Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The club was quieter than usual, the afternoon crowd thin enough to allow privacy. George preferred it this way. There were too many matters pressing at once to be observed while addressing them.
His friend Brandon, the Marquess of Willoughby, son of the Duke of Wetherton, was already there, seated near the window with a glass in hand. He looked up as George approached and smiled faintly.
“So,” Brandon said, lifting his glass. “You survived the reading of the banns.”
George took the seat opposite him, feeling the stress of the day dissipate.
“Yes, but only just.”
“Surely it was not that bad?”
“The ceremony itself was perfectly fine. It was the people there.”
Brandon gave a low chuckle. Unlike George, he never had an issue with appearing at ease. He had a personality that people were drawn to, and George was quite convinced that it was not an act.
“At least it is done, now. I heard the banns were read without interruption, which is no small feat in and of itself.”
“They were. I half expected my grandmother to say something, but she did not.”
“And your intended did not object either?”
George reached for the decanter and poured himself a measure. Brandon studied him over the rim of his glass, clearly pleased with the question he had asked.
“No, she did not.”
“That surprises me.”
“It surprised me as well.”
They drank in silence for a moment.
“And at least she did not faint,” Brandon added. “That would have caused comment.”
George shot him a look, but his friend did not take it as a warning. If anything, he saw it as something to smile at.
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“I am enjoying that it is not my life,” Brandon replied easily. “I can simply watch on and see what you do with your predicament. Have you accepted it all yet?”
“That would imply that I had a choice. I did the only thing that I could do.”
“That is not true. You could have chosen to let her fend for herself, and yet you chose to marry her.”
“I chose necessity.”
“Which is more than most men manage.”
George leaned back slightly. He knew that if he picked up his glass, he would drink it in one and pour another, and he could not afford to indulge with all of the secrets that he was keeping.
“The wedding will take place within the month.”
“I did not realize it would be that soon.”
“It has to be. It gives less time for rumor to spread.”
“And I suppose it helps with the matter of the debt.”
“Yes.”
He was the only other person to know about the debt. George did not trust anyone else with something so terrible, and even then he had only told his friend because he thought he would be driven to madness if he had to keep it to himself any longer.
“But I thought that you only needed two more months?”
“I did, but he has insisted that I only have one.”
Brandon exhaled slowly, but there was no pity in his eyes. George was grateful for that, for it was the worst thing that he could receive from a person.
“You only have four weeks, then.”
“Three. I learned of it last week, after I dared to beat him in a game of faro.”
“And the amount remains unchanged?”
“Indeed it does.”
They drank again.
“You could resolve it,” Brandon said cautiously.
“Do not say what I think you are about to.”
“But it is true. You are about to acquire a dowry of considerable size, and I have no doubt that it would be sufficient.”
George’s expression hardened.
“That will not be touched. That is not what a dowry is used for.”
“I am not suggesting you spend it, only that it might be used temporarily, while you–”
“No.”
The answer was immediate. Brandon studied him more carefully. George had considered it, but only for a matter of seconds when he had read the scandal sheet. He knew that he would not touch her money, for it was hers.
The truth was that it would have been most convenient, but it would have proven that George was a weak man, the very thing that he swore he would never become.
He knew too many weak men; Lashton, his father, and he could not do it.
If he were like them, he would be unable to look in the mirror at himself.
It was strange, for though he hated his uncle, he at least had to admire him. His uncle went after what he wanted, and did not rest until it was his. George would do the same, though he would never do such awful things in order to get it.
He would be a powerful man, yes, but a good one too.
“You are serious.”
“I am.”
“You would rather face ruin than accept your wife’s money?”
“I would rather face ruin than begin my marriage by stripping her of what little agency she possesses.”
Brandon was silent for a long moment.
“That is most principled of you,” he said at last. “I have come to expect that of you, of course, but it is still… she would never have to know.”
“She has already lost enough through association with me. I will not make her a remedy for my father’s mistakes.”
“Then how do you intend to pay it?”
“I am arranging a sale.”
“Of what?”
George did not answer at once. Brandon’s eyes narrowed, and George knew that his friend had already deduced what he meant.
