problem. “Why now?”
“Scott and I believe that he must have an errant son … who has incurred insurmountable debts, and he decided he would secure him by marrying me off to him. I am not quite an heiress, but I do have a very nice income that my parents have left for me to manage when I turn one and twenty. No doubt the law would allow a husband to take charge of that.” She made a derisive sound. “As though I would marry anyone like that.”
There was a lie somewhere in her story, but he was hearing more truth than prevarication. He could not help but believe this part of her story. She was probably correct in her belief that her guardian was after her fortune for a son … or a nephew. At any rate, she believed it to be true; that was a certainty.
“Felicia, he cannot force you to the altar,” he offered her.
“Oh, but, Mr. Ashton, he could do so. I am not being melodramatic when I say that a woman’s lot is … at times, most unenviable. Once he got hold of me, he could … hire a despicable person to marry me to his awful son, couldn’t he? He wrote that he means to take me to … well, Scott says it is a heathenish place, and I would have no one there to aid my plight.”
Ashton was puzzled. She seemed to be genuinely distressed, and yet, why would her parents have appointed such a man as her guardian?
“Felicia, what you are suggesting is infamous. It would take a certain kind of man to plan and execute such a dastardly deed. Why, then, would either of your parents appoint such a man to look after your funds and estate and you?”
“I have given this a great deal of thought, and this is what I think,” she answered immediately, which suggested once again to him that she was telling the truth. “They knew him years and years ago. He went to school with my father, you see, and my mama was impressed with him, but they lost touch. They probably wrote the will when they were younger and forgot … and he changed over the years. That is what I think.”
This made some sense. It was a possibility. People’s fortunes changed. Life did have a habit of intruding and making changes in a person’s ways. Well, one last question. “Who is this guardian of yours?”
“Ah, ah … I don’t know if I should say,” she answered, and this time she would not meet his gaze.
He said encouragingly, gently, “Tell me, Felicia, so that I may help you in this matter.”
“The Earl of Storewell,” she answered and bit her bottom lip.
This was an out and out lie. Blatant. He saw it all over her face. She was a very poor liar.
A barrel decorated with a vase of wildflowers stood in a corner of their parlor, right in their sights, and the name imprinted on the barrel was Storewell . Too much of a coincidence to be one, he decided, and felt a tickle of amusement.
“Storewell, eh?” he said to goad her on.
He had noticed that she had a habit of biting her lip when she fibbed. She did that and looked away. He leaned in towards her again and said, “Hmm, as it happens, I may know him .” There, then, let her think about that.
Her lashes fluttered, and her eyes opened wide. “Oh no , I am sure you do not.”
“Why would I not?”
“Well, he is old and keeps to himself. A recluse ,” she answered.
He almost laughed but managed to maintain a grave face. “So then, he is a recluse, a scoundrel of a guardian, and wishes to marry you to his equally scandalous son. Have I that right?”
She smiled, apparently pleased with his ready understanding. “Yes.” However, even as their eyes met she hurriedly studied something of great interest across the room.
He reached over, took her chin, and made her look at him. “It is often done, my dear, marriages of convenience. It is amongst our kind, a way of life, you know. He may not think he is doing anything wrong.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out.
“You say that because you are a man. You don’t have to be forced into anything. Your
“Scott and I believe that he must have an errant son … who has incurred insurmountable debts, and he decided he would secure him by marrying me off to him. I am not quite an heiress, but I do have a very nice income that my parents have left for me to manage when I turn one and twenty. No doubt the law would allow a husband to take charge of that.” She made a derisive sound. “As though I would marry anyone like that.”
There was a lie somewhere in her story, but he was hearing more truth than prevarication. He could not help but believe this part of her story. She was probably correct in her belief that her guardian was after her fortune for a son … or a nephew. At any rate, she believed it to be true; that was a certainty.
“Felicia, he cannot force you to the altar,” he offered her.
“Oh, but, Mr. Ashton, he could do so. I am not being melodramatic when I say that a woman’s lot is … at times, most unenviable. Once he got hold of me, he could … hire a despicable person to marry me to his awful son, couldn’t he? He wrote that he means to take me to … well, Scott says it is a heathenish place, and I would have no one there to aid my plight.”
Ashton was puzzled. She seemed to be genuinely distressed, and yet, why would her parents have appointed such a man as her guardian?
“Felicia, what you are suggesting is infamous. It would take a certain kind of man to plan and execute such a dastardly deed. Why, then, would either of your parents appoint such a man to look after your funds and estate and you?”
“I have given this a great deal of thought, and this is what I think,” she answered immediately, which suggested once again to him that she was telling the truth. “They knew him years and years ago. He went to school with my father, you see, and my mama was impressed with him, but they lost touch. They probably wrote the will when they were younger and forgot … and he changed over the years. That is what I think.”
This made some sense. It was a possibility. People’s fortunes changed. Life did have a habit of intruding and making changes in a person’s ways. Well, one last question. “Who is this guardian of yours?”
“Ah, ah … I don’t know if I should say,” she answered, and this time she would not meet his gaze.
He said encouragingly, gently, “Tell me, Felicia, so that I may help you in this matter.”
“The Earl of Storewell,” she answered and bit her bottom lip.
This was an out and out lie. Blatant. He saw it all over her face. She was a very poor liar.
A barrel decorated with a vase of wildflowers stood in a corner of their parlor, right in their sights, and the name imprinted on the barrel was Storewell . Too much of a coincidence to be one, he decided, and felt a tickle of amusement.
“Storewell, eh?” he said to goad her on.
He had noticed that she had a habit of biting her lip when she fibbed. She did that and looked away. He leaned in towards her again and said, “Hmm, as it happens, I may know him .” There, then, let her think about that.
Her lashes fluttered, and her eyes opened wide. “Oh no , I am sure you do not.”
“Why would I not?”
“Well, he is old and keeps to himself. A recluse ,” she answered.
He almost laughed but managed to maintain a grave face. “So then, he is a recluse, a scoundrel of a guardian, and wishes to marry you to his equally scandalous son. Have I that right?”
She smiled, apparently pleased with his ready understanding. “Yes.” However, even as their eyes met she hurriedly studied something of great interest across the room.
He reached over, took her chin, and made her look at him. “It is often done, my dear, marriages of convenience. It is amongst our kind, a way of life, you know. He may not think he is doing anything wrong.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out.
“You say that because you are a man. You don’t have to be forced into anything. Your
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