The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(19)
What he wouldn’t give to find that type of peace again.
With a steadying breath, McCalpin made the only decision a loyal brother could reach. “Thank you for your advice. I always thought I’d marry someday, but perhaps I should give it more consideration.”
William’s audible sigh of relief filled the room. “That’s wise. Father told me that Aunt Stella is leaving me her estate in Northumberland. Our parents think I should start to spend some time with her.” William shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable, then stood. “Let me know about Leyton, will you?”
“Will”—McCalpin lowered his voice—“a moment, please.”
William nodded, but a new uncertainty had crept into his expression.
“I know you’re sacrificing your own happiness by helping me. I’ll not forget it. All my personal investments are to go to you. Russell has drawn up the documents, and Somerton knows my wishes also.”
“God, I hate it when you talk like this. I’m your brother, and I love you. It’s not a job. It’s what family does for one another.” William’s familiar lopsided grin made an impromptu appearance. “I’m curious. What are you going to do with Miss Lawson’s one-thousand-pound withdrawal?”
McCalpin hesitated. Like a thief, disquiet stole into his thoughts. “Give it to her, but no more. When I see her, I’ll tell her it’s the last monies she’ll receive without my personal approval first.”
Will nodded.
Immediately, his thoughts retuned to the lovely Miss Lawson and her penchant to consider her trust as nothing more than her own personal bank. No matter what, he’d not let anyone take advantage of him and his weakness.
Chapter Five
March leaned back in her chair and stretched. The stiffness in her neck was a painful reminder she had failed to move in over two hours as she balanced the household accounts. How could they spend so much money while everything was falling apart around them? Regardless, she needed the accounts to be in perfect shape when the marquess wanted to review the estate and its financials. She clung to the belief he’d help them; otherwise, she didn’t think she could survive another year of such dire circumstances.
Julia squeezed through the crack in the open door. “Cousin Rupert is here and demands to see you.”
Her sister’s evasive action didn’t stop the man from barging into the study. Rupert Lawson examined the contents of the room, taking particular notice of a valuable small painting above the desk behind her, the crystal inkwell that had been a gift of some foreign dignitary, and the sterling silver tea set on the desk. By the arrogant smirk, he must have been pleased with his accounting.
Rupert still smarted over the fact that her brother, Bennett, was Lord Lawson while he remained a simple “mister.” However, as Rupert’s father was the younger brother of her father, March tolerated his visits.
A pallid ghost of a smile lined Rupert’s face. “March, bad form to keep me waiting. Why is that lovely creature Julia answering the door? You should invest in a footman.”
The man’s voice could clear vultures from a fresh kill.
“Julia, thank you. Will you see if Bennett needs help with his lessons?” She didn’t want her sister within ten feet of him. She already knew the gist the conversation would take this afternoon. March would fend off an offer for Julia’s hand while Rupert belittled her and the rest of her family.
He fought to remove the leather gloves from his pudgy hands. His body had grown corpulent over the years, including his swollen head. Granted, he had once been handsome, but his taste for spirits and extravagant dinners had taken a toll on his features, and his waist had thickened.
“Cousin, where are your manners? Oh, the thought escaped me. You don’t have any. Your parents spent too much time in New York.” Using an ebony cane for support, he squeezed his hefty body into the chair beside the desk. “I’ll take a glass of brandy. The wind is quite wicked this morning.”
Her cousin’s appearance would make doing the household ledger appealing, but the best course of action was to finish this interview. “I could offer you tea.”
A triumphant smile spread across his mouth that caused his red cheeks to congeal in round circles. His eyes squeezed shut much like a rat with a delectable morsel. “Times that bad, eh? Do yourself and your family a favor. Let me take care of you.”
March rose from the desk and walked to the fireplace. It would take little effort to kick his chair over and watch as his arms and legs flailed like a beetle trying to turn over when it had landed on its back. Pleasure at such an image allowed her to answer his question with an even temper.
“That’s not necessary. We have everything we need.” She tilted her head and forced a smile, though he deserved a sneer.
His cane wobbled as he rose from the chair. “I’ve observed your spending habits in the village. You have no money.” With a deep sigh, he placed his beaver hat upon his head.
March thanked the merciful heavens for small miracles. He was leaving. She kept her hands busy and tended the small fire. “Thank you for your visit.” She didn’t dare turn, for fear he’d stay longer.
“You really have no other alternatives. No one wants you or your crippled sister. Now Julia”—he fought to take a deep breath and wheezed—“would make a fine match with a local farmer or perhaps a younger son of a local gentry’s family. However, being foremost a good man and head of this family, I intend to marry her. I’ll not let you and Faith starve. Bennett needs a man’s influence. The boy must learn how to carry himself.”