Chapter 6 #2
“Wealtha ought to go to Mayfair,” Richard said slowly. “She cannot, I know, though now would be the right time of year. With her aunt ill and me new to the Glen, Wealtha would be loath to travel south.”
“Wealtha must not go to London,” Miss Fielding replied. “Not to satisfy her curiosity or to cure her of envy, not to find her a match. She would fare poorly, I assure you, and her failure in Mayfair would bother her far more than my few weeks tromping around the ballrooms does.”
“Many young women don’t make their come out by eighteen, Miss Fielding. Very few, in fact, marry before they attain their majority. I have those facts from no less authority than the Duchess of Chanderton.” A lovely lady many years her husband’s junior.
The birds had gone quiet, suggesting a cat stalking the bridle path.
“You would be well advised not to mention Her Grace to Wealtha. If you must know, Wealtha hopes you will increase her dowry.”
A logical aspiration for a young lady immured in the shires. That she’d fixed on this ambition before Richard had even bowed over her hand was also vaguely disappointing.
“A sensible request,” he said. “What would you advise?”
Miss Fielding shaded her eyes—she wasn’t wearing a bonnet—and gazed through the trees at the stone wall bordering the nearest pasture.
“Are you asking me to name a sum?”
“If you are so inclined. I have had little experience with dowering anybody. I have adequate means, and I’m sure the Glen includes many unentailed tenancies. What generally has been set aside for Wealtha?”
Miss Fielding, with disclaimers about not having seen the actual documents, prosed on about a small competence from the late Mrs. Blackstock—the second, late Mrs. Blackstock—some good-quality jewels, a settlement from Papa Blackstock, plus a small sum from Papa Joseph.
“The funds are in the cent-per-cents, though Wealtha insists that’s the most foolish place to put money.” Miss Fielding was moving a little more slowly now. “In this one case, I have to agree with the solicitors. My own modest funds have been tucked into the cent-per-cents for years.”
Richard did likewise with a portion of his investments. Slow, steady, reliable revenue to be had there.
“Increasing Wealtha’s dowry,” Miss Fielding went on, “will allow her a wider pool of potential husbands. I do endorse giving young ladies as many good options as possible, matrimonially and otherwise, but fooling about on ’Change would be little better than gambling for such as us.”
“I will have a word with the solicitors, and with Mrs. Fielding, but you have yet to give me your opinion, and I know you have one. I like that about you. You know your mind and know where you stand.”
She ceased inspecting the stone wall. “Did you just call me opinionated?”
“No. I called you likable, and you tried to dodge the compliment.”
Good heavens above. Miss Amabel Fielding had a shy smile that eclipsed the allure of any artifice her step-cousin could produce.
“My lord, I am not likable.”
“Are too. So am I, on my good days. You are supposed to allow as much.” She was also competent, intelligent, loyal to family, and stubborn. All commendable qualities.
“I might, sir, grudgingly allow that you are not without certain positive attributes.”
Her eyes danced, and Richard didn’t bother hiding his smile. They walked on in companionable silence until they reached the stable yard.
“You mustn’t be too hard on Wealtha,” Miss Fielding said. “She is na?ve and more easily hurt than you’d think. If it’s any consolation, recall that she is not, in truth, related to you.”
Did Miss Fielding console herself with the same lack of a blood tie where Wealtha was concerned?
“I intend to be the best possible brother to her, but I am unsure what that entails. The situation wants time and patience, and I can muster the patience if I must.”
“Please do. We cannot always be at our best, and a little tolerance now will pay dividends for years, I’m sure. I will attend some weeding now, if you don’t mind.”
Richard was tempted to impose his company on her but resisted. She’d allow it, to be polite, but after the day he’d subjected her to, she probably needed the solitude of the garden, and he understood that.
“Thank you for welcoming me to the Glen, Miss Fielding, and for all your many kindnesses today. Shall we say an hour after sunrise tomorrow?”
“We shall. Good evening, my lord.”
She did not curtsey. He did not bow. They had family in common and were practical people. As Richard paid another call on his new steeds, he admitted that with Wealtha he was committed to playing the fraternal role because honor demanded as much.
Needs must.
He was also no blood relation to Miss Fielding whatsoever. On the whole, this was good news. He did not examine too closely why that should be, but that shy, unexpected smile of hers had something to do with his reasoning.
“Did you ask him?” Wealtha rose from the sofa, a worn gray horsehair article better suited to the attics than Mabel’s sitting room.
“Tell me you did and tell me Richard said yes. Better still, tell me he said yes and admitted he’d been wondering how to bring up the delicate topic of my settlements. ”
The day had been long and, in some regards, trying. Mabel had weeded until the light had faded from the sky, though her patience was still at low ebb.
“Wealtha, we agreed that our apartments are private. You have no business intruding here, and your question is far from urgent or becoming. Swidhelm has assured you he means to take his role as your brother seriously, and he strikes me as a man of his word.”
An observant, intelligent man of his word, one surprisingly comfortable with his own past.
“A serious brother might still be a terrible miser, Mabel, and the matter of my settlements is urgent to me. If Papa Blackstock had been more generous, I would be married by now.”
Papa Blackstock had made reasonable provisions for his only daughter. “You don’t know that. Bachelors generally consider factors other than a lady’s settlements when choosing for whom to offer.” Some bachelors—the kind of bachelors interested in being worthy husbands.
Wealtha was wearing a sky-blue dressing gown, and her long hair trailed down her back in golden plaits. Her slippers were gold, and the nightgown peeking from beneath the dressing gown frothed with cream lace about the throat and wrists. Even in dishabille, she was careful of her appearance.
She began to pace, her hems showing yet more lace with each step. “That was unkind, Mabel Fielding. Shame on you. I have been courted by three different men, all of them estimable. The problem is my settlements, and you know it.”
The problem was not her settlements.
“You met Swidhelm a few hours ago, Wealtha. What would he think of us if a quarter hour after rising from his first supper at the Glen, I informed him that he must increase your settlements?”
Wealtha stopped before the empty hearth and crossed her arms. “He’d think you were forthright and a loyal cousin. You generally are forthright, and you can be a loyal cousin when you wish to be.”