THIRTEEN

“Ogre! Beast! Knave! Baboon!”

Tronnier relaxed on a settee in front of a sitting room fire and leisurely sipped from a goblet of wine. He leaned his head back and let his eyes close, a smile growing on his lips as the young woman alone with him in the room paced back and forth and shouted at him in a fit of temper.

“Your mother was a gutter-crawling slut,” Adrienne shot at him.

“It’s quite likely,” he replied easily, seeming either bored or perhaps mildly amused by her tirade.

“You’re a blackguard and thief and murderer,” she railed.

“Now, my dear,” he said calmly, “I told you that myself. You can hardly shock me with the news.”

“But you lied to me,” she wailed, her lower lip beginning to tremble and tears glistening in her eyes.

“You may weep if you like, but I promise I won’t be deeply moved by it. I rather enjoy watching women wrenched with sobs.”

“Ohhh, you are the most insufferable, horrible, treacherous bastard I have ever known!”

He rose slowly and walked toward her, a rather serious curve to his usually playfully smirking mouth, and gently stroked her upper arm as if to soothe her. He looked down into her sparkling green eyes and spoke slowly. “I tried to warn you of that. But you are impetuous, my dear, and had to learn the hard way.”

“But what am I to do,” she cried.

“You might speak to your uncle about a quick marriage. Or, fancy this, Adrienne. You’re an adventuress at heart—run away and ply your trade among those sultans and kings in foreign lands. They will keep you in your accustomed fashion.”

Her eyes widened with genuine shock. Her name-calling and shouting may have been inspired, but Adrienne was seldom truly shocked or horrified. She sank onto a chair, still looking up at him with those large, unbelieving cat eyes that finally welled with tears, and she fairly stammered.

“Oh! You are a monster!” And then she let her face fall into her hands and she wept convincingly.

Troy sighed and moved to the cabinet in the sitting room and poured a small draught of brandy into a glass. He watched her from across the room and allowed that he was indeed the most vulgar character who’d ever lived. It was not the first scene of this type, in which he played the conceited cad, but for some reason he felt a twinge of regret at being so callous. She was, after all, quite young and vulnerable. And he did rather grieve the quality of entertainment he would be losing when she made her final, angry departure. “I’m getting old, that’s what,” he thought to himself.

He hoped she wouldn’t wake the entire household of servants, but if she did it would matter little. It was untidy, this settling with a maid. A great deal more trouble than he liked to be bothered with.

He had been away for several days and was told upon his return that Lady Adrienne had been calling every evening of his absence. He hardly expected that she would pass up the first night of his return, so he stayed in and bolstered himself with a good Rhenish wine he had in stock. Now he considered his foolishness; he could have gone to Whitehall or a tavern and possibly avoided this conflict. He faced it only to have it over with.

He pressed the brandy into her hand. “Here. Drink this and calm yourself. You’re bright and beautiful. You’ll get over this rather easily. In fact, if you’re very clever you can marry an old earl who will die shortly and leave you well fixed and in a position to enjoy life to the fullest.”

She gulped the brandy, choked and wheezed, and then with watering eyes and a pink nose, she looked up at him. “I hate you,” she mouthed, the sounds barely audible.

He chuckled lightly. “That, too, will pass with time. In fact, my grande dame, we may meet again on the same pleasurable ground. After you’ve buried your first husband, of course.”

“I’m going to tell my uncle everything and have you shot,” she promised hotly.

Troy laughed loudly at that. “Oh, pray be merciful, Maid Adrienne. Poor Julian will die of a stroke if you tell him. And who could he possibly find to shoot me? Unnecessary murder hardly seems your style.”

She dropped her head into her hands again and resumed her weeping. Troy sighed, again, and walked to the cabinet. He tilted the crystal decanter and poured more brandy. This time when he attempted to press it into her hand, she took it and fired it across the room, the glass splintering into many tiny shards and the brandy staining the wall with an amber splash. “Terrible waste of decent brandy,” he muttered, returning to his settee and idly sipping his wine while she wept.

He considered his poor timing and bad judgment. He seldom made love to a woman who might hinder his business. Every time it had proved unwise. He had allowed Adrienne’s close presence while questioning her carefully about her uncle’s pursuits, finding it more difficult each time she was near to deny a hunger for her young, sensual body. She finally tempted him too well and too often.

