The Solemn Bell(69)

He lifted his head off the pillow to kiss her smiling face. “Wonderful, indeed. I can hardly wait to discover what the future has in store for us.”

How extraordinary to even contemplate such a thing as the future.

Not so very long ago, his life was empty. His heart was empty. If some fortune teller would have told him he’d one day have a woman who loved him and possibly even a family of his own, Brody would have laughed. Then, he probably would have cried, because that was a Heaven on Earth he dared not even dream of.

It was almost too much to contemplate, even now. He kept wanting to check his back to see if the Devil was catching him up. Surely, this was all a mistake. This life was meant for some other, more worthy fellow. For what had Broderick Neill done to deserve such a paradise?





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT





“Brody! I’m glad I caught you.” Marcus limped over—his bad leg must have hurt, which was understandable, given the amount of work he’d put in last night, playing host and nannying Mary Rose.

He smiled. “Good morning, Markie. What’s up?”

“I’ve got something for you.” Marcus motioned for his brother to follow him. They crossed the corridor, and stepped into the library.

There was an overturned vase of flowers dripping onto the carpet, and a few misplaced champagne glasses, but the room was surprisingly clean despite the guests crammed in the night before.

Marcus went to a writing desk, took a key out of his pocket, and unlocked one of the drawers. He pulled out a stack of papers, and then handed them over.

Brody blinked down at them. They were, for the most part, hastily handwritten notes. He recognized his brother’s scrawl. “What’s all this?”

“Remember how I offered to look into Angelica’s situation? Well, I’ve done some digging.”

“When did you have time?”

His brother leaned back on the desk, giving his prosthetic leg a rest. “I…uh…called in some favors yesterday.”

So that’s where the chap had been all afternoon. “On a bloody Saturday?” Brody laughed. “From who, Stanley Baldwin himself?”

Marcus shrugged. “The perks of being a war hero.”

The papers trembled in his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to read them just now. “What do they say?”

“She’s certainly telling the truth. Her father died in the flu pandemic. Her brother, Lieutenant Frederick Grey, copped it at Amiens. As for the mother, there is no record of anything. It’s as if the poor woman disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Brody’s heart ached for Angelica. She really was all alone.

“There is an estate,” Marcus continued, “which she would be entitled to. It’s not much, but her inheritance should support her comfortably. And you, of course, if that’s still the plan.”

He looked up. “What do you mean?”

“The possibility of an income—her income—adds an entirely new dynamic to your relationship. You’d be the kept man, wouldn’t you?”

Oh, God. Instead of him taking Angelica as his mistress, all along she’d been the one with the money. It put a bad taste in Brody’s mouth. “What if she won’t have me?”

Marcus smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure she will.”

“I don’t know…Angelica can afford to be picky now.”

“Ah, not quite. It’s not as simple as all that. There will be inquests. Probate. Paying taxes, settling any debts. This sort of thing can take years to sort out.”

“She doesn’t have years. Christ, I don’t have years!”

“Be patient, Brody. I’ll do my best to help in any way I can, and we’ll get it all sorted. Then you’ll have something to show Father. He’ll be impressed.”

When Angelica inherited, he would not need Father’s approval. He would no longer need the old man’s damned allowance. Brody’s future bride was an heiress.

“Can’t I show him this?” He held up the papers. “You’ve been very thorough, Markie. Surely, this is proof enough for the old man.”

“It’s a gamble. What if there are other beneficiaries? What if there’s a will, and Angelica isn’t even mentioned? Take that to Father now, and he will laugh you out of the room.”

“What am I to do with Angelica until then? I don’t want to lose her.”

“Well, that’s the rub, isn’t it—how to keep Angelica and your allowance until the money comes through?”

Brody sagged down onto the sofa—the same sofa he’d taken her on, only a few nights before. He loved her too much to watch her suffer, but what if there was a baby? He could never force the woman who should be his wife to raise a child out of wedlock, all because he valued money over responsibilities. “Markie…”

“I understand how hard this is, but, for once in your life, play the long game.” Marcus tapped his gold signet ring against his wooden leg. Tap Tap Tap through his wool trousers. He always did that when he was annoyed. “I wish I hadn’t told you. I should have kept it to myself until you were ready.”

“What do you mean? I am ready. For the very first time, I’m not thinking of myself,” Brody argued. “Six months ago, all I would have thought of was a way to get my hands on that money—for morphine. Now, I don’t care if I ever see a penny of it.”