Chapter 5 The Hand That Offered Books
The Hand That Offered Books
Edmund signed the last document with more force than necessary, eager to conclude his business at the Railway Commission offices.
The afternoon was waning, and he’d deliberately stayed away from home, knowing she would be there again today.
In his library, existing in his space while he pretended not to care.
“Your Grace?”
He looked up to find a young man hovering nervously in the doorway. The fellow looked familiar—weak chin, Dover nose, frightened rabbit expression.
“Mr. Thomas Dover,” the man said, wringing his hands. “Lord Dover’s nephew.”
Edmund set down his pen carefully. “Mr. Dover.”
“I apologize for approaching you. I know our families…” Thomas swallowed hard. “But I need advice, and you’re on the Railway Planning Committee.”
“I am.” Edmund leaned back, studying the younger man. Thomas Dover was heir to the entailed portions of the Dover holdings. He’d inherit the title and whatever lands couldn’t be sold. “What kind of advice?”
“I was approached yesterday by a gentleman. About railway rights through the Dover estates, the entailed property… when Uncle…” He colored. “When I inherit.”
Edmund’s attention sharpened. “Who approached you?”
“The Marquess of Blackwood.” Dover pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing his forehead. “He wants permission to run a railway line through the northern parcels. The profitable route to Manchester.”
“And what is he offering in exchange?”
Thomas turned scarlet. “Marriage. To my cousin Prudence.”
Everything inside Edmund stilled. Yet, he stood so abruptly his chair scraped against the floor. “He’s negotiating her marriage for railway rights?”
Dover looked at him wide-eyed. “He said it would benefit everyone. Save the family from ruin, give Prudence a good match, and secure the railway route.” Dover stepped back at Edmund’s expression. “Is it… is it not a good arrangement?”
“It’s manipulation dressed as business.” Edmund’s hands clenched. “He’s taking advantage of your family’s desperation to secure land he couldn’t get otherwise.”
“But Cousin Prudence would be a marchioness.”
“Your cousin isn’t a commodity to be traded for railway access.” Edmund fixed his coat with force, knowing how he must appear but not caring. “And I can assure you, Mr. Dover, that any railway plan that treats her as such will never pass the committee. Not while I sit on it.”
The young man’s eyes widened. “You’d block the Manchester route?”
“I’d block any route that uses your cousin as a bargaining chip.” Edmund moved toward the door, then paused. “When does Blackwood expect an answer?”
“By week’s end. He said Prudence doesn’t know yet. He wanted family approval first.”
“How considerate of him.” Edmund’s voice could have etched glass. “Don’t agree to anything. Not yet.”
“But Uncle is desperate—”
“I said not yet.” Edmund fixed him with a look that had the young man backing toward the wall. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes, Your Grace.”
Edmund strode from the building, his mind racing.
Blackwood was playing a deeper game than he’d thought.
The Manchester railway route was worth a fortune, and the Dover lands sat directly in the path of the most profitable option.
He could have offered Dover money, enough to keep his ancestral home, but he was bargaining with an innocent woman instead.
Without those rights, investors would have to go around, adding miles and costs.
And Blackwood was using Prudence to get them.
Not for her wit or intelligence. Not for her passion or courage. For land. For money. For a railway that would make him even wealthier.
Edmund’s carriage couldn’t move fast enough. By the time he reached home, his anger had crystallized into something colder, more dangerous. Blackwood thought he could buy Prudence like a parcel of land, and the Dovers were desperate enough to sell her.
Edmund entered through the main hall, and Hobson appeared immediately.
“Your Grace. Lady Prudence is in the library.”
“I know.” Edmund handed over his coat and hat. “Send tea. The Ceylon.”
He paused outside the library doors, forcing his breathing to steady. Through the gap, he could see her curled in the wingchair he’d deliberately positioned for the best light. She was completely absorbed in a book. Her companion dozed in the window seat, needlework forgotten in her lap.
The late afternoon sun caught the gold in Prudence’s hair, turned her skin to cream. Her rosy lips were parted, occasionally making small sounds of agreement or argument with the text.
The air left Edmund’s lungs in a rush.
God, he’d missed her. Three days of fleeing his own library, orchestrating his schedule around hers. Three days of denying the pull he felt knowing she was there, curled in his chair, breathing life into his abandoned books.
His will, so carefully maintained, crumbled entirely.
He knocked softly and entered. Prudence looked up, eyes widening.
“Your Grace.” She started to rise, but he waved her back.
“Please, don’t get up. You looked comfortable.” He moved to the shelves, pretending to search for something while just trying to remember how to breathe normally. “Finding everything you need?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Her voice was carefully polite. “Your collection is extraordinary.”
