Trouble at the Wedding by Laura Lee Guhrke Page A

many times you’ll never marry again, and though women never believe it, a man who says that usually means it. And if a rich American wife was what you were after, you’d never have passed up the chance to meet Hiram’s girl, who’s a beauty and even richer than Annabel.”
    â€œI can see you’ve thought this through.”
    â€œI have. Half a million dollars is enough to give you the capital for those investments you want, so you don’t have to marry anybody for money. And if you want advice on American investments, I’d be happy to oblige. I’ve done a pretty fair job with Annabel’s investments over the years.”
    Christian couldn’t help admiring the other man’s thoroughness. “There’s still the risk someone will see me with her. Even if all we are doing is talking, if there’s no chaperone present, it could still stain her reputation.”
    Ransom sighed. “I know, but I’m running out of options. And I say a tainted reputation is still better than a lifetime of misery with a man who doesn’t love her and who’s only after her money.”
    Those words jerked Christian to his feet. Walking to the window, he stared out again at the traffic, but in his mind, he didn’t see Fifth Avenue or the faint reflection of his own face in the glass. He saw instead London’s May Day Charity Ball, and a blond girl in a blue silk dress, a shy girl with a pretty smile and a sweet, terrible innocence, and guilt felt like a ten-ton weight on his shoulders.
    Evie, I’m sorry. He touched his fingers to the glass, wishing he could touch her face, wipe away her tears, do it all again a different way. I’m so damned sorry.
    He squeezed his eyes shut. If he could stop another girl from making Evie’s mistake, perhaps—
    He turned around. “You’re sure Rumsford doesn’t love her?”
    â€œI’m sure.”
    He nodded slowly, for he was sure of it, too. Fortune hunters always recognized one of their own. “All right,” he said. “I’ll do what I can.”

Chapter Three
    C hristian decided not to tell Sylvia he was hiring himself out as an obstacle to transatlantic marriage. She would never approve, even if the girl’s own uncle was paying him an enormous amount of money to do it. No, she’d nag him about the propriety and the moral implications—interfering, risking a girl’s reputation, that sort of thing—and she’d bring up again how much better it would be to find an heiress of his own. Clearly, keeping mum was his best option.
    But when he told Sylvia he was returning to England straightaway so that he and Arthur could further discuss business on the ship and in London, her pleased little smile told him she still held out hope for his eventual capitulation in the matter of finding a wife. After all, there would be many heiresses in London for the season.
    His sister was probably composing a list of possible candidates this very minute, he thought as he stood on the balcony of the stateroom suite they were sharing aboard the Atlantic .
    While he was enjoying the beautiful late afternoon sunshine and watching the pier recede into the distance as a tugboat pulled the Atlantic out into New York Harbor, Sylvia was inside, supervising her maid and his valet in the unpacking of their things, and thinking of pretty faces, considering various names, and tabulating possible dowries.
    To say his sister was mercenary wasn’t quite fair, he reflected, turning to stare out across the harbor toward Staten Island. She was simply the product of her upbringing. Marriage without an appropriate alliance was unthinkable for people of their class. A hundred years ago, alliance meant the accumulation of lands and the preservation of the aristocratic bloodlines, but nowadays, it was all about survival. The land rents their ancestors had lived on were drying up in the face of agricultural