Love With the Proper Husband (2 page)

“I thought it best to return to England at once.”

“Of course.” He withdrew his hand and nodded toward the door. “You remember my nephew, Albert?”

Only now did she note the younger man standing by the open door, a decidedly apologetic expression on his face. There was no sympathy in his eyes today but an odd look nonetheless.

“Of course.” She smiled politely and waited. If there was one thing, and indeed there might well be only one thing, she had learned through seven positions of employment, it was how to give the appearance of patience.

Mr. Whiting took his place behind his desk and nodded dismissively at his nephew. Albert started toward the door, then abruptly turned back. “Miss Townsend, please accept my most heartfelt apologies.”

At once she recognized the look in his eye as guilt.

He stepped closer. “This is entirely my fault, and I cannot tell you how truly horrible I have felt since the error was first discovered. I have been most concerned about your—”

“That’s quite enough, Albert,” Whiting said firmly.

Error?
Gwen’s gaze slid from Albert to his uncle and back.

“What error?” she said slowly.

“It was a mistake.” Albert shook his head. “Quite inexcusable, and I shall never forgive—”

Mistake?

“Albert.” Whiting’s voice cut through the room.

Albert ignored him. “Miss Townsend, please understand I consider myself at your service from this moment forward. Should you need anything whatsoever, up to and including the benefits that can only be derived from marriage, I should be honored to offer my—”

“Albert,” Whiting snapped. “I will take care of this. I’m certain you have other duties to attend to.”

Albert hesitated, then nodded. “Of course, Uncle.” He squared his shoulders and met her gaze.

“Again, Miss Townsend, my apologies.”

He left without another word. Gwen stared after him. A hundred myriad thoughts swirled through her mind, but not one made any sense.

Whiting cleared his throat. “Miss Townsend, I—”

“What mistake?” Her gaze snapped to his.

Whiting paused as if considering his words. He was distinctly ill-at-ease, and for the first time since her father’s death, a glimmer of what might have been hope surfaced within her. When she’d received Whiting’s letter she’d been curious, of course: it was accompanied by an already paid passage back to England. But he’d said nothing more than that there was a matter of importance regarding her family that required her immediate return. She’d been only too glad to bid her employers and their annoying offspring goodbye and had sailed on the first ship home.

“Mr. Whiting?”

She’d assumed Whiting’s summons had to do with the signing of papers regarding her father’s estate or the transfer of ownership of his property, matters she’d assumed as well had been settled long ago. Still, whatever it was, it was significant enough, in Whiting’s eyes, to provide her with a way back to England, and that was all she really cared about.

Now, looking at the solicitor’s obvious discomfort, coupled with his nephew’s abject apology and strange proposal of marriage, Gwen realized the “matter of importance” was far more significant than she

’d imagined.

“Miss Townsend.” Whiting folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “My nephew should never have informed you of the state of your finances in the manner in which he did. Nor should he have said anything whatsoever so soon after your father’s demise.”

Gwen’s heart sank.

“It was most thoughtless of him and—”

“Mr. Whiting, as much as I appreciate your sincere, albeit long overdue apology on the behalf of your nephew, it scarcely necessitated having me transported across an ocean. Even so, I am most grateful for the passage home. I can only imagine you provided it as a way to ease your conscience regarding the abrupt nature of the disclosure of my financial status on the day following my father’s death. Still, it is exceedingly kind of you.

“I would offer to reimburse you but such an offer would be pointless as my finances are little better today than they were five years ago. In addition, I have absolutely no difficulty in accepting both your apology and your funding of my return to England. You may tell Albert I appreciate his offer of marriage as well. Now.” She rose to her feet. “Unless there is something more—”

Whiting stood. “If you please, Miss Townsend, I beg your indulgence. There is a great deal more. However, this is extremely awkward and most difficult. In many ways I feel as if my nephew and I have, well, very nearly ruined your life.”

