Page 7 of An Offer for a Spinster
It’s no good,he thought miserably. He took off his spectacles, wire-rimmed and round, and rubbed his sore eyes.
Timothy did not look much like the heroes he described in his books. Timothy himself was of average height, slimly built in a way a person might generously describe aswiry, with dark blond hair that wouldnotgo into the popular styles, and large green eyes.
As far as he could tell, his readers like strapping, classically handsome heroes, who did manly things like excessive horse riding and boxing. Timothy wryly flexed his own hands, white and elegant and decidedlywriter’shands.
He didn’t have time to sit and puzzle over Rosalie’s next adventure, though. He had to get himself to the club to meet his friend. As far as he knew, the infamous Dunleigh will had finally been read, meaning that his friend William might now be excessively rich. How nice.
Shrugging himself into a somewhat patchy coat and clapping last season’s hat on his head, Timothy firmly put Rosalie out of his mind, and headed out into the gray January day, collar turned up against the drizzling rain.
It will be good to know thatsomebodyhas received good news recently. I bet the Willoughby family are celebrating as we speak.
***
“That can’t be right,” Timothy said incredulously. “You mustallmarry?”
William looked exhausted. He’d drunk one large glass of brandy before Timothy had got there and was well into his second. There were dark bags under his eyes, and lines on his face that hadn’t been there the last time Timothy saw him. They’d been friends for longer than he could remember, and William had had plenty to say about his father’s cruelty.
This, however, was a new low.
“We can get some of it, if we don’tallmarry, but not all of it,” William explained wearily. “But we can’t get a penny unless Katherine marries. She must marryfirst. We’ve got a year.”
“A year to find someone, or…”
“A year togetmarried.”
Timothy blew out a heavy breath. That didn’t leave a great deal of time. In London, the Season was just ramping up. That gave at least six months to find a person, as well as to organize the wedding and get the ceremony over with. For all of them. The Season was called the Marriage Mart for a reason, but to have a deadline like this was… well, it was something new.
“It’s… it’s doable, is it not?” Timothy heard himself say, somewhat lamely. No doubt they’d considered this, as well as all the angles.
William shrugged weakly. “I hadn’t considered marriage. I have too many responsibilities, and I intended to spend a year or two as Duke of Dunleigh to acclimate myself before even thinking about marrying. I wanted to marry, of course, but to be forced into it…” he broke off, shaking his head. “Alexander hoped to marry an heiress, but on his own terms. Henry had never thought of marriage at all, as far as I know. And as for Katherine, do you know what she looked forward to most out of all this? Freedom. She longed for freedom. And now she’ll never see a day of it.”
A lump rose to Timothy’s throat at the mention of Katherine.
He’d been friends with the Willoughby family for many years.Friends, of course, was a loose term.
Henry, the traveler, was somewhat aloof in London, preferring his friends abroad, and Alexander gambled too deeply and drank too much for Timothy’s liking. Timothy and William were twenty-six, the same age, and had the most in common.
One thing they had in common was that the late Duke had not liked either of them.
Oh, and that Timothy knew exactly what it was like to have a father so deeply disappointed in you. He didn’t want to bring that up now, of course. With the contents of the will, he assumed that William knew that already.
He’d only really known Katherine from a distance, but that was enough to discover that she was the most beautiful and interesting girl he’d never quite met.
Not helpful,Timothy told himself sternly. Aloud, he said, “Shall we go somewhere more private to talk?”
William shot him a quick grateful look. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Their club of choice was White’s, coincidentally the only one that Timothy was granted membership to. It was considered rather important that a man beclubbable, although he didn’t much enjoy the process of attending clubs. His father and older brother would be mortified if he wasn’t a member of at least one. Even Henry Willoughby, the man with his mind always elsewhere, was a member of White’s.
The place was crowded, as it usually was at this time of day. It was all too easy for something to be overheard and repeated. Timothy led the way to a small alcove, just large enough for two men to sit on opposite armchairs, with a low coffee table in between. William drank down his own brandy in one large gulp, and snatched up another, following Timothy.
“I don’t want this talked about,” William muttered, settling down. “I know you’ll be discreet, of course, but if this gets out… well, we’ll be bombarded by hopeful mammas and fortune hunters. Alexander’s a fool, Henry might well be stubborn enough to refuse to marry altogether, and as for me… well, I don’t have much faith in my own judgement, to be frank.”
Timothy leaned forward, propping up his elbows on his knees.
“That’s your father talking, Will. Your judgement is fine.”
William smiled bleakly. “Thank you, Timothy, that’s kind of you to say. My father clearly thought that we’d all go unmarried and let the Willoughby name die out. Or else he just wanted to punish us. A bit of both, perhaps. I’m tired of trying to work out what he wanted, what he was thinking.” He paused and gave a short laugh. “Even from beyond the grave, he’s controlling us. It’s impressive, when you think about it.”