“You are selling land.”
“A portion, yes.”
“That land has been in your family for generations.”
“So has the debt. If losing one means losing the other, then so be it. Everything can start anew.”
“And what does your bride think of this?”
George paused.
“She does not know. Not yet, at least, but she will be informed.”
“You sound almost apologetic about that. Are you forgetting that you are in charge of what you do and who you tell these things?”
“Do not mistake consideration for softness.”
“I would not dare. I know you better than that, but at least tell me this. Do you dislike her?”
George thought of Lady Cassandra, and how he had thought her infuriating. She was precocious, and she seemed like the sort of person to act without first thinking, but she also had moments where she was still and quiet, and he wanted to know just who she truly was when nobody was looking.
He would have time to do that when she was his wife, at least. He had heard whisperings that people inevitably changed when they married, and he wondered whether or not that would be for the best when it came to her.
Would she adapt to her new role, or would she resent him more and more, until she became completely mad?
“No,” he said finally. “I do not dislike her.”
“That is worse,” Brandon said with a grin.
“I am aware. Believe me, I did not intend to find a wife that I liked, and given my disposition I have always thought that it was an impossibility.”
“Then you are a fool, for I have always known that a lady would be pleasing enough for you eventually.”
George worried, when he returned home, about how his family would feel about the sudden news of the party, but it was better than he expected.
“Do you think Lady Harcourt will attend?” Philippa asked, leaning over the back of his chair as he took his evening drink. “She has never visited the estate before.”
“If she does not,” the Dowager Duchess said sharply, “it will be a blessing. I cannot stand her.”
Philippa ignored her, instead looking at George expectantly.
“It will be my second official event,” she continued, beaming. “And the first hosted here. Everything must be perfect.”
George did not look up, instead reading his paper for any news of himself and Lady Cassandra.
“That is the intention.”
“I shall need at least three new gowns,” Philippa said. “Perhaps four. I shall at least require something formal for the opening evening.”
“You will not outshine the occasion,” the Dowager Duchess snapped. “This is an engagement celebration.”
Philippa bristled. George, meanwhile, was simply pleased that she was acknowledging it.
“I am not intending to outshine anyone,” she said quietly.
“Then you should dress accordingly.”
“That will be enough,” George said firmly. “You know as well as I do that that is not her intention.”
“You should not indulge this.”
“I am not.”
“You are indulging the entire affair!” she replied. “Ten days is excessive. People will talk.”
“That is precisely why it is ten days. I want talk to be of how happy Lady Cassandra and I are.”
“They will talk regardless,” she insisted. “And they will talk about her.”
“They will talk under my roof,” George said calmly. “Which allows me to control the narrative. You should be pleased that I thought of this.”
“Your sister is far too pleased by it.”
“I am indeed,” Philippa said unabashedly. “It is our home. People will finally see it as alive again.”
George glanced at his sister then, noting the brightness in her expression. She had been good with everything that had happened, even though it jeopardized her own prospects, and he wanted to show his appreciation for that.
“You may act as hostess, if you please.”
Her eyes widened.
“Truly? Do you think that I am ready for that?”
“Yes. It is time that you practiced all of those skills you learned in finishing school.”
Philippa threw her arms around him, thanking him profusely. The Dowager Duchess made a sound of deep displeasure, one that they both ignored.
“This is a mistake,” she muttered quietly enough that Philippa would not hear.
“Hosting is expected,” George replied. “And Philippa must learn.”
“At the expense of propriety.”
“On the contrary, she is the most proper of the three of us,” he corrected, before turning to their housekeeper. “Ensure the east wing is prepared. We will require additional staff, and the library and music room must be opened.”
“The music room?” Philippa asked eagerly. “Do you think she will play?”
“If she wishes. If not, there will be other young ladies that will be willing to play for us.”
The Dowager Duchess folded her arms. He knew that there would be no pleasing her, and so he did not take her demeanor personally. It was how he had had to be for years, for she never seemed satisfied with anything.
“You are assuming a great deal of compliance from a young woman who has demonstrated very little.”