Any Groom Will Do Read online

  She continued, “I am prepared to award that sum in its entirety to a man who will use the money for an international venture, just as the advertisement said, and leave England to do it.”

  “Just to be clear,” said the earl, “do you mean the money is your dowry? Because I cannot see how dowry money is yours to invest.”

  Willow hesitated. Her entire future hinged on his reaction to her answer. “I cannot reveal any more about how the money will be . . . mine to invest,” she said, “until I learn more about you, my lord. And your venture.”

  “Well, then we are at an impasse because my venture is . . . rare and untried, and my partners and I are protective of it. In my view, the burden of answering any questions is on the unmarried girl who claims to have £60,000 at her disposal.”

  Willow looked down at her hands. She breathed in and out. If she revealed nothing more, he would leave and take his very slim potential with him. If she said more, her reputation was at risk. Her reputation already was acutely at risk. Even if she made it to London, she could not be hired, not by respectable clients, unless her reputation was untarnished. This was her reason for endeavoring to marry in the first place. A married woman could do as she pleased.

  Before she could respond, he said, “What, specifically, do you wish to know, Miss Hunnicut?”

  She looked up. He had not said no. A tendril of hope began to climb up the trellis of her heart.

  Of course there were dozens of things she wished to know.

  Who are you?

  From where have you come?

  Are you a criminal?

  Are you a madman?

  Are you a liar or a cheat or a degenerate?

  How will you spend my £60,000?

  Who else have you approached about this rare and untried venture?

  And why, in God’s name, would a man claiming to be earl require £60,000 from me?

  She opened her mouth to ask any of these, but she heard herself say, “Are you married, my lord?”

  The earl narrowed his pale green eyes. “No. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just one of many bits of information I should like to know.” She released a breath. If he’d said yes, then no other question mattered. She pretended to make a notation on the parchment. “You and are I both unmarried, so there you have it.”

  Perry made a strange sound, and Willow again spoke over her. “Carrying on . . . my next question repeats my original concern. What do you intend to do with the money?”

  ***

  Cassin stared at W. J. Hunnicut, who was not, as it happened, a man. Or an investor. Or a sane person, obviously.

  Staring at her was not a hardship. In fact, the sight of her was so appealing, he found himself reaching deep for discipline, feeling around for self-control he hadn’t summoned in years. He couldn’t say what exactly her game might be, but the rare coalescence of cleverness and beauty and determination distracted him. By all accounts, he should have already made his excuses and gone, and yet here he sat. Too intrigued to leave.

  “I’ll tell you again,” he said carefully. “Our venture is proprietary. The market is fiercely competitive. Exclusivity is a chief advantage. We don’t dole out business secrets to just anyone.”

  “If you consider my offer to be a viable one, I would not be ‘just anyone.’ ”

  Your offer isn’t viable, he thought, but something about the slight note of desperation in her tone kept his mouth shut. Instead, he said, “We’ve only just met. I haven’t the slightest idea who you are.”

  “Lady Willow Hunnicut,” she said, “daughter to Earl Lytton.”

  “Lady Willow?”

  “Yes, Willow. Like the tree. It’s short for Wilhelmina.”

  “This tells me exactly nothing, I’m afraid,” he said, but he thought, It suits her. She was tall and solid but also graceful, like a willow. And there was something wholly natural and fresh about her. It was a useless thing to notice, of course. He’d dragged Stoker and Joseph all this way for nothing.

  “If you cannot describe the venture,” Lady Willow said, undeterred, “can you name the market? In general, perhaps?”

  Cassin narrowed his eyes. Then again, he was already here. And he did not relish the task of returning to his partners with bad news. If nothing else, her persistence was a lesson to him. She refused to give up.

  “Mining,” he finally said. “And farming.”

  She glanced up from her notes.

  He explained, “We will mine a resource that is used in farming,”

  She nodded slowly and scribbled. He could not look away from the open interest in her face. She scratched notes as if he described the route to a buried treasure.

