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Belinda knew in her heart that her uncle would simply start selling or mortgaging the properties to the hilt if he had control. Uncle Hugh was not competent to manage the Wentworth estates.
In a way, Belinda realized, Colin had done her and the Wentworths an immense favor. If Uncle Hugh hadn’t unwittingly found an eager buyer in Colin, he may have stripped the properties to the point of default and foreclosure. And then the Wentworths would certainly have fallen out of favor with the upper crust. They would have stopped receiving party invitations and gotten the cold shoulder in certain quarters.
Her family had been keen for her to marry Tod, and she’d assumed they’d simply wanted her to make a good match. She hadn’t been aware of how desperate they had been for her to save the family fortunes.
There was a big difference, she thought, between making it known that you were expected to marry up, and being sacrificed to save the family from financial ruin—again and again.
She loved her family, but they were human and flawed—very flawed.
What was it that Colin had said? She had a choice between being a stick-in-the-mud or a free agent.
Her uncle continued to look uncomprehending. “Of course, you’ll have a property manager in me, or Tod when you marry him.”
“No, Uncle Hugh,” she said firmly. “Tod is out of the picture—for good. What’s more, if and when I divorce Colin and have control of the Wentworth property again, we’ll do things my way.”
What a novel thought—her way.
Her mother looked quizzical. “Belinda, this is absurd.”
“No, it’s not,” she responded and then stood to leave. “I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to becoming a real-estate mogul.”
Her husband had taught her a lot. And one of those things was that she had more power than she thought she had.
She had just asserted her power with her family. Now she had to decide what to do with respect to Colin.
She’d been unfair to him, she realized. He should have told her about the Elmer Street property, but with new insight, she understood why he had acted as he had with respect to the disposal of the building.
The only question was, how would she mend fences with him, and would he want her back after she had seemed to side with Uncle Hugh?
Twelve
“Mother, what have you done?”
“Never fear, dear. It’s all about the media these days.”
“Believe it or not,” he said patiently, “I’m one of those relics who still believes in a reality apart from public perception.”
“Nonsense. What an antiquated idea.”
The irony, of course, Colin thought, was that he had brought the Granvilles into a new millennium, shoring up the family wealth through shrewd real-estate holdings.
They were sitting at lunch in a room with French doors that offered a panoramic view of the gardens of Halstead Hall. At one time, the room had functioned as the music room, but these days it served as the family’s informal dining room.
He’d been informed by a member of the staff shortly before lunch that his mother had arrived and would be joining him for the meal. As usual, his mother had presented herself impeccably groomed, pearls in place.
He, meanwhile, felt uncharacteristically scraggly and under the weather. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and though he wore his usual work-at-home attire of trousers and open-collar shirt, he felt unkempt.
He knew the cause of his mood, however. She had left two days ago.
His mother took a sip of her tea. “You know, you really could take a cue from your friend Melton. He’s a media person, isn’t he?”
Colin wondered sardonically if his mother included following Sawyer as an example in the marriage department. After all, Tamara, the earl’s wife, was a maverick American by upbringing, though her father was a British viscount. On top of it all, she remained one of Belinda’s closest friends.
“Melton will be hurt to discover that you didn’t use one of his media outlets as your mouthpiece for a public statement,” Colin drawled. “I will assure him, however, not to take the matter personally.”
The dowager marchioness waved a hand dismissively. “I still begrudge that horrid columnist of his, Mrs. Hollings. How dare she perpetuate the story of your appearance at the Wentworth-Dillingham nuptials?”
“How nice of you to retaliate by not feeding her salacious gossip about Belinda.”
