Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) (7 page)

“That will do for now,” Callista said. “Send my maid to me as well.”

“And a bath, I think,” Thorington said.

The silence was absolute as color bloomed on Callista’s cheeks. She finally nodded, all bravado, as though she’d suggested it. “And a bath. And tell my maid to fetch my pistol from my trunks.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the footman Lucretia frantically gestured at to trail in her wake. She let him catch her at the other end of the hall, no doubt because she needed directions and didn’t want to ask for them.

She was magnificent.

Lucretia coughed delicately as Callista disappeared. “I apologize for her, your grace. She is newly from America and isn’t yet familiar with our ways. I assure you that you will find better company during your stay here.”

For once, he didn’t say what he wanted to — that he would rather talk to Callista than anyone else. Instead, he murmured his thanks. Then the butler escorted his family to their rooms — spacious chambers in the newest section of the house, two floors up from the entryway, where only the best guests would be housed. They would have two hours to rest before assembling in the drawing room at four o’clock for drinks before dinner.

Thorington would need all of that time to consider his plans. But Anthony didn’t wait above fifteen minutes before knocking on his door.

“I cannot do this,” Anthony said.

His cravat was askew and his blond hair was mussed. His right boot was scuffed. Anthony had broken himself of the habit of digging his shoe into the floor after discovering the pleasure of a perfectly polished pair of Hessians, but in moments of extreme emotion he sometimes forgot his vanity.

Thorington, already stripped down to his shirt and breeches, glanced at his valet. “Give us a moment,” he said.

As soon as the door closed, Anthony repeated himself. “I cannot do this. I cannot marry either of them.”

“It’s early days, Anthony,” Thorington said. “You’ll feel better once you’ve accustomed yourself to the idea.”

“
No
.” Anthony paced to the window, looking out over Maidenstone’s carefully kept lawn. “I don’t intend to marry for ages — and even if I did, it wouldn’t be either of the Briarleys. Lucretia is provincial and Callista is entirely improper. Can you imagine either of them hosting parties in London? Even for this,” he said, gesturing toward the estate beyond the glass. “Even for this, it’s too high a price to pay.”

Those were the words of someone who didn’t remember the days when Thorington House had leaked like a sieve. Anthony had never wanted for anything. He’d never wondered how to pay for something — he’d always signed his vowels and sent the bill to Thorington. He’d never heard their parents screaming over the modiste’s bill, over their mother’s trips to Bath, over the annuity for their father’s latest cast-off mistress.

“It’s a low price, actually,” Thorington said. “You don’t have to love your wife. You just have to give her your name.”

“You say it as though it’s nothing,” Anthony said.

Thorington shrugged. “It’s a small price for having a roof over your head.”

“But they’re both so…”

He shuddered. Thorington loosened his cravat and tossed it onto the bed. “I’ll grant Lucretia might not appeal. But Callista would make you a fine wife.”

“
Callista
?” Anthony’s voice was as scandalized as if Thorington had told him he must marry a prostitute. “She looks like she was raised trapping furs and distilling liquor. She will never get vouchers to Almack’s if she cannot be bothered to curtsey to a duke. Can you imagine how the patronesses would react to such a snub?”

Thorington snorted. He had no trouble recalling her image, but what he remembered was different from Anthony’s interpretation. True, with her strong, supple limbs and fearless stance, she could have claimed she had trapped her way up and down the Hudson and he would have believed her.

And, oddly, he wouldn’t have minded it.

He should have found her entirely unappealing. He liked his women like he liked his beds — soft, snug, and easily abandoned in the morning for more worthwhile pursuits. Callista Briarley wasn’t soft. And she would not be easily abandoned.

But he needed security for his siblings, not another problem. So he ignored the memory of her, of how she’d drawn the first real laugh out of him in ages. Anthony would discover her humor. Anthony would see beyond the wild hair and overly exuberant smile to find the remarkable woman she could become.
Anthony
would love her as she deserved.

