“Of course not. If you’ve chosen Angelica to be your wife—”
“I haven’t asked her yet, and I’m not sure when I’m going to. First, I have to work out this business with Father. I don’t want my future wife to worry about anything,” he said. “God knows she’s had enough to trouble her over the years.”
Marcus leaned back on the Bentley, arms crossed over his tweed jacket-front. “Right. This business with her family…even you have to admit it’s rather an odd tale. Father dead, brother missing, and the mother vanishes into thin air? What sort of woman abandons her blind daughter in the middle of a war?”
“She didn’t abandon her. Angelica’s mother went to get help from her relatives. Something must have happened on the journey,” Brody explained. “Their situation was very dire, Markie. It’s perfectly reasonable that her mother succumbed to the same flu that killed her father, or…God, I don’t know…was murdered somewhere between home and Hexham.”
“But if Angelica is the only one left, surely there has to be an inheritance. If you want, I could look into it for you.”
He shrugged. What was the point? “You forget I’ve seen the place. There was money once—it’s a charming, well-built old pile—but not anymore. If there was anything to be had, some cousin of hers would have come knocking by now.”
“All the same—”
“Look if it pleases you, Markie, but I need a reliable solution.”
His elder brother studied him for a long moment. “Why don’t you come in to work with me on Monday. There must be something you’re qualified for. Something that Father is willing to trust you with. Surely, he wouldn’t object to you joining the family business. And it’s a salary…”
“God, the thought of going to that office every day kills me. But, if it means I can marry Angelica, then I suppose I can stomach it.”
Marcus laughed. “You really do love that girl.”
Brody laughed, too. “You have no idea.”
***
Peter and Cynthia arrived in time for luncheon. They’d both caught the same train in, and the family gathered in the foyer to greet them. Brody stood in the rear with Angelica on his arm. Father hadn’t said anything more about their relationship, but he knew the old man wasn’t pleased—Angelica wasn’t family, and had no reason to be there to greet the guests.
Brody wanted her there. Everyone else could go to the devil.
“Marcus and I have known Peter for years,” he explained to her. “He’s a cad, but he’s a rich cad. Girls who don’t know better flock to him.”
“Does your sister have her eye on him?”
“I hope not, but if she does, my father and Cynthia’s father might have to fight over him. A battle of the dowries.”
Angelica laughed. “Does it always come down to money with you lot?”
He glanced down at her. God, did she know? His heart lurched, and for a moment, he couldn’t find his voice. Finally, he said, quietly. “Always.”
Her smile never wavered. “Then I hope, for your parents’ sake, that Mary Rose doesn’t want him. I’d hate to see how high a bidding war between two wealthy families could climb.”
If she suspected anything, she was damned good at hiding it.
The Daimler pulled to a stop in front of the entrance doors. Both guests climbed out of the rear seat and stretched in the sun. It had warmed up since breakfast—lovely weather for a week-end party. There might even be tea on the lawn this afternoon.
Cynthia looked tired and pale. Her frazzled blonde hair was packed into a cloche hat, which had been pulled down low to hide the shadows beneath her eyes. Peter didn’t look much better—black hair slicked back, probably with water from the train lavatory sink, and an extra dash of Bay Rum to cover the stench of a sleepless night.
The pair had probably been up for days, and slept only fitfully on the journey westward. Brody knew the routine all too well—they were part of the London nightclub scene he had hoped to leave behind. Now, they were here, temptation personified.
In the foyer, Cynthia squeezed Mary Rose, giggling and whispering like schoolgirls. Peter shook Father’s hand, then kissed Mother, and gave Marcus an affectionate punch on the shoulder. When he came to greet Brody, his eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils suspiciously wide.
The man’s shifting gaze shot to Angelica’s face, darted over her figure, and then focused on her own blank, blue eyes. “Brody, who is this stunning creature?”
He gritted his teeth into a smile. “Angelica, may I introduce Peter Lawton? Peter, my very good friend, Miss Grey.”
Angelica smiled. “How do you do?”