All Julian Kerr had to do to provoke his niece into Troy’s bed was to forbid her to see him under any circumstances. The very next night she was in his home, while her uncle slept and enjoyed peaceful dreams. Still, he had fought the temptation for as long as he could.

When Troy had reached the limits of his endurance and faced his wants boldly, he was momentarily surprised by her reaction. She displayed her womanly charms as openly as an experienced strumpet but balked suddenly and fearfully at the suggestion of a consummation. He could not easily know if she was a practiced tease, or if womanhood assaulted her body and had not yet reached her mind. So he urged her with his own well-honed phrases and skilled caresses. He made her feel secure enough to yield, as only Sir Troy could do.

He found the truth to it, then. She thought herself worldly but was playing a game she did not understand. Once in his practiced arms, she’d yielded to his expertise and he’d found himself showing her, for the first time, all the joys love could offer. Over the weeks she had grown from a guileless virgin to an accomplished lover.

There was barely a woman in London who had not fallen to Troy’s charm when faced with his humor, his handsomeness, and his seductive ploys. He had found it quite unnecessary to go to great lengths to develop any kind of prestigious connections—the ladies themselves trumpeted exaggerated tales of his wealthy French family, his aristocratic bloodlines, his personal wealth, and his English title.

Although he profited in the end, they did it for themselves. They could hardly be seen with a commoner, no matter how well dressed or suave he might be. Actors and acrobats and minstrels might steal into a lady’s bedchamber under the cover of night, but since Troy was not willing to hide himself, the women who favored him also built his reputation. Whether or not they knew the truth was immaterial. They believed him to be at least a moderately important nobleman.

He had not lied to Adrienne. To her questions about his family, he would grunt or sigh. His wealth? He would nod or just smile. Nobility, well, he saw no reason to make a name on people dead a hundred years, but for his own life, he was knighted in battle. Yes, a fierce battle in which he was quite successful. And of course the king was there.

Adrienne, like many before her, decided that he was rich, handsome, influential, and aristocratic. He traveled, from what she could see, in enviable company. He was known by everyone. He knew the king personally. He must be decent husband material.

The only difference between this relationship and those he’d had with others before her was that Troy finally told her the whole truth. He felt somewhat responsible for the attachment she was developing. Likewise, he wished for her departure because he found her regular presence somewhat addictive. Such dependence was an unusual thing for him, and he wished freedom from it.

He told her he was simply born, had worked in both legal and illegal professions, was only modestly wealthy, mostly as a result of criminal advantage, and had no land, stock, or political influence. And he told her that afterward.

Perhaps the shock was too great for her, because she’d seemed at first not to believe him. When she left him the last time, she was still aglow from lovemaking and looking forward to his quick return. But somewhere between that night and this one, she had fully realized that he spoke the truth and that she’d given her virginity to a common mercenary, who simply gambled in Whitehall and had no real ties to the monarchy.

“I can’t believe how you used me,” she sniffed.

“You used me as well, milady. Remember that.”

“But I thought you were—”

“A product of your own wishful thinking. All things are not what they appear to be.”

“Won’t you...won’t you help me?” she asked piteously.

“There’s no way I can,” he answered honestly. “I can’t restore your virginity, but there are clever ways to get around that when you marry. I can’t give you much money, but I’ll give you some if you demand it. There is nothing I can do. I tried to warn you—which is more than I usually do.”

“You can marry me,” she said.

He laughed outright. “But I am not in your class, cherie. Your uncle would forbid it.”

Seeing something other than complete rejection, she leapt from her chair and placed herself at his feet. Her breasts swelled from her gown and her eyes were alive with sensuality. She rested her arms on his legs and looked up at him adoringly.

“Troy, I don’t care what Uncle Julian wants. I don’t care if he forbids it. We can run away and—”

“He will deny your dowry,” Troy said simply.

Her eyes became greener and brighter. “If I can convince him to pay the dowry?” she asked hopefully.

“No.”

“But it is a grand sum,” she argued. “Why should some nasty old baron get it and give it off to his brats from an earlier wife? Why shouldn’t we spend it? I don’t want to be a countess or baroness.”

“You will want to be, someday.”

