Page 12 of The Pleasures of Passion
“I’m not sure. But at least until Delia and Lord Knightford return from their honeymoon. Silas will want to see his aunt before we head off into the country.”
“So the lad is here in London with you?”
“Yes, of course. My aunt was kind enough to hire a nursemaid for him.”
“That’s very generous for an aunt by marriage.”
“It is indeed. She’s been very good to me and Silas.”
He glanced across to where Aunt Agatha was talking animatedly with an older gentleman who looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else. “I understand that Lady Pensworth has even provided a dowry for you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. He was asking about herdowry? Surely Lord Fulkham wasn’t interested in her likethat. She dearly hoped not. He might be good-looking, with crystalline blue eyes and wavy raven hair, but she had no desire to marry again. Between Reynold and Niall, it was clear she had bad luck when it came to men.
Besides, there was something very calculated in the way he’d asked the question. She couldn’t see him as a fortune hunter, but still, it was probably best to handle this delicately.
She smiled at him. “Don’t tell me that you’re playing matchmaker, too, sir. Bad enough that my aunt and Clarissa keep trying to find me a husband.”
That seemed to startle him, for he eyed her askance. “How do you know I’m not asking for my own information? I am a bachelor, you know.”
“Yes, but you’re much too important a fellow to consider me for a wife. No doubt you have your eye on someone who can advance your political interests. I certainly cannot.”
His gaze sharpened on her. “I see.”
She had a funny feeling he saw more than he let on. It made her distinctly uncomfortable.
“But actually, what I meant was,” he went on, “that your aunt has taken on a rather unusual task in providing you with a dowry. You have other family members who ought to be assuming that position.” He searched her face. “Your father, for example.”
The breath went out of her. Dropping her gaze to her custard, she murmured, “My father and I are not . . . close.”
She hadn’t seen him since Mama’s death over six years ago, and she hoped never to see him again, considering what he’d done to ruin her life.
So she was relieved when Clarissa rose and asked the ladies if they wished to retire to the drawing room. As she followed the other ladies out, she wondered why he was prying into her personal affairs. If he wasn’t interested in courting her, it made no sense.
Then Mrs. Vyse approached her on their way to the drawing room. “I wonder if you’d take a turn with me in the garden? I find it a bit stuffy in here. Don’t you?”
That put Brilliana on her guard. First Lord Fulkham, then his sister-in-law. What on earth was going on? Had the woman been sent to assess Brilliana’s interest in him?
Whatever the case, perhaps it was time to get to the bottom of it, so she would know how to act.
Brilliana smiled. “Why, certainly, Mrs. Vyse. That sounds wonderful.”
Two
Once the ladies were gone, Niall relaxed. He’d spent the past hour and a half trying not to stare at Bree, pay attention to what she said, or listen in on her conversation with Fulkham. It was damned well giving him a headache.
Marriage and bearing a child should have dampened her beauty and ruined her figure. Instead, she was not only as lovely as ever, but she’d somehow gained more confidence, a very attractive quality in a woman who had once been rather shy and cautious. Or had seemed to be so, anyway.
And what the blazes did Fulkham mean by making her laugh and smile and look utterly engrossed? Was the man hunting a wife?
Possibly. Fulkham was around Niall’s age, and he needed a wife to help him achieve his political aims. No one trusted a bachelor in politics. If a man couldn’t manage a woman, how could he manage a country?
Fulkham approached to offer Niall a glass. “Port, old boy?”
“Thanks.” Niall took it and downed some, eager for anything that might blot Bree from his brain. If that were possible.
“I need to speak with you privately,” Fulkham said, lowering his voice. “It’s a matter of great importance.”
Niall snorted. Fulkham thoughteverythingwas a matter of great importance. That probably came of his being a spymaster, diplomat, and right-hand man to a cabinet minister. And Niall should know, having served as a spy for him during his exile.
