Chapter 6 Anyone But a Cartwright
Anyone But a Cartwright
Edmund stood in what remained of Lord Dover’s study. Pale rectangles marked where paintings once hung; the Persian rug was gone, leaving scarred floors. Everything valuable had been stripped and sold.
Dover sat behind a battered desk, already flushed with drink though it was barely afternoon. He hadn’t offered Edmund a seat, only a glare that could have curdled milk.
“You want to marry Prudence,” Dover said disbelievingly, as if Edmund had offered to take her as his mistress.
“I’m requesting the honor of your daughter’s hand, yes.”
“The honor.” Dover laughed, an ugly sound that echoed in the empty room. “That’s rich, coming from a Cartwright.”
Edmund kept his expression neutral. “I understand our families have history—”
“History?” Dover lurched to his feet, swaying slightly. “Your grandfather destroyed my grandfather’s shipping venture. Your father seduced my aunt and ruined her reputation. You personally just voted to destroy the Corn Laws, knowing it would ruin families like mine.”
“The vote was based on economic principles—”
“Stop!” Dover slammed his hand on the desk. “Don’t stand there with your untouched fortune and talk to me about principles. You’ve never watched your heritage get sold piece by piece to vultures.”
Edmund remained silent. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t sound patronizing.
“And now,” Dover continued, his voice rising, “now you want my daughter? What is this, some sick game? Haven’t you humiliated us enough?”
“This isn’t about humiliation. I have genuine regard for Lady Prudence.”
“Regard.” Dover spat the word. “Is that what you call it when you let her into your library? Yes, I know about that. Servants talk. My daughter, sneaking into enemy territory to read books. Do you have any idea how that feels or what that might do to her reputation?”
“Lord Dover—”
“She can marry Blackwood.” Dover dropped back into his chair. “A marquess. Wealthy, connected, willing to help our family recover. Or Thornbridge. He’s offered a generous settlement and wouldn’t be cruel to her. Why in God’s name would I give her to you?”
“Because I—” Edmund stopped. Because I love her? Dover would laugh him out of the room. Because she deserves better? “Because I would ensure your family’s security.”
“Blackwood’s already promised that.”
“In exchange for railway rights through your entailed lands.”
Dover’s eyes sharpened. “How did you—never mind. At least he’s honest about it being business.”
“And I’m not?”
Dover leaned forward, his bloodshot eyes studying Edmund intently. “Tell me, Your Grace. Why do you really want her? Is it guilt over our situation? Some twisted desire to own a Dover? Or did she do something foolish like throw herself at you?”
Edmund clasped his hands harder behind his back. “Lady Prudence has conducted herself with perfect propriety.”
“Has she?” Dover’s smile was unpleasant. “My spinster daughter who reads too much and talks too much and can’t keep a thought in her head? You expect me to believe she didn’t embarrass herself trying to save us?”
“Your daughter is brilliant.” The words came out harder than intended. “She’s well read, articulate, and courageous enough to fight for her family when—”
He caught himself, but too late.
“Fight how?” Dover stood again, slowly this time. “Courageous enough to do what, exactly?”
Edmund said nothing.
“Christ.” Dover laughed bitterly. “She did do something. What was it? Cornered you at a ball? Wrote begging letters? Or something worse?” His face darkened. “Did she compromise herself? Is that what this is? Some belated attempt at honor?”
“Nothing inappropriate occurred.”
“But something occurred.” Dover studied him with the shrewdness that drink hadn’t quite destroyed. “Something that has the high-and-mighty Duke of St. Albans standing in my study, offering for my ruined daughter.”
“Your daughter is not ruined.”
“She’s five and twenty, unmarried, and from a family circling bankruptcy. What would you call it?” Dover moved to the window, staring out at the neglected grounds beyond.
“I could help prevent that.”
Dover turned back. “What are you offering, exactly? Beyond the honor of marrying her?”
“Thirty thousand pounds,” Edmund said quietly.
Dover’s eyes widened. “That’s… that would clear the mortgages…. save Doverheath Hall.”
“Plus, an annual income sufficient to maintain the estates.”
“In exchange for Prudence.”
“The money is unconditional.” Edmund met his gaze steadily. “Your daughter’s hand is a separate matter.”
Dover stared at him. “You’d pay our debts regardless?”
“If it secures Lady Prudence’s happiness, yes.”
“Her happiness.” Dover laughed again, but it sounded different. Confused. Almost wondering. “Since when does a Cartwright care about a Dover’s happiness?”
“Since she’s shown more fight than you’ve shown in years.” Edmund moved closer to the desk. “She deserves someone who sees her value beyond desperation or convenience.”
“And you do?”
“Yes.”
Dover was quiet for a long moment. Then: “No.”
Edmund blinked. “No?”
“No.” Dover stood, steadier now. “I won’t give my daughter to a Cartwright. Not for all the money in England. Your family has taken enough from mine.”
“Lord Dover—”
“With all due respect, Your Grace, get out.” Dover’s voice was quiet but firm. “Take your money, your regard, and your belated conscience, and get out of my house.”
“You’d rather see her married to opportunists?”
“I’d rather see her married to anyone but a Cartwright.” Dover moved to the door, opening it. “The footman will see you out. Don’t come back.”
Edmund stood his ground. “This is a mistake.”
“The only mistake was accepting your call.” Dover’s face was stone. “Blackwood will return tomorrow. I shall sign the contract then.”
“Does Prudence know?”
“She’ll know soon enough.” Dover’s smile was bitter. “And I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing a Cartwright wanted what he couldn’t have.”
“This isn’t about our families!”
“Everything between us is about our families. Always has been, always will be.” Dover gestured to the footman hovering in the hall. “Show His Grace out. He’s not welcome here.”
Edmund left, his mind racing. Dover would sentence his daughter to a loveless marriage out of spite as much as desperation. And Prudence…
Prudence would be told she was marrying a stranger for railway rights, and she’d do it because she’d do anything to save her family.
Unless Edmund stopped it.
He climbed into his carriage, a plan forming in his head. It wasn’t the most original, but it would have to do at such a short notice. A thin layer of darkness was upon him already, and he had their future to fight for.