A Perfect Gentleman (4 page)

Stony reread the few brief, neatly inscribed lines of the page in his hand. “Miss Kane requests that I call on her at Number Ten Sloane Street.” It sounded more like an order to him, couched in terms of minimal courtesy.

Gwen clapped her hands. “That is Lady Augusta's direction. I was invited there once for tea. The most meager spread you can imagine. Why, I had to stop at Gunter's on the way home, I was so hungry.”

Stony cleared his throat.

“What? Are you waiting for me to pass the— Oh, you want to know more about Miss Kane. Well, if she did inherit the house, which she might have done, being the eldest niece, it is a very neat residence indeed. Very nicely kept, too, despite all the tales of Lady Augusta's miserliness. If she is taking up residence in the house, your Miss Kane must have inherited Lady Augusta's fortune, too, which should be considerable, since the woman kept every cent she ever came by. Unless she found a way to take it with—”

“She is not my Miss Kane.”

Gwen anxiously added another lump of sugar to her tea. “But you will call on her as she requested?” And another lump. “Won't you?”

“Then you think I should consider accepting Miss Kane's check? Fending off the fortune-hunters might prove difficult if what you say is true, but if the chit is at all presentable, it should not be too hard a piece of work to get her fired off.”

Gwen took a sip of her tea, then set it aside with a grimace. Stony started to pour her a fresh cup as she answered, “No, dear, I do not think you should become Miss Kane's paid escort. I think you should marry her.”

The tea landed in his lap.

Chapter Three

“Thunderation!” the viscount yelled, jumping up and grabbing for an extra napkin. “That is not funny, Gwen.”

“I am not joking. That letter and the Kane heiress just might be opportunity knocking.”

“Opportunity has knocked many times, and I have never yet opened that particular door. I see no reason to do so now, no matter how much gold waits on the other side.”

“Well, I see a great many reasons not to let Miss Kane slip through your fingers. You are nearly thirty and not getting any younger, for one thing.”

“That is two things. I am barely nine and twenty, and only you seem to have discovered the knack of subtracting years from your age instead of adding them.”

“We are not discussing my age, thank you. Not at the breakfast table. But you…you have to marry eventually anyway.”

“I do?”

“Of course, as you well know, dearest. You have not been working so hard to restore Wellstone Park just so the Crown might claim it when you die with no male heirs. Why, you do not even have a distant cousin with any kind of claim. Not a prolific lot, the Wellstone ancestors, were they? At any rate, the only way to beget those heirs—legitimate ones, I will have you know—is by marrying a proper young woman. Of course, there was that lord who claimed his dead brother's son as his heir when everyone knew the boy was his, but that is another story.”

For once Stony did not mind Gwen's digressions. She could have repeated every tale of every bastard born, with his blessings. Damn if she did not get straight back on course, though.

“And since you need to marry sooner or later,” she persisted, “why not sooner, as Lord Charles decided to do?”

“Charlie had other reasons for his betrothal, spiting his father being first among them. I have no such compunctions to wed for the sake of convenience.”

“No such compunctions? What do you call a broken-down estate and all of those who depend on it for their livelihoods? Or that shipyard you speak of building, to make jobs? Or that home for unwed mothers I know you support, even while you preach economy to me? Why, we have not opened the guest rooms here in ages. I am still mortified to think of my cousin and his wife putting up at a hotel when we have—”

“I shall not marry a woman for her money. Not ever.”

“Fine, then you will marry for love, although I never supposed you to have a romantic bent like one of those poets. But, Aubrey, dearest, you have been squiring females of all types and temperaments for the past three years at least. Beautiful, intelligent, and talented girls among them…to say nothing of their dowries, which any sane man has to consider. Not even you could be such a nodcock as to ignore a bride's portion. Could you? No, do not answer that.”

He did not, pretending to inspect his trousers for tea stains. Gwen went on: “Not a one of those females has caught your fancy. If you do not choose a bride soon you are liable to settle into a lonely old bachelorhood. Or else you'll wait till you are quite old, then marry a girl barely out of the schoolroom, as your father did the second time, making a May game of his dignity.”

“Marrying you was the best thing my father ever did, and no one ever teased him over his beautiful young bride. All his friends were too envious.”

Gwen blushed and said, “Thank you. You always know just what to say, dear. Except for now. Say you will consider Miss Kane.”

“I am considering her. And her offer of employment.”

“Bah! Haven't you been listening? You need to marry, not be matchmaking for another desperate miss.”

“What, is Miss Kane such an antidote, then, that she has to purchase a husband?”

“Of course not! For all we know she might already be betrothed, or promised to one of her father's wealthy partners. Or she might be waiting to fall in love with the perfect gentleman. You.”

Stony made a rude noise. “Oh, I am fairly certain she is not on the lookout for a pockets-to-let peer.”

“Oh? And if you are so certain you know what Miss Kane is seeking, perhaps you might tell me just what the…the devil you are looking for in a wife?”

Stony was walking from the sideboard—without making a selection from the covered dishes—to the window, without noticing the sun breaking through the morning clouds and fog. “I do not know, but I will recognize it when I see it.”

“Rubbish. That is like your father saying he could recognize a winner from the horses in the paddock. He never could, you know. Of course you know, having been paying off his debts for years. And do stop pacing, dear. You are making me lose my appetite.”

His was long gone. “I am not pacing. I am drying
my trousers. By the way, don't you have anything better to do this morning? A dress fitting or a book to return to the lending library? Perhaps you need to consult with your maid about a new wrinkle cream. I thought I saw a—”

“Oh, no! Where?” She tried to see her reflection in the silver teapot.