  “And in what country is this meant to happen?” she asked.

  “The mining or the farming?”

  “Both.”

  “The mining is in the Caribbean Sea. The farming is in England.” Cassin sighed. What he would have given to be taken so seriously by a legitimate investor.

  She looked up and smiled. Cassin’s heart beat double for two heavy thuds.

  “The Caribbean and England . . . ” she repeated. “Fascinating. Was that so difficult to reveal?”

  No, he thought, it was far too easy, which is what worries me. He said, “It was not difficult as much as reckless. And please be aware I will not say another word until I learn more about you and your alleged £60,000.”

  After a pause and a glance at her manservant, she said, “Very well. I shall say it. But please be aware that what I’m about to tell you may have an inconsequential effect on your life but could very well ruin mine. Please understand. My evasiveness has been only to protect myself. If the arrangement does not interest you, then I ask you, as a gentleman, to disregard it. Consider it irrelevant and leave here, speaking of it to no one.”

  Well, that was not what I expected, Cassin thought. Did she want something smuggled out of England? Had someone put her up to importing contraband?

  He shifted in his seat. “And I caution you not to reveal an illegal proposition. I regard myself as an entrepreneur and a taker of great risk, but I am an honest man. My partners and I have a great deal at stake. We will not circumvent the law.”

  Across the room, her maid moaned.

  “Perry,” Lady Willow snapped, “tea, if you please.”

  “But my la—”

  “Now, Perry.”

  The maid scrambled from her seat, scattering dogs.

  To Cassin, she said, “You mistake me, my lord. What I propose is perfectly legal.”

  “Very well then; say it.”

  Lady Willow nodded. “I’ve said the £60,000 is my dowry.” She paused and cleared her throat. “And under the terms of the proposed arrangement,” she continued, “that sum would be transferred to the suitable man in the same way that any dowry is transferred. In exchange for marriage.” She looked down at her notes. “To me.”

  Silence fell on the room like a net. Even the dogs ceased their panting. He wasn’t certain, but he believed this young woman had just proposed marriage to him. She let out a quavering breath. Cassin felt very much like drawing his own quavering breath. He glanced at the silent servant standing sentry beside the door. The man made no reaction. Cassin cocked his head, running the words over in his mind.

  “Forgive me,” he said slowly, “but do I understand that your entire scheme is meant to engineer your own wedding? You endeavor to buy a husband?” His mind reeled. Cassin was in possession of three sisters and countless female cousins; he had been a resident of the earth alongside other females for thirty-six years. He had never heard of such a thing.

  Lady Willow nodded and pushed out of her chair. “I am not interested in engineering a wedding or even a marriage. But I do wish to engineer a mutually beneficial union.”

  “And what does that mean?” Now he was up. He ran his hand through his hair.

  “It means I am desperate to leave Surrey, the reason for which I will freely reveal to . . .
the suitable man.”

  “More secrets.”

  She went on, saying, “Unmarried young women from respectable families dare not build a life alone outside of their childhood homes or families. But a married woman? A married woman may come and go as she pleases.”

  “Go where? Surely you do not mean to travel the world with the man you buy with your dowry?”

  “Certainly not,” she said. “I have an aunt in London who has offered me a lovely home and fulfilling employment—an apprenticeship, the culmination of years of passion and study. It is the occupation of my wildest dreams. And it’s no secret. I’ll tell you; I would design the interiors of the finest new homes in London. In Belgravia. Do you know it?”

  “No,” he said. “Let us put aside for a moment the notion that you wish to be employed—an ambition I have never before known by any woman of quality—and return to the reason why you must buy a husband if your own aunt can sponsor you in London?”

  Willow shook her head. “My mother does not get on with this particular member of the family. She has forbidden it.”

  “And yet she would allow you to marry a stranger?”