“No, I swear, that isn’t important to me. Troy, I’d be as happy in a country house or even this house as I could ever be in a palace with some doddering old fool. I don’t have to have riches and—”

“Adrienne, that’s not the truth. You need expensive gowns and jewels and a big house with servants. You could never be happy as a paupered princess. I’ve watched you court every danger a young girl can just to gain more valuables.” He paused and looked at her meaningfully. “You played your games with me because you thought me rich and powerful.”

“Well,” she said, sitting back in a bit of a pout, “it’s not as if you’re poor. We might not live as the king does, but we wouldn’t live sadly. You like money at least as much as I. So, never mind if I’m not in the high fashion of a duchess, I’d be pleased to own a few decent gowns and some modest jewels.”

He chuckled and she bounced back on her heels.

“Don’t laugh at me like that. I’m being forthright at least, which is a damn sight better than you.”

“Poor Adrienne. You could get a high price for what you are and live in high style, and you’d trade it all for a life of hiding and hangings and petty theft? And here I thought you were smart.”

“Will you marry me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. With an air of the schoolteacher, he patiently spoke to her. “I am not interested in marrying. I would not be faithful, I would not manage a home and land, I would not be pleased to spend my hard-earned money on dresses and baubles, and I do not want to father children.”

“I don’t care about land and children, and as to the other, I suppose I could learn to look the other way from time to time and make do with less.”

“No.”

“Oh, Troy, please.”

“I don’t love you.”

She was stilled by his declaration and seemed to wilt slightly to a smaller, slumping creature on the floor. She drew in her breath, rose some small bit, and looked despairingly insulted. “Crimini, sir, I’d not have gathered that. Your words were not so cold the last time we were together.”

“You can’t hold a man to what he says when he’s involved in passion’s play. I’m sorry.”

“I would have had the truth at least,” she said, feeling quite dejected now, but dry-eyed. It was as if for the first time in her life she had no game to play and no scheme for which to speak or act out some manipulative emotion. She knew it would do nothing for her cause to weep, or to rage. She felt empty and cold inside.

“You didn’t want the truth, you little fool. You were thinking only of what you could gain. Since you had to get married one way or the other, you turned your back on those suitors your uncle suggested and put about to better yourself. You wouldn’t have looked at me twice if you didn’t force yourself to believe I was a good property.”

“That’s not completely true,” she said very quietly. “In the beginning perhaps, but not after—”

“But you’ll have to see, my dear, that had you not set about in the beginning with a selfish whim and foolish plan to get what you wanted, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. It is your greed, Adrienne, that drives you to be so careless. And that, ma petite, is not my problem.”

He sat back in his chair easily, musing on the rather pitiful look on her face. She had been fire and ice, soft and then sharp as the blade of his sword. Sometimes she would put on a dramatic performance worthy of a skilled actress, and other times she would be meek and pliable. But never outside of bed had he seen her display feelings that he could name true—until now.

Troy had heard the rantings of a defiled maiden, watched the dismal weeping of a woman greatly wronged, and fled from a crazed farmer’s pitchfork for his roguish misdeeds. He had never been bothered. He rather enjoyed the game and the danger. This once, however, he was rather sorry he had hurt her.

“I will be going back to the country soon,” she said softly. “Uncle Julian wants to leave as soon as the weather is warm enough, and I trust that will be in less than a month. If you change your mind about any of this, you may send word to me.”

“I won’t change my mind, Adrienne. I wish you well.”

She rose very slowly and went to a chair near the sitting room door to collect her cloak. She pulled it around her shoulders without help and looked behind her once to meet his eyes. He was cool and unmoved, calmly considering her. Then she turned and slowly left the room.

Julian Kerr struggled with his bookkeeping, throwing down his quill several times in frustration. He juggled sums so precariously that he could make little sense of them on paper. And each time he thought of his pilfering, his heartbeat quickened. He was much afraid that Stephen would learn of it and be angry.

For as long as four months, Julian had traded country property for merchant enterprises in the city. He was depleting the Dearborn estate to the point that in another few months there would be nothing left of it but the house and land on which it sat. He had come to his decision abruptly, much in the way a dying man tries to right his misdeeds to gain entrance to heaven.

