The Outcast Earl (9 page)

Meriden met her gaze in an attempt to convince her of his earnestness. “On that Thursday, I suggested to your father that I would consider marriage to one of his daughters, instead of the forfeit of Winchester House, as a way to resolve a good portion of his debt to me. We negotiated a marriage settlement. He wanted to speak to your mother and his daughters, which I thought perfectly reasonable. I said I would await his answer. He was free to refuse, and free to bring it up with you, his family, believing that he would have to move you all out of the house or provide me with a bride. His answer, arriving early on Saturday morning, was delivered as a signed and sealed marriage contract that included your name and what I presumed were your signatures. In the accompanying letter, he suggested the marriage take place within a month, which meant reading the banns as soon as possible as I, generally, am not on good terms with the bishops, thanks to various episodes in Parliament to which I have already referred. He also told me you would leave London in a week, which meant I needed to return to Meriden Park almost immediately so that the staff could prepare for you and I could determine the condition of the Aston properties before you arrived. So I left London on Saturday in the early afternoon, drove like the devil himself, went directly to the rectory and woke Danvers up at dawn so that I could get him to read the banns that day. By Sunday evening I was at Aston House in Birmingham. I spent a day there and four days at Aston Manor, and returned to Meriden on Saturday—the day before you were to arrive. The banns were read a second time yesterday morning, while you and your aunt were travelling.”

Abigail stared at him, hardly knowing where to start.
The Aston properties?
“Father must have been in more trouble than I realised,” she said softly. “Gloria will marry by the end of the year—the engagement will be announced next week. Fiona has her own money from our late Aunt Willa. She’s talked of taking her own house, but that’s not thought to be in the best of taste.”

“Abigail,” he went on, catching her attention with a gentle voice. “Think on it for a moment. Genevieve is too young—I would have been appalled, to be honest, but would have married the chit if forced, simply to keep my word. I’d have sent her with a governess to my mother in Italy, but even that would not have saved my reputation or hers by marriage. I knew Gloria was on the verge of a tiara—you say by the end of the year. That left you and your elder sister, or simple refusal. If Fiona has the means to maintain her own household, you were the natural choice.”

Abigail knew there were tears on her cheeks, but they mattered not. She uttered a small cry of desolation and he moved forward, grasping her shoulders and forcing her to look up at him. Abigail’s eyes were swimming with tears, helpless and hot.

“I was so bloody happy to see your name on those papers, instead of Fiona’s or Genevieve’s, that I hardly stopped at my solicitor’s office long enough for him to take the contracts,” he said fiercely. “I didn’t want to give you a chance to change your mind, Abigail. And I still don’t.”

Blinking, Abigail inhaled sharply and lifted her head up. With everything in her, she wanted to say something. But what could she say? She didn’t have a choice—the banns had been read. Publicly claiming the contracts had been forged would humiliate and dishonour her father. And… And Meriden wanted her. He’d said so. Definitely not Genevieve. Not Fiona. He hadn’t expected Gloria. He’d said he’d marry any one of them, but it was her he’d been pleased to have.

Unable to do anything else, she leant forwards and kissed him.

For a moment, he seemed startled, but then he cupped her upper arms in his hands and angled his head to the right. Abigail felt him step forwards—closer—and draw her into his arms.

Abigail clutched the lapels of his coat and clung tightly. The emotional upheaval of the last week had taken its toll, and he was warm and gentle and her lips tingled delightfully. She sighed softly and opened her mouth to his.

After a moment, he took one of her hands from where it had gripped his coat and feathered a kiss against the pad of each finger in turn. Abigail couldn’t prevent a shiver from spiralling down her body.

Sunlight spilt into the room from French doors that opened to a terrace, and it was, Abigail thought, perhaps the first opportunity she’d had to look at him closely. He was dressed as a country gentleman ought to be, she felt, in tall boots, lightly coloured buckskin breeches, a crisp, white, unruffled shirt, a green hacking jacket and a simple neck cloth. He was tall, but not awkwardly so, and his musculature was developed and mature.