  “Oh, she will not realize that yo—”

  Now she stopped and flushed deep red. Cassin felt his own skin grow hot, and he turned away.

  “That is,” she corrected, “my mother would not realize that the man who takes my dowry would be a stranger. In her eyes, I shall marry for . . . traditional reasons. She is not acutely attuned to my, er, relationships. If I suggest to her that I have fallen in with an ear—that is, with an appropriate gentleman, she will not question how well acquainted we are. She will assume a natural affinity if I present it as such.”

  It is a betrothal plot, he thought. Plain and simple. The money was her dowry, and someone would have to marry her to get it. How had he not seen this coming?

  “Just to be clear,” she went on, “the marriage would not be traditional. When I am married, I will make my own way. And the man who has married me may, likewise, go his own way. All the way around the world. Or wherever . . . wherever he wishes. Simply . . . not near me.”

  Well, he could not have seen that. Cassin said, “Do I understand correctly that your plan precludes the traditional shared home of a husband and wife?”

  She looked at her hands. “The marriage is to be a business arrangement. The man I marry will take my dowry and be gone. I will take his name and live the life of which I’ve always dreamed.”

  “Alone?”

  She nodded, although it was a slow, reluctant nod. “I should like to have my friends with me—that is, my partners. My aunt and her husband will be part of my life, of course. I will have clients and collaborate with craftsmen and artists. Beyond these . . . well, I have always been alone in a manner. I am quite comfortable without the convention of . . . pairing up.”

  He blinked at her, struggling to comprehend.

  “It’s very simple, really,” Willow said, taking her seat behind the desk. “I shall marry legally in the eyes of God and man. I shall move to London. Once there, I should have no use for a husband, not when I am gainfully employed and living with my aunt. This allows the man I married to be free—to sail the world, pursuing his own work, living his own life. On the rare occasion that he is in England, perhaps we might . . . take tea.” She paused, nervously biting her lip. “But the arrangement was never meant to be traditional or . . . constant.

  “And so now you know,” she finished. “I’m certain you will not keep me in suspense as to what you will do with the offer. Do you have interest in marrying me for £60,000 and a life of freedom? Or not?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Needless to say, the very last thing Cassin expected to encounter in Surrey was a proposal of marriage. No, he thought, that is inaccurate. The very last thing he expected was a young woman posing as an investor and a proposal of marriage.

  He smiled, a touchy, cautious smile, the smile he gave to high-strung horses he did not trust.

  Her question hung in the air between them.

  Do you have interest in marrying me for £60,000 and a life of freedom? Or not?

  No, he thought, he had no interest in marrying for any amount of money.

  And no, he would also not reveal the details of his venture. And yet . . .

  His brain suddenly refused to form the word. He opened his mouth and then closed it. He tried and failed to conjure a convincingly lordly scowl. He thought of all the things he wanted in the world, essential things, urgent things, things that would sustain not just him but his family and tenants. Instead of those considerable things, he suddenly wanted something else. Something frivolous and useless and just for him. He wanted her to continue talking. He wanted to hear more of her rationalizing and debating. He wanted to remain seated five feet away from her. He wanted—

  “Tea, my lady!” Lady Willow’s chattering maid’s voice rang from the corridor.

  “But where shall I put it?” sang the maid, backing into the room with a tea trolley. She did not wait for an answer but maneuvered the overburdened trolley into the impossibly tight space between the desk and Cassin’s boots. Dogs filed in around her.

  “By the window will do, Perry,” said Lady Willow.

  “Very good, my lady,” she said enthusiastically, reversing direction with undo force and winding the tea trolley through the small room.

  “Will you take tea, Lord Cassin?” Lady Willow asked.

  “Ahhh,” Cassin said, eyeing the cart. He thought of his partners, cooling their heels at the coaching inn in the village, waiting eagerly to hear the potential of the advertisement’s “modest fortune.”