“Ruined my life? That’s scarcely possible.” She met his gaze squarely. “You, of all people, are well aware of the status of my father’s estate. His title, his home, and his land were entailed and as such were the legacy of his only living male relative—a distant cousin I have never met. As I was not born male”—she bit back the tide of bitterness that swelled in her at the words—“I could not inherit his home,
my
home. This is a fact, Mr. Whiting. One I have known always. Your nephew’s pronouncement came as no surprise, even if his timing and his exact words were not as politic as they might have been.”

For the first time since entering his office she smiled, if a bit ruefully. “Circumstances of nature and the legalities of men ruined my life, although I daresay I scarcely feel entirely ruined. I have my name and my reputation, and I shall find some way to support myself.”

“Yes, well”—Whiting’s voice was gruff—“that may not be necessary.”

“No?”

“Please.” He gestured at her chair, and she retook her seat.

Whiting settled back in his chair and drew a deep breath. “When my nephew informed you of your financial circumstances, he was not as experienced in such matters as he is now—”

She waved his words away. “Another apology is not necessary.”

“Do allow me to proceed, Miss Townsend, this is not another apology.” He huffed. “What I am trying to say is that Albert’s inexperience five years ago led him to make certain assumptions based on what he knew of your father’s affairs. He was correct, but only insofar as those issues he was versed in. He was not aware, as I was, that your father had made certain provisions for your future.”

“Provisions?” She held her breath. “What kind of provisions?”

“He did not leave you with nothing.”

For a moment, the world tilted about her. Her perfect posture failed, and she collapsed back in her chair feeling much like a sail suddenly bereft of wind.

“Are you all right, Miss Townsend?” Whiting leaped to his feet and started around the desk toward her.

He did not leave you with nothing
.

“Quite.” She shook her head to clear it and waved him away. “Do go on.”

“Very well.” Whiting studied her carefully, then returned to his seat. He glanced at the papers on his desk. “Upon the birth of each of his daughters, your father set up accounts to provide you both with incomes in the event that you were unwed upon his death. When your sister married against his wishes, he abolished her account.”

“Of course,” Gwen murmured.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought of her sister. Louisa was thirteen years her senior and had fallen in love with a daring, dashing, adventurer when Gwen was very young. Louisa had married against her father’s wishes and left with her husband to travel the world, severing all ties with her family. At least that was Gwen’s understanding from what little she’d heard through the years. She’d wondered on occasion about this sister of hers that she barely remembered. Where she was and what she was doing. And if she ever thought of the younger sister she’d never really known.

“As I was saying, the annual income is not extensive but will allow you to live modestly. In addition, his legacy to you includes a small house in the country, near the village of Pennington.”

“An income and a house.” She stared in disbelief for a long moment. “An income and a house?”

“There’s more. Shall I go on?” Concern colored his face. “Are you certain you’re all right?

“I don’t know.” She shook her head.
An income and a house?
“I don’t believe I am.” At once the absurdity of it all struck her, and she laughed.

“Miss Townsend?”

“Oh, do wipe that look off your face, Mr. Whiting, I am not going mad. It’s simply…” She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to fully absorb the import of his words. She could not possibly explain to this relative stranger the relief, no, the joy of finding salvation where none is expected. A thought struck her, and any amusement vanished. “Why was I not informed of this before now?”

“Miss Townsend, as I explained, Albert was—”

“Albert be damned.” Abrupt, unrelenting anger pulled her to her feet. “You are the man my father trusted to handle his affairs, not your nephew. The fault here, Mr. Whiting, is yours and yours alone!”

“Indeed it is. And I accept it. It is precisely why I paid for your passage home.” He too was on his feet. “My mistake was sending an inexperienced boy to begin handling the details of your father’s estate. I had no idea he would leap into it to the extent he did. He was not charged with informing you of anything whatsoever. In truth, I sent him to Townsend Park in advance of my arrival to do nothing more than begin sorting through your father’s papers, quite within the jurisdiction of my responsibilities as his executor. I joined Albert the next day, but you, my dear young woman, were already gone.”

