Ripe for Scandal (12 page)

“Our circumstances were somewhat different, my dear,” Viola said repressively. “Besides which, a Cyprian and the daughter
of a duke have entirely different definitions of what constitutes gentlemanly behavior.”

“I would prefer he had to marry me, that he had no choice, and that it was at least partially his fault. As it is, I can’t
help but feel I’ve trapped him into something he’ll
regret. He’s done nothing wrong, not to me anyway, and I’ve turned his entire life topsy-turvy and set his oldest friend at
his throat.”

Beau flung herself back onto the bed and stared up at the ruched canopy of the bed curtains. “I know none of you believe me,
but Sandison wasn’t the villain of this piece. He really was trying to save me.”

“Well, he had an awfully strange way of going about it.”

“That was all me. You know us both. Does this seem like the kind of thing he would do? I was ruined either way, and I knew
it. I saw a chance to save myself, and I took it, and I truly am afraid he’ll hate me for it in the end.”

Her sister-in-law made a dismissive tut-tutting sound with her tongue. “You saw a chance to save yourself, or you saw a chance
to acquire something you wanted?” Viola’s question hung in the air like a bird of prey hovering over a hare.

Beau let her breath out in a long, resigned sigh but didn’t reply. Viola always did seem to see things a little clearer than
one might like.

“Because I’ve always wondered about you two,” Viola said, appearing beside the bed, staring down at her with something a little
too close to pity. “Your brother thinks I’m mad. You and Sandison may bicker and poke at one another and avoid each other
most of the time, but you always seem to circle back to each other. You might take a moment to wonder if his motives are any
purer than yours.”

Beau pushed herself up on her elbows. Viola stared her down, her expression suddenly somber.

“And you should read that little book,” Viola continued. “Most especially the sections pertaining to conception, the pleasures
and duties of the marriage bed, and the prevention of moles—which serves just as well to prevent conception, as do several
other techniques you might want to avail yourself of. If you have any questions, come and find me.”

CHAPTER 14

G
areth allowed the duke’s homily to crash over him unchecked. If there was one thing that his father had trained him to do
over the years, it was to take a dressing down in silence. Protesting, attempting to provide excuses, or anything else that
might be interpreted as whining all served to make things worse.

Besides, he’d earned this. It was a small price to pay when the prize at the end was Lady Boudicea. And he’d much prefer the
duke rail at him than at Beau. She hadn’t done anything to deserve such treatment. She was the victim in all this.

“I’ve written to your father,” the duke said, changing topics with his usual facile alacrity.

“And what have you told him?”

“The same plausible lie we’ll tell everyone else: The two of you have had a long-standing affection. You applied for permission
to address her and were denied. Being young and impetuous, you took my own example and eloped. No need to hide the smile,
boy. I’m well aware
of the irony of my lecturing anyone on the inadvisability of eloping with an heiress. So too will the world be.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The duke harrumphed, the side curls of his wig shaking. Gareth couldn’t begin to guess if it was with rage or repressed laughter.
The duke was impossible to read.

“Needless to say,” Beau’s father went on, “her mother and I have had a change of heart and are now prepared to allow Beau
to have her way.” He looked sour as he said it, as though swallowing a dose of some vile sickroom potion.

“Is there anything else, Your Grace?”

The duke’s expression brightened somewhat. “Just the mercenary details. Knowing your father as I do, I assume you’re in no
position to support a wife.”

Now they’d come to it, and Beau’s father seemed to understand the matter perfectly, and he clearly enjoyed pointing it out.
“Certainly not one such as Lady Boudicea. I’ve nearly a thousand a year—”

“Which would barely pay for her fripperies.”

“—and I live in bachelor quarters on Halfmoon Street.”

“So no house in town, no estate in the country, and no expectation of such. Correct?”

Gareth gave a snort of laughter. “None whatsoever, Your Grace.” Not a chance. Everything was to be kept whole and inviolate
for the heir. Breaking up an estate or frittering away a substantial sum on a younger son was anathema to his father. Unconscionable.

The duke grumbled under his breath and rifled through the stack of papers on his son’s desk, before setting them aside, as
though he’d just remembered that he
wasn’t in his own home. “Well, we’ll have to see what can be done—”

A preemptory knock presaged the sudden appearance of Gareth’s father. The earl appeared to be more than a bit perturbed. He
was spewing invective at Leo’s butler and demanding to know just what his younger son’s folly was going to cost him.