Julian had been fairly certain as long as twenty years ago that Stephen would not be an heir to be proud of. But he was an only son and the title was hard-earned, the land tenaciously held. There was no civilized way to bypass Stephen with his title and property, but he could no longer bear the methods by which his son worked.

The boy was not yet twelve years old when the indulgence of his parents began to wreak havoc on his behavior. He answered their devotion by stealing from them. He was not grateful for his father’s hard work at covering up his many misdeeds. Julian bought off several spoiled maidens, paid for the care of those injured by either cruel pranks or openly hostile abuse, and suffered damage to his own reputation so that his son might be spared for a future time when he learned to display some moral conviction.

The situation worsened rather than eased with Stephen’s maturity. Now, at almost thirty years, Stephen was fashioning an army at Dearborn. Whereas there had been twenty good men to ride the perimeter of the estate and keep a certain peace within the hamlets, Stephen had increased the number to more than forty men who traveled the roads at night and by day brutalized villages with high fines and harsh punishments. When Julian protested this deplorable situation, Stephen hotly replied, “If you don’t do anything about the Wescott swine, I will. This property is to belong to me, after all.”

Julian had been suffering from small robberies from his London house, the country manor, and some small businesses. It appeared to be a single, quiet thief who knew where to find hidden money, family jewels, and prized possessions that could be easily carried. He had not discussed these losses with Stephen because he believed Stephen was responsible. The pension he was allowed to run the household on was never enough for the boy—he had been lifting things from his own house to sell them since he was small. He seemed not to realize he stole from himself.

If that was not difficult enough to bear, the incident with Lord and Lady Trendell was an outrage that went beyond Julian’s comprehension. These noble acquaintances had been traveling to Dearborn for a visit. It was possible that Trent Wescott had assaulted them, but Stephen knew of their route and their travel times. That happening sealed the poor fate that Julian planned for his son. He could no longer indulge and ignore Stephen’s behavior. The lad would find the merchant trade to be much different, when he inherited these legitimate businesses. He would not be pampered and protected. The first time he stole from his peers, they would cut off his hands.

It grieved Julian that he could not teach his son any sense of justice. Julian knew that he couldn’t tout his own moral fortitude; he had woven a few plots and cheated a few people to get something better in the end of a deal. But he’d never plundered his own possessions or murdered. After all he’d been through to protect what was his, he could not leave title to all that comprised Dearborn to a ruthless and criminal lord. The house and land would go to Adrienne, provided a decent man could be found to take care of it, and Stephen would inherit some moderately successful businesses in London. If he had any sense left in him, he could build them into positions of importance. But Julian strongly suspected that they would be Stephen’s ruin.

The cold of winter had begun to ease and Julian planned to return to Dearborn within a month. By the time he left London, he would be clear of conscience and prepared to oust Stephen from his privy authority. He expected outrage and destruction from his son and therefore was highly hopeful that he would have no problem managing this new and plentiful guard. He thought to make explanations to the king and ask for assistance, but even through all this, he could not bring himself to convict his own son. He still hoped to bring Stephen around with his plan.

Julian had always been self-serving and ambitious. He had many moral flaws that stood glaringly clear in his declining years. He had not loved his wife, although she richly deserved his love. He had cheated her father and some of his own friends and had never borne arms to any cause, but crept in and out of all manner of conflicts in search of the stronger side. Very few people would pity him now, in this pain and remorse he felt over his own son. Indeed, he would be blamed. For perhaps the first time in his life, he carried this burden with strength and dignity and sought no reward for his actions.

He had not spoken with Adrienne in a long stretch of days. He found himself to be completely grateful that she had not ranted at him for gowns and invitations. He dreaded the moment that he must finally speak with her on matters that were wholly critical and in which he needed her display of maturity and confidentiality. He assumed he would be disappointed, but he did not bequeath Dearborn to her for love, but because she was an eligible heir. His ultimate hopes rested on being able to find a suitable husband for her within the next year. That done, he could finally have some peace.

With a heavy sigh of acceptance, he pulled himself up from his littered desk and rose to the task. He reasoned it was better to deal with it soon and at least have it done. He didn’t know if he could bear her joy at having outdone her cousin, or her complaining when he told her he would choose her mate or she would be void of a dowry.

He passed a maid with a tray of food in the hall and inquired after his niece. “Is Adrienne at home, or has she gone abroad?”

