He strode to her, took her hand and raised it to his lips. His gaze met hers. “Miss Fairchild, I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you at last.”
“A pleasure?” she said lightly. “Or a relief?”
He looked startled for a moment, then laughed. “Both.”
“We shall leave the two of you to get acquainted. I daresay you have quite a lot to discuss.” Aunt Edwina nodded at the girls. Gen and Sophie reluctantly stood and murmured polite goodbyes, herding Belle out of the parlor in front of them.
“But I just came in,” Belle said under her breath.
“If you will excuse us for a moment?” Aunt Edwina cast Mr. Sinclair a brilliant smile.
“Of course,” he murmured.
Aunt Edwina hooked her arm through Fiona’s and steered her out the parlor door, closed the door behind them and turned to her niece. “Your sisters told me about your father’s will and his arrangement with Mr. Sinclair’s father, but you should have told me, Fiona. I cannot tell you how angry I am about this.”
Fiona winced. “I am sorry, Aunt Edwina. You’re right, I should have told you, but it was humiliating to say it all aloud. Please forgive me.”
“Oh, my dear child, I’m not mad at you.” Aunt Ed wina huffed. “Imagine in this day and age putting such stipulations on your daughters’ futures. Why, if your father wasn’t already dead I should be compelled to strangle him with my bare hands.”
“The thought is most appreciated,” Fiona murmured.
“Still”—the older woman eyed her niece—“he was right about your need to marry before you reach too advanced an age. And I must say, the gentleman he selected for you, even if he is an American, is most acceptable.” A wicked grin curved Aunt Edwina’s lips. “Indeed, he is quite charming and very dashing.”
Fiona smiled in spite of herself. “So I’ve been told.”
“However, the simple fact that Mr. Sinclair has turned out to be more than suitable does not mean you need marry him against your will.” Aunt Edwina raised her chin. “I have a great deal of money and I am more than willing to provide you and your sisters acceptable dowries. Indeed, I should do it gladly in the knowledge that I am thwarting your father’s wishes. Men can be delightful creatures, but they have no sense when it comes to matters involving life or love.”
“I’ve been told that too. Thank you.” She hugged her aunt. “I appreciate it more than I can say, but”—she drew a deep breath—“it is my responsibility to provide for my sisters.”
“It is your life, my dear,” Aunt Edwina said firmly. “And your decision.”
“Indeed it is.” Fiona nodded and returned to the parlor.
Mr. Sinclair smiled with obvious relief. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”
“Were you?” She studied him for a moment. “Why?”
“Given the circumstances, I was afraid that perhaps you…” He shrugged in an appealingly boyish manner. “I don’t know, I just was.”
He did seem nice enough, though.
“It is a bit awkward, isn’t it?”
He snorted. “A bit?”
“Perhaps more than a bit, then.”
“This is possibly the most uncomfortable moment of my entire life,” he said wryly. “And that includes several moments that I was not entirely sure I would survive.”
Her gaze flicked to the scar above his eyebrow. It did indeed make him look a little like a pirate. A good pirate. “Is this one of them, Mr. Sinclair?”
“Daniel, please. Given the situation, I think we can dispense with certain formalities.” He ran his hand through his hair and the memory of Jonathon doing precisely the same thing under very similar circumstances flashed through her mind. She firmly ignored the image. “But yes, Fiona—” He glanced at her questioningly.
She nodded.
“This is indeed one of those moments. I believe my life is flashing before my eyes even as we speak.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “It’s been a wicked, wicked life.” He shot her a grin. “But fun.”
Good Lord, the man was a pirate. She could well see Belle’s attraction. She laughed in spite of herself.
“Fiona.” He sobered. “Might I be completely honest with you?”
“Honesty would be a refreshing change, Mr. Daniel.” She settled on the sofa and gazed at him expectantly. “Do go on.”
“Very well, then.” He clasped his hands behind his back and thought for a moment, then grimaced. “I’m not sure where to begin.”
“Perhaps if you begin with”—she braced herself—“exactly why you’re here.”
