Mr. Beacon flushed. “I wish I could have been of more aid. Well, good-bye and good luck.”
Gawain retook his seat and slowly drank his coffee. Was Mary really in Scotland? Or was this simply another wild-goose chase to keep him busy until she could find a husband? If his cousin weren’t so headstrong, he would suspect the dowager of making a match for her. Then again, she’d need to be somewhere there was at least some sort of Marriage Mart, and surely the dowager would insist on being there with Mary. After all, an established lady with connections had to sponsor her.
Edinburgh had a Season. Not as large or refined as London’s, butMary might think it was better than nothing. He’d just have to wait until the dowager made a move and led him to his soon-to-be wife.
“Sir.”
Gawain glanced up. His groom had a wide grin on his face.
“The old lady is getting ready to leave. I sent a message to have your things packed.”
“Finally. Get the boy we’ve had watching the house. We’ll take him with us. He can be useful. It won’t do to let her know I’m following.”
The George Inn, Stamford, Lincolnshire, England
“Is he still following us?” Lucinda lowered herself carefully into a chair in their private parlor. A fire roared in the fireplace, and the room was warm enough, but her old body wasn’t what it used to be. Riding in a coach for hours over the past week hadn’t helped either. Blasted roads. One would think with the tolls the government charged they would be in better repair.
“That’s what Athey said,” Constance replied, leaning on her cane just a bit too heavily.
“You are making sure she is in no danger?” Not that Lucinda thought the girl would come to harm, but when her friend was focused on something . . .
“She is well protected. There is at least one footman with her at all times.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more tenacious young man.”
Constance gave a basilisk stare. “With sixty thousand at stake? I’m only surprised he hasn’t done more.”
Lucinda took a sip of the excellent claret. The George was known for the quality of its cellars. “I’m wondering if we haven’t been the slightest bit ham-handed with Kit and Mary.”
“What do you mean?” Constance sniffed her wine before taking a sip.
“Well, dear, we were both able to arrange matches for our children and many of our grandchildren without anyone being the wiser . . .” Lucinda left her sentence hanging. It was always better to allow Constance to figure things out for herself.
“I see your point. They will come to the conclusion that we masterminded the scheme.” She heaved a sigh. “I know Mary has romanticideas, but honestly, I do not know what else we could have done. Allowing Gawain Tolliver to get his hands on her was not an option.”
“I would like to see my great-grandchildren,” Lucinda prodded gently.
“Never fear. Once they discover they were meant for each other, they will come around.” Constance’s tone was bracing but not convincing.
“I do hope so. From the last letter Featherton received from Kit, it appears he is not happy with the situation.”
A sharp tap sounded on the door and dinner was brought in. Footmen assisted Lucinda and Constance to the dining table. Perhaps she was right and the children would forgive them. Now, if they could only get rid of the ogre. Mayhap they could arrange for young Mr. Tolliver to have a carriage mishap someplace in an area several miles from a coaching house. In fact, that was an excellent idea. She’d speak with the coachman after dinner.
Gawain sat in the common room of the inn across from the George. Even if he’d had the funds, he couldn’t have stayed there. Hell, he couldn’t even afford to bring the boy he was using to watch the duchess. Who would have thought the lad’s mother would demand twenty-five pounds for the urchin. Five days and the dowagers had only traveled thirty miles from London. Where the hell were they going? It couldn’t be back to the dower house; he had bribed one of the villagers to watch and there were no preparations being made.
Even his mother agreed that Mary wouldn’t go into Polite Society until her grandmother was with her. Unless she planned on joining the old ladies somewhere along the road. Now that would be convenient. He’d follow them and snatch her the moment she was alone.
He took a pull of the bitter local ale. If only his mother was right and Mary had taken up with a man. That would settle all their problems. Even if she waited to wed him, he’d be able to blackmail her. Not everything he wanted, but a damn sight better than nothing. He took another drink and frowned. He wished he didn’t have to marry her, but the money would make up for a lot. Perhaps he could find a gentleman to seduce Mary and convince her to wed him before her birthday? Then he’d have the money. He’d have to pay a goodly sum, but it might be better than having a shrew to wife. Yet, who could he get to do it who would wait for payment?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mary sat in the window seat of her parlor, staring out at the garden. It had been three days since she and Kit had gone on the picnic, and although he was very attentive and everything one could expect from a gentleman, something was wrong. She had made sure he’d had several opportunities to kiss her, and just when she thought he would, nothing happened. He had to kiss her. Otherwise she wouldn’t know if she could love him or he could love her.
This was very much the same as when she’d thought he would ask her to dance during her first and only full Season. If he was finding it that difficult to like her enough to kiss her she didn’t want him. She’d be no man’s penance.
Was it only the possibility of scandal that made him want to marry her? She cast her mind back over all their conversations. He apparently didn’t require her money, albeit no one would turn down such a fortune. He’d complimented her housekeeping, but never her appearance. Even her blackguard cousin had done that, for all the good it did him. Perhaps Kit didn’t find her pleasing. She’d always been held to be pretty, some had even said beautiful. Two gentlemen had offered for her that Season only because of her appearance, or at least that was what all the poems they had written to her had been about. Papa had been alive then to protect her from the fortune hunters, and there had been several of them. What a lowering thought that Kit may not think her even passable. Maybe he preferred ladies with dark hair and eyes.
What else had he praised her for? He loved what she’d done in the garden and the property.Her estate management. Kit remarked on that more than anything else. He had said Featherton wives always brought something to the family. Was that the reason he was contentto wed her? If so, he was no better than the others who wanted her solely for her looks or her dowry. Why couldn’t a man love her for herself? Why did there always have to be another reason? Well, she would not be married for her housewifery.