Gareth grit his teeth. It was so like his father to think only of himself, the inconvenience, and the cost.

The duke greeted him far more civilly than Gareth could have managed under the same set of circumstances. The duke’s calm
sangfroid stood out in sharp contrast to the earl’s agitated demeanor.

Gareth nodded to his father, even as the earl continued to ignore his presence. Gareth struggled to keep his expression impassive
as the two noblemen squared off like cocks in the ring.

“Is your countess with you?” the duke asked, rounding the desk and extending a hand. “No? A pity. But I’m sure she can be
fetched for the wedding.”

Gareth watched his father’s face flush from red to purple. “We shall see, Your Grace,” the earl ground out. “My wife’s very
delicate, and all this bother our younger son has caused has left her quite out of twig.”

“Yes, very troublesome, our children,” the duke replied. “But I’m sure something can be contrived. We wouldn’t want the world
to get the wrong idea, would we?”

Gareth’s amusement at his father’s discomfiture fled. They were both going to be raked over the coals before the duke was
done with them. And the old devil looked as though he meant to enjoy it.

The earl glared at Gareth before swinging his attention back to Lochmaben. The two were political enemies of the first order,
the joining of their two houses couldn’t be particularly desirable to either of them, especially when neither party to the
marriage brought their prospective in-laws anything they’d value. Both families had money. All that was left was power.

“Not to disparage your daughter, Lochmaben, but it seems damn outrageous to me that she should throw herself away on a younger
son. She’s an heiress, I presume? Everything locked in by settlement?”

Gareth winced inwardly as his father cut to the chase in the crudest way possible. Trust the earl to slight them all in a
few short sentences. He’d all but called Beau fast and his son a worthless fortune hunter. The edge of annoyance that said
the fortune wouldn’t be joining the Sandison family coffers was starkly evident.

“I think you forget, my lord—as many have before you—that my wife and I also eloped. Therefore, there are no settlements guaranteeing
anything to any of our children. However,
Lady Boudicea
”—the duke stressed her name and title—“has a dowry of fifty thousand pounds, invested in the three-percents. I shan’t be
so petty as to renege on that simply because she’s behaved poorly.”

His father’s expression flew from startled to disgusted to conniving in an instant. It would have been easy to miss, but judging
by the sudden tick in the duke’s jaw, he’d seen it clearly enough.

“You hear that boy?” the earl said, not bothering to look at Gareth. “A fortune stripped away from the main
estate. Some might call it folly, especially under circumstances such as these.”

“Circumstances that her family is taking pains to hide,” Gareth said in a burst of annoyance. What would his father have done
if he had daughters of his own? Would his mercenary sensibilities have been more offended by having to provide a proper dowry,
or by welcoming Cits and mushrooms into the family who would be pleased enough with the noble connection?

“Just so,” Lochmaben said, his eyes flinty and trained on the earl. “Everything shall be done properly, if quietly. All speculation
and scandal will wither away once they’re married, as it has with so many other couples. Though it would hurt our cause if
the groom’s family were to be seen as opposing the match.”

The earl smiled, a lazy, self-satisfied expression that Gareth knew only too well. “I wouldn’t say I oppose the match, Your
Grace, but I’m not sure I can condone their behavior by contributing to their support.”

And there it was. A ready excuse to avoid doing what the world would expect. They’d made their bed in haste and must now lie
in it. That’s what he would say, and many would agree.

The duke raised his brows, his mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. Gareth watched the two older men glare at one another.
Tension crackled between them. If they’d been younger, they’d have come to blows already.

“I’ll throw my support behind the canal project you keep proposing,” the duke said, “if you provide your son with an estate
of at least five thousand a year.”

Gareth’s jaw sagged open. He snapped it shut. His
father had been trying to get that canal project pushed through for several years. Cheap, easy access to market for the coal
on his Newcastle estates would make them far more profitable.

“I have a small estate in Kent, gets its value from hops. The market’s volatile. Some years it’s five or even six thousand.
Some years it’s nearer to two.”

“With an additional annuity of a thousand then,” the duke countered.

“Payable only in years when the estate’s income drops below three.”

“Done,” said the duke, slapping his hand down on the desk as though ending an auction. “We’ll have the settlements drawn up
by tomorrow, and the wedding can take place just as soon as my eldest returns with the license.”

CHAPTER 15