‘She says that Papa lost a large sum of money to an English marquis playing piquet…’ Lottie turned the page, scanning some lines of rather indignant writing from her twin. ‘Oh dear…that is too bad of Papa. No, no, he really has gone too far this time. No wonder Clarice is angry.’
‘Why? Do not keep me in suspense a moment longer!’
Lottie handed the letter to her aunt, who frowned over it for some minutes before returning it to her.
‘That is both ridiculous and disgusting,’ Aunt Beth said. ‘How dare he?’
‘What, you mean how dare Papa accept—or how dare the marquis make such an outrageous request?’
‘Both,’ Aunt Beth said, looking affronted. ‘I have never heard of such a thing—to suggest that your father should give him Clarice in payment for a gambling debt—it is the outside of enough!’
‘The marquis has said he will marry her,’ Lottie said thoughtfully. ‘I suppose in a way it might be a good thing for Clarice. Besides, it could be worse—he might have demanded she become his mistress…’
‘How can you think so?’ Aunt Beth shook her head. ‘The marquis must be a rake. He is probably old enough to be her father—a lecherous old devil who will lead Clarice a hell of a life.’
‘If he is, she must not marry him.’ Lottie got to her feet. ‘We shall know soon enough—they are coming home in a few days. Clarice said the marquis provided the money for their return. Otherwise they might have been stuck in France until we could send more money.’
‘And where would we get that, pray? I have nothing left but my pearls—which are for you, Lottie, when you marry—and fifty pounds a year. Clarice had the garnets when she was engaged, and she did not return them when she broke off her engagement. What little I have is for you, my dear.’
‘Do not speak of such things,’ Lottie begged her. ‘I pray you will live for many years yet. Besides, I am not sure I shall marry.’
‘Why ever not? You are the equal of your sister in looks, and your character is superior. She has had chances enough—why should you not?’
Lottie sighed. ‘I should wish to marry for love, but then poor dear Mama married the man of her dreams—and they very soon turned to ashes.’
‘My sister was a silly little thing, though I loved her dearly,’ Aunt Beth said. ‘However, I married a man who had both background and money—and look where that got me.’
Lottie nodded. Her uncle had not gambled away his money at the tables, but on a series of bad investments—including being caught in a scandal that had been almost as calamitous as the South Seas Bubble, which had ruined so many people in 1720—and had left his widow with very little fortune. Aunt Beth had been forced to sell her home and come to live with her sister and nieces after her husband died in a riding accident. Then Aunt Beth had taken care of her and Clarice after their mother died, and Lottie at least had become very fond of her.
‘I suppose if one of us were to marry a rich man we might all be comfortable.’ Lottie frowned. ‘But Clarice sounds very angry. I do not think she will agree and if she does not…’
‘Do you think we might lose the house?’ A look of anxiety crossed Aunt Beth’s face. ‘Where should we go then, Lottie?’
Lottie had no idea. She had lain awake more than one night recently, worrying about what would happen if her father lost what little money he had at the tables. She had begged him not to go on this latest visit to Paris, but he could never rest in the country for more than a few weeks at a time, and Clarice had demanded to go with him. Now her father owed more than he could pay and both he and Clarice were on their way home.
Nicolas threw his gloves and hat on to the sideboard in the spacious hall of his London house. His boots clattered on the marble floor, the resulting sound echoing to the high ceilings. He was not in the best of tempers and it showed in the set of his mouth and the brooding expression in his eyes.
‘Did you have a good journey, my lord?’ his butler dared to ask.
‘No, damn it, I did not,’ Nicolas snapped. ‘Have Harris lay up some things for me. I shall be going into the country for a few days.’
‘Yes, my lord—certainly. Is there anything more, sir?’
‘No… Yes, you can wish me happy, Barret. I am to be married, and quite soon I think.’
‘My lord…’
Nicholas left his butler in shock as he took the stairs two at a time. He smiled grimly. The one consolation in the whole sorry business was that it would set the cat amongst the pigeons once the story got out. A reluctant smile touched his lips. At least he could still laugh at society and himself—but why the hell had he done it?
It was true that he had promised Henrietta he would consider the idea of marriage, but to ask for the hand of a woman—he would not call her a lady, for she was an adventuress—he had only just met was ridiculous.
Nicolas had at first refused when Sir Charles Stanton had offered him his daughter as payment for the gambling debt. However, after a night of reflection, he had decided that one woman was as good as another. His memory of being ridiculed by Elizabeth when he declared his love had made him determined never to offer his heart again. Therefore Sir Charles’s offer was a convenient way of solving his problem. Clarice had been brought up as a lady, of that he had no doubt—but he had not known when he’d agreed to the deal that her morals were those of an alley cat.
It was on the night after he had signed the contract Sir Charles had hastily had drawn up with their joint lawyers that Nicolas discovered his mistake. One of Nicolas’s friends had been visiting Paris and they had gone out to a gaming club together, both of them drinking more than usual. Ralph Thurlstone had been three sheets to the wind and Nicolas rather more drunk than was sensible when he discovered his friend in a back room of the club. Ralph was lying senseless on the bed while a very pretty young woman with long spun-gold curls emptied his pockets of what money he had left. From the look of her hair and crumpled gown, he suspected that she had been on the bed with Ralph prior to robbing him.
‘What the hell do you imagine you are doing?’ Nicolas enquired dangerously.
‘Taking what belongs to me,’ the woman replied, her green eyes flashing with temper. ‘He owes me and this is scarcely recompense for what he took.’
‘Are you telling me you were a virgin before this evening?’
‘Would you believe me?’
‘No.’
‘Then I shall tell you nothing,’ the woman said and passed him, going out of the room.
Nicolas had let her go. In truth, he was still stunned by what he had seen. Returning to the main rooms a little later, he discovered Sir Charles at the tables, and standing at his back was the young woman he had seen going through Ralph’s pockets moments earlier. Nicolas had thought he must have been mistaken, but there was no mistake. Clarice Stanton, his bartered bride-to-be, had robbed his friend while he lay in a drunken stupor.
‘Ah, Rothsay,’ Sir Charles said, looking up. ‘Sit down and join us, won’t you? Clarice is bringing me luck tonight. I was down to my last guinea but she brought me ten more and I have won the pot of two hundred.’
Which he would no doubt lose before he rose from the tables, Nicolas thought.
Nicolas looked the young woman in the eyes and saw her flush. Until this evening, he had not met Stanton’s daughter, not bothering to propose to her but leaving it to the father to tell her of their arrangement. He supposed that he had intended to speak to her in his own good time. When he recklessly signed the marriage contract, he had been acting on impulse. He had heard on the rumour mill that Stanton’s daughter was pretty, but as he was engaged to her already, sight unseen, her looks were not his primary concern. He had thought only that