“You can choose Lucretia instead, if you wish,” Thorington said. “Or perhaps you’ll take a liking to Octavia when you meet her. But I am confident that Callista is the most appealing of the three. She may be a barbarian, but barbarians can be civilized. Lucretia would be harder to entertain. And everyone in England knows Octavia is too much trouble after the scandal she caused in London a few years ago.”

Anthony frowned. “My needs aren’t so extravagant that I must marry an heiress. I can reduce my expenditures if you ask me to.”

Thorington snorted again.

“I can,” Anthony insisted.

“Give up your curricle?”

Anthony nodded.

“And the blood bays? You’ll find it difficult to gain entrance to the Four Horse Club without horseflesh.”

Anthony swallowed. “I can find other entertainments.”

“Your tailor? Membership at White’s? The next term at Cambridge? Your Grand Tour?”

His brother fell silent. He had been flushed earlier, but now his face was entirely drained of color.

Thorington could have left it there, but he needed Anthony to see the problem at hand. “You think your needs aren’t extravagant because I pay for your housing and entertainments. Father left you nothing in his will. Your continued survival is solely due to my largesse. And my largesse is coming to an end.”

Anthony looked out the window again. Thorington never mentioned his younger siblings’ disputed parentage — the reference to the will was as close as he ever got to the subject. And he already regretted it. But Anthony had to understand what was at stake.

“I don’t need an heiress,” Anthony said, in a smaller voice. “I would be content with a small cottage and room for a garden.”

“An heiress could pay for someone to maintain that garden for you. And you would miss London if you could not keep a house there.”

“I shall stay with friends when I visit the city,” Anthony said, turning back to Thorington with bravado in his voice.

His breezy confidence broke Thorington’s heart. But it also made him angry. “You haven’t any idea what your life would be if I didn’t take care of you. Now, you will marry one of the Briarley heiresses. If you want me to arrange it so you don’t have to choose between them, I shall. But there will be no more discussion of the matter.”

Anthony gave Thorington a speaking glare, but he knew when there was no point in continuing an argument. After a long moment, he left. But he didn’t slam the door as Thorington expected him to. He shut it softly — as though Thorington wasn’t worth his anger anymore.

Thorington sighed. He turned back to the washstand, stripped off his shirt, and splashed cool water on his face.

It wasn’t enough. He dunked his head in the basin instead. He held his breath until the pressure in his lungs overwhelmed the scream of frustration waiting there.

Then he pulled his face out of the water, gasping. He should have told Anthony before today. Should have given him time to adjust to the idea of marriage. But the last three weeks in Devonshire, rambling over the woods and fields, had very nearly felt like a gift. Anthony had gone with him some days. It was the first time that Anthony had begun to feel like his brother, not his responsibility. The boy had even cracked a few jests. It was little wonder Anthony seemed so popular with his friends, even though Thorington rarely saw that side of him — he had a wicked sense of humor when he forgot that Thorington controlled his purse strings.

They hadn’t discussed anything of importance. But at least their silences had been easy.

They might never be easy again.

He shoved his wet hair out of his eyes and looked out the window at the view Anthony had spurned. It was good land, with a solid house and productive tenants. Anthony needed that. He would be a good man someday — the seeds of it were already there, even though he was too young for such a responsibility. But Thorington had been even younger when he had begun to raise his siblings. Anthony would grow into it.

Thorington would see to it that he had the chance to be more than just a rumored bastard with no income. Even if Anthony hated him for it.

His valet returned then. Thorington dressed for dinner as though preparing for battle. Anthony might not want Maidenstone Abbey, but Thorington would hand it to him on a platter if he had to.

And if Callista Briarley was the key to the kingdom, he’d hand her to him as well.

CHAPTER FOUR

At a quarter past four, Thorington stood outside one of Maidenstone’s drawing rooms and willed himself to focus. The mantle he wore in public — his identity as the Duke of Thorington — was something he could slip into effortlessly. There had been a time, years earlier, when he had just been Gavin. Now, he knew how to command a room, how to fill it with his presence until others were dazzled by the show he gave them.

