Page 27 of Unending Joy
Westwood ignored him. “If I am to secure a match befitting her name and station, I must make it worth the gentleman’s while.”
“She does not need a poor gentleman,” Freddy said before he could stop himself. “She needs a gentleman who actuallyacceptsher.”
Westwood’s eyebrows shot up. “We are not discussing a governess or a lapdog! This is Society, Cunningham.”
“Forgive me,” Freddy said dryly. “I had quite forgotten we are all pawns in a particularly tedious chess game…except all four of you. You were the exception.”
Rotham stirred. “Joy is not the sort of girl to be bartered off with a purse and a curtsy. You increase her dowry and she will know it. And then God help the poor devil she is forced to wed.”
Montford crossed his boots. “She will make her husband’s life hell—if she marries at all, which I doubt.”
“It is hard to imagine Joy married,” Stuart mused aloud. “Her intended must agree to raise racehorses, adopt stray cats, and allow her to live in the stables.”
Freddy found himself oddly defensive. “She is notsowild. Not really. She is simply honest about what she likes, which is more than can be said for most young ladies.”
Westwood rounded on him. “You soundsuspiciouslyadmiring.”
“I do admire her,” Freddy said, folding his arms. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“No,” said Westwood and Montford simultaneously.
“She is more admired by coachmen and stable lads than Society’s matrons,” Rotham added, but with a glint in his eyes that suggested he admired her too, in his own way.
“She needs reining in,” Westwood declared. “I cannot spend my nights wondering if she has climbed onto a roof or challenged someone to fisticuffs. There must be boundaries.”
“Then set them,” Freddy said, “but don’t try to remake her. There is nothingwrongwith her, Westwood. She is just not what you expected.”
There was a pause.
“She will never marry if she keeps on in this manner,” Westwood said finally. “And she will be miserable.”
Freddy leaned back. “Or she will find someone who doesn’t mind that she is herself.”
“Or be a spinster.”
“There are worse things,” Freddy said lightly. The others chuckled.
“You seem particularly invested in her future, Cunningham,” Rotham observed, tilting his head.
Freddy feigned ignorance. “Do I?”
“Yes,” Montford said. “You do.”
“I am fond of her,” Freddy admitted. “In the way one is fond of an unruly hound or a childhood friend who always stole the last biscuit. She is…Joy.”
“That she is,” Stuart murmured. “But she cannot stay that way forever. Society does not forgive eccentricity in unmarried women, only in wealthy men.”
“And poets,” added Montford.
“Which is why I should increase the dowry,” Westwood said, with a sigh. “Do you suppose twenty-five thousand pounds should do the trick?”
There was a collective murmur. Even Freddy blinked.
“Well,” Rotham said, “that ought to fetch a few offers.”
“Yes,” Freddy said quietly, “but from the wrong sort of men.”
“Joy is an original. Such damsels have succeeded in the past,” Rotham recalled.