The maid shook her head. “She ain’t been abroad in more’n a week, milord. Ain’t been much out of ‘er room.” Then she moved on toward the kitchen.

Julian hadn’t even had time to wonder at the strange reprieve he’d had during the week. He had been too busy to think anything amiss, but looking back on the previous days, he had been blissfully free of Adrienne’s constant demands, wheedling, and tantrums. Now he wondered at the cause of this self-imposed isolation.

A maid answered the knock at her door. “Is my niece ill?” he asked.

“I think not, milord, though she’s going to be if she don’t get up and get around.”

“What’s her current problem?” he asked.

The maid shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know, m’lord. Ain’t never seen her so sad and beset. She sleeps by the sun and weeps by the moon. It’s like someone died. She’s grievous.”

“May I see her?” he asked, suddenly feeling as a negligent parent does. He had not been particularly solicitous of Adrienne because she was so outspoken and volatile that he never had breathing space long enough to wonder at her needs or conditions. She let him know, promptly and belligerently, if anything was amiss.

“She says she don’t want to see no one a’tall, milord. I ‘spect that means yourself, beggin’ your pardon.”

“Do we send for the surgeon?” he asked.

“By the week’s end, I wager,” the maid replied.

“Hell’s fire,” he blustered. “Let me in there. I’ll have to see her.”

The maid made a futile and halfhearted attempt to block passage but Julian pushed through boisterously.

“Aside with you now, she’s my niece, and if she’s ill and needs a physician, I have to see her for myself. Out of my way.”

When he entered he was stopped short by the sight of her. Adrienne, who usually exhausted him with her animation, sat in a depressed stupor in a chair by the window. She wore her robe and slippers, and a quilt covered her lap. She had one finger playing with her mouth and her other arm hung listlessly over the side of the chair.

On closer inspection, Julian saw that she was pale and her eyes were red from crying. Her usually glowing green eyes were dull and tired, and the sparkle that he so often hated and feared was completely buried beneath some heavy burden.

Julian was softened by the sight of her vulnerability, a thing he had never seen in his niece. He suddenly regretted ever having been harsh or neglectful and forgot all of her mischief. “Adrienne,” he sighed. “What has happened to you?”

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and braved a weak smile. “It will pass, Uncle,” she whispered.

“Are you ill? Do you hurt? Is this a trouble or disease?”

“It is nothing, Uncle. It will pass. I must be alone.”

He looked about the darkened room in indecision. He didn’t know how to respond to her or what action to take to see her recovery. A part of him began to miss her great energy and enthusiasm. Regardless of how spoiled and pugnacious she was when healthy, he had become accustomed to her beauty and vitality. He couldn’t bear the sight of her so disposed. He finally grabbed a chair from the other side of the room and began to drag it over to her. “Leave us alone,” he shouted at the maid. Sitting directly before her, he pulled both of her hands into his. “What has happened to you, Adrienne? Tell me.”

Her eyes began to well up with tears and she grasped his hands tightly. “I am ashamed to tell you, Uncle Julian. And there is nothing whatever you can do.”

“But you must tell me. I’m your guardian and the only one who can help you.” She shook her head sadly and looked down into her lap, but she continued to hold his hands as if he were a lifeline. Julian was possessed of a strange feeling. It was almost as if she needed him, almost as if she trusted him. He had never felt that before with any other person. “But you must tell me, darling,” he said softly, surprised by the sound of his own voice. “You must trust me.”

Without looking up, she murmured her reply very softly. “I am in love with a man who does not want me.”

Julian heard himself chuckle in spite of his efforts to be serious. “Only love can do this to a maiden,” he said whimsically. “My sweet, you are lovesick. Ah, it is a bittersweet ailment and certainly it feels deathly.” He patted her hand confidently. “But the cure lies in finding another man. Adrienne, you’ll have no problem in that. They all pine after you.”

Julian sat back rather comfortably, feeling secure again. She would be fifteen years old in a few months, and she had just encountered her first taste of love...and her first bite of rejection. She would withdraw from this depression wiser and stronger and more determined. The next one would not get away. He knew Adrienne very well.

“But I don’t want another man...and...it is too late...”

“Too late?” he asked with a quick denial in mind for an answer.