He would dazzle everyone. They would only see the Duke of Thorington, as cool and imperturbable as always. None of them knew about the small stack of letters awaiting him when he’d arrived — the first tentative requests for payment from his many and varied creditors, forwarded by his business manager with a rather worried note. None of them knew that he had very nearly shouted at his valet when the man had ruined a jacket Thorington couldn’t afford to replace.

Thorington, for all his faults, didn’t shout at servants.

He strode through the doors. The rest of the room fell away. The other suitors knew better than to get in his way.

He was the Duke of Thorington, and he would take what he sought.

He took in the scene like a predator looking for the most delicious prey. Rafe stood near the empty fireplace, surveying the room just as Thorington did, although he was probably looking for liquor rather than heiresses. Anthony and the girls were just visible through the doors to the connecting drawing room, talking to a circle of Anthony’s friends. Anthony wouldn’t lack for company here, since half the families in the ton would have sent their sons in an attempt to win Maidenstone.

No sign of Callista, though. If he weren’t so well-schooled, he would have grinned. Whenever she arrived, he suspected she would make an entrance.

But while he waited, he may as well pursue his agenda. He found his first quarry almost immediately. Lucretia sat near the opposite wall with Lady Maidenstone, under a portrait of Lord Maidenstone. It was a bad likeness. Thorington had seen the old earl in the House of Lords on numerous occasions, before his final series of illnesses over the last three years had confined him to Maidenstone. The painting had captured his hauteur, but not his charm.

The granddaughter beneath the painting had all the hauteur as well. Thorington hoped she had some of the charm. If Anthony didn’t care for Callista, Lucretia was the next best option — Octavia, by all accounts, was far too scandalous. Anthony already had expensive tastes. A woman with a similarly destructive bent would ruin him.

He walked up to Lucretia, his pace leisurely, as though he knew she’d wait for him to say whatever he wished to say. “Lady Maidenstone, Miss Briarley,” he said, giving them the honor of a small bow. “Maidenstone Abbey is exquisite. If you keep it, by some miracle, I hope to be invited to visit again.”

Callista might have punched him for being unapologetically rude, but Lucretia was more reserved. “Thank you, your grace,” she said, even as two spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. “I hope the party shall show it to its best advantage.”

The girl positively reeked of pride. He might even smell it if he stepped closer, but he kept his distance. “I’ve no doubt it will show to advantage,” he said. “Such a prize would tempt anyone, no matter what they must marry to gain it.”

It was beyond rude of him to say such a thing. But he wanted to see whether she had backbone, and insults were the quickest way to reveal it.

She drew herself up. “The Briarleys are a proud and ancient house, your grace — one that any family in England should aspire to join.”

“Is that true, Lady Maidenstone?” he asked her companion. “Are the Briarleys a good match?”

Lady Maidenstone had watched him, fascinated, throughout this exchange. She shrugged. “Lord Maidenstone’s pedigree was never in question.”

The girl could have been a diplomat with that kind of answer. He smiled. “Unfortunately, it’s not the Briarley pedigree that any of us are here for. I wish you good fortune at this party, Miss Briarley — provided it doesn’t conflict with my own.”

Lucretia’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes were pretty enough. But Anthony was right — she was provincial. Her dress, her hair, even the room she greeted them in — it was all too perfect, as though she’d seen a fashion plate and copied it exactly rather than letting her own sense of style prevail. Anthony would prefer a girl who set the fashions of the day, not one who slavishly followed them.

But he observed her potential, looking her up and down in a cool, distant sort of way. She might make an interesting wife for someone, someday, if she gained a bit of humor and lost of a bit of stiffness.

She wasn’t his problem. A few moments of conversation had already told him all he needed to know. Unless Anthony’s tastes changed, Lucretia wasn’t the heiress who would save them.

As he returned his gaze to her face, her back stiffened further — how, when it already seemed close to snapping, he couldn’t begin to guess. But she took a deep breath and looked him dead in the eyes. “Would you care to take a turn on the balcony before dinner, your grace? I find I’m rather too warm at the moment.”