Page 72 of In the Prince's Bed
Katherine gritted her teeth, sorely tempted to reveal that Alec had already proposed marriage, and she’d already accepted. But something held her back.
Part of it was the fact that Mama would trumpet the news throughout London before Katherine could even get to talk to Sydney. And part of it was…
Fear, pure and simple. Fear that she’d been wrong to trust Alec. Fear that she’d been wrong to accept his suit. Fear that she’d find out something so horrible about him that she’d have to refuse to marry him in the end. And then Mama would never let her hear the end of it.
“He’s not going to Lady Holland’s,” Katherine said firmly. “Really, do you think he’s stupid? Why would he lie about such a thing when he knows it would get back to us? Half of society would see him there—the fete will probably be mentioned in the papers tomorrow. So I seriously doubt he’ll be anywhere near Lady Holland’s fete tonight.”
But would he be anywhere near any other lady’s fete? That was what she couldn’t answer.
***
That evening, Alec was in his borrowed carriage again, barreling toward Hertfordshire after a frustrating afternoon futilely trying to convince Harris in Ipswich to extend him credit for his tillers and plows.
The man had held firm—he wanted his five hundred pounds, and nothing else would do. But Alec didn’t have five hundred pounds, not until he married Katherine.
Unfortunately, he needed the money immediately. Harris was threatening to sell the implements to another customer. If he did, it would be weeks before Alec could get more, and then it would be too late to do the planting.
Somehow he’d convinced Harris to give him two more days to raise the funds, leaving Alec with only one choice: He’d have to borrow it. Worse, he’d have to borrow it from Draker. Byrne was in Bath, and no bank would lend Alec money fast enough. Draker was his only hope.
That was how Alec found himself at Castlemaine early the next morning, restlessly pacing the floor of Draker’s study. His eyes itched and burned from lack of sleep, his stomach rumbled, and every muscle felt taxed to the breaking point.
Yet he couldn’t sit still while he waited for the viscount to appear. His headlong trip to Hertfordshire could very well have been for naught. What if Draker refused to see him? What if the man had second thoughts about helping a half brother he’d only recently discovered existed?
What if he simply laughed in Alec’s face?
Alec balled his hands into fists. He hated that he was here doing the very thing he’d sworn never to do.
The door opened, and Draker strode in, looking as harried as Alec felt. “This had better be good, Iversley. I was out in the north pasture—got in a new flock of sheep, you see—when the servant found me.”
Alec gazed at the man in surprise. “It’s rather early to be out, isn’t it?”
“Not for me. I’m not like you city folk, out all night dancing, then sleeping until noon the next day. I come by my wealth honestly. Early bird catches the worm and all that.” He ran his gaze over Alec’s tired face and rumpled attire. “And frankly, you’re not the sort of worm I’d hoped to catch this morning.”
“I know.” Alec fought down his resentment at being called a worm. Right now, he felt like one.
Draker walked purposefully to take a seat behind his desk. If not for his scruffy clothing and his wild man’s beard, Draker would look the very picture of the wealthy landowner receiving a supplicant. He certainly had the superior manner down pat.
Planting his elbows on the desk, Draker steepled his fingers and eyed Alec with lordly contempt. “Well? Why have you come?”
Alec dragged in a deep breath. “I need to borrow five hundred pounds.”
Draker’s face betrayed no reaction. “Things not going well with the fortune hunting?”
“Actually, I’ve convinced Miss Merivale to marry me. And according to Byrne, she’ll inherit a hundred thousand pounds upon her marriage.”
Draker scowled. “I wouldn’t trust Byrne, if I were you.”
“I don’t have any choice.” Alec flashed Draker a rueful smile. “And since the Merivales are in debt to him, he knows what he’s talking about.”
“Ah. So why do you need five hundred pounds?”
Swallowing his resentment at having to explain himself, Alec related the entirety of the situation between him and his tenant farmers and Harris.
When he finished, Draker’s lordly manner had softened. “I see. Sounds like you’ve got a good steward there in Mr. Dawes. That strain of barley is high-yielding indeed. If the man is suggesting you plant that, he’s got a good head on his shoulders.” When Alec raised an eyebrow, Draker shrugged. “Half of my own tenants have been planting it for three years now, with excellent results.”
“I’ve read the literature Dawes gave me about it, and it sounds like a viable crop, especially in Suffolk’s soil. But the clay gets so hard that we need those heavy tillers, and I’ll soon have to buy some Suffolk punch horses—”
“I’ve heard of those. A kind of draft horse, isn’t it? Only bred in Suffolk. I wonder if they’d be useful around here.”