“I was merely teasing, Gwen. You are as beautiful as ever.”

She sighed in relief. “Wrinkles or not, nothing is as important to me as seeing to the future of my late husband's son. I vowed that I would.”

“What, you promised my father to look after me?” He had to laugh. “The old rip made me swear to take care of you.”

“As you have.” Gwen nodded regally, or as regally as she could with her hair still tied in curl papers. “And now I am trying to do my part to ensure your happiness.”

“Do you really think that Miss Kane, a woman neither of us has ever met, will ensure my happiness?”

“Why not? You wouldn't have to fret over money, and you could have that horse farm at last. You could travel or collect paintings or fund a hundred charity homes. Anything you want, and you would not have to do what you do not want.”

That last sounded the most tempting: no more harp recitals, no more bowing to the bitches who ruled Almack's, no more juggling the household accounts between candles and coal. Still, he could not. He shook his head. “I will not live off my wife's money.”

Gwen was losing patience—and politeness. “Well, living off your wits has not filled your coffers, and living off your charm seems to have reached its limits.” She gasped when she saw the white line around his mouth. “Oh, I am sorry, Aubrey. I never should have said such hateful things, especially when you have worked so hard to keep this roof over our heads. And I am sure I have not helped, with my expensive dresser and that new bonnet I simply had to have. And the—”

“Dash it, Gwen, I have never begrudged you your fripperies. And I am well aware how an advantageous alliance could brighten my life and yours. But, by Jupiter, I do not want a marriage like my parents'. They could barely tolerate each other in their perfectly suitable union.”

“Yes, but their match was arranged. Yours will be by your own choice. And Miss Kane's, of course. You would know long before the betrothal whether you could rub along well together. You might even find that you like her.”

“Next you will be recounting how much we have in common. Nonsense! Miss Kane is a provincial heiress, a financier's daughter with no social graces, as evidenced by her letter and the fact that she needs to hire a gentleman companion. And I? I am a scattergood viscount's wastrel son, a Town beau with nothing to recommend him except what you call a degree of charm, and his prowess on the dance floor.”

“Nothing but the most handsome visage in all the
ton
.”

“You forgot your spectacles again, goose.”

“I do not forget your gentle kindness, and your lovely blue eyes, and that devastating dimple. Why, I doubt any female could resist your smile. Miss Kane will fall in love with you in an instant, with the least encouragement.”

“A wealthy heiress, smitten by a smile? You have been reading far too many Minerva Press novels, Gwen. And even if she did happen to topple into love with my baby blue eyes”—not even Gwen could miss the scorn in his voice—“her trustees would never let Miss Kane throw herself and her fortune away on a ramshackle gentleman of little repute or regard.”

“Well, you are far out there. No one but Earl Patten ever had anything but the highest praise for you, and he came about. And do not dismiss the viscountcy as a mere bauble hanging off your waistcoat pocket. A girl with more than enough money but no entree to higher social circles just might wish to elevate her standing. I doubt there are any unattached earls half so handsome, nor any marquesses with your sense of honor. As for the royal dukes, the less said the better.”

“What, Miss Kane has gone from a silly chit whose head can be turned with a smile to a greedy, grasping social climber? Either way, she sounds unappealing.”

“She sounds like a practical woman to me!” Gwen insisted. “Females are raised to make good marriages, not find grand passions. A thrilling lover might make a girl's toes curl, but she needs her feet firmly on the ground to find a responsible provider, a companion in her old age, a decent father to her children. My grandchildren.” Gwen's eyes filled with tears. “You would be a good husband for Miss Kane. I know it. No one could not love you,” she added with a stepmother's prejudice and a sniffle.

Lord, she wasn't going to start crying, was she? Stony handed her his handkerchief and a new subject as quickly as he could. “What about you, Gwen? Why haven't you found a new husband? I know any number of decent chaps would have been happy to take you off my—that is, to take you to wife, with or without any kind of dowry.”

Gwen stopped crying instantly. “There were quite a few, weren't there?” she asked with pride in her voice.

“Yes, and you made me refuse all of the ones who approached me. Heaven knows how many asked you directly. Why?”

“I suppose because they thought you were too young to be head of the family, or I was too old to need a guardian's permission.”

Stony rubbed at his aching temples. “No, I mean why have you refused so many respectable offers? Any of those men could have provided for you far better than I can. Lud knows, better than my father did. If, as you say, women are taught to be practical, you must have realized you could have had comfort and security and all the luxuries you deserve. Endless parties, summers in Brighton, a wardrobe full of new frocks. You might have had children of your own.”

“I did try with your father, you know,” she said with a blush. “We tried very hard, in fact.”

“Yes, but another man, a younger one… Never mind.” Some things he was not prepared to discuss with his stepmama, especially when she looked like a mere girl with her brown hair up in curl papers and pink ribbons flowing from her robe. She was more a sister to him—a younger sister, at that—than anything else. He would have wanted a better life for his sister, too. “You could have become a famous hostess, instead of having to tell your cousins to put up at a hotel.”

“Oh, but I could not leave you, Aubrey. You would have retired to the country with your horses and your sheep and your account books. You'd have become a hermit, forgetting how to be gay. Then one day you would realize you were all alone, and you would have married a milkmaid or a shepherdess. I could not let you do that, could I?”

Gwen wouldn't accept another husband because she would not abandon Stony, and here he'd stayed in London because he couldn't abandon his father's wife. How absurd, Stony thought, and how typical of tenderhearted Gwen. But what if she had truly cared for one of her suitors but had remained a widow for his sake? Devil take it, he felt guilty enough not providing her with jewels and furs. Had he kept her from finding her heart's content?