Chapter 2
Two
Cornelius watched the sway of his wife’s voluptuous backside as she left the library.
He would find a way to win her heart. She loved him already; he knew this with certainty.
She told him without words every time they shared a bed.
But he’d misjudged how much influence Lady Jennings had had on her daughter those last five years.
If her mother hadn’t poisoned Dinah’s mind after the death of her father, Dinah would have been able to open her heart again.
Cornelius had convinced himself that as soon as they were installed in their own house, the Dinah he knew and loved would return.
She was still inside that beautiful facade, but the surface had been tougher than Neel had realized.
Unable to break open the shell he’d been chiseling away at for the past year.
I’m a patient man, he thought as his wife disappeared around the corner.
A child would speed up the process. Their child.
Perhaps he should be more productive in that area, but he hadn’t wanted to frighten her.
If Dinah felt pushed or cornered, she would dig in her heels.
She could be more stubborn than a mule being pushed toward a cliff.
He had time. They were married until death parted them. She was worth the wait.
Boodle’s in London
“Your wife seemed a bit annoyed at my appearance this afternoon,” said Lord Burstone as the waiter poured out the brandy and then left the bottle. “I don’t think she likes me.”
“Dinah doesn’t dislike you. She’s more concerned about my sister. They’ve been the best of friends since my father bought the estate next to hers.” Cornelius sipped the French brandy and tipped back his head, eyes closed, as the slow burn began down his throat.
“Demmed good stuff,” said Burstone.
“Mm-hmm,” agreed Cornelius, his eyes still closed.
His mind was wandering back to the previous evening.
Dinah in a sheer rose night rail, her dark hair spilling around her shoulders, her lips plump from his kisses.
He loved how those violet-blue eyes glazed over when he touched her sensitive places, how her breathing hitched. Every. Single. Time.
“Has she mentioned any interest in marrying again?” asked the marquess, one boot propped on his knee, the other foot tapping against the thick Turkish carpet.
“I’d kill her first.” Cornelius opened his eyes at the sound of his companion spitting out the fine brandy. He leaned forward, patting his friend’s back and laughing. “Sorry, Freddie. My mind was on someone else.”
“The wife you are attempting to seduce?” he asked, taking out his handkerchief and wiping his chin and dabbing at his cravat.
“Not attempting, you blunderbuss, I am succeeding,” Neel countered. “She’s coming around.”
“If anyone can cut through ice, it’s you. That silver tongue of yours kept us quite popular at university.” Burrstone poured himself more brandy. “I admit I’m trying to see the young girl you describe. The beauty is easy to see, the rest is… more challenging,” he ended tactfully.
Neel snorted. “You will.”
“Have you told her about the windfall yet?”
“No. I’m not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a pompous arse.”
“How about, ‘Oh by the way, dear, remember the dowry your brother gave me at the wedding? I’ve doubled it and invested the original amount under your name.’ She should be impressed.”
“Her reason for marrying me was ‘to save me’ from whomever my father would choose.”
Burstone barked a laugh. “I remember seeing him speaking with Lord Galvers—”
“You ran back to tell me faster than a hound on a fox.” Neel shivered dramatically. “His daughter is a kind lady but…”
“Has the face of a horse and the body of a sow. So, I suppose she did save you from certain peril.” Burstone held up his glass. “To fine women with a face to match.”
“I’ll drink to that. I’m still irritated with my brother for cowing to the old man.” Neel threw back the rest of the brandy and gave a satisfied sigh. “He married a deuced shrew.”
“However, now that your brother is marquess, he’s also made good with the marriage settlement. Your family’s coffers are filling again. It was sheer luck you were the third son.”
Cornelius agreed. Just before their father had lost a fortune, his other brother had joined the army and was happily enjoying his bachelorhood, stationed at Fort William in Calcutta. Shortly after their eldest brother was married, Father had died of an apoplexy.
“The problem is that a major portion of the blunt came from an investment I’d made two years before.
Remember the investment in foreign loans?
One to Prussia, one to France. It was a high-risk venture, but a lucrative return.
It gave me the foundation to purchase some real estate in Town and put money into turnpikes.
” Profit from those would be stable over the years.
“Dinah will think the marriage was a sham, unnecessary because I ended up not needing her dowry.”