“That would make sense. All right, then.” He drew a deep breath. “As I’m sure you’re aware, my father and yours before his death arranged for a marriage between the two of us. I knew nothing about it until I recently arrived in Florence.”
“You didn’t?” She stared at him.
“No.” He raised a brow. “Did you?”
“Not until after my father’s death, when I learned of the terms of his will.”
“So you did not agree to this marriage?”
She shook her head. “As apparently neither did you.”
“That certainly puts things in a different light.” He blew a relieved breath. “I don’t mind telling you, I was not at all eager to come here. I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for my father’s insistence and the fact that you are heir to a great deal of money. Right now I could use a great deal of money. I have the opportunity for an excellent investment that could make my fortune and, well, that’s neither here nor there, I suppose.” He sat down beside her on the sofa. “But I have no desire to marry a woman who doesn’t want to marry me.” His brows drew together. “You don’t, do you?”
“I can’t say, I’ve just met you.”
“Of course.” He paused. “I do hope you’re not disappointed.”
“Not at all.” She bit back a grin. “Are you?”
“Good God, no. I wasn’t expecting”—he cast her an appreciative gaze—“you. But when your father tells you he has arranged for you to marry a woman of five and-twenty because her father was afraid she’d never marry, you don’t expect her to look like you.”
“You expected old, ugly and desperate?”
“Indeed I did.” He leaned closer in a confidential manner. “Frankly, I was just hoping for a good nature.”
Fiona laughed.
“That’s settled, then.” He got to his feet. “Fiona, it has been a rare pleasure to meet you.”
“That’s it?” She stared up at him. “That’s all you have to say?”
“I think so.” He thought for a moment. “You don’t want to marry me, I don’t want to marry you or, to be honest, anyone at the moment. So, yes, that’s it.”
“You don’t know everything about my father’s will, do you?” she said slowly.
“Aside from the part about us marrying, no.”
“Do sit down, Daniel,” she said with a sigh. “Let me tell it all to you.”
Daniel took his seat and Fiona explained about her inheritances and her sisters’ dowries. He blew a long, low whistle. “That is a predicament.”
“Indeed it is.” She paused to find the right words. “Now allow me to be honest with you. My aunt has offered to provide my sisters with dowries if necessary to prevent me from marrying where I do not wish to do so. However”—she folded her hands in her lap and stared at them—“I have done a great deal of thinking in recent days. I am dreadfully tired of living with the uncertainty that I have lived with since my father’s death. Of knowing my sisters’ futures were my responsibility and not knowing what would happen. I want my life settled. I want to resolve this.” She met his gaze firmly. “Daniel, I have a proposition that may be of interest to you.”
He raised a brow. “A proposition?”
She nodded. “A business proposition. Or rather, I suppose, one could call it”—she drew a steadying breath—“a proposal.”
“Bloody hell.” Jonathon sank deeper in the chair, which had never especially been his favorite in the lounge of their favorite club but had become so in the last two days due to continued occupancy and inertia fed by regret, helplessness and a great deal of liquor. At least he’d been surrounded by his friends, although, upon reflection, they’d been of absolutely no help thus far. None had been able to come up with a brilliant, or even acceptable, idea on how to reclaim Fiona’s heart. And Jonathon’s mind had been entirely too muddled to be of any use whatsoever.
“That is a problem,” Warton murmured. “Although you did realize it would come to this sooner or later.”
Cavendish leaned toward Oliver and lowered his voice. “Refresh my memory. Who is Whatshisname?”
“The American, that’s who he is,” Jonathon snapped. “The one who is supposed to marry my…my…”
What was she anyway? “My fiancée.”
“Can he call her that?” Cavendish shook his head. “I don’t think he can call her that.”
“He did propose in a manner of speaking, but no.” Warton shook his head. “I’m fairly certain if she doesn’t accept, then she can’t be considered his fiancée. She told you she never wanted to see you again, didn’t she?”
“Not this time,” Jonathon said through clenched teeth.
