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Chapter 3
William could barely contain hissurprise.
Regardless of the fact that he and his solicitor had walked into the home of the Marquess of Ashworth and issued what had amounted to a marital ultimatum to the man and his daughter, William was being treated with unexpected, albeit frosty, courtesy. In truth, he’d fully expected the two of them to be tossed out on their ears.
They were currently in an elegantly appointed anteroom not far from the marquess’s study. Lord Ashworth had offered William a drink, but he had politely declined. The day was still young; he did not want the marquess to add excessive drink to a list of grievances he must already be forming against William.
The plan he and Heslop had devised this morning was that Heslop would do the talking and William would remain largely mute. Heslop was familiar with the details, could answer the questions, and was not emotionally invested in the outcome. They had both concluded that William’s interests would be best served if he maintained his silence. The odds of success were better that way.
It was critical to weigh the odds, understand the stakes—not only one’s own but also those of the other wagerer. William’s father had stressed this time and time again throughout William’s youth.
It was also important to keep one’s expression neutral. One does not give away one’s hand, ever. It was better to remain silent, mask one’s feelings and reactions, and wait for the other person to make their move. He’d learned that convenient fact over and over again whenever he’d had dealings with his father.
He had also learned as a youth that he loathed gambling in any form.
He thoroughly detested what he was doing today. If it weren’t for the responsibility—the love—he felt toward the good people of Farleigh Manor, a loyalty to his deceased mother he’d been forced to keep buried with her these past several years, and an intense longing for home that had emerged upon his return, he would not be attempting this—even though it was perfectly justifiable and within his rights that he should do so.
He’d never met Lady Louisa; still, he’d belatedly recalled seeing her when he’d been a student at Eton. Her brothers had attended Eton during his own time there, and Lady Louisa, along with her parents, had visited once or twice. She’d been a mere child at the time, dark-haired like her brothers, and overly chatty, if he was remembering that bit correctly. He wasn’t entirely sure, as he hadn’t run in the same circles as Ashworth’s sons and, therefore, hadn’t been particularly interested in anything to do with them, other than to take the briefest mental note of a talkative little sister.
Beyond that early reference, he hadn’t spent much time thinking about her in a personal sense while he and Heslop had made their plans. She had been a theoretical figure in his mind, the means by which he could salvage his home and save the people he loved, who were dependent upon him as their new viscount.
On the rare occasion when he had thought of her, it was with the full understanding that he was sacrificing any future hope of marital happiness for himself in saving the estate and its people this way. As a result, he’d envisioned either an Amazon of a female, tall like her brothers and full of her aristocratic self, or a twittering bird-wit of a debutante, who would undoubtedly speak nothing of sense.
But today, the young lady herself, Lady Louisa Hargreaves, had entered the study and been a radiant bloom of youthful vitality, and William wouldn’t have been able to speak even if it had been in the plans for him to do so.
He’d been caught utterly by surprise, and his disposition had shifted from one of resolute and gloomy self-sacrifice to hopeful longing in the space of an instant.
His eyes had taken in their fill. He suspected he already knew every flutter of her eyelashes, the curve of her ear, the line of her cheek. He had very nearly had to sit on his hands to keep from reaching for her, so badly had he longed to touch her and assure himself that she was not a vision.
His surprising reaction had also set off alarms clanging within him. That he found himself so strongly drawn to her was an unexpected bonus, to be sure, but William could not afford to be vulnerable or show any weakness whatsoever. He could not forget his purpose in being here. There was too much at stake.
He listened as Heslop and the other solicitor quietly discussed potential marriage settlements based on what had been in progress between Lady Louisa and Lord Kerridge in the matter-of-fact way that seemed unique to solicitors, in William’s estimation. The marquess had gone to stand by the fireplace and was staring at the cold grate, one arm raised to rest against the mantel. The marchioness sat like a statue nearby.
William wanted to assure them both that he would do his best to be a good husband to their daughter, but he knew the words would ring hollow. Even so, he crossed the room to stand next to the marquess, as if his nearness would lend support to the man.
Lord Ashworth sensed his presence. “I would ask again that you consider a monetary amount in exchange for meeting the terms of the vowel,” he said in a low voice. “For my daughter’s sake.”
“I’m sorry, your lordship, but no,” William replied. Heslop had explained at length that it was the connection to the Ashworth family that was essential—that this was more than a matter of mere money. The mortgages on Farleigh Manor were too extensive, even after any potential sale of unentailed properties. William needed the connections he would get from marriage to the daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth, one of the most powerful men in England, if Farleigh Manor was to survive and thrive. “Nothing will satisfy but the original terms of the wager.”
“Come, man. There must be a price we can agree upon. My daughter’s very future is at stake.”
“As is mine, sir, as well as the future of my title and tenants,” William replied. “I did not make the wager, nor establish its terms; two other gentlemen did. I find it ironic that their combined recklessness now holds the means of restoring my family’s honor. I intend to hold them both accountable.”
The Marquess of Ashworth was silent for several moments, and William watched and waited for him to speak. “Honor and accountability,” the marquess finally said. “It has been instilled in the English gentleman for centuries—that he is nothing without honor. One is prepared from birth to give one’s life for one’s honor.”
He spoke the truth. William had been taught the same—at Eton and then at Oxford and even, to a certain extent, at home from his father—not that his father had been a shining example of it. Far from it; he had exemplified the opposite and had dragged the family name down with him as a result. William intended to rectify that now that he was viscount.
“Honor is in the very fiber of my being,” the marquess continued. “I have always been prepared to sacrifice my life for my family’s honor. But I never expected to be called upon to sacrifice the life of my daughter.”
His words cut deeply. William understood the emotion behind them, and yet he was not without some pride, after all. “I should like to think I am offering Lady Louisa a fate that is not quite worse than death.”
“With all due respect, Lord Farleigh, that remains to be seen.”
“As you say. The opposite could just as well be true.” William nodded and moved away. Nothing would be gained by allowing this conversation to continue, and much could be lost.
A subtle knock at the door drew everyone’s attention. “Lady Louisa has requested Lord Farleigh join her in the study,” a footman announced upon entering.
William glanced at Heslop, who was subtly shaking his head no. It had not been part of the plan. He sent Heslop a look he hoped conveyed confidence and crossed to the doorway.
