Chapter Four #2
However, the thought of someone disparaging his late father irked.
“I’m sure you know that my late grandfather, my mother’s father, was the fourth Duke of Denby.
My uncle, who frequents your establishment, has recently come into the title.
” The temptation to assure her his uncle would fund his expenses arose, to be quashed by the suspicion that as she already knew his uncle, she would know it for a hopeful lie.
The last thing Uncle Jasper would do was put his hand in his pocket for the man he considered the black sheep of the family.
Better hint at his father’s origins. “My cousin on my father’s side is Viscount Ormonde.” There was, after all, the vague chance that Cousin Kit and his infant son might die, an event which would provide Fitz, as his nearest male relative, with the title and estates.
She inclined her elegant head. “Not a gentleman who has graced the doors of my establishment, although, as you know, I cannot say the same for your uncle. In fact,” her eyes twinkled for a moment, visible even behind that veil, “when in town he is more often here than not.”
Of course he was. Uncle Jasper had never been able to control his impulses and as one of them was for gambling and the other for women, what better place was there to come than here?
He might have a brood of seven children at home, but that did not prevent him, or rather it most likely encouraged him, to seek his pleasures elsewhere than in his own bedroom.
“I daresay,” Fitz said, in an effort to keep his comment noncommittal.
“As you are still a young man by many standards,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, her voice smooth. “I find it in me to wonder why it is you are not yet married when your sister already has a daughter of marriageable age.”
Good God. This woman knew everything. Or did perhaps Marianne’s apparently saintly and puritanical husband, Lord William Fortescue, frequent the Lyon’s Den?
That would be a turn up for the books. Wouldn’t he like to be able to throw that at his often-disapproving sister’s feet. Might make her sit up and stare.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon gave a discreet cough.
“I’m not yet married,” Fitz said, winging it somewhat, “because as a lowly captain firstly in the hussars and more recently in the Cornwall Militia, I can’t afford it.
” He narrowed his eyes at her, assessing whether to tell her the truth or not.
Yes. The truth might be best. “And in order to maintain my lifestyle, or rather, the lifestyle to which I would like to be accustomed, I need to find myself a rich heiress. They’re surprisingly hard to find when everyone knows you’re the poor relation, even if it is of a ducal family.
The mamas of suitable young ladies keep them close and don’t let them near the likes of me.
” He gave a shrug. “Their dance cards are often unaccountably full when I ask them for a dance.”
A chuckle escaped the veil. “You are refreshingly honest, Captain Carlyon. Now, tell me. If the right young lady were to come your way, would you be prepared to enter into matrimony forthwith?”
His brows shot up. “By the right young lady, do I take it you mean one with the blunt I require?” She’d shocked him into honesty, but that wasn’t a bad thing. No use hiding anything from a woman like this one.
She nodded. “No need to be quite so refreshingly honest. But yes, I’m talking about a considerable heiress much in need of a knight in shining armor.”
Fitz’s turn to chuckle. “No one’s ever called me that before. I’m not sure any young lady you present me to is going to think that.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon gave a little sigh. “You underestimate your attractions, Captain. As I already said, you are still young, which is very much in your favor. And you are also handsome in a rather rakish manner. Young ladies, you must know, are most susceptible to rakes.”
Didn’t he know it. “But not their mamas.” At least, not in public. He’d had a number of enjoyable liaisons with pushy mamas. So much more experienced than their milk-sop daughters.
“What if the young lady I am referring to should prove to have no mama to turn her nose up at you? And no papa, either. Which, you will understand, is what makes her such a desirable catch. And she is of age, so in possession of her own fortune. Her own sizeable fortune.”
Fitz frowned, thinking back over the various young heiresses he’d tried to forge acquaintance with at the few balls he’d been to since he’d been in town.
As far as he could make out, all of them were in possession of both parents.
“You’re gulling me. Such an heiress doesn’t exist.” If she had done, he’d have sniffed her out, and so would a lot of other young men in need of a rich wife.
