Page 88 of The Rake's Daughter
“Salcott doesn’t even need the fortune.”
Hearing his name, Leo froze. There were several potted palms and a column between him and the two speakers. He leaned closer.
“Studley was a fool to have left his girls to Salcott’s care in the first place.”
“Naturally, Salcott would nab the beautiful one. Are you sure they’re both due to inherit a fortune?”
“I believe so. The girls’ mother was a cit—granddaughter of some northern manufacturer—sausages or woolen mills or pickles, something like that. She inherited a fortune, but her father didn’t take much to Studley—”
“Can’t blame him.”
“So the old man tied it all up so Studley couldn’t touch it. I remember Studley ranting about it to m’father.”
“So now the mother’s fortune goes to her heirs—those girls.”
“Exactly. Outrageous of Salcott to be annexing the pretty one, though. He’s supposed to be her guardian, not a blasted suitor.”
“Taking advantage of his privileged position. It’s a dashed disgrace. He doesn’t even need a fortune!”
“There’s still the other one.”
“Yes, the plain one. I’d better go and ask her to dance.”
Leo frowned. So people were imagining Isobel was also an heiress. And that he was courting her—which, if he truly were her guardian, would be quite unethical.
And dammit, he did not like Clarissa being referred to as “the plain one.” Even if she was.
He leaned out to see who the two men were. Frencham and Taunton. Right. Frencham was young and elegant—no doubt women thought him charming—but his estates were a shambles, and as far as Leo knew, he was making no effort to repair the damage but relying on his so-called charm with women to get him out of the mess. Leo had no patience for that.
Taunton was another useless waster—tall, good-looking, a rake and a gambler. Neither man would see a penny of Clarissa’s money, he vowed.
He watched as the two men crossed the floor. Frencham bowed gracefully over Clarissa’s hand and a moment later led her, blushing, out to dance.
Damn and blast. But it wasn’t the two fortune hunters’ intentions toward his ward that disturbed him most—he’d see them both off easily enough. It was their earlier conversation that bothered him.
He sought out Race and asked him straight out, “Have you heard any gossip about Miss Isobel and me?”
Race gave him a thoughtful look, as if considering whether to answer, then he shrugged. “People have noticed.”
“Noticed what?”
Race gave a huff of laughter. “If you don’t want people to talk, you’ll have to stop gazing at the girl as if she’s a long cool drink and you’re a man dying of thirst in the desert.”
Leo frowned. “I don’t.”
Race laughed. “No, of course you don’t, that’s why people are speculating.”
“About what?”
“What your game is. You’re supposedly her guardian, and yet it looks very much like a courtship.”
Leo scowled. “Damn.”
“Well, what did you expect? You’ve made it obvious that you have no interest in any of the eligible young ladies people have been pushing at you since you came to town, and yet you apparently can’t stay away from Isobel Studley.” He glanced at Leo and added in a lower voice, “It’s also widely believed that both girls are heiresses, not just Clarissa. I don’t know how you’ll handle that one when the time comes.”
Neither did Leo. He swore under his breath.
To make the true situation clear would be their ruin. A guardian had no business even flirting with his ward; it was entirely unethical. And for all their sakes he could not be seen to be forming an attachment.
