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“Then you do have a man in mind,” he said with a grin.
Again, she remained silent for several seconds before saying, in a tone that told him his life would be in danger if he pursued the topic further, “He isn’t suitable.”
“And what constitutes suitable?”
She sighed wearily. “I don’t want to be beaten, I’d rather not be abandoned—”
“My, my, we’re aiming high.”
“Forget I said anything,” she snapped. “I don’t know why I’m sharing this with you, anyway. You obviously have no idea how it feels to be desperate, to lack choices, to know that no matter what you do—”
“Elizabeth,” he said softly, reaching out and grasping her fingers. “I’m sorry.”
“He has to have money,” she said dully, staring down at her hand in his. “I need money.”
“I see.”
“I doubt you do, but it’s probably enough for you to know that I’m destitute.”
“Lady Danbury doesn’t pay you enough to support yourself?” he asked quietly.
“She does, but it isn’t enough to support my younger siblings. And Lucas must go to Eton.”
“Yes,” he said distractedly, “a boy should. He’s a baronet, you say?”
“No, I didn’t say, but yes, he is.”
“Lady Danbury must have told me.”
She shrugged and let out an exhale mixed with self-mocking laughter. “It’s common knowledge. We’re the district’s official example of impoverished gentry. So you see, I’m not precisely marriageable. All I have to offer is my family’s bloodlines. And even those aren’t terribly impressive. It’s not as if I spring from nobility.”
“No,” he mused, “but one would think that many a man would wish to marry into the local gentry, especially a titled branch. And you have the added bonus of being quite beautiful.”
She looked up sharply. “Please don’t patronize me.”
He smiled in disbelief. She clearly had no idea of her charms.
“I’ve been told I’m reasonably pretty—” she began.
Well, perhaps some idea.
“—but beautiful is quite a stretch.”
He waved his hand, dismissing her protest. “You’ll have to trust me on this measure. As I was saying, I’m certain there must be several men in the district who’d like to marry you.”
“There’s one,” she said distastefully. “A local squire. But he’s old, fat, and mean. My younger sister has already said that she will run away to a workhouse if I marry him.”
“I see.” James rubbed his chin, searching for a solution to her dilemma. It seemed a crime that she would have to marry some disgusting old squire twice her age. Perhaps there was something he could do. He had enough money to send her brother to Eton a thousand times over.
Or rather, the Marquis of Riverdale did. James Siddons, a Mere Mister, wasn’t supposed to have anything other than the clothes on his back.
But perhaps he could arrange for some sort of anonymous gift. Surely Elizabeth wouldn’t be so proud as to ignore an unexpected windfall. He didn’t doubt that she’d refuse a gift for her own sake, but not when the welfare of her family was at stake.
James made a mental note to contact his solicitor as soon as possible.
“So,” she said with an uncomfortable laugh, “unless you’ve a fortune tucked away, I really don’t see how you can help me.”
“Well,” he said, avoiding an outright lie, “I’d thought to aid you in a different manner.”
