Page 74 of Better Than a Duke
Or Beckett. He’d offered to lend her the money to purchase the boardinghouse. Given what she’d come to know of his character, he would more than likely gift her the money. But then it would stay between them. A loan or a gift, it would be there, with both of them knowing it, with her owing him something whether he declared that she did or not. And he would marry Lady Pauline, and the new marchioness would know that he’dspent hundreds of pounds on… who? A neighbor? The mother of his daughter’s friend?
All it left her was a handful of what-ifs. What if she hadn’t gotten strawberry cream on Beckett’s jacket the night they’d met? What if she hadn’t decided she belonged with someone who needed her to fix them? What if she hadn’t told Beckett over and over again that she didn’t want more children, didn’t want to be a wife, didn’t want to be anything but Edmund’s mother? What if she’d been able to rein in her temper and keep from lashing out at everyone who slighted her? Any one of those things might have changed her life.
But it was far too late now. She’d dug her own hole, as surely as Edmund was digging his in the garden. And Beckett had decided he wanted a partner, someone to help advise his daughter, rather than a wife. And he’d found that woman. Iris was a stopgap, a temporary bit of solace, while he made up his mind. Even so, if she allowed in the wisp of a daydream, shecouldsee herself falling madly in love with Beckett Raines. Part of her worried that she’d already done so. And that was why she refused to indulge in dreams, the silly, useless things.
“Still nothing?” Trent mused. “I was under the impression that you had a mouth on you, Mrs. Silbern. I like that, along with the wiggling and shouting.”
For just a moment, Iris shut her eyes. “Are you attempting to offend me?” she asked slowly, opening them again as she faced him.
“I am. And you sat there and let me do it. Now, we both know how much you need me. No misunderstandings. I get what I want, when I want it, and you get what you need for your boy. But don’t expect me to adopt him. My boys are my blood. No exceptions. If you make me another one and Francis or Henry or their offspring annoy me, then I’ll see about declaring my firsttwo marriages null and void. You’ll make another Howard or two for me, whether I cut the older ones out of the inheritance or not.”
They turned onto the path in Hyde Park. Iris spent the next forty minutes pretending to smile as everyone who looked in her direction no doubt realized how desperate she must be that she would wish to wed a skeletal, crass, randy old man. It would give her a title, the Duchess of Trent, and then the Dowager Duchess of Trent. At least that couldn’t be taken away—though she imagined Lord Elmond would certainly attempt to see it stripped from her, or from whoever became his next stepmother.
“I do still have a choice,” she noted. “So what assurances are you willing to give your bride?” she asked as they began yet another circuit of the park. “I require something unbreakable to protect my standing and income after your death.”
“You’re mercenary, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “I’ll have something written up so you’ll keep your title and your boy has, say, a hundred quid a year. I suppose you’ll need a stipend, too, since Elmond will boot you out of the house before I’m even cold. What sounds reasonable in exchange for giving you a life of luxury and a title? Fifty a year?” He laughed again. “That’s only if you outlive me, which none of the others managed.”
For Trent this was obviously a game, and one he enjoyed immensely. He knew how much she needed this marriage, and he pushed her just an inch short of that. “I would accept five hundred a year, Your Grace.”
He snorted. “Oh, I imagine you would. Be careful with your negotiating, Mrs. Silbern. You haven’t won the contest yet. What if your rival only asks for twenty a year? Or tells me that my love is all the payment she requires?”
Iris smiled at him with gritted teeth. “Then I suppose I shall lose.”
“Ha! I have too many greedy offspring and their brats to go flinging money at everyone, but I’ll see that you get a hundred a year. Same as your boy. His stops when he turns… thirty. You’ll have yours for life. Fair?”
Not in the least, but she wasn’t going to get a better offer anywhere else. “In theory,” she said, still reluctant to step into this mess with both feet, “I agree.”
“Glad to see you do have some common sense. A female can’t go about hitting and insulting lords and lordlings. Sometimes you have to accept your place in the world and smile—then wish them all to the devil under your breath.”
“Oh, I am, believe me.”
He shifted, moving close enough that his thigh pressed against hers. “I like you, Mrs. Silbern. I may want a taste before I make my decision. You know, sampling some milk before I purchase the cow.”
Iris curled her fingers into a fist. “I suggest you keep your distance, Your Grace. You have bargained for a transactional union. There are no samples.”
“We’ll see about that. I’ve gotten everything I’ve wanted so far.” With that he banged his cane beside Polly’s head, making the maid flinch. “Back to Grove House, Ritter. I’ve played about enough this afternoon.”
Edmund hefted the small wooden box beneath one arm. “I’m going to Raines House,” he announced, trying to sound the same as he did every time he went next door.
Tollins the butler nodded. “I’ll inform your mother if she should inquire,” he said, like he always did, and pulled open the door.
This was going to be tricky. If Lord Hentrose got too angry with him, he could lose Flintlock Biscuitsandhis privilege to playwith Becks. But if he didn’t do anything, he and Becks weren’t going to be together for much longer anyway, and he was fairly certain that all of his new step-cousins or-nieces and-nephews or whatever they would be would laugh at him for riding a pony.
This was the sort of thing he wished he’d been able to do weeks ago when Uncle Lord Bellamy had clomped straight into their house with his muddy boots and his architect, and started talking about which walls they should tear down. It had taught him not to be surprised by what people did to each other, though Lord Hentrose purchasing him Flintlock had stunned him. Perhaps it was the bad things he was expecting, and not the good ones.
He knocked at the front door. Bradley the footman opened it. “Good morning, Master Edmund,” he said with a smile. “I’m afraid Lady Becks is not feeling well this morning, and she’s still to bed. Mrs. Brubbins is with her if you’d like to go up and sit with her for a bit.”
“That would be grand,” he said, nodding. “Where’s Butler?”
“We’re having a breakfast here this morning. Butler’s measuring the silverware spacing.”
“Oh, I’d like to see that,” Edmund blurted, before he could stop himself. Drat it all. He needed to be upstairs.
“I’m afraid it’s quite dull,” the footman commented, thankfully, gesturing him toward the stairs. “You know the way, Master Edmund.”
“Thank you, Bradley,” Edmund said again, and started up the stairs.
“By the way, Master Edmund,” Bradley said in a lower voice, “your box has a nose sticking out of one corner. Be cautious no one else sees.”
