Page 77 of Nothing But a Rakehell
“What do you think you are doing, boy?”
He rubbed his brow. “Who told you I was here, Father?” he asked on a sigh.
“Someone who worried that you were making a tragic mistake—and very rightly so, it would seem! What were you thinking, allowing yourself be caught alone in the stables with a girl like that? Anyone could have seen you. And then you’d be good and trapped, wouldn’t you? Even now, if she tells anyone what you were up to out here, Tensford would be within his rights to demand a betrothal.”
“She won’t tell anyone.”
The earl scoffed. “What makes you think so?”
“It is not who she is.”
“Who she is?” His father gave a sharp bark of laughter. “She is a cripple, with no other prospects, that’s who she is. I’ve asked around. She has a dowry of two thousand pounds, if she is lucky. And I saw her leg dragging behind her. If she possessed a fortune, it could be overlooked, I suppose. By some. But who is going to take her for that paltry amount? She’s a fool if she doesn’t force you to the altar.”
“She’s not a fool. Nor will she force my hand.”
“I hope to the heavens that you are right. You should never have been so careless. You have responsibilities. One day you are going to have to begin caring for them. I’ve let you run amuck. Many young men must run wild and free before they take up the yoke of their birthright, but you mustthink. Use caution. You will ruin us all if you let yourself be caught in such a disastrous match.”
“Disastrous?” Keswick’s mouth twisted. “I think you exaggerate, Father. Have you become old womanish in your later years? Lady Glory is a fine girl and a perfectly acceptable match, should I wish one. She knows I will not marry her, but if I wished to, there would be no hindrance. Her birth and bloodline are excellent.”
“She is neither fine nor acceptable. She isweak,” he declared flatly.
“Well, we know there is no more damning word in your vocabulary, sir,” Keswick interrupted. “But you could not be more wrong.”
“I am certain I am correct,” his father countered. “She clearly has a weak moral sense—as witnessed by my own eyes. You insist she’s not smart enough to trap you, though you’ve given her every chance. And she couldn’t even walk a straight line out of here with that . . . physical impairment,” he spat.
“As is usual, you are utterly wrong about everything.”
“You know the efforts I have gone to, all in pursuit of shoring up and strengthening the bloodline—”
“Oh, yes! Of course, I know! Your great sacrifice. You passed by all the pretty English flowers in London and sought out a girl of Irish descent, all to bring a bit of strong peasant stock to the ailing Newland blood.”
“Your mother was the granddaughter of a duke. She only insisted onactinglike a peasant.”
Keswick shook his head in disgust. “You were as wrong then as you are now. My mother was a lady in heart and deed—and that lame girl is likely the strongest you will ever meet.”
“I’ve come in the nick of time, it’s clear.”
“I don’t need saving from Lady Glory,” he repeated. “Or any damn thing from you.”
“I pray you don’t need saving, but I’ve clearly got work to do—making you see what’s in front of your nose.” His father shook his head. “How could you make such a colossal mistake?” he asked in disbelief. “How could you turn away from a girl like Miss Vernon in favor of a crippled recluse?”
“Wait. Miss Vernon?” Alarms rang sharply in his head. “What do you know of her?”
“I know she is a strong, determined young woman—”
“Miss Vernoncalled you here?” He could not keep the disgust from his tone. He should have known. If ever there were two more unscrupulous, manipulative peas in a pod . . .
“She is a young woman who knows what she wants—and goes after it. Strength! Tenacity! She is exactly what the Newland line needs.”
“Then you marry her! For I certainly never shall.” He shuddered at the mere thought of it.
“You are not to be so contrary. It is beyond foolish to ignore a good match, just to spite me.”
“I’m not going to enter in any match, but if I were, that is the worst one I could conceive of!”
“Her dowry is twice that of the Brightley girl’s.”
“And her character is many times deficient. The girl is a schemer.” He snorted. “Hardly a fault in your eyes, I know. But I heard the girl myself, plotting to take a lover after we were married—and we’ve never had more than one dance!”
