Once an Heiress (17 page)

“Indeed it was,” Mr. Bachman said gravely. “A hundred thousand. You know, of course,” Lily’s father continued, “I am under no legal obligation to gift you that amount, considering the circumstances. Besides, for all you know, I’ve lost everything on the market, and haven’t a farthing more to spare.”

Ethan’s jaw clenched. “I can walk away — I haven’t signed anything, and I’ve made no promise to Miss Bachman. Have me tossed in gaol if you want, I don’t care — but I won’t be toyed with.”

Mr. Bachman’s heavy eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Oh, ho! And just what do you think it is you’ve done with Lily, if not toy with her? You’re slicker than the rest, but a fortune hunter all the same. You ruined my daughter to force her into marriage, for the purpose of obtaining her dowry.” His fist crashed against the desk. “And I’m supposed to
reward
you for ill-using my offspring? Think again, my lord.”

Hot breath whooshed from Ethan’s nose as he fumed. “Now see here, Bachman. I did
not
seek out to compromise Miss Bachman. Your opinion may be as low of me as you please, and God knows, most of what you believe is probably true.” He raised his hands, palm out. “I will even go so far as to admit that I did, at one time, hope to marry your daughter and win her dowry. Yet I swear to you, I would never ensnare a woman this way.”

Mr. Bachman licked his lips, a shrewd, calculating glint in his eyes. “And yet, here you are — about to engage yourself to the woman who can solve all your woes. You say you were interested in her money at one time, as though that interest has evaporated. But you sit there ranting and railing because you haven’t been given enough to suit you. It appears your interest persists unabated.”

Ethan scoffed. “It escapes your notice, perhaps, that I am being forced into this marriage every bit as much as Miss Bachman. I did not come here to offer for her — I was summoned, and a contract with my name already upon it shoved under my nose. As the size of Miss Bachman’s dowry is common knowledge, so, too, is your desire for a title for your daughter and descendants — which, of course, I just happen to have at my disposal. This is a situation in which we each possess something the other desires in equal measure. Just compensation is not too much to ask.”

“Shut up, Thorburn,” Mr. Bachman snapped. “There are scores of unwed titled gentlemen in this country, but Lily alone has the fortune you need to save your own sorry carcass. Do not delude yourself into thinking this is an even match. You need her far more than she needs you. My intention had been for my daughter to have the say of her own marriage. You took her choice away.”

Ethan met Mr. Bachman’s angry stare. His innards writhed, guilt for compromising Lily’s reputation warring with fury at Mr. Bachman’s humiliating set down. Yes, he was an impoverished nobleman — so were scads of other aristocrats. Exile was almost becoming fashionable, he mused. Calais had quite the jaunty community of Englishmen hiding from the duns. That was an option he hadn’t considered, but now it sprang before him. Not ideal, perhaps, but neither would he be tied down by a swindling father-in-law and his title-hungry daughter.

His muscles bunched as he prepared to rise, sharp words forming on his tongue to tell Mr. Bachman just where he could stow that marriage contract.

“You can still have the money,” Mr. Bachman stated.

Ethan froze, his lips parted and his thighs hovering a fraction of an inch off the chair. He eyed Mr. Bachman warily. “What do you mean?”

“The ten thousand stands for now.” He clicked his tongue and leveled a shrewd gaze on Ethan. “But you can earn the rest.”

Ethan’s brows drew together in a frown. “How?”

Mr. Bachman’s lips pinched. “This marriage isn’t Lily’s choice.
You
aren’t her choice. The day she tells me she is happy in her marriage will be the day I sign over the balance of her dowry. But you must sign the contract now, and proceed straightaway to apply for a special license.” He shrugged. “Or, you can walk out that door and do whatever it is penniless lords do with their lives, while someone else marries Lily — for make no mistake, while she is in a delicate situation, money is a soothing balm and soon makes men forgetful of colorful pasts. She
will
marry, and well, to someone else if not you.”

Blinking, Ethan considered. His eyes settled on the contract folio and he ran a finger down the leather cover, buttery soft as the finest boots.

