muslin from last year to afford the bonnet at her feet.
Life was full of trials.
“I confess I have an ulterior motive for being so tolerant where MacHugh is concerned,” Win said as he turned the horses onto the quieter residential streets.
“Besides your inherent gentlemanly nature?” Which hadn’t stopped Win from complaining at every turn, of course.
“Besides that. I’m considering offering for Anwen Windham. She has nothing better to do than fret and fuss over that silly orphanage, which has at least given me an opportunity to consider her attributes somewhere other than a ballroom. She’s quiet, not at all troublesome, and not awful looking, if I can ignore that hair and the incessant knitting. I could give her babies, so she’d not be reduced to meddling in doomed charities.”
Oh, dear. Roslyn herself had suggested this very possibility to him, though half in jest and weeks ago. Dear Winthrop’s financial situation must be desperate.
“You’d overlook Anwen’s unfortunate hair in the interests of getting your hands on her settlements, Win. I admire your pragmatism, so you needn’t splutter about tender sentiments. You’d be doing Anwen a favor.”
If Anwen accepted him. If she rejected him and brought Lord Colin up to scratch, war would break out in the clubs on St. James’s Street.
“She’s already your friend,” Win said, as if Rosalyn didn’t know half the ladies in Mayfair. “Makes strengthening the connection between families that much easier. Too bad Anwen hasn’t any brothers to take an interest in you. You’re good to befriend her, Roz.”
Because the streets were all but empty of traffic, Rosalyn spoke honestly. “I associate with some women because their company makes my own attributes more obvious. My favor does nothing to hurt the other young lady’s standing, but I choose my acquaintances with a certain practicality. I like Anwen, and I think you would make her a wonderful husband, but one shouldn’t contract marriage as a charitable undertaking, Win. Anwen’s not at all your style.”
Win would be an adequate husband until the money ran out.
Rosalyn did not envy a younger son his lot. Much easier to be a daughter, passed from papa to husband for care and cosseting until widowhood gave a lady the freedom to cosset herself.
And thank God that Winthrop was the sort of brother one could be honest with.
For the most part.
“A woman’s lot isn’t easy,” Win said, propping a shiny boot on the fender. “Miss Anwen must be quite impatient to marry, waiting for her older sisters to dodder off to spinsterhood. I think she fancies me, to the extent such a creature is capable of fancying anything save her workbasket and her cat.”
The Monthaven townhouse came into view, one of the few set back from the street enough to allow a shallow curve of a drive where coaches could pull over. All was swept walkways, and cheerful red salvia in symmetrically spaced pots. Rosalyn had made a game of hiding those pots as a girl, putting them where the gardener would never think to look for them.
The idea still tempted her, though her gloves might get dirty.