She nodded pitifully.

“Who?” he asked loudly, his bark indignant and offended.

Adrienne immediately pulled away her hands and melted into despairing sobs. Her action only caused Julian to react in his habitual way and pulled at her hands, demanding the answer. “Who? Who?”

But Adrienne was broken by this and cried genuinely painful tears. Julian forced himself to find a softer approach. “Please, sweet, let me help you.”

“Please don’t ask me to name him, Uncle Julian. Anything else, but not that...please.”

“Very well, very well. Come now, control yourself, my dear. I’m not angry with you. After all...” He clumsily put his arms about her shoulders and pulled her near for a rare and unpracticed embrace. Again, Julian was shocked by the comfortable way it felt to hold someone in need and compassion. He was delighted and stunned by the emotions that rose. He began to admire the girl, for she was at least as clever as he, and as determined to better herself. Indeed, there were more common links here than between him and his son. He knew she had a streak of wickedness, but most often it was justifiable and relatively harmless. He admired a certain worldly air and mischievous mien.

“Adrienne, my pet, tell me how this happened, then. Leave off the man’s name, if you must.”

She struggled to collect herself, and eventually Julian pulled his handkerchief from his sleeve and held it as she blew her nose. After a few long moments of sniffing and blowing, she was able to speak. But her spirit seemed broken and he hated what had been done to her. Julian felt himself bent on justice, another rare and new experience.

“I began to see him at court,” she said. “And then met him on the sly, because I knew you wouldn’t approve of him.”

“And why? Is he a decent man? Worthy?”

“I...I think so...but I trust you would not. I love him, Uncle Julian, but he is not the sort you would choose.”

“Where did you meet him? When?”

“I snuck out of the house after you were asleep and went to him; it is so simple to buy a coach or bribe our driver.”

“When did this begin, lass?”

“We were here less than a month,” she sobbed, her voice low and strained.

“And he abused you?” Julian was beginning to flush in anger over these escapades, but strangely, his fury revolved around this mysterious man and not his provocative niece.

“Oh, no. It was quite civil. My shame comes from my behavior. For at least through the Christmas celebrations he kept me quite decent when he could have easily used me. I...I would not have stayed him. Uncle Julian, I did not know the pain I would feel. I thought he loved me.”

“When did you learn otherwise, my dear?”

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Uncle. It was not until weeks after the new year that this man took advantage of me. And I tempted him with nighttime visits and truly a lack of caution. And I was with him many times—long enough to know that I love him true. And when I asked him to save me from the shame of becoming a dirty bride to another, he said...he said...”

“There, child,” he replied, with a generous hug that he was becoming more adept at, while she wept and found words most difficult.

“He said he does not love me and will not marry me.”

“Adrienne, my dear,” Julian consoled. His chest became heavy with an internal swelling born of anger. It was not clear to him whether he wanted compensation from this man for mining his prize or whether he wished to avenge her honor as a parent might. Whichever, he was heated with the fury to see this deed rectified to his satisfaction. And he had forgotten the business that had brought him to her chamber.

“Adrienne, dear child, when did he first soil you?”

“Late in January,” she replied.

“Two months. Um. And are you with child, my dear?”

“I...I think not. Julian, I must accept the blame for much of this. I defied you and I sought this horror. It is as much my fault as—”

“Never mind that, my dear. An honorable man would not have touched this virginal prize but would have come to me, and I would have reprimanded you for misconduct. You would have been angry, but intact. Now, look at me and answer me duly, for your future depends largely on your wisdom in this. Will you take another husband, a man of my choice for you, quickly and without quarrel?”

Her eyes, clear and glassy, looked at him lethargically. “I will do as you bid me, Uncle Julian. But I can think of no other man I could love.”

He frowned slightly but continued to hold her attention. “You must gather your wits and hear me. I have little time to explain all of this if I’m to be about mending your tended seams. Dearborn is to be yours, provided we can find a decent man who won’t mismanage it for you. Stephen, God help him, is not deserving and I am forced to disclaim his inheritance.”

“Dearborn?” she asked in surprise. “But I was told my dowry was a pension in a sum of money...”

“I know that. But it has changed. You have a modest right to the holding and my son has spoiled his. It grieves me, but it is so.”

