Formidable Lord Quentin (7 page)

Marriage was simply out of the question.

Taking deep breaths to calm her shattered nerves, she began
removing the pins from her hair, shuddering at the unkempt horror of her
reflection. A week with her family, and the household was already in a
shambles, the servants were threatening to give notice, and she was in tatters.

And his solution was to send Kit and Syd to school! He had
no understanding of what he asked. She would not have her siblings shipped off
like so much unwanted furniture. Besides, Boyles never stayed where they were
placed. They were bound to run away.

Ultimately, should she and Quent be forced into marriage, he
would move back to Scotland rather than deal with the chaos of Boyle
tempestuousness. She’d be an abandoned wife, since she would refuse to leave
this home she’d created for herself. No, a thousand times, no. Now that she’d
found a man she could almost respect, despite his annoying self-righteousness,
she wanted his friendship. From painful experience, she knew marriage would
make them enemies.

She shuddered remembering how she had adored Edward those
first few years. She could easily have loved him had he given her any
opportunity. In the end, her dreams had been so badly eroded with his neglect
that she’d come to despise him. She knew other women could endure that sort of
life. She had learned that she could not.

Negotiate! He wanted to
negotiate
a marriage.

She knew better than anyone the death of the soul that
accompanied a marriage without love between both parties.

“Send up enough tea for my sisters,” she told the maid who
arrived. “And tell them to meet me in the parlor at the quarter hour.”

Syd and Tess had to be told. She would not treat them like
pawns on a chessboard as she had been. If she focused on her sisters, she would
not have to think about Quent and his absurd proposal.

Tess arrived promptly just as the last pin was applied to
Bell’s curls.

“Whoever was that gorgeous man who sent Mr. Thomas and Kit
packing?” Tess asked in awe. “I thought he’d come to arrest us all and throw us
into the street. I heard his bellows all the way up the stairs.”

“That’s what happens when a man assumes too much authority
at an early age,” Bell said disparagingly, gesturing toward the sitting room.
“He believes he is God, but he is merely the marquess of Belden’s fourth son
and his legal representative in London. Where is Syd?” she asked before Tess
could devour her with questions.

“She is cutting her hair to look like the fashion plates. I
told her to ask you first, but she is determined.”

Bell muttered an oath under her breath, abandoned her
soothing tea, and sailed down the hall to her sister’s room. Reminding herself
that she was too old to have a tantrum, she opened the door without knocking.

The bottom half of her sister’s beautiful hair already lay
on the floor. Syd’s maid looked up guiltily, scissors still in hand. Without an
ounce of remorse, Syd swung around on her bench and ran her fingers through her
half-shorn hair. “Isn’t it marvelous, Bell? I feel so much lighter already!
Agnes said I shouldn’t take it all off until I know if I’ll like it, but I know
I will!”

Bell wanted her sisters to love her, not think of her as
some ogre who denied them their wishes. But she knew so much more than they did . . .

She sighed and tried not to scold like a harpy. “It’s not
done, Syd,” she said sadly. “Young ladies cannot set the fashions until they’ve
been out a season or two. That’s for the fast set, the ones who have no care
for their reputation.”

Syd’s expression grew stormy. “It’s not as if society gives
a fig about me. Why should I care about a bunch of old biddies?”

“Don’t be so short-sighted,” Bell snapped. “Until you know
what you want for your future, you must not ruin your options. Agnes, pin up
her hair, and do not cut more without my permission. Syd, if you wish to be
treated as an adult, then you must behave as one. I requested your company for
a very important reason. You will attend me immediately.”

She swept out rather than argue. Tranquility had departed
the household the instant her family had traipsed in.

“Syd doesn’t like to be told what to do,” Tess said
apologetically as they settled at the tea table. “She’s always been headstrong.
When Charity tried to correct her, Syd would run to Daddy, who would tell her
she could have anything she liked.”

“Which is why we remember him with such fondness,” Bell
conceded. “Your poor stepmother. She must have been a saint to endure him.”

Tess shrugged. “They had horrible arguments. She threw
things at his head. Once, she turned over a kettle of soup he’d told her was
too salty. You are a model of patience in comparison.”

