Treacherous Temptations(3)

“An undertaking designed only for a man of superior breeding, education, and talents…one for which you are perfectly suited and would be generously compensated.”

His lips twisted in derision. “Generosity is a most subjective term.”

“If you accept the commission, you may expect an annual stipend of two thousand pounds.”

“Two thousand?” He whistled through his teeth. While not a princely sum, it would go far on the Continent. Hadley’s eyes narrowed. “And what precisely will be required of me in return?”

Barbara smiled. “Hadley, my love, have you been to Rome to pay your respects to the Pretender?”





Chapter Two


Welham Grove, Leicester—1727

Determined not to show her weakness, Mary averted her gaze to the bow window of her father’s library, but the black crepe enshrouding it obscured her view of the gardens. Instead, she closed her eyes and inhaled, seeking fortitude in the comforting aromas—the blended bouquet of leather-bound books, Orinoco pipe tobacco, and the pungently sweet Madeira that Papa had favored, heedless of his gout. These subtle scents that still lingered months after his passing were reminders of the placid pastoral life she had always known—the one she feared was about to end.

“But this is the place of my birth, Sir Richard,” she protested. “How can you expect me to leave the only home I have ever known? I have no desire to go to London. My life is here at Welham Grove.”

“But consider the amusements of a London season,” her guardian cajoled. “The balls, the concerts, the play houses, polite society—”

“—None of which hold the least appeal to me,” Mary said. “I much prefer simple pleasures—a good book from this library, long walks and early morning gallops across the sheep pastures. Don’t you see? Even if I desired it, which I don’t, I am neither fit, nor equipped for a London season. I have spent my entire life at Welham Grove, and have never once minded, nor suffered, for the lack of so-called polite society.”

In all truth, the thought of London terrified her to the core. She had been only once in her life. Given her father’s aspirations for her future marriage, he had wanted her to mix with the so-called ‘quality,’ but the experience had utterly overwhelmed her. Country-bred Mary had felt ungainly and grossly inadequate even in her best gowns. Moreover, the monstrous city had seemed to swallow her whole. No, she could not even conceive of returning to London.

“My dear girl, were you a few years younger, I would gladly leave you in the charge of a governess, but at nineteen you are a woman grown. You must think to your future.”

“My future? What you really mean is a husband.”

“Well, yes.” Sir Richard rewarded her with an avuncular smile. “A husband is certainly in your future.”

“But why, Sir Richard? Am I not an heiress in my own right?”

He gave her another patronizing smile. “You are indeed, but your father desired to see you settled in marriage. The terms of his will are rather…er…encouraging to that end.”

“What can you mean?”

“You have been provided with a small allowance, little more than pin money really, until your marriage or your thirtieth year…whichever comes first.”

Eleven years to gain her inheritance? The revelation stole her breath.

“You must understand, my dear, that a young unwed woman simply cannot abide in the country all alone. Although a suitable companion could be arranged, that does not answer your other needs.” Sir Richard examined the briarwood pipe that still adorned the mahogany desk, and then cast an appraising look over the room, as if he mentally tabulated the value of its contents. “Regrettably my political affairs prevent me from attending your inheritance with the close oversight it requires. You need someone with a vested interest to manage your affairs, someone who will keep others honest. A husband is the logical answer.”

Mary burned with frustration, yet she managed to meet his patronizing stare straight on. “Why are you treating me as if I were an incapable infant when you know that Papa treated me in most respects as more of a son than a daughter? He taught me much of estate matters and often praised my abilities. Indeed, I have run this household since my mother passed. Surely I can learn the rest.”

A short burst of mirth preceded Sir Richard’s answer. “Your father merely humored the whims of his only child, and a female at that! A woman, any woman, is simply not capable of running a landed estate, let alone six of them!”

“But Papa employed estate factors and other men of business. If this arrangement sufficed while he lived, why should his death change anything? With a bit of sound guidance, I am certain I could manage.”

Just as she vowed to hold fast to her argument, her guardian seemed equally resolved to bring her into submission. He shook his bewigged head. “No, my girl, a husband is the only answer, for no hired man may be implicitly trusted where money is concerned, and as a woman, you are doubly vulnerable to unprincipled rogues. There are few men who can be implicitly trusted in business matters.” He paused. “Speaking of which, your father held a number of financial ledgers in safe-keeping for me, but I have been unable to locate them. Do you perchance know where they are?”

Although it seemed a casual question, his narrowed gaze belied an avid interest. The servants had already reported that he’d combed through both the library and the office looking for something, yet her father had specifically told Mary to lock the books away. She wondered now what those volumes contained. Mary regarded him blankly. “I would not know, Sir Richard, but I would be happy to look for them.”