She shook her head. “On the contrary, I have a particular young lady in mind whose parents are both deceased and who has recently reached her majority, so has full control of her fortune.” She paused.
“There are, however, two slight drawbacks to her candidacy. I don’t know if you would be willing to overlook them or not.
She was most insistent that they should be revealed to any young man I approached. ”
Drawbacks in an heiress? What could they be?
The most likely one was that she looked like a horse, and not the flashy kind he liked but more the sort that pulled a dray through the streets of London, or that she had some physical impediment that rendered her unattractive to suitors.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers, as his old nurse had said at least twice a day throughout his childhood. And he wasn’t an idiot.
“I’m quite prepared to overlook some failings in a wife if she’s as rich as you say.
” This could be the answer to his problems. He could sell his commission and spend his time living the high life in London.
Just because he was marrying the girl, it wouldn’t mean he’d have to spend too much time with her.
“You’d better outline her drawbacks for me, though. Just in case.” Best to hedge his bets.
“Her father was a cit. An extremely capable and rich cit, but a cit nevertheless. That is the origin of her fortune.”
“Is that all? I don’t see that as a drawback.
” Easy for him to say, but his mother would be horrified.
The daughter of a tradesman. He could hear her protests already.
He would have to make sure she didn’t find out until after the fact.
Perhaps never tell her, although with her skills as a bloodhound she was sure to sniff out the truth before long.
“Good,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “The other drawback is one not quite so easily overlooked.”
Here it came. She was ugly as sin. He knew it. Well, women were all the same in the dark.
“The lady in question finds herself in a delicate condition. She was to marry a young man who drowned before their wedding. They had somewhat anticipated the wedding night, and she is at present searching for a gentleman to give a name and respectability to her child.”
That was not what he’d been expecting. He swallowed.
“But is she at least pretty?” An awareness of how shallow that sounded washed over him and heat crept to his cheeks.
How mercenary he must be sounding. Well, he was mercenary and if he was going to have to give a name to another man’s child, he’d like the mother to at least not be ugly.
Although as she was rich, he doubted he’d turn her down if she looked like the backside of the elephant at the Exeter ’Change.
A chuckle. “You need not worry. She is a young lady of pleasant countenance and figure.”
Fitz’s mind was in an unusual whirl. The drink, which he’d thought he’d overcome, resurfaced and for a moment the room itself joined in the whirling.
The girl was with child by her dead lover?
Mrs. Dove-Lyon wanted him to take her on in this condition and pretend the child was his when it came along?
Good heavens. Yes, good heavens above, and some more unsuitable expletives he’d better not repeat in front of his hostess.
“Er, how far along is the young lady?”
“Two months only. If your answer is in the affirmative, I have a licence ready for a wedding on the day after tomorrow. Speed in this matter is essential.”
Fitz sucked in his lips. “How rich is she?”
“Like Croesus. Her grandfather began the family firm. Her father continued it and made wise investments along the way. There is a mansion in Bedford Square and an estate in Warwickshire as well as vast arrays of businesses. She has enough money to finance your lifestyle until you are old and gray without making inroads upon the capital.”
A girl that rich was his dream. A girl without a family would be easy to influence.
A girl with a little bastard in her belly…
well, he could put further children in there and they would be his own.
They would have more than enough to provide for her by-blow if she was as rich as Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.
He wouldn’t be the first man knowingly bringing up someone else’s child.
He nodded. He didn’t really have any choice. It was marry her and get rich quick or give up and get sent to the debtors’ prison. Easy. He sat up a bit straighter. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll marry the girl and give her brat a name.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon smiled. “Then perhaps you would like to go home and sober up so you can prepare for your wedding. I took the liberty of acquiring a Common Licence for you and the young lady to be married at St James’s Church off Piccadilly.
If you would like to know your betrothed’s name… it is Miss Georgiana Frampton.”