Love With the Proper Husband (3 page)

—he smiled—“you will not have to seek employment of any kind.”

For a long moment Gwen savored the sound of his words. Of all the things she had expected when she’d received his letter, this was not even imagined. Her anger had faded, wiped away by the dawning realization of her change in circumstances as well as her acceptance that the last five years were as much the result of her own impulsiveness as of Albert’s error.

“Well, then, Mr. Whiting”—she flashed him a genuine smile and stood—“where is my money?”

He rose to his feet and looked at her with a fair amount of amusement. “I am not finished, Miss Townsend. There’s more.”

“More?” She plopped back in her chair and stared with astonishment. “More money?”

Whiting laughed, and she had the good grace to blush.

“Forgive me for sounding so…so mercenary, but”—she leaned forward—“in the span of a few short minutes I have gone from having nothing to having something, modest though it may be. And the thought of having more, well, it’s somewhat intoxicating.”

“No doubt.” Whiting tried and failed to hide his amusement and once again resumed his seat.

“However, while this has the potential to provide you with increased”—he cleared his throat—“
finances
, I’m not sure…” He paused and studied her carefully. “Right now you have an income that will continue until you marry. When you wed, contingent upon my approval of the match, there are funds that have been reserved for a respectable dowry as well as the settlement of a substantial sum upon you personally. You will never have to worry about money again.”

“Never again worry about money?” She shook her head. “It is an interesting idea if a bit difficult to grasp at the moment. However”—she chose her words carefully—“in order to achieve that freedom from financial want, I should have to sacrifice my own personal freedom.”

“My dear woman, we are speaking of marriage, not prison.”

“Is there a great deal of difference, Mr. Whiting?”

“Most certainly,” he said with the indignation reserved for those who dare to question the principles of crown and country and other respectable institutions.

“Oh?” She considered him carefully. “Are you married?”

“That is neither here nor there.”

She raised a brow.

He sighed. “No.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“No. Nonetheless.” His tone was staunch. “It is a desirable state, much to be preferred by women.”

“Not this particular woman.” She shook her head firmly.

“Miss Townsend—”

“It’s quite simple, Mr. Whiting. What I have seen of marriage through my life does not endear the institution to me.” She met his gaze directly. “For the upper classes, marriage is for no other reason than to cling to titles and property. My mother died when I was very young while trying to give my father a male heir—the only true purpose of their union. My sister’s marriage estranged her from her family and friends. I have no idea where she is, nor has she ever made any effort to contact me.”

An uneasy look crossed Whiting’s face. “Miss Townsend—”

She held out her hand to quiet him. “Mr. Whiting, do allow me to finish. Even if what I have seen in my own family did not dissuade me from the bonds of holy wedlock, what I have witnessed in the households of my employers has certainly done so.” She drew a deep breath. “I freely admit I am not an overly competent governess. In point of fact, with one or two exceptions, the children in my charge were not especially fond of me, and I confess, their lack of affection was returned. However, that was not the only reason I took leave of my employments.”

She paused, not entirely sure how to say this. There was, and had been from the beginning, the strange feeling that perhaps all that had befallen her was somehow her fault. That she had not coiled her dark red hair tightly enough against her head, or she had not chosen clothing appropriately dull enough to conceal what to her dismay was an overly lush figure, or she had not been subservient enough to avoid the attention of men who saw an unmarried woman in her position as fair game for their lecherous pursuits.

“In my first position, the head of the household, the father of my charges, believed my duties extended beyond attending to his children to attending to his own”—she grimaced—“
needs
. Suffice it to say I refused and left his employment at once.”

“Damnation,” Whiting murmured.

“I chose my second employer as carefully as he chose me. Unfortunately, I did not extend my scrutiny to his acquaintances, and there was a nasty incident late one evening when I rebuffed the advances of a houseguest who made his way to my quarters.” She shuddered at the memory of awaking in the night to groping hands and demanding lips. And fear. “I managed to discourage him with the help of a chamber pot.”

“Good God!” Whiting stared in horror. “Were you all right?”

“I escaped with my virtue intact; however, my employment did not survive.” She shrugged. “There were other instances in other positions and in each and every one, the gentlemen involved were married, yet that state did not deter their lecherous advances. At the very least, I should expect fidelity from a husband”—she shook her head—“and I have yet to meet a married man who understood that concept.”

“Actually, Miss Townsend,” Whiting said slowly, “your father made arrangements for a specific husband.”

“Did he?” For a moment she stared in disbelief. Then she laughed. “Mr. Whiting, if nothing else, this is most amusing. And gratifying as well to know that my father did indeed think enough of me to make such arrangements. Very well”—she grinned—“who did he have in mind?”

“The Earl of Pennington.” Whiting shuffled through the papers on his desk. “Your father and the old earl were great friends in their youth. They agreed to a marriage between you and his son if you were both unwed when the boy reached his thirtieth year. It’s detailed in a letter signed by both men and delivered to me, as I also handled the earl’s affairs.”

“And?”

“And the thirtieth anniversary of his birth is fast approaching and he is not married.”

“I see.” She thought for a moment. “Tell me, Mr. Whiting, do I lose my income, or my house, if I do not wed this earl?”

He shook his head. “You forfeit nothing whatsoever. At least nothing you already have. It’s an exceedingly unusual arrangement as such things go. The old earl decided it was fair to allow his son to choose his own bride, yet he was only willing to give him so long to do so.”

“Until he was thirty.”

