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“I’m not an old maid. We were engaged. I’m practically his widow.”
“Ah, but you’re not. And you are still young and beautiful. If only you’d—”
“I don’t wish to discuss—”
“I know you don’t. But you must. I may be the baby of this family, but I have eyes. I can see how lonely you are. Memories are not enough. The time for mourning is past.”
Her sister’s gaze bored into her, making Harriett squirm. “I have responsibilities here, and at the—”
“Don’t even mention that place,” huffed Cat. “I hate to see you waste yourself on that stupid charity. You’ve made yourself a slave to it, and it’ll never return the favor. It’ll never even thank you for it. It can never marry you and give you children of your own. It can only give you substitutes and poor ones, at that. You need to marry.”
Harriett grasped her by the shoulders. “I know you mean well, but you mustn’t worry about me. All I want you to concern yourself with now is your own future. And the Hospital is not a waste. It is William’s—”
“Exactly,” interrupted her sister. “It was his dream. His responsibility, not yours.”
“I cannot let it fail. Not when I am capable of saving it. He would have been proud I’ve carried on in his stead.”
But Cat would have none of it. “Yes, I’m sure. But I imagine he would be most unhappy to see you waste the opportunity before you now. Promise me you’ll at least try to catch a husband—while Papa has the money and the desire to promote you. You might not be so lucky next year when it is Arabella’s turn again.”
Harriett forced a conciliatory smile to her lips. “I promise. If an opportunity presents itself, I will seriously consider it.”
“That is all I ask,” said Cat, brightening. “It’ll be more fun if we’re both in it for the win, anyway. We can help each other plot against the enemy. Now, tell me about the plans for the party and let me see if I can help find a way to make our pennies work harder for us. This might be our one chance, and we need every advantage we can get.”
Since learning of their father’s plans to present her a year early, Cat had consistently surprised Harriett with her pragmatism. She showed her the figures. “This is what I’ve managed to scrape from our budget for it. It isn’t much, but—”
“If we’re careful, we can make it work,” finished Cat. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I have a few ideas that might help.”
~ * ~
Kimbolton Castle, Cambridgeshire, England
“Why don’t you deal with it as you see fit?” Roland muttered, put out by the whole uncomfortable business. Snatching the decanter from the tray, he poured himself several fingers of brandy. “You can act on my behalf and no one ever need know. I grant you permission to handle it as you please in my name.” He waved the man off.
“I am truly sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot do that,” said the anxious solicitor. “It would be both illegal, according to the royal charter, and a violation of the trust I’ve been given.”
Roland ignored him. “Don’t know how I became saddled with the bloody thing, anyway. He’d only just been appointed the governorship four days prior to his death. How that constitutes a responsibility on my part is beyond comprehension.”
“It was your brother’s charity, Your Grace. He was one of the Foundling Hospital’s founders. As his heir, it falls to you to take his place and—”
“Why the devil would I want to bother with such a dreary, unhappy place?”
“But it isn’t like that at all,” the solicitor insisted. “If you would but come and see it, Your Grace…”
Shuddering, Roland took a large swallow of brandy. “I have no desire to see it, much less become involved in its workings. Such things are for other, more altruistic men. Unlike William, I am not striving to become a saint.” Far from it...
But his uninvited guest was persistent. “Be that as it may, Your Grace, your brother stipulated in his will that his heir would be required to thoroughly inspect the premises, interview the workers, and examine the ledgers no less than twice a year. If you fail to comply, you will be in direct violation and jeopardize your—”
Roland thumped the table with a fist, silencing him. “I have satisfied all of my brother’s other requirements with the exception of his edict to marry. Next to that, visiting this…place is nothing. Which one would he have preferred me concentrate my efforts on, I wonder?”
To his satisfaction, the other man blushed. “I am afraid he did not specify, Your Grace. However, with regards to the subject of your marital status, I can assure you his only intent was to ensure—”
“The continuation of the line—yes, I know,” Roland said, cutting him off. Apparently, William had felt him incapable of doing that of his own free will, too. He hated these visits. They reminded him of what his brother had really thought of him—what everyone really thought of him. Useless. Irresponsible. Unworthy. Pain lanced through him, and he took another swallow of liquor. “Must I be a slave to my brother’s wishes for the rest of my bloody life?”
“No, Your Grace. Only for the next few years.”
Swearing, Roland flung his still half-full glass into the hearth. The crystal exploded against the stone, and the fire flared to light the room with a hellish, orange glow. Waste of good spirits, that... Going to the decanter he poured another, daring the cowering little bastard who watched him to say anything, to even so much as look at him with censure. He weighted his next words with as much derision as possible. “Is that quite all? Seems to me one might consider a wife to be a somewhat more permanent form of interference.”
It had been William’s final insult, the order to wed. Stipulations had come with that mandate, too. No actresses, no opera singers, no one who’d ever walked the boards or performed before an audience for a wage. No hot-blooded woman would ever fit his brother’s description of a proper wife. He would instead be forced into a union with a prudish, passionless, gently raised virgin. And he must do so by the end of his second year as duke or forfeit the title.