She’d already realised his hands were evidence enough that he had little experience in the tonnish life to which she was accustomed. They were strong and large, and she remembered wistfully how oddly safe she’d felt enclosed in his arms. His hair was unfashionably black and just long enough to secure at the nape of his neck. In this light, there was no denying the angry scar that ran from his ear to his chin, but Abigail remembered that she hadn’t even noticed it when he had been close to her.

Abigail had almost made up her mind to say something, probably ineffectual and pointless, when Meriden drew her close to his side and turned them both to face the desk, where the sheets of paper were spread out fully now.

“You…” he started, then halted and cleared his throat. “I was surprised, I didn’t expect that you were unaware of—” He stopped and cleared his throat, as if regrouping. “I want you to know,” he finally said, “I don’t want you to worry about yourself.” He gestured at the papers spread out across his desk. “Your father surrendered Aston Manor and Aston House in Birmingham in cancellation of the mortgages I held on them, and he got the better end of the bargain. Both are worth far less than what he owed. When the mortgages were made they were in good condition.” He drew a deep breath. “Aston Manor will be deeded to you in your dower trust. In addition to what’s contracted here, I’m setting aside a healthy capital that will provide you with a personal allowance. Eventually Aston Manor will also be profitable and increase your income, but for now the profits are going to have to be ploughed back into the house and the estate to make it solvent again.” Abigail stilled, silent but stiff. Meriden followed her reaction, his eyes on her rigid form, and explained awkwardly, “I can’t see how you would need an allowance, but Rutherford—my man of affairs—insists it is not just desirable but necessary for a countess to have independent funds.”

Abigail blinked, then laughed softly. “For clothing, my lord. Gloves. Gowns. Slippers. Perfume. Soaps, lotions, cosmetics and costume jewellery to accent our wardrobes. Silk handkerchiefs, beaded bags, gambling debts, favours and vails for the servants. Christmas presents for husband and children, parents and siblings. Monetary assistance to family members who have outspent their own allowances, and bribing senior servants to ensure loyalty and silence.”

Meriden visibly stiffened and stared at her hard, clearly appalled. “No gambling, Abigail,” he warned, an odd note in his voice. “And, for the love of God, if you think to ruin your lovely face with those vile concoctions of lead and mercury, I shall exile your maid and take on the job myself of dressing you.” He cleared his throat, then asked hesitantly, “Why in the world would a woman need to bribe her own servants?”

Abigail swallowed. Her list had included the things her mother had purchased. Recovering from the small quiver in her chest at his horrified reaction to cosmetics and his unintended compliment, she murmured, “Loyalty. Mama always has. I suppose she does not think Papa pays them enough, but the effect is that they will usurp Father to do her bidding.”

Meriden shook his head. “I may as well raise their salaries now and have done with it,” he muttered. More clearly, he added, “I did—and do—not intend that your personal needs be met by your allowance, although perhaps that is why Rutherford insisted upon the amount as absolutely necessary. My secretary will be sure you have sufficient funds for shopping and personal purchases, and credit at any establishment you choose. You will please me by not doing anything untoward with your allowance. It can sit and accrue interest if you please, until we are old and grey and our granddaughters are in need of come-out gowns and fresh posies.”

Shaking her head, Abigail sobered. “An allowance would traditionally come from the bride’s portion. To provide me with both a dowry and access to your personal income is too generous—”

“Nonsense,” Meriden returned. “It is my privilege to provide for you, allowance, fripperies and all. If anything happens to me, both Aston House and Aston Manor will be yours, and the allowance will help you keep them.”

Abigail finally bent forward, her eyes narrowing after a moment of looking at the papers. “These properties were meant to be given over to the heir—my brother John, I mean. Even after my grandfather died, Father and Mother lived at Aston Manor. We were all born there. Mother never liked the isolation of Winchester Castle, and my grandmother lived at the castle then. But John died when he was only eight. I was six at the time and I thought the world had ended. Father didn’t speak to anyone for days and Mother…Mother decided then and there that she should have died too. Genevieve was still tiny but Mother already knew she couldn’t have more children. The doctors had all said so.” The awful stillness that had settled on the great house in Chester came back to Abigail suddenly, and she choked back a sob. “He ran out of the nursery and tumbled down the main stairs. The nurses had no hope of catching him. He landed on the marble tiles in the front hall—” Her voice faltered on the last word before she finished, “After a few weeks, Mother took us to London. Father came after that. We never went back.”

