“Brandy?” Gladstone asked, strolling to the sideboard.
Edmond inclined his head and the man prepared two glasses. Discomfort was evident in every line of the earl’s posture. Awareness stirred, and Edmond gritted his teeth in denial. “Is your daughter aware that I am here?”
The earl handed him the drink with a sigh. “No.”
“I made arrangements to return to my estate in a few days’ time.”
“I would urge you to stay for the duration of the house party. There will be a game of croquet on the lawn tomorrow. We plan hunting on Friday, and a ball tomorrow night. I’ve also heard my daughter mention a few parlor games and tricks. Take this as an opportunity to get to know her,” Gladstone urged.
Edmond took a sip of his brandy, considering the earl. The man already knew Edmond’s terms. “No,” he said flatly. “If you have changed your mind, say so, and I will do what needs to be done and find another.”
Gladstone grimaced. “Do not be hasty. My counte
ss has summoned Lady Evelyn.”
There was a guarded note in the man’s tone that had caution settling in Edmond’s gut. He studied the earl and he did not like the guilt he saw on the man. Hell. “Is Lady Evelyn even aware of my offer?”
A tic appeared on Gladstone’s forehead and grew more pronounced as the silence lengthened. “No,” he finally muttered, tugging at his cravat.
Edmond lowered his glass of brandy slowly. “We have been negotiating the terms of the marriage for two months now and you have not seen fit to inform her?” Never would he have acted with such callous disregard for his own daughters’ emotions. You have done worse, his conscience reminded him, and he ruthlessly repressed the guilt.
Before Gladstone answered the door burst opened, and in swept Lady Evelyn.
“Father, is all well? Mother—”
Dark green eyes widened when they landed on him and she inhaled audibly. A blush climbed her cheeks and Edmond wondered if he’d ever seen a more becoming young lady.
“Forgive me, I was not aware you had company.”
She was a beauty with her gold spun hair and elegant carriage. Why was she in her third season without any offers? Could it be the ton was aware of her father’s impoverished state? The earl thought the knowledge well hidden. If not for the thorough investigation Edmond had launched into the background of the families his mother had suggested for a potential alliance, he would not have uncovered their state.
He admired her beauty as one would a stunning jewel, but she roused no feeling of passion in him, and that was what he wanted. Swift introductions were made, and she dipped into a graceful curtsy.
“Your Grace, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
She paled after her father exited the library with vague murmurings. The man was careful to leave the door open a crack.
“Your Grace, I…I…” She took a deep breath and pasted an obviously uncomfortable smile on her face. Knowledge and distress gleamed in her eyes.
It was his turn to tug at his cravat. “Lady Evelyn.” Blast the man. Her father had certainly made a hash of things. Edmond had not envisioned the evening like this. He had expected the young lady to have been informed of his generous offer and be eagerly awaiting his presence. Where was he to start? The earl should have already laid the groundwork and prepared her for the responsibilities she would soon assume.
Lady Evelyn watched him with an air of anxiety. It was impossible for him to sprout the required foolish sentiments and artful flattery. Sudden impatience bit at him, and he wanted the encounter over. “I have asked your father for your hand in marriage, and he consented,” he said without any finesse.
She paled alarmingly and swayed.
He stepped forward with a muttered curse, alert in the event she swooned. Now he was making a hash of things. His mother would be appalled at his distinct lack of care for the lady’s sensibilities. There was no doubt she would blame his conduct on his deliberate and frustrating absence from the whirl of polite society.
Her throat worked on a swallow. “You wish to marry me?”
“Yes.”
Her lids lowered, shadowing her expressive eyes. “Why?”
“I am in need of a wife, and you are desirous of a husband.”
Her head snapped up and a startled laugh escaped her. One of her hands fluttered to her throat. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have no need for a husband, and I am certain I can choose my own.”
He shrugged, unconcerned with coddling her delicate sensibilities and unable to pretend otherwise. He’d never been the one to be hypocritical. But I could be caring. “Then your father is in need of money.”