Books. Homer. Ovid. A book of poetry, with a ribbon tucked between the pages so that the reader would not lose her place. Not the readings of a mind given to foolish fancy.
He replaced things carefully, the way he had found them, and turned to go to meet her in the sitting room. She was as studious as she claimed, if she could not manage a few days without some sort of reading material. And it was well that she had brought her own to his house. There were many books he fully intended to read, when he had leisure. But for the life of him, he could not think what they would be, and he certainly did not have anything to read in the London house that held any enjoyment. It probably made him look a bit odd, to be without a library but well stocked in Meissen shepherds. But there was little he could do to change that now.
He approached her room in trepidation. The door was closed. Should he knock or enter freely? It was one of many decisions they would have to make together. If they did not mean to live as most married couples, then boundaries of privacy would have to be strictly observed.
At last, he settled on doing both: he knocked and then opened the door, announcing himself and thinking it damn odd that he should need to do it in his own house.
His wife looked up from a book.
‘You have found something to read?’ he said, and wished he did not sound so surprised at the fact.
‘There were a stack of books on the shelf, here. Minerva novels. And Anne Radcliff, of course.’ She glanced around her. ‘Overblown and romanticised. They are most suited to the décor.’
‘They are not mine,’ he said, alarmed that such things even existed on the premises.
‘That is a great comfort. For I would wish to rethink our bargain were they yours.’ There was a twinkle in her eye as she said it. ‘But if you favour melodrama, I suspect that this afternoon’s meetings will be quite entertaining.’
And she was correct in what she said, for the trip to his wife’s bank was most diverting. He was not familiar with the location, which was far from Bond Street, nor did the men working there know him. But it was obvious that they knew his wife and held her in respect. She was ushered into a private office before she even needed to speak her request.
When her bankers entered the room, she wasted no time on introductions, but straight away announced that she had married, and that all business matters must be turned over, post haste, to her new husband.
He could not help but enjoy the look of shock on the faces of the bankers. There was a moment of stunned silence, before the men sought to resist, arguing that the union had been most impulsive and possibly unwise. They eyed him suspiciously, and hinted at the danger of fortune hunters where such a large sum was involved. Was she sure that she was making the correct decision? Had she consulted her brother in the matter?
Adam watched as his new wife grew very still, listening in what appeared to be respectful silence. Although there were no outward signs, he suspected the look of patience she radiated was a sham. And at last, when they enquired if she had obtained her brother’s permission to wed, her cool exterior evaporated.
‘Gentlemen, I am of age, and would not have needed my brother’s permission if the decision to take a husband had taken a year instead of a day. In any case, it is too late now, for I cannot very well send the man away, explaining that our marriage was just a passing fancy on my part. Nor do I wish to.
‘May I introduce my husband, and manager of all my finances from here on, Adam Felkirk, Duke of Bellston.’
He did his best to maintain an unaffected visage, although the desire was strong to laugh aloud at the sight of the two men, near to apoplexy, bowing and calling him ‘your Grace’, and offering tea, whisky or anything he might desire, hoping to erase the words ‘fortune hunter’ from the previous conversation.
‘No, thank you. I merely wish to see the account book that holds the recent transactions on my wife’s inheritance.’
The men looked terrified now, but the account book appeared, along with a cup of tea.
Adam glanced down the row of figures, shock mingling with relief. His financial problems were solved, for there was more than enough to effect repairs on the house, and tide the property over until a more favourable season. He was equally glad that he had known nothing of the numbers involved when he had wed the girl. Considering his financial condition, he feared he’d have lost all shame, fallen at her feet, and begged her to wed him, based on what he saw before him.
He looked at the line of monthly withdrawals, increasing in amount as time passed. ‘Do you have any regular expenses that need to be met, my dear?’
‘Not really. My brother allows me a small allowance, and I take care not to exceed it. I doubt I’ll need more than twenty or thirty pounds a month.’
Which was far less than the expenditures on the account. He tapped the paper with his fingertip and glanced up at the bankers. Where was the money going? To the only man with access to the account.
Until now, that is.
Hector had not touched the principal, as of yet. But Penny had been correct in her fears. If measures were not taken, there would be no fortune left to hunt.
He smiled, as condescending and patronising as he could manage. ‘You gentlemen were wise to be concerned with the prudence of my wife’s decision. But you need concern yourself no longer. Please prepare a draft, in this amount …’ he scribbled a number in the book ‘… and send it to my bankers. I will give you the direction. The rest can remain here, as long as the investments continue to be as profitable as they have been. But under no circumstances is anyone to have access to the account other than myself.’ He glanced at Penelope. ‘Or my wife, of course. She has my permission to do as she pleases in the matter. Should she send any bills to you, please honour them immediately.’
He shot a sidelong glance at Penelope, and watched her eyes go bright and her mouth make a tiny ‘O’ of surprise.
He smiled. ‘Is that to your satisfaction, dear?’
‘Very much so.’ The smile on her face was softer than it had been, with none of the hesitance that he had seen in her from the first day. Her body relaxed enough so that her arm brushed the sleeve of his jacket.
She trusted him. At least, for now.
And it cleared the doubts in his own heart, that he had married her for her money. Her fortune could stay separate from his, and he would leave her the control of it. With the look she was giving him, he felt almost heroic.
He was quite enjoying it.
After the success at the bankers, Penny had hoped to feel more confidence when confronting her brother. But as she entered the house, she could feel all the old fears reforming in her. Living here had felt a prison, as much as a haven. And her brother’s continual reminders that this was all she would ever know, since no one would want her, had reinforced the iron bars around her.
And now, after only a few days away, the house felt strange. It was as though she were visiting a friend and not returning to her home. She had not realised how thoroughly she had put it behind her, once she made her decision. But it was comforting to think that there would be no foolish longing for the past, now that she was settling into her new life. Once she had her clothing and her things, there was no reason to return again.
She rang for servants, signifying that a maid should be sent to her room to pack her belongings, and sent Jem and another footman to the library with instructions for the crating and removal of her books and papers.
In the midst of her orders, her brother hurried into the room and seized her by the arm. ‘Penny! You have returned, at last. When I realised that you were gone I was near frantic. Do you not realise the risk to your reputation by travelling alone? Especially when you gave me no indication of where you were going. I absolutely forbid such actions in the future. I cannot believe …’ Hector appeared ready to continue in his speech