Chapter 8 #6
“Which is a title.” Gil set the page down. “The baron didn’t specify that you’re to be holding the title? He’ll settle for the courtesy title?”
“I honestly don’t think the man smart enough to consider the difference.
His darling Genie will be called Lady regardless, and she’ll be able to swan around Balfour House when Her Majesty and His Highness are in residence across the glen.
Then too, Asher might reappear, and I don’t want him obligated to marry the woman. ”
“Asher’s dead, Ian, and even if he weren’t, having to wed into the Daniels family would be no less than he deserves for leaving us to wonder all these years.”
Gil moved off to stand by the windows, his back to Ian.
“You’d do that to Genie?” Ian asked, rising and going to stand beside his brother. “Bad enough she’ll have to marry me, whom she can at least look over and start to fashion into some semblance of a husband she can tolerate. To betroth her to a ghost or a stranger hardly seems like a kindness.”
Gil eyed Ian up and down, his expression unreadable. “I’ve told her you’ll be kind to her.”
“Of course, I’ll be… When did you have occasion to tell her this?”
“She’s not sanguine at the prospect of wedding you.”
Understatement, particularly from Gil, who was blunt even for a Scotsman—also a dodge where an answer to Ian’s question ought to have been.
“I understand this, Gilgallon, for she’s made no effort to hide her hesitance from me.
Nonetheless, she and I have agreed to try, to attempt to become better acquainted, and to establish some mutually agreeable means of going on.
If you have a better plan, even if you have a worse plan, I’m happy to hear it. ”
“I have no plans at all.”
He who had little independent wealth, had no plans to wed in the near future.
Con was in the same boat, Mary Fran as well.
Fiona had their only prayer of amassing some coin, because her entire family would see to it, and they had ten years to work on the problem before Ian would consider allowing the girl to wed.
Ian regarded his younger brother. “Bachelors all over Scotland with no plans are raising up their bairns as we speak, Brother.”
“I’ve no damned bairns, and you know it.”
“You’re Fee’s favorite uncle, Gil. That’s a high honor in itself.” And Gil unabashedly enjoyed children.
Just as Augusta enjoyed children, for Christ’s sake. Ian shoved that thought off a mental cliff, one with a fine view of pleasure, folly, and heartbreak.
Gil’s face creased into a reluctant smile at the mention of his ranking among the uncles. “Show me these blighted settlements. I can’t promise I’ll get them all read tonight, but I’ll make a start.”
Ian ambled back to the desk and sorted papers. “These are the financial conditions. These are the special terms. I’ve kept it as simple as I could, but it’s binding as hell, and the details can’t be ignored.”
Gil followed Ian to the desk and picked up the discarded spectacles. “Are you going to require the younger sister to marry you on the same terms if Genie is unwilling or unable to complete the ceremony?”
“Bloody damn…” Gil’s tone had been casual, but he’d spotted a glaring oversight in Ian’s draftsmanship.
“This grows worse and worse. Hester’s a lovely girl, but she’s barely half my age.
She’s a damned child, Gilgallon. I’ve no interest in waiting for my bride to grow up before we can get the consummation of the vows over with—and that’s assuming I can even manage such a thing. ”
Gil took Ian’s chair and put Ian’s glasses on his own nose, giving him an uncharacteristic scholarly air. “You don’t have to do this, Ian. We’re not starving.”
“We’re living a precarious farce, Gil. You know it and so do I.
The only thing we have to barter for a substantial dose of cash is the title.
Even after I’m officially installed as earl, there’s no guarantee the solicitors will turn loose of the earldom’s trusts, assuming anything remains there in any case. ”
Gil crossed booted feet on the corner of the desk. “The reports say the trusts are healthy.”
“Those reports are written by lawyers. They can say any damned thing they please without actually lying.” And Ian was damned if he’d try to wheedle one bloody groat from their aging cousin, the Baron Fenmore, who’d somehow gotten himself appointed overseer of the trusts in Asher’s absence.
“Go to bed, Ian. Dawn comes early enough. Don’t obligate yourself to marry Hester. Let Altsax be the one to think of that contingency. He wants your title for a trophy so badly he’d probably marry you himself.”
“Which would be enough to give a brave man nightmares.” More nightmares.
Gil pulled the candles closer, and Ian left his brother to the inanities of legal construction. Being able to function as a lawyer didn’t mean a man took any joy from the task.
“Excuse me, my lord.”
Genie Daniels sat on the top step before the first landing, tucking her dressing gown over her toes. She looked like a schoolgirl caught spying on her elders the night of the ball.
“Genie. You couldn’t sleep?”
“I did sleep, but I couldn’t remain asleep.” Her gaze went everywhere—above Ian’s head, to the foot of the stairs, over Ian’s shoulder—never to his eyes.
Ian lowered himself beside her, experiencing a reluctant stab of fellow feeling for the other person being dragooned with him to the altar. “A wee dram of the uisqe beatha might help with that.”
“I couldn’t.” She was hiding a smile, a small, dim smile.
He felt like he was sixteen and standing up at his first assembly, all awkwardness and uncomfortable silences between frequent trips to the men’s punch bowl.
Maybe she felt that way too?
“How’s your ankle?”
“Much better, thank you.”
“And your head?” Today’s ailment had been a megrim.
“Much… fine, thank you.”
Another silence, laden, struggling. Hopeless.
Ian blew out a sigh and gave up on polite conversation.
“Genie, lass, would you prefer it if I gave you all the flowery words and declarations we both know to be false? I can muster a good show if that will make you less… uncomfortable. I was young once. I remember…”
He was still young, dammit.
“Please, my lord, let’s not make this any more false than it already is.” Her hands clenched around fistfuls of robe, but she said nothing else.
How could something be made more false?
“Will you ride out with me after luncheon tomorrow?” It was all he could think of to offer her. On horseback, she would be assured he’d keep his hands to himself—the idea of taking liberties with her being absurd in any case—and the grooms would stay in close attendance.
“I’ll see if my aunt can accompany us.” She laid her cheek on her knees in a posture reminiscent of the way Augusta had sat on the blanket that morning, nothing merry about it.
Augusta…
Ian got to his feet and extended a hand down to her.
“A general outing, then. We’ll muster the household and hope the rain moves off.
May I escort you up to your room?” Where, if he had any sense, he’d steal a little kiss, presume to touch her hair, or at least take her gently in his arms. At some point they had to become accustomed to touching each other beyond the civilities.
The very idea made him queasy.
“No, thank you, my lord.”
She sat right where she was, and Ian was so relieved not to be tried any further, he bid her good night and took himself off to bed.
It wasn’t until he was tossing himself from one side to the other for the twentieth time that it occurred to him to wonder: For whom did Genie wait on the stairs all alone at midnight?