Marriage Made In Money. Sophia James

the remaining stain of red on her cheeks which made her look vulnerable. He wanted to lay his hand upon her arm and tell her...what? He shook the thought away and concentrated on her father, whose eyes were glued to his daughter, a speculative glance within them.

      ‘I hope you will recover without any ill effects, sir,’ Daniel said. ‘If you wish to take such an assault further with the law and need verification of exactly what I saw, you may call on me.’

      Extracting his card from a thin leather holder in his pocket, he handed it over.

      ‘Thank you for your help, Lord Montcliffe, I have appreciated it greatly.’

      Acknowledging the gratitude, Daniel turned to leave, though the daughter, after fumbling in a drawer to one side of the room, came forth with a wad of bank notes.

      ‘I hope this might help in the way of thanks.’ Her voice was no longer shrill, but the insult of payment was all Daniel could think of.

      Without another word he turned and walked from the room, the butler hurrying to show him the way out.

      * * *

      ‘Perhaps I insulted him, Papa, by offering him reimbursement for his trouble?’ Amethyst looked down at the substantial sum in her hands. Every other member of her acquaintance would have taken it and with the thankfulness that was intended, but not the Earl of Montcliffe.

      She was irritated with herself for allowing such an awkward meeting, but she had been more than surprised to see the man outside the Tattersall’s auction rooms right here in their town house. She knew Lord Montcliffe had noticed her embarrassment and she chastised herself for even thinking of giving him reimbursement for a deed of honour.

      Such a reward belittled the act, she supposed, by reducing it to terms of cold hard cash. She had heard that the ton rarely even carried money, the tarnish of trade and commerce resting instead with their accompanying helpers and sycophants.

      Traders and merchants. Even with a princely sum made from hard work, good luck and risky ventures, the Camerons would not be accepted into any of the higher echelons of society.

      Well, she could not care. No doubt Lord Montcliffe would be mulling over his encounter with them on the carriage ride home before sharing the story of her clumsy attempt at recompense with his peers at some exclusive ‘members only’ club in the nicer areas of the city. She was so very glad he was gone.

      ‘You need to inform the constabulary of this assault, Papa. You cannot keep pretending that this matter will simply disappear.’

      ‘You think I should pay them?’ For the first time ever Amethyst heard a tone in her father’s voice that suggested complete uncertainty and she did not like it at all.

      ‘No, of course not. Pay once and they will haunt us indefinitely. These people need to be cut off at the roots.’

      Her father laughed. ‘Sometimes, Amethyst, you are so like your mother that it brings tears to my eyes.’ He took in a breath. ‘But if Susannah were here I think she would be scolding me for involving you so much in the business that you have forgotten about living.’ The handkerchief pressed to his nose still showed blood appearing through the thickness of the layers of cotton and Amethyst hoped that the physician might hurry. ‘A man like Montcliffe would make you smile again.’

      ‘I am quite happy as I am, Papa, and as Montcliffe must have every single woman’s heart in London a-racing he would hardly be interested in mine.’

      The strange glint in his eyes was worrying for Amethyst knew her father well enough to know just what that meant.

      * * *

      She wandered across to the mews behind the house after her father had retired. Robert had bought in this particular area in London because of the proximity of the stables that held enough room to house livestock.

      The stablemaster, Ralph Moore, was just finishing brushing down Midnight, a large black stallion her father had acquired in the past year.

      ‘It is a sad day when the cream of our livestock is left to languish in the Tattersall’s stable on view for sale, Miss Cameron. I know it is not my place to criticise anything your father does and he has been a kind and mindful master, but with a bit of patience and some good luck the greys could be the start of a line of horses England has not seen the likes of before. I have spoken of it with him, but he does not want to even consider such a proposition any longer.’

      Such words made Amethyst wary. Why would her father suddenly not want the pleasure of breeding his Arabian pair, something he had always spoken of with much anticipation and delight?

      Tonight she felt restless and uncertain and the dangerous beauty of Lord Montcliffe came to mind. She wished she had not blushed so ridiculously when he had looked across at her or seen the returning humour in his eyes. The heat of shame made her scalp itch and, reaching up, she snatched the offending wig from her head and shook out the short curls beneath it, enjoying the freedom.

      It was finally getting longer. Almost six inches now. Curlier than it had ever been and a much lighter colour. Soon she would be able to dispense with the hairpiece altogether.

      If she had been at Dunstan, she would have saddled up one of the horses and raced towards the far hills behind the house. Here in London the moon was high and full, tugging at her patience, stretching the limit of her city manners, making her feel housebound and edgy.

      A noise had her turning.

      ‘When I could not find you I knew you would be here.’

      Her father joined her at the side of Midnight’s stall, Ralph Moore’s departure a few moments prior to his room upstairs allowing them privacy. Her father’s left eye was darkened and his nose swollen.

      ‘I imagined you would have gone up to bed early after such a dreadful day,’ she said.

      ‘Slumber is harder to find as the years march on.’ His glance rose to her hair. ‘It is nice to see you without the ugly wig, my love, for your skin appears a much better colour without it.’

      Shaking her head, Amethyst looked down at the limp brown hairpiece in her hands. ‘I should have a new one ordered, I suppose, but it seems so frivolous for the small amount of time I still have need of it.’

      ‘Well, it is good to see you happier, my dear. Perhaps the exchange with Lord Montcliffe has given you some vitality? He is a good man and strong. Mr Tattersall spoke of him highly as a lord who can be relied upon.’

      ‘Relied on to do what?’

      ‘To look after you. I shall not be around for ever and...’

      His sentiments petered away as she began to laugh out loud. ‘I hardly think that was what Mr Tattersall was referring to. Besides, an exalted lord of the realm would have no mind to mingle with a woman from trade.’

      ‘But if he did, my love, would you have the inclination to consider him as a husband?’

      ‘Husband?’ Now all humour fled. ‘My God, Papa, you cannot be serious for he would never marry me. Not for all the gold in England. Men like Lord Montcliffe marry women exactly like them. Rich. Beautiful. Young. Well connected. Debutantes who have a world of possibilities at their feet.’

      Her father shook his head. ‘I disagree with you. Your mother taught me that those things are not the most important qualities to ensure the success of a union. She said that a partner with an alert and interested mind is worth much more than one of little thought or originality. Besides, we have accrued enough money to lure even the loftiest of the lords of the ton.’

      His words seeped into her astonishment. ‘Why are you saying these things, Papa? Why would you be even thinking of them? I am a widow and I am almost twenty-seven years old. My chances of such marital bliss are long since passed and I have accepted that they are.’

      In the moonlight her father’s face looked older and infinitely sadder. As he leant forward to take her hand Amethyst felt her heart lurch in worry, the certainty