The money was still within reach. A flicker of hope bloomed in his chest. With a sigh, he opened the folio and re-read the last page of the contract. Ten thousand pounds now,
and
Lily Bachman. That bounteous bosom of hers would be his to explore at his leisure — now
that
was a cheering thought.

With a wry smile he extended his hand, which Mr. Bachman took in a firm grip. A few strokes of ink sealed his fate. He would have the fortune and the freedom it offered from his suffocating debts. All he had to do was make her happy. Charming the ladies had always come easily to him — how hard could this be?

Mr. Bachman poured sherry for Ethan and himself. His mood considerably brighter, he smiled at the younger man. “Now that’s settled, it’s time to get better acquainted. You shall join us for supper, I hope, a cozy family affair. After you apply for the special license, of course.”

Ethan bowed. “I should be delighted to accept your kind invitation, sir. And I shall be off to see the archbishop — but first, I believe I must have a word with Miss Bachman.”

Mr. Bachman weighed him with a heavy gaze. “It isn’t necessary, you know. It’s all done, signed and sealed, forever and ever, amen. Lily doesn’t expect gallantry.”

“Sir,” Ethan said, his words sharp and clipped. “I should like a word with your daughter, my affianced bride. Signed and sealed it all may be, but I’ll not meet Miss Bachman at the altar without making her an honorable offer. The very notion smacks of medieval barbarism.”

With a curt nod, Mr. Bachman left the study.

A few minutes later Lily appeared in the door. Her face was ashen, her usual visage of cool disdain replaced by trembling lips and a wary gaze. Her dark eyes and hair provided striking contrast to her pale skin. Lily’s distress exposed something vulnerable he’d not seen in her before and contributed a delicacy to her beauty — not even the worst hangover could render her unbeautiful in his eyes. She closed the door and stiffly advanced into the room.

His heart lurched with concern at her alarming appearance. “How are you, Lily?”

It wasn’t how he’d meant to begin, but the few moments he’d had to try to scrape together some pretty words had not prepared him for the sight of a pitiable creature frightened, angry, and afflicted with her first morning-after head. “I hope you’re not suffering the effects of last night too much.”

Lily’s startled eyes snapped to his face. And then she laughed hysterically, wide-mouthed, with tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. At once, Ethan realized his blunder. He was thinking of the copious amounts of wine she’d consumed, somehow forgetting for a moment the wretched scrape they’d landed in.

He took her hand and drew her, still laughing, to the sofa. He sat beside her and gave her a moment to compose herself, but even as she cleared her throat and straightened, her eyes still danced with craze-tinged amusement.

“Lily,” he began again, “I’ve just spoken to your father and he has consented — ”

She burst into laughter again and shook her hands. “No,” she managed between gasps of air, “don’t do it, my lord, I beg you.” Ethan frowned, but she forestalled him before he could speak. “I thought I could get through this mummery, but I cannot. It’s too absurd.”

A wry smile cracked his face. “Mr. Bachman warned me you’d not be impressed with gallantry, but I haven’t even gotten to the gallant part. Perhaps you’d prefer romance — an ardent proposal by a desperate lover?”

Lily sobered. “Don’t, my lord,” she repeated, all the humor gone from her voice. “Don’t you dare play make-believe with me. You’ve no desire to marry me any more than I want to marry you. But we’ll wed anyway, because it’s the only option left to us. You must not pretend at emotions that you do not feel — it would be more lowering than all the rest of this put together.”

Ethan respected her honesty, but wondered at her claim that marriage was their only option — certainly their reputations would suffer if they did not marry, but damage had already been done.

“Pray do not put words in my mouth, my dear. I did not say I have no desire to marry you. I should think offering myself would prove my good intentions.”

Her face pinched; her eyes flashed. “You’ve proved your intentions, beyond enough. I would thank you to leave me in peace until the wedding.”

Annoyed, Ethan lifted a brow. “I fear I cannot accommodate your request. Your father has invited me to supper.”

Bristling with hostility, she stood and, without another word, swept from the study. The door slammed behind her with what must have been a very satisfying crash.

And that was as close as Ethan Helling ever came to proposing marriage to Lily Bachman.