“Give me another week,” Bell said wryly. “I will be ready to
surrender all rights to the marquess and send the lot of you off to Scotland,
except I’m afraid he’ll toss you all into the streets for corrupting his very
proper daughters.”

Tess looked gratifyingly horrified.

Syd stomped in, scowling. Bits of hair still clung to her
muslin, but she wore her dark mane pinned up to hide its lack of length. “I
hate
my hair,” she announced.

“Yes, we all hate our hair, or our teeth, or our noses or
legs and our parents and teachers and the sun that doesn’t rise when it should.
Now sit down and be quiet and use your head instead of your temper.” Bell
pointed at a seat near the table.

Syd flung herself into the chair with the grace of an angry
bear and snatched a raspberry tart from the tray. Blessedly, she held her
tongue and waited.

“Daddy’s will left all of you as wards to the marquess of
Belden,” Bell said, gathering her thoughts to present her case. “He could not
leave you to me because women are not recognized by courts of law, but I’m
certain he meant for you to live with me.”

The girls nodded agreement. Tess added, “He often spoke of
how you lived in a grand house and would always take us in, but he could never
save the funds to send us.”

Because he knew Edward would pitch a fit, call in the earl’s
markers, and have him thrown in prison, but Bell wouldn’t spoil their fond
memories. “That’s all behind us. The present has its own complications. Daddy
thought my husband was still alive. Unfortunately, he isn’t, and the title has
gone to his heir. Because the will specifies that you are wards of the
marquess, the current one has the right to direct your futures until such time
as you turn twenty-five, or you marry, and your husband becomes your legal
representative.”

Tess raised her eyebrows and her teacup. Syd remained
mercifully silent, helping herself to another tart.

“The current marquess has . . .” Bell wanted
to say
ordered
but she was trying
very hard to be objective in case she lost this fight. She didn’t want her
sisters to hate their benefactor. “He has requested that Tess and Beebee meet
his family and live with him. He has several unmarried sons and nephews, I
believe, and he knows I’ll dower you handsomely, so he is no doubt hoping that
you will become part of his family. They are quite respectable but poor.”

Tess looked mildly interested. “If they all look like the
gentleman who collared Kit, that might be interesting. He was a bit old,
though. Are there younger sons?”

Bell bit her tongue and continued to be as fair as she knew
how. “Lord Quentin is thirty-five. The youngest might be thirty. I don’t know
the nephews. They live in Scotland and never come to London. They farm.”

Tess frowned. “We haven’t lived in the country since we left
Ireland. Is there a town like Boston nearby?”

“I fear not. As I understand it, their home is in the hills
and quite isolated. Scotland does not have the green pastures of Ireland but
cold rocks and gorse. You won’t be able to raise horses. Sheep and cattle,
perhaps.” Swallowing, Bell hurried to finish. “The marquess wants Syd to attend
school. It would be good for her, I’ll agree, but—”

“I don’t need any more school,” Syd argued, interrupting.
“I’m old enough for parties and beaux.”

“You’re an ignorant colonial bumpkin to these people,” Tess
said bluntly. “You need polish.”

“You need friends,” Bell corrected. “Getting about in
society is all about who you know. I can’t introduce you to the young ladies
who will come out at the same time as you do. They’re all still at home and not
yet out for me to meet. But I can find out what schools they attend. Except,
the marquess wishes you to attend the same school as his daughters in
Edinburgh, and I fear they’ve become blue stockings because of it.”

“Edinburgh?” Syd asked warily.

“Several very uncomfortable days’ journey from here, in
Scotland. You would have to spend the holidays with the marquess. It’s not a journey
young girls should undertake regularly.”

Now both Syd and Tess looked horrified.

“We couldn’t stay with you at all?” Tess asked.

“I could come visit occasionally, I suppose. You really
don’t know me much better than the Hoyts. It might all work out.” She couldn’t
sound cheerful, but she strived not to sound skeptical. The Hoyts were pragmatic,
educated, and managing sorts. Boyles . . . were the exact
opposite, with charismatic, colorful, and tempestuous thrown in for good
measure. Bell had learned a great deal of human nature and Hoyts in particular,
since Edward had been one.