“It’s improved by being used.” He pulled out a random volume, then realized it was Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women. He hastily reshelved it. “The Wollstonecraft is interesting?”
“Fascinating. Though I disagree with her position on property inheritance.” A spark entered her eyes. “She argues for equal distribution regardless of sex but doesn’t account for the economic disruption of suddenly dismantling primogeniture.”
“You believe in gradual changes.”
“It’s more practical. Revolution sounds romantic, but evolution actually accomplishes change.” She paused, color rising in her cheeks. “I apologize. You didn’t come here for a lecture.”
“Actually, I’d enjoy your thoughts on the subject.” He settled in the chair across from her, maintaining proper distance. “But another time perhaps. I wanted to ask you about Blackwood.”
Her expression shuttered. “What about him?”
“Has he called on you since the ball?”
She hesitated. The question was presumptuous, he knew. He’d made clear they couldn’t be friends, yet here he sat asking about her suitors as if he had any right. She seemed to want to say something, but she swallowed the words. One didn’t bite the hand that offered books.
“No.” She looked down at her book, running her delicate finger over the spine. “I received a note saying he was called away on business. Railway business, I believe, but that he’d call on me upon his return.”
A knot formed in Edmund’s chest. “And if he offers for you?”
She laughed. “Why would he? One dance doesn’t make a courtship. Besides, Mr. Thornbridge has been quite persistent and offering the biggest financial relief.”
“The widower with seven children?”
“Yes.” She sat stoically, but he saw her fingers tighten on the book.
“Prudence—”
“Lady Prudence.” But she said it gently without the earlier sting. “We must maintain proprieties, Your Grace. Even in private. Perhaps especially in private.”
He wanted to argue, wanted to cross the space between them and tell her about Blackwood’s scheme, about young Dover’s visit, about the way his chest ached when he thought of her married to someone else. Instead, he asked, “Are you able to save the house?”
Her composure cracked slightly. “The London house goes to auction next week. Doverheath Hall…” She paused, visibly gathering herself. “The bailiffs come at month’s end unless Father can raise twenty thousand pounds.”
“Twenty thousand?”
“The accumulated mortgage, with interest.” She attempted a smile. “Perhaps I should have chained myself to Parliament’s doors instead.”
“That would have been slightly more illegal than my balcony.”
“Only slightly?” For a moment, her real smile appeared. “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t have me arrested.”
“The documentation would have been tedious.”
“You and your documentation.” She closed the book carefully. “I should go. It’s getting late.”
“Prudence—” He caught himself. “Lady Prudence. If Blackwood offers, if anyone offers, you don’t have to accept. There might be other options.”
“I don’t understand why you believe Lord Blackwood would offer for me.” She stood, waking Mary with a gentle touch. “Mr. Thornbridge is perfectly respectable, and I like children.”
“You deserve more than being someone’s unpaid nursemaid.”
She turned to meet his gaze, her jaw set in a hard line. “I deserve what I can negotiate, nothing more.” She curtsied formally. “Thank you for the use of your library. It’s been… it’s meant everything.”
She moved toward the door, Mary trailing sleepily behind.
“You can come tomorrow,” Edmund said quickly, grasping for anything to keep her coming back. “There are new books arriving. Political theory from France.”
She paused at the doorway, not turning back. “I don’t think so, Your Grace. Not with my impending nuptials to… whoever it may be. I was going to leave you a note but…” She turned slightly toward him and curtseyed again before leaving in a hurry.
After she left, Edmund stood in the space she’d vacated, attempting to sort through the tangle of attraction, irritation, and something dangerously close to protectiveness that she’d stirred up.
She was a Dover and a political radical.
He had no business wanting to see her again.
But he knew one thing for certain. He couldn’t let Blackwood have her, couldn’t let Thornbridge have her.
He couldn’t let anyone have her who didn’t see her value beyond railway rights or nursemaid duties.
But what was the alternative? Offer for her himself?
The thought should have been absurd. A Dover and a Cartwright? His family would riot. Hers would assume coercion or temporary madness. Their financial precariousness was partly the result of his ancestors’ doing, after all. Society would feast on the scandal for years.
And yet…
Edmund moved to the window, watching her carriage disappear down the street. The auction was next week. Doverheath Hall at month’s end. Twenty thousand pounds to save her family’s ancestral home.
He had twenty thousand pounds. He could give ten times that amount.
But giving it would mean acknowledging what he’d been fighting since the moment he’d found her chained to his balcony—that Lady Prudence Jewell had become essential to him. That her mind, her courage, her absolutely impossible nature had somehow become necessary to his happiness.
That he was falling in love with his family’s enemy. No. He’d already fallen in love with her.
Edmund turned from the window and called for his secretary.
He had a week to find a solution that didn’t end with Prudence chained to another man’s life.