Regency Marriages. Elizabeth Rolls

Warned him what you were—and he does this!’

      Sick and shaking, Thea looked at the letter to her father. And frowned. She was to have two hundred a year? From her twenty-fifth to thirtieth birthday, unless she married with her father’s approval in the meantime, after which she would have the rest of the income … that Mr Kirkcudbright understood from his nephew that not all the blame could attach to Thea … that Aberfield’s foolish attitude … She risked a glance at her father over the letter. No wonder he looked apoplectic.

      Her world spun and reshaped itself. Two hundred a year—her twenty-fifth birthday was less than three months away … she would be free. Independent. What happened after her thirtieth birthday?

      She turned to the will. Apart from various minor bequests, the major one was to herself. And after her thirtieth birthday she received the entire income from the bequest.

      Dazed, she looked up and met her father’s bitter gaze.

      ‘Well?’ he said. ‘God, what a coil! I told him what had happened! And he does this! Now there’s no help for it—you’ll have to marry! Almeria Arnsworth will find you a husband.’

      ‘Only if that’s what Thea wants,’ interrupted David.

      Aberfield ignored that. ‘It shouldn’t be too hard with fifty thousand to sweeten the deal.’

      Thea dropped the papers. ‘Fifty thousand?’

      Lord Aberfield snorted. ‘That’s about the figure. In trust, of course. Thank God Theodore retained that much sense, despite David’s meddling. And believe me, I’ll see that you never get more than the two hundred a year if you don’t marry with my permission!’

      Two hundred a year until her thirtieth birthday. Thea said nothing, retrieving the papers from the floor. It was wealth. An independence. And it would be hers in less than three months. All she had to do was to avoid her father’s matrimonial plans until then. An odd crunching noise distracted her. She looked up. Aberfield was grinding his teeth.

      ‘Don’t get any ideas about setting up your own establishment after your birthday,’ he warned her. ‘You’ll be married long before then. In fact,’ he said, ‘you’ll be married by the end of the Season!’ He looked triumphant. ‘Dunhaven—he’ll have you.’

      ‘What!’

      This exploded from David. ‘Dunhaven? For God’s sake, sir! Are you insane?’

      Aberfield banged the arm of his chair. ‘Who else would have her?’ He cast a contemptuous glance at his daughter. ‘No point being fussy at this stage. Thing is to get her married off.’

      ‘Thea,’ began David, ‘you don’t have to—’

      She waved him to silence and lifted her chin a notch and considered Aberfield from an entirely new perspective—that of having a choice.

      Playing for time, she said, ‘I assume, then, that Lord Dunhaven is now a widower?’

      ‘Just out of mourning,’ confirmed Aberfield. ‘And looking for a bride.’

      Her mind worked furiously. Appearing to fall in with his plans would be far safer. Safer than outright defiance anyway. He had shown once before that there was little he would not do to force her compliance … If she allowed him to think that she would toe the line …

      Calmly she rose to her feet. ‘I shall look forward to renewing my acquaintance with Lord Dunhaven then. I won’t keep you any longer, sir. I have no doubt that I shall be perfectly safe under Lady Arnsworth’s roof.’

      David’s sharply indrawn breath told her that he had understood her meaning perfectly.

      Aberfield’s face was mottled. ‘Just remember: this time, you’ll do as you’re bid. Don’t expect me to protect you if you play fast and loose with another suitor!’

      Her temper slipped its leash very slightly. ‘Nothing, sir,’ she said, ‘could possibly lead me to expect anything of the sort.’

      ‘Miss Winslow and Mr Winslow, my lady,’ Myles announced. His eyes flickered briefly to Richard, with what Richard would have sworn was a look of amused sympathy.

      So he’d been right. A trap. And Myles knew all about it. He wouldn’t have been surprised had the dainty gilt chair he sat in suddenly sprouted shackles as Almeria rose and swept forward to greet her visitors.

      Richard rose automatically as Thea Winslow and her brother came forward. Then he blinked in frowning disbelief. Could this be Thea? Dressed all in grey, not a scrap of colour, not a frill nor flounce relieved the drab, functional appearance of her pelisse and bonnet. She looked more like a governess or companion than an heiress.

      Almeria said, ‘Welcome, my dears.’ She took Thea by the hand and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. ‘Dear Dorothea, do come and sit down.’ She led her to a chair, still patting her hand affectionately. ‘I am sure you are exhausted after your journey. Shall I ring for some tea?’

      Even her cheeks looked grey. A pang went through him. Did she still mourn Lallerton?

      For an instant their eyes met, and shock hit him as her gaze blanked. She hadn’t recognised him.

      But would he have recognised her? The soft tawny curls were doubtless still there, hidden beneath the bonnet and cap. And her eyes—perhaps it was the grey of her gown, but he remembered them as more blue than grey. He remembered her face as vivid, expressive—not this blank mask with shuttered eyes. And she was thinner than he remembered.

      He could have passed her in the street, even spoken to her, and not realised who she was. Yet now that he looked closely, in some strange way he did recognise her—as one sees the likeness between a waxwork doll and a friend.

      The ache inside deepened. Had grief done this to her?

      Thea’s breath jerked in as she realised that Lady Arnsworth had a gentleman with her.

      The gentleman had risen and regarded her with a friendly smile on his face. She lifted her chin a little. Surely he was familiar … tall, a spare frame, dark brown hair, his face lined a little … no, it couldn’t be—

      ‘I am sure you both remember my nephew, Mr Richard Blakehurst.’

      It was. Richard Blakehurst. Lady Arnsworth’s nephew and other godchild. Richard with his broken leg. As a boy he’d spent months here at Arnsworth House recovering after a riding accident that left it doubtful if he would ever walk again without the aid of crutches.

      David was the first to speak, his voice coldly biting. ‘Blakehurst. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

      Richard’s eyes narrowed at this chilly acknowledgement. ‘A mutual feeling, Winslow. How do you do?’

      Eyes glittering, David strode forward and took the proffered hand.

      ‘Servant, Blakehurst.’ His tone suggested anything but cordiality.

      Thea felt her cheeks burn. For heaven’s sake! Surely David did not imagine that Richard could possibly have joined the ranks of fortune hunters? Or that he could pose the least danger to her?

      Seemingly unconcerned, Richard turned to her.

      Swallowing hard, she nodded. ‘I … yes. I remember Mr Blakehurst. You are well, sir?’

      The dark brows shot up. His eyes. She had forgotten how expressive they were. And she did not remember him as being quite so tall. Or the planes of his face to be so … so hard.

      He inclined his head. ‘Very well, I thank you, Miss Winslow. Delighted to meet you again.’

      Panic flooded her as he came towards her, hand outstretched. He was going to take her hand. He would touch her. And she had stripped off her gloves in the hall …

      Richard. This is Richard … you knew him as a boy … She forced herself to stillness. But Richard Blakehurst was no longer a