“Fifteen years ago,” Meriden calculated. He swallowed, suddenly seeing Winchester’s financial mess in a new light. “Fiona, now you, and soon Gloria are all cared for now. He has Genevieve left, and what then, Abigail?”

Abigail shrugged. “Genevieve has some money from my Aunt Edith. It’s enough for a dowry but not enough to live independently forever. If she marries well—and it is assumed she will—Father will have done all he can do,” she said softly. “He said he will make it through next Season—Genevieve’s first. But”—she bit her lip, wondering how much to share, how much Meriden ought to know—“he knows he will die in debt,” she went on eventually, “but not to you.” A small smile flitted around her lips.

Meriden raised his eyebrows. “Well, then, you’d best tell me all of it,” he said.

“Oh, he lied to me and deceived you. It’s certainly correct to say that I have no dowry and that he’s overburdened with debt, which you have in part relieved and made him able to stay afloat again. And Gloria does not have a dowry, either. But both of us have expectations according to our remaining aunts—Aunt Betsy and Aunt Marcella. After Genevieve has married—presumably by next summer, though she’s too young—Mother and Father will retire from London to someplace small and quiet. My aunt and uncle would be happy for Mother to return to Hanover Fields—my uncle is Hanover, maybe you knew that—but Father won’t set foot in that house. He never has that I’ve known, because my uncle has guarded Mother’s income zealously and refused to allow Papa to have the capital. He’ll have to sell Winchester House to pay off the mortgage that you hold on it now.” She smiled slightly. “He said, except for you, the other creditors can be fended off until Prinny inherits, at which time the entail will be broken and Prinny will have to sell it to pay the debts.”

“Prinny? I thought a cousin was to inherit.”

“My great-grandfather did have two sons. My great-uncle, William, went to America. He never married and died a decade ago. The earldom ends with my father.” She smiled. “However, it is not common knowledge and my father would not thank you for publicising it. Most everyone assumes Uncle William will return, or his sons. But he did not have any, ah, legitimate children.” Abigail blushed as she said the word, unable to help herself. For some reason, she was acutely conscious of babies then, what with Meriden standing so close beside her, his hand comfortably splayed around her waist.

“Amazing,” he murmured after a moment.

She motioned to the papers. “I would like to read these, but later.” She glanced at the clock. “I should check on Jenna, my maid, and see Aunt Betsy.” Abigail paused and added softly, “Maybe you understand my anxiety about—about head wounds more, now.”

Meriden smiled and kissed her forehead. “Go on, then,” he said softly, slipping the key from his pocket into her hand. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Abigail gave him a wobbly smile, feeling the draining exhaustion that followed such intense emotion. It seemed inevitable that the day would be unbearably long, but there was no help for it. “Until then,” she agreed, and departed the room.

* * * *

He should have followed her. Charles knew that, of course, but at the time he’d been so struck by the revelations about her family that he’d had to regroup and ponder. It had taken only a few moments for him to reorganise his thoughts, then he’d penned a note to Rutherford straight away and had sent it off with a courier.

Charles paced the front hall, waiting for Abigail to come down for luncheon, hardly surprised that she hadn’t rushed downstairs with the bell. Still, it had been at least fifteen minutes. James had come and gone again, pledging to return and stay after the second hour, and the housekeeper had told Charles that the maid Jenna had been awake, had eaten, had visited briefly with a ministering Abigail and had been given a second and final dose of laudanum by the doctor, so that she’d sleep well through the afternoon and into the night. Thus, he concluded that Abigail had to be with her aunt.

“Grady,” he called suddenly, stepping into the dining room.

The butler materialised, and Charles stared with sudden realisation at the table, set for one. “Where is Lady Abigail?” he asked abruptly.

“She requested a tray in her aunt’s room, my lord.”

Charles considered this for less than a second. “Has it been delivered?” he asked.