Page 38 of When the Scoundrel Sins

CHAPTERSIX

One Week Later

(Three Weeks Until Belle’s Birthday)

Belle glanced out the drawing room window as another gentleman departed quickly from Glenarvon’s front door. Her stomach knotted. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Another gentleman arriving?” Lady Ainsley looked up from the desk where she was scratching out notes for the upcoming party.

“No.” She frowned, suspicion niggling at her. “Another one leaving.”

Something was definitely not right here. Lady Ainsley’s insistence that Quinton and Robert be put in charge of greeting potential suitors was surely leading to nothing but trouble. They were supposed to have been interviewing the callers to suss out the men’s intentions, sorting the blatant fortune hunters from the true gentlemen. But from Belle’s count as she watched the men come and go, the two Carlisles were sending away nearly all the men who’d arrived. Today, she’d estimated that a dozen gentlemen had ridden up the drive to call on her. Although it couldn’t be possible, she was certain she’d counted thirteen who’d left.

None of the departing men appeared to be happy. Including the last one, who turned to cast a dark scowl at the manor house before mounting his horse and riding away.

“A good sign, is it not?” The viscountess pushed her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It means Quinton and Robert are doing their jobs.”

“Perhaps.” Or perhaps they were only adding to her headache.

And what a headache this past week had given her! With no other choice now but to marry, Belle had allowed Lady Ainsley to surreptitiously spread the information that her dowry was the estate and that she was looking for a husband. There was no mention of the birthday deadline, now only three weeks away, but there didn’t need to be if the number of men who began to call on her was any indication of the scheme’s success. Dressed in their finest, with hats in hands, they’d descended upon the estate like a swarm of locusts, where the two Carlisle brothers were waiting for them. Apparently, in ambush.

It was clear after only a few days that putting those two rascals in charge of approving suitors was like letting foxes guard the henhouse.

No—like a couple of foxes who refused to let the henhouse be built in the first place.

“It will all be fine.” Lady Ainsley turned her attention back to the to-do list for the house staff in preparation for the party. “I trust Quinton to do the right thing.”

Belle silently arched a dubious brow at that.

“After he has exhausted every other possible avenue,” the dowager added beneath her breath.

Disheartened, Belle turned away from the window and began to pace the length of the drawing room. Oh, why couldn’t Quinn have simply done what she wanted for once and accepted her proposal? Short of being given Glenarvon outright, it would have been the answer to her prayers.

Two weeks ago, she would have laughed at that notion. Married to Quinton Carlisle, of all men! She never would have countenanced such a thing. But now, not only would it be the solution to her dilemma, it might actually be pleasant to have Quinn for a husband.

Andthatrealization nearly tripped her in mid-pace.

It was true. Although she was loath to admit it, at times the pest could be…enjoyable. During the past sennight, the most aggravating man in the world had become her friend and confidante, and her best ally in this inheritance mess.

She’d enjoyed spending time with him, playing chess in the evenings and talking long into the night, hearing stories about his wild youth with his brothers and all the pranks he’d pulled at university which nearly got him expelled. She enjoyed the habit she and Quinn had started of taking afternoon walks around the property and the village, when she confided her problems with running the estate and he offered sensible solutions. She’d even found herself looking forward to their debates over the news in theLondon Timesduring breakfast and respecting him for his mind.

Quinton Carlisle had amind…Whoever would have thought it?

“If you keep pacing like that, my dear,” Lady Ainsley called out, “we shall have to replace the rug.”

Belle stopped where she was, halfway across the room, and with a heavy sigh, she turned to face the viscountess. But her uneasy fidgeting couldn’t be suppressed. Not today. Not with Quinton and Robert doing God only knew what downstairs. And certainly not since she was stuck spending the day inside with Lady Ainsley, planning out the last details of the party, which should have been a happy occasion but now filled her with dread.

What had originally been planned to celebrate Belle’s birthday had now turned into a de facto engagement party, when Belle would have to announce the name of the man she’d chosen to marry. With only one week to spare, it was the latest moment when she could make her decision and still have time to hold a proper wedding in the parish church. Anything past that…well, it was the anvil or nothing, and if she waited that long, she feared she’d end up with nothing.

Unable to pace, she nervously bit at her thumbnail.

“And then we shall have to replace your thumb, as well.”

She scowled and dropped her hand to her side.

“I think we can find enough oranges to have sugared orange peels for the refreshments table,” Lady Ainsley mused almost to herself as she scratched out a note in her planning book. “Six dozen oranges, then?”

“Whatever you think best.” Belle paused at the window to look down at the front drive, just in time to see yet another gentleman arriving.