“Exactly.” Whiting nodded. “Your father, given your sister’s unsuitable marriage, was not quite as willing to let you choose your husband but bent to the wishes of the earl in light of what would be a most favorable match for you. Besides, when the earl’s son turned thirty you would be one and twenty and if you were not yet married—”

“I too would need assistance,” she said dryly.

“I am glad you understand.” He picked up and discarded several papers, then found the one he wanted. “Here is where it becomes awkward.”

“Only here?”

He ignored her. “The earliest you and the young earl were to be made aware of this arrangement was three months before his birth date. Once you were informed, the only way to receive the dowry I mentioned previously, and the settlement, is to marry according to your father’s wishes.”

“So”—she chose her words carefully—“if I had married as late as this morning, or if I had accepted Albert’s proposal just a few minutes ago, I would have received this substantial settlement. But as of this moment, the only way to get that is to marry this thirty-year-old gentleman who cannot find a bride on his own?”

Whiting frowned. “I would not have put it quite like that but yes, that is essentially accurate.”

“Is he fat, Mr. Whiting? Or ugly? Does he have too much stomach and not enough hair?”

The solicitor pressed his lips together in disapproval. “Most certainly not. The earl is quite handsome but beyond that, he is considered a match much to be desired.”

“Not for me. I shall have to do without the handsome, desirable earl. I shall be quite happy to live on my modest income, which is far better than I had ever hoped for, in my new house near the village of”

—she started—“did you say Pennington? As in the Earl of Pennington?”

“Indeed I did. While your property is less than an acre, it does abut his.”

“How very clever of my father. What a pity I did not know him better. Nonetheless, I will not marry a stranger even for a substantial settlement.” Once again she got to her feet. “Now then, Mr. Whiting…” The look on his face pulled her up short. “There is more, isn’t there?”

He nodded, and she sighed and sat back down.

“This is not at all pleasant and I’m not entirely sure how to say it.” Apprehension creased Whiting’

s forehead. “Miss Townsend, it is with deep regret that I must inform you of the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Loring, your sister and her husband.”

The words hung in the air, so unexpected Gwen could not comprehend them for a long moment. Without warning, pain sharp and relentless stabbed through her, and she nearly gasped aloud. She had never known this woman, this
sister
, who had never made any effort to contact her. Why should Gwen care about Louisa’s fate now?

“…drowned as I understand it, a shipwreck I think, but that information was rather vague. Somewhere in the South Seas, Polynesia, perhaps, or…”

But she did, far more than she had ever dreamed she would.

“…more than a year ago now, however…”

Perhaps it was because as long as she had a sister somewhere, Gwen would never be truly alone in the world.

“…the children were not…”

Now she was.

“…taken in by missionaries, I believe, then finally sent on to England…”

Children?

Gwen’s attention jerked back to him. “What children?”

“Your sister’s children.” He glanced at his papers. “Three of them. Girls.” He looked at her. “I gather you didn’t know she had children?”

Perhaps she was not alone after all. “What has become of them?”

“They are currently residing in the country”—reluctance sounded in his voice—“with your cousin. At Townsend Park.”

“They are well taken care of, then,” she said slowly, her calm demeanor belying the turmoil inside her. Townsend Park. Home. How ironic that her sister’s children were now living in the very place their mother had left without a second thought.

“It would appear so.” His manner was noncommittal. Too much so.

She narrowed her eyes and studied him, but his expression matched his tone. In the back of her mind she noted this very characteristic probably made him an excellent solicitor.

“What are you not saying, Mr. Whiting?”

“It’s not my place to say anything, Miss Townsend.”

“I suspect that will not stop you.”

“Very well. Save for your cousin, a remote relation if I recall correctly, you have no family. It would be most appropriate for you to call on your nieces and make their acquaintance. Ascertain for yourself their state.” His tone remained aloof, but his gaze was intense. “Besides, regardless of one’s courage or strength or self-reliance, it is exceedingly difficult to travel through life alone. Especially for young women.”

Her chin shot up, and she glared. “I have managed my life thus far entirely on my own and quite adequately as well.”

“That is debatable, Miss Townsend. However”—he heaved a long-suffering sigh—“the question is not so much one of your life and future, but of that of these girls. They are your only family, but much more importantly,
you
are all that they have.”

Chapter Two

Sons or husbands, young or old, men in general haven’t the least understanding of what they are
supposed to do until we tell them.

Helena Pennington

“Don’t know why you didn’t have the blasted man come to see you.” The indignant voice of Reginald, Viscount Berkley, drifted up the stairs. “Bloody inconvenient, if you ask me.”

Marcus Holcroft, the eighth Earl of Pennington, bit back a grin and glanced over his shoulder at his friend. “I don’t recall anyone asking you.”

Reggie muttered something Marcus didn’t quite catch, and he chuckled.

“Come now, Reggie, it’s hardly an inconvenience. We were on our way to the club anyway, and this is but a few blocks from there. Besides, Whiting’s note said he had a matter of some urgency to discuss.”

“Precisely why he should have come to you. Something havey-cavey about all this,” Reggie said darkly.

“Nonsense.”

Even as he brushed aside Reggie’s warning, Marcus had to admit the summons from the man who had long served as his father’s solicitor and, in the seven years since his father’s death, as his own, was, at the very least, unusual. Whiting was not a man prone to rash impulse or undue emotion. Yet his missive betrayed an urgency at odds with the solicitor’s character, and Marcus could not ignore a nagging sense of unease. Far better to visit the man at once and discover what was afoot than waste time worrying about it.

“I daresay it’s nothing more than the requirement of a signature on one official document or other.”