“I’d forgotten about that. Should have listened to you,” said Frederick sullenly. “You’re my only true friend. You’d think I’d learn.”
Neel grunted. “My sister might have considered you first if you hadn’t been such a blunderhead that night at Almack’s.” Instead, poor Jo had been married off to the highest bidder. What seemed like a stroke of good fortune, for Hardingson had seemed smitten, had turned ugly after six months.
“How was I supposed to know she was friends with the Page girl?” whined Frederick. “Besides, that was back in my drinking days.”
Cornelius raised a brow at the glass in the marquess’s hand.
“My heavy drinking days, when I had an inflated opinion of myself, off on a lark, thinking to prove to my father I didn’t care if he thought me a lobcock.
I was a tosspot and drunk most hours of the day.
” Burstone held up his glass. “I’ve learned moderation in all things is a better strategy to employ than drowning in the consequences. ”
Cornelius nodded but threw the marquess a disbelieving look. “So, you’ve accepted the fact that he’ll never like you?”
Burstone barked out a laugh. “Let alone love his only remaining son. These days, I’ll settle for a way to earn his respect. Beginning with a wife who will be suitable to both of us.”
“Almost two years with Dinah, and I can’t imagine being married to a chit who I didn’t like. It explains why so many men stay at their club more than their own bed,” mused Neel.
“I refuse to be one of them. I strive to be more like my good friend and be married myself this time next year.”
“Don’t say that too loud or you’ll be in White’s Betting Book.” Neel grinned.
“A second time would really put the old man up in the boughs.” They both laughed before returning to the reason they had met that evening. “Men will bet on anything.”
Later, Cornelius sat alone in one of the dining rooms, watching the dancing flames in the hearth.
“Pardon me, sir,” said the waiter as he set down a glass bowl filled with a layered dessert.
Neel dipped his spoon into the double-whipped cream, sprinkled with citrus zest, and dug deeper for a bit of the sponge cake. The orange and lemon flavors burst in his mouth, and he leaned back to enjoy his favorite sweet.
Glancing around, he realized he was alone and decided to enjoy the peace.
He liked this room with its leather and mahogany furniture and classical wallpaper.
It spoke of an enduring legacy and wealth.
A good club provided a respite from the chaos of London, with furnishings that remained stamped with time and an atmosphere that never changed.
A beacon in the growing restlessness of a country—and masses—wanting more from their government and monarch.
His father had garnered membership to this club for his sons.
While Neel preferred the more liberal crowd of Brooks’s, he also thought it necessary to hear both sides of any situation or argument.
Hence, a membership in both clubs kept him apprised of the political situation and the conflicting views.
He was a progressive man, always looking to the future.
Unlike most of his peers, Neel was pleased the middle class was growing.
If a man worked hard, he should be rewarded.
Wealth should not belong only to the nobility, but to those who earned it and strived to make a better life for themselves and their families.
Neel had his own small estate in Kent. Nothing to boast of, small in comparison to the home he grew up in.
But it was a lovely property and large enough to grow the necessary crops.
He had a few tenants and was improving his sheep herd.
Last month, he and his steward had helped repair two thatched roofs.
The physical labor had been rewarding, even more than a good bout at Jackson’s.
But it had been the respect he’d seen in his tenant’s eyes when he’d climbed down the ladder, full of sweat, chafe from the straw sticking to his damp skin.
Privilege should be something earned, not born into.
Neel had felt more of a man, working side by side with commoners, than he’d ever felt dressed to the nines in London.
Dinah had thought he’d been set upon by highwaymen when he’d finally returned to the manor.
Something had changed that night between them.
When he’d slipped into her bed, Dinah had been more than enthusiastic.
It had been the first time she’d cried out his name when he brought her to her peak, clutching at his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh.
He’d almost professed his love then, spilling his seed inside her. Would she have said it in return?
There were times when he wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake sense into her.
Rip off the facade she’d carefully created to protect herself from the pain her mother had warned her of, reach inside her and pull out the Dinah hiding inside.
The caring, laughing, beautiful woman she had been turning into before her father died.
Patience, he reminded himself, licking a bit of orange cream from the corner of his mouth. But his thoughts of a lusty Dinah moaning his name were too tempting. He finished the last spoonful, not taking time to scrape the last bits, and headed home to his wife.