“What about Kit?” Tess demanded.

Bell sighed. “That’s more of a problem. The marquess wants
Kit to attend boarding school. It is the custom to send boys elsewhere for
instruction and to let them meet their peers. And it is not quite proper for
unmarried females to raise him with tutors and valets and such in the house.
And again, all the marquess’s sons attended school in Scotland.”

“That will never work,” both girls exclaimed in unison.

Given what little she already knew of her brother, Bell
wholeheartedly concurred.

***

Quent paced his blasted, narrow study.

Holding papers to be signed, Penrose waited for him to sit
down. “Do I need to polish a gun?” he asked cautiously.

“The option to challenge women to a duel would make life
easier,” Quent snarled.

“Shorter, but easier,” Penrose agreed, not concealing his
amusement. “Perhaps dueling hairpins at sunset? Why don’t you take some time to
sail your yacht or visit friends in the country and work off some of your
energy. You never take time for pleasure.”

“Work is my pleasure,” Quent growled. “Find someone
interested in building boats in Cornwall, and I’ll happily sail him around.”

“The carriage has returned from Scotland. Take it out to
visit Blake. He and the duke are bound to have information that will create new
business somewhere. You are about to walk through walls.”

A good long gallop out to the edges of town . . .
Would accomplish nothing.

He needed to treat Bell and this situation as he would any
other investment that required planning and negotiation. “Quit distracting me.
I found a perfectly sensible solution to Bell’s problems, and she tells me no,
under utterly no circumstances. What the hell does the woman want? And here I’d
thought she was one of the sensible ones.”

“Lady Bell?” Penrose asked in surprise. “She’s the ultimate
mysterious female. Surely there’s someone easier if it’s a woman you want.”

“Easy women aren’t very interesting,” Quent pointed out, but
the thought of other women had his mind leaping to a new direction. Sometimes,
negotiating required looking disinterested. “I’m thinking my father might
accept my taking charge of Lady Bell’s sisters if I were married.” He mulled
the possibilities, looking for the advantages.

“Why would you want Lady Bell’s sisters if you marry someone
else?” Penrose asked, reasonably enough. “You have more than enough of your
own.”

“Pick one, and I’ll give her to you,” Quent said morosely.
He
didn’t
want any other woman he
knew. Penrose was right. Marrying to inherit more females didn’t make sense
even to him. He simply refused to accept rejection without the kind of fight he
knew how to wage—and Bell didn’t.

“Lady Bell is planning on taking her sisters to visit Fitz,”
Penrose said helpfully.

“She’s running away in hopes her solicitor can find a
solution before my father starts enforcing his demands.” Quent understood the
fool woman to that extent, at least. It’s the same thing he would have done had
he been in her shoes.

But he was not in her shoes. He was a man of authority who
didn’t run away from his responsibilities. And besides, he’d seen a side of the
lady that intrigued him and almost convinced him that marriage wasn’t a
complete sacrifice. “I’ll follow her down and write my father that we’re
introducing her family to friends. He can sit up there on his throne and spin
webs on his own for a while.”

“Web spinning being a family trait and all,” Penrose
acknowledged, nodding wisely.

“Quit chuckling up your English sleeves and tell my valet to
start packing. Then help me create a list of eligible females I might marry.
Fitz is undoubtedly the first person I should discuss this with.”

“Oh certainly,” Penrose mocked, “because all the world knows
he chose so wisely by marrying a poor farmer’s daughter with a herd of young
siblings.”

“He’s a gambler. I’m not. Betting on love is the worst sort
of foolishness, although Fitz manages to win even in that. I prefer to make an
informed choice.” He knew Bell better than any woman in London. He was more
than informed. He’d seen her toes.

“Kit, if you don’t sit still and quit kicking my seat,
I’ll have the driver tie you on back with the trunks.” Bell hid her
exasperation as her brother ignored her warning and continued kicking with the
new boots he’d insisted on wearing.

“Why can’t I ride on the horses?” he whined.