Page 48 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
“Brentford has not signed the agreement.”
“I thought that was all settled?”
“Papa has signed. The agreements between him and Northington are done. But the duke holds out. For money.”
“Ah, well. An old dog does not change his habits.”
“If I marry without Brentford’s agreement, he may not recognize me as Northington’s rightful wife.”
“The Church will. So will Parliament.” Everyone in swaddling clothes above the rank of knight learned the rules of primogeniture.
“He is the duke’s only son. So the duke cannot deprive Northington of the estate, can he?”
“My dear, Brentford has recognized Northington as his lawful son by his lawful wife, his deceased Duchess, since his birth. Nigh to impossible to reneg on that after thirty years.”
“So. Good. There is no changing that.” She sipped her wine, gloom clouding her pretty eyes. “I needed to be certain of it.”
“I am confused, Esme. What is your concern about money?”
“Papa’s settlement on me has been more than the norm.”
“Well, of that I am not surprised. The man has made a fortune in wool, cotton and trade. Why would he not give some of it to you?”
“I worry that what Papa has worked for all these years may go to line the pockets of a derelict. Bankers can be bought. Settlements manipulated by those who hold the pursestrings.”
“I will not disagree. Corruption can occur.”
“That is not just, Charlie.”
“True.”
“Much of this marriage business is not just. Not for me or Giles or you and Wills.”
The stillness in the little cottage was deafening.
She grew furious, her lovely face red and stern.
He was enraged for her, for himself and Wills too. All of them were hostages to a social system that robbed people of their rights to love and marry whom they wished.
Esme stirred. “I am a woman and we have few rights.”
He was silent in the face of that truth.
“I cannot fight it,” she argued, “is that what your reticence declares?”
“Time can cure much of this. The man will die one day.”
“God forgive me, Charlie, if I say…” She stood and put down her wine glass. “Not soon enough.”
He shot to his feet and went to her with open arms. She allowed him but one hug and then she fled, the heavy wooden door banging as loudly closed behind her as when she’d shoved it open.
* * *
Stark moments later, Wills emerged from his bedroom. Deflated, her mouth turned down in a frown, she stopped before the hearth to stare at the far door. “She’ll not marry him.”
“This will work itself out,” he said, his usual optimism halved by Esme’s quandary.
“No. She’ll not have her father work all these years to give his hard-earned wealth to a man who’ll squander it. She’ll not have the man she loves kowtow to a father for the sake of recognizing her as his lawful wife.” Wills faced him, her eyes fierce with pain and tears. “I once asked you what you would do for love.”
That was the first conversation they’d shared. He had tried to answer responsibly. But he hadn’t hit the mark, had he? If he had, he would not be standing here, wanting her as his wife, yet proclaim himself unable to have her. “We give up much for love. And Esme loves him. She’ll marry him tomorrow because without him—”
“With him,” Wills cut him off, “she’ll live without honor. Dishonoring both her father and her fiancé, she’ll live ashamed of their sacrifice and her own weakness. I know her. She’s changed as she’s grown older. Wiser now, she won’t allow those she loves to be hurt by her own self-interest.”
“Esme’s problem can be solved.” He went to her and tried to embrace her.
With a step toward the door, she eluded him.
“No. Much as I’d like to believe that, I cannot.” She bent to snatch up her hat, her little purse and pelisse. “Sometimes, even love cannot solve the challenges we face.”