“My mother’s home,” she said with some melancholy. “Uncle Julian, my mother’s home.”

“I know that, I know. Now, pay close attention, dear heart. I mean to do right by you. I am angry with the culprit, true, but I am not nearly so concerned about whether I like the man as I am about his skill at management and his general regard for you. If he would not beat you and would manage your property decently, I can probably convince him to marry you.”

“But he doesn’t love me,” she wailed.

“I don’t care about that and neither should you. He may come to love you one day, he may not. Marriages aren’t built around some childish idea about love. You marry the man best suited to care for you and your dower lands, have children, and get about the business of living. This broken heart you’re suffering will pass, and sadly, you’ll have another and another. But each will be less painful than the last and you’ll at least be well kept. Now tell me, Adrienne, can the man manage money?”

“Yes,” she answered haltingly.

“And he is of a civil nature? Not abusive, nor cruel? Does he have a violent nature?”

“No...he is...Well, he boasts of being cruel, but he had always seemed very kind...and...honest.”

“There, there, dear, think of Dearborn—your mother’s home. Now come, does he have any money or title?”

Adrienne began to concentrate on the idea of being a baroness and managing her own property. She was not prepared for Julian’s announcement, so many years had been spent thinking she would receive a token allotment to improve her marriageability. But the idea of having Dearborn again was inspiring. Julian could see the life begin to come back into her eyes.

“Yes,” she said more easily. “Both.”

“Then he is a suitable match?”

“I think so,” she said, faltering somewhat.

“Well, I know you don’t like the idea, but if you tell me who he is, perhaps something can be done.”

“And if nothing can be done?” she quizzed.

“Then we’ll discuss alternatives. For now, I must know the culprit’s name.”

“You will hate me forever,” she said.

“I doubt that, my dear. I will be upset for a day and then I will see about a wedding. Come, come.”

“Do you promise not to punish me?” she asked.

Julian saw the color begin to return to her face, and her lively green eyes resumed their quick glitter and light. “I will only punish you with your estate. I have to see my property cared for. Adrienne?”

She took a breath and lowered her eyes. “Trent Wescott,” she murmured very softly.

“Who?” he asked, hoping he had not heard her correctly. “Who was that, Adrienne?”

She looked up at him almost defiantly. It nearly brought a chuckle to his lips, so pleased was he to see some life again. “Trent Wescott,” she stated firmly.

“Trent Wescott?” he boomed.

She began to weep instantly, but Julian was at least as clever as she and he knew these tears were contrived. “There, you’re angry,” she sobbed. “You hate me, I knew you would. You won’t give it to me now, will you?”

Julian sat back in a state of shock. He barely heard her whiny excuses, but in this he was at least practiced. Her genuine despair was something he had never seen, not even following her mother’s sudden death. But her dramatics he was well acquainted with and knew how to disregard them.

“Wescott,” he muttered. He sat in perplexed shock. He was amazed the man even toyed with her. Likely he sought to soil her and leave her, just to cause trauma to the Kerr family.

But in this was a resourceful idea. He had meant to right the terrible wrong he had done to the Wescott family without loss of dignity or money—and this could well be the way. He had thought Adrienne foolish at first for suggesting such a thing, but then the state of affairs with Stephen had worsened and his options were fewer. He had written his testimony and hidden it in the London house. Now the remaining problems were to see Adrienne suitably wed and to make some amends with Wescott. Perhaps both could be accomplished with one contract.

“Wescott,” he said again. “So it is.”

“Uncle?” she questioned.

“I will explain all of this to you in some detail at a later time, but for now, rest assured, I will try to find a way to convince my lord of Braeswood that you would be a willing and obedient bride.”

“He will deny it, Uncle,” she promised. “He swore he would never admit to touching me.”

“That’s immaterial. The king is his friend...and if the king can finance him, he can bring him to the altar. Trust me, sweet, we will find a way.”

“He will refuse,” she cried, a note of panic in her voice.

“Perhaps at first. But he may see the merits in owning all the property these two families can combine. And upon my word, to disinherit Stephen from Dearborn, he may come around.”

“And if he doesn’t?” she asked.

“Then we’ll seek another alternative.”

“Please, Uncle Julian, don’t make him too angry.”

“I will use great care, dear. And hopefully great influence.”