“What did you expect? My fears had all been realized. My father was dead.” She swiveled and paced before the desk, her words as much for herself as for him. “Yes, I’d spent much of my life away at school and I barely knew the man, but still he had always existed. I always knew he was
there
. And he did treat me kindly if without extreme affection. I had no reason to think he didn’t have some feeling for me, and I cared for him as well. I did not realize how much until he was gone. I was quite distressed by his passing.

“In addition, I was about to be tossed out of my home. I was, in your nephew’s words, a penniless orphan with no prospects and no future save throwing myself on the mercy and generosity of a heretofore unknown cousin.”

She stopped and met his gaze. “I had long ago determined that in this world, the only one you can truly count on is yourself. My parents were both dead, my sister long since gone; there was nothing to keep me at Townsend Park. You can scarcely blame me for leaving.” She stepped closer. “Every day of my life I was all too aware that should my father die when I was not yet wed, I would have nothing and no one to depend on but myself. And that, Mr. Whiting, is precisely what I did.”

“And made it damnably hard to find you in the process,” Whiting snapped. “I tried, Lord knows how hard I tried. It took months to track you from Townsend Park to that blasted Frenchwoman’s house here in London—” He narrowed his eyes. “How did you manage that,
penniless orphan
that you were?”

“I had some resources,” she said loftily. She had, for years, saved whatever spare money had come her way.

He snorted. “No doubt. By the time I found your Madames Freneau and de Chabot—and I should at some point like a detailed accounting as to precisely how you know a woman of her dubious reputation—”

“Mr. Whiting, Madame de Chabot is Madame Freneau’s sister-in-law. Madame Freneau was my teacher and remains my dearest friend. And both ladies have been exceedingly kind to me.” Given Mr. Whiting’s obvious disapproval of Madame de Chabot, it was scarcely necessary to mention Gwen had been staying with the women since her return to London two days ago. The man had control of her finances after all. Still…“Furthermore I do not owe an accounting to anyone, least of all you. I am not some errant child straight from the schoolroom—”

“Aha!” He glared. “But that was precisely what you were at your father’s death. You were barely sixteen years of age, and I was named your guardian as well as executor of his estate. And, I should point out, the administrator of your income until such time as you marry.”

“I have no need of a guardian now. I am of age.”

“Nonetheless, I am still in control of your income and shall remain so until the day you wed or the day I die. Now.” He leaned forward in a distinctly menacing manner. “Sit down, Miss Townsend.”

She started to protest, then thought better of it and sat.

“By the time I managed to discover where you had resided in London, you had fled to America.”

His eyes narrowed. “Imagine my surprise to discover I was no longer trying to find the sixteen-year-old daughter of a British lord but a twenty-year-old governess. A Miss”—he glanced at the papers before him—“no—a Mademoiselle…Fromage. Fromage?” He raised a brow. “Cheese?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she muttered. “It was Froumage.”

“I see. Regardless, you did indeed manage to stay one step ahead of my efforts to locate you.”

Again he glanced at the papers. “Your first position, in Philadelphia, lasted no more than a few months. Following that, you accepted a new position in Boston, again your employment was brief, as were your subsequent positions in Baltimore, Trenton, Philadelphia again, until your most recent in New York, where at long last, you stayed in one place long enough for my agents to catch up to you.” He glared. “It would have been far easier had you not continuously changed your name. The last one was…what?”

“Piccard,” she murmured.

“I’m assuming this was to avoid bad references?”

She sighed in irritation and gazed innocently at nothing in particular, taking care not to meet his gaze. “My character is not overly suited to the position of governess. A deficit that was only enhanced by the tendency of Americans to produce remarkably ill-mannered and spoiled offspring.”

At once it struck her that she would never have to be in that position again. She snapped her gaze back to Whiting’s, an odd note of awe in her voice. “I won’t ever have to do that again, will I?”

“As I said before, Miss Townsend, the income is extremely modest, sufficient for your needs as an unmarried woman but nothing more. You will not be able to live in the style of Townsend Park, but no”