The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(101)

The tremble of her lips betrayed the sincerity of her smile. “I needed Michael today,” she whispered.

His father pressed a kiss against her forehead, then brushed his index finger across her cheek in a tender caress. “My lovely, lovely duchess,” he soothed as he rocked her in his arms.

In that intimate moment, McCalpin realized what he’d miss in his life if he couldn’t find a way to keep March from leaving. A partner and a wife who would love unconditionally and protect his interests with everything she possessed.

His father’s gaze swept to his as he settled his wife into the crook of his arm. “I received a letter from March today. Erlington bequeathed part of his woolen mill fortune to her. It’s worth roughly fifty thousand pounds. She’s signed it over to you. She says it’s to pay for the monies that are missing. She didn’t apologize or seek forgiveness. Just the directive that any remaining amounts are to be equally split between her siblings.”

“Fifty thousand pounds?” he whispered. It was inconceivable.

“She could’ve had any man in London with that fortune.” His father pulled his mother closer.

Inside McCalpin’s chest, a demon warrior rose, one ready to defeat any man who wanted her. She was his.

“But she wanted you to have it,” his mother whispered. “For you and for her sisters and her brother.”

He released the breath he’d been holding. Soon an ocean would separate them, and this rift between them would never heal.

His father narrowed his eyes, oblivious to the unease running amok through McCalpin. With his free hand, he held up three fingers. “How many fingers?”

He exhaled. He may be in turmoil, but he still possessed all of his senses. “Three.”

His father nodded, then pulled the familiar red accounting book from his pocket. “What is this?”

He snarled by reflex. If his father had examined the entries, he had discovered the extent of McCalpin’s debilitating failure with numbers. “My bookkeeping.”

“Excellent. I was afraid you couldn’t see what was right before your eyes,” his father taunted. “You left it in the entry hall, and Pitts found it. Turn to the last page of entries.”

McCalpin reached to take it from his father’s outstretched hand, then hesitated. As if today and tomorrow weren’t enough punishment, now he had to withstand the disappointment he’d surely find in his father’s eyes once he realized what a simpleton he had for a son. “You are aware that I suffer from an inability to do even the simplest calculations?”

“Do it,” his father demanded.

Wary, he opened the red-leather journal and flipped to the last page of entries. His gaze skimmed the last column of numbers until his eyes fixated upon the writing so similar to his but with a distinct feminine slant and curls to the letters.

My dearest love,

Last night in your arms and your bed, you gave me a gift I never thought to receive or experience in my life. Your tenderness and care proved that I could have the happiness in my life that I thought I’d lost. My thoughts are in a jumble as my lips still crave your kisses, but you must know that you own my heart and all my soul. I want to shout it to the world, that I, March Lawson, love you, Michael Cavensham, without reserve or caution. With complete and total abandon, I freely give you my heart. Whatever you choose to do with it is your prerogative, but I will not deny my love. Ever.

However, the greatest present you’ve ever given me—besides asking me to be your wife—is the trust you’ve shown when you shared yourself and what you perceive as your failings. Know I cherish your trust, and I will proudly stand by your side everyday as you work. I promise I’ll do everything and anything in my power to help you with the financial aspects of the estate, your political work, and every glorious moment in your life.

I’ll keep your every secret and guard your trust fiercely. It’s my greatest gift to you as I love you more than life itself.

Yours forever,





M


He closed his eyes in a desperate attempt not to cry out as he leaned against the carriage bench squab. At Lawson Court, she’d asked him if he’d read the journal. He called it tripe. What had he done? She must think he didn’t care what she’d written. His beautiful, giving March had been loving and protecting him just as fiercely as she did her siblings. “How stupid could I have been?”

“That’s only true if you don’t try to win her back,” his father said without a hint of mockery or disdain.

“How can I? I’m an idiot when it comes to numbers.” He was so lost he didn’t think he’d be able to find his way out of the carriage. He didn’t even care that he was speaking so freely about his shortcomings with his parents.

His father grinned with an understanding that gave him hope. “My father suffered from something similar, but his duchess was gifted with figures. No one ever knew how much he relied on her for financial help. Together, they made the Langham duchy one of the most powerful and profitable titles in all of England.” His father kissed his mother tenderly on her cheek before he turned his attention to McCalpin. “You and March could have the same impact.”

“If we have even a fraction of the impact you and mother have, I’ll consider both the duchy and myself most fortunate.” McCalpin felt the heaviness in his chest slowly release. “Do you think you might be able to help me?”