“That’s right. That was when you offered to pay…” Cavendish winced. “We needn’t go into that, I suppose.”
“It scarcely matters.” Oliver signaled to an attentive waiter for a drink. He had a great deal of catching up to do.
Oliver had just arrived bearing the news of Whatshisname’s presence in London. It was good to have an informant in the house even if this was not what Jonathon wanted to hear. He much preferred Oliver’s observations in the last two days of Fiona’s state of mind, although admittedly the man had seen his cousin very little and strongly suspected she was avoiding him. Oliver’s role in deceiving her had not endeared him to her.
“So, tell us about this Whatshisname,” Warton drawled.
“Actually his name is Daniel Sinclair and, I’m surprised to admit, he seems a good sort,” Oliver said.
“I’ve had a long chat with him and I think he can be of some use to us. Or rather to Helmsley here.”
“He can’t unless he refuses to marry her.” A tiny ray of hoped speared Jonathon’s misery. “Has he refused to marry her?”
“Isn’t that how all this started?” Cavendish said under his breath to Warton. “Someone’s refusal to marry?”
“Only an idiot would refuse to marry Fiona Fairchild,” Warton said wryly, then glanced at Jonathon.
“My apologies.”
“Accepted,” Jonathon muttered.
“Sinclair hasn’t refused to marry her, however he doesn’twant to marry her,” Oliver said.
“Then he’s an idiot.” Cavendish shrugged.
Oliver ignored him. “He doesn’t especially want to marry anyone at the moment.”
“Well, that makes all the difference.” Warton sipped at his drink. “That makes him one of us.”
“I thought you’d see it that way.” Oliver accepted his drink from the waiter. Jonathon pulled his brows together. “Regardless of what he wants, is he going to marry her?”
“That’s where this becomes extremely interesting.” Oliver leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Fiona proposed—”
“Again?” Cavendish raised a brow. “Does she do that a lot?”
“She’s never proposed to me.” Warton sniffed. “I might well have said yes. She has a face Botticelli might have painted and a fortune to match.”
The other men stared.
“Iam not an idiot,” Warton said in a lofty manner, then nodded at Jonathon. “Sorry.”
“Yes, yes.” Jonathon waved off the apology and nodded to Oliver. “Go on.”
“What she proposed was marriage,” Oliver continued, “but one in name only and only for as long as was necessary to meet the terms of her father’s will. In return, she’ll give Sinclair a portion of her inheritance, a mutually agreed-upon amount that has not yet been determined.”
“And he is willing to do this?” Jonathon studied Oliver closely.
“Indeed he is. Sinclair had no knowledge of the terms of Uncle Alfred’s will until today. He came to see Fiona because he knew of her father’s arrangement with his father and he felt obligated to do so.”
Jonathon snorted. “He’d best not let her know that.”
“He probably would have married her if she had expected him to do so, his family’s honor and all that, but once he understood that she had no desire to marry him, he was more than willing to abandon the idea of marriage altogether.” Oliver paused.
“Yes?” Jonathon said.
“It was Fiona who suggested they go ahead and marry,” Oliver said reluctantly. “Sinclair needs money for an investment in America, something to do with railroads. Fiona will provide him with the funding he requires and at some point the marriage will be dissolved.”
“I see,” Jonathon said thoughtfully. Fiona had once suggested the possibility of a temporary marriage. And had said that it would very much depend on the type of man Whatshisname was.
“There’s more.” Reluctance sounded in Oliver’s voice. “Fiona wants to marry as soon as possible. My mother is already planning a wedding.”
Jonathon’s stomach twisted. “When?”
Oliver grimaced. “Friday.”
“Friday?” Jonathon stared. “That’s three days from now.”
“Should we send a gift?” Cavendish murmured to Warton.
“Not yet.” Warton pinned Jonathon with a firm look. “What we need, what you need, is a plan. Not some ill-advised, poorly conceived stunt, but a serious, must-succeed, only-a-fool-would-fail plan to thwart this wedding and win Fiona for yourself.”