  He thought of Stoker’s brig, bobbing idle on the Thames, generating no money while in port.

  He thought of his mother and brother and sisters and their blind faith that he would provide for them. All the while, this trip to Surrey had been a complete waste.

  “Yes, thank you,” he said.

  The maid gasped. “Shall I pour, my lady?”

  “That won’t be necessary, Perry.”

  “But I—”

  “You may return to your duties, Perry.”

  The girl tried again but fell silent at her mistress’s quelling look. After a deep curtsy to Cassin, she trudged from the room.

  Lady Willow smiled gently to the manservant at the door. “Can I trouble you to check on the progress of my mother, Mr. Fisk?”

  “Very good, my lady,” he said.

  And just like that, they were alone. Cassin watched the door close.

  “Your mother?” he asked.

  Willow shrugged. “She is riding. How do you take your tea?”

  “Cream,” he said. He was surprised by how cavalier she was about her mother. His own mother presided over his sisters’ daily lives with a loving but watchful eye. Never would they regard her with a shrug.

  “I must apologize for my maid,” Lady Willow said, smiling over the trolley, deftly preparing his tea. Her face opens up when she smiles, he thought.

  She positioned a delicate cup on a saucer. Her movements were swift and efficient but not careless. Cup and saucer made only the slightest clink. She stooped for a spoon. Her hair fell across her face, and she shook it away. Cassin had the unhelpful thought that he had never seen anyone like her, not ever.

  In five minutes, I will go, he thought.

  “Perry is far cleverer than she seems,” she went on, bringing him the steaming cup.

  He rose to accept it but studied her at close range instead. He could see her eyelashes, auburn like her hair but shades darker. He saw a faint smattering of freckles at the top of each check. He saw—

  “My lord?” She nodded to the cup.

  He mumbled an apology. Their hands brushed beneath the saucer, and Cassin went very, very still.

  “I was not prepared for you to call in person, as I’ve said,” she continued, “and Perry was the only chaperone I could muster on short notice.”

  He choked on the first si
p. “I am surprised that a woman who seeks to arrange her own marriage is burdened with chaperones.”

  Only five minutes more, he repeated in his brain.

  “Propriety is the very thing that prevents me from moving to London of my own accord,” she said. “I’ve no choice but to adhere to it. My plan may be . . . unconventional in general terms, but I see no reason why, bit by bit, the preliminaries should not follow proper custom.”

  “Yes, if it were proper custom for a woman to dangle money as bait and then buy a husband.”

  “ ‘Dangle money’? ‘Bait’? You sensationalize. The offer is outrageous enough without exaggerating.”

  “At least we agree on the outrage.” He watched her make her own cup and decide between the desk or the empty chair beside him. He held his breath.

  “I have seen the face of outrage before, Lord Cassin, and you do not have it.”

  And now he wondered what she saw in his face. Weariness? Worry? The yoke of responsibility? Fascination?

  Desire?

  The thick, hot pull of it had been flickering at the periphery of his consciousness, but now that she was close, longing surged. His ears had latched on to the low, husky rasp of her voice. He could just detect the faint, cinnamon scent.

  “If you have other reasons,” she was saying, “valid reasons, for resisting my offer, I should like to know them. To improve my proposition for the next gentleman who may apply.”

  His cup hit the saucer with a rattle. The next gentleman?

  Sentient thought and articulation returned to him in a rush. “I resist because the advertisement is a lie. Your insistence on learning the details of my venture is intrusive. And you are . . . ” He trailed off, searching for a word that would not betray him.

  “I am unexpected?” she offered innocently, sipping her tea.

  “I was going to say threatening.”

  “I threaten you?”

  “I am not threatened,” he lied. “I’m afraid of tipping the scales of your obvious madness into hysteria. There lies the threat.” And now he was sensationalizing. She hadn’t shown the slightest proclivity toward hysteria. But he could hardly say what he truly felt, which was distraction and curiosity and shock.