Lily accepted Thorburn’s hand and alit from the hackney that had borne them from her parents’ home to her new residence. She blinked in dismay at the facade of the house, even more run-down in appearance than it had been on her first visit. Green leaves carpeted the steps, with water pooled on the verdant foliage.

“That looks treacherous,” she muttered.

“What’s that, my lady?” Thorburn looked from her to the house and back again. “Not awed by the grandeur of your new station?”

A biting edge to his words gave her pause. She pursed her lips and looked away.

He smirked. “Come along, Lady Thorburn.”

She followed him up the front steps, careful to keep a tight hold on the hand rail, lest she slip on the wet leaves and give him more ammunition for his mockery. Standing just behind him as he fished in his pocket for the key, she found herself again drawn to him, just as she’d been the instant he’d opened this door and she’d first clapped eyes upon him. Though he had her bested in height by only a few inches, the breadth of his shoulders and back created a solid wall of male. Those were shoulders she could rest a cheek upon. This was a man who could stand with her against the world — if he but would.

Nonsense
, she chided herself. The strain of the last few days were telling on her. Lily had neither the need nor the desire for any man’s protection. Even if she were so inclined,
this
was not the man who would offer it. Thorburn was only interested in looking after himself.

The door swung inward, revealing an interior as dark and dingy as ever. Thorburn stepped in and bowed with a flourish. When he righted himself, he pinned her with a jeering smile. “You once told me that living in this run-down sty would offend even a bushman. Well, it’s your sty now, princess. Welcome home.”

Heat flushed her cheeks as she stepped past him; humiliated tears pricked the backs of her eyes but she refused to let them fall. “Thank you, my lord.” Her footsteps echoed hollowly in the vacant entrance hall. No servants greeted them, as they would do at home. No inviting smells drifted up from the kitchen. No fires warmed the hearth.

By now, she knew all about the circumstance surrounding the mysterious, empty house. Mr. Wickenworth’s inquiries had uncovered the magistrate’s order to seize Thorburn’s property to pay his creditors. Indeed, an auction had already transpired, his possessions scattered to the wind. It was just another tick in the column of his deficiencies.

Hot anger coagulated in a ball in her middle. She drew herself up. “Right,” she ground out. Though her new husband was being a boor about it, he was correct: this was now her home. And Lily Bachman — Helling, she corrected herself — would be damned if she allowed the unholy state of the house to continue a moment longer. He might not care a fig for the place, but she did. She was the lady of the house now; she would not allow his negligence to humiliate her.

Without a glance at Thorburn — who could take himself to the devil, for all she cared — she strode purposefully down the hall. She found the servant stairs and descended into the belly of the house, disregarding the inky blackness that enveloped her in the stairwell. In her current mood, she just
dared
an uneven board to trip her up and give her an excuse to rip it from the floor with her bare hands.

In the basement, she rummaged in the housemaid’s closet and procured a stack of rags. An empty bucket was located, filled with water, and hauled back up the stairs. Thorburn was no longer in the entrance hall. She hoped he had gone out.

Up the stairs again, she went to the front parlor. Mindful of the dust everywhere, she gingerly opened the curtains so as not to stir up a cloud. She removed her gloves and pelisse and tossed them into the corner. Then she dipped one of the rags and squeezed it out. Cold water streamed over her fingers and fell back into the bucket.

She folded the cloth into a square and commenced dusting the windowsill. When she glanced up from her work to look outside, she noted the thin film of grime on the glass. That would have to be scrubbed off, but she would save it for last. No sense getting the panes back to sparkling, only to have the dust she was stirring up settle right back on the glass.

“What are you doing?” The masculine voice was rich with shock.

Lily smirked and shook her head. She didn’t turn to look at him, hoping he would go away if she ignored him.

“That’s your wedding dress, Lily. It’ll be ruined.”

And what of it?
she thought angrily. So it had miraculously materialized from the modiste’s in just three days. True, it shimmered in the sunlight, or under the candlelight of the wedding ball she’d never have. Adorned it may be at the neck and sleeves with the most delicate lace she’d ever laid eyes upon. Its matching pelisse might have been the perfect finishing touch to the ensemble. But it was still just a dress, the one in which she had been sentenced to a lifetime as the wife of a man she barely knew — and none of what she did know was any good.