Aylesford frowned. “That’s hardly something I would jest about, Father.”
The imposing duke turned his disbelieving gaze from his son to Greg and looked him over from the top of his head to the tips of his Hessians as though he was a specimen that had yet to be identified. “What’s wrong with you, then?” he finally asked, rather dismissively.
“I beg your pardon?” Greg returned, his back stiffening under the duke’s scrutiny.
“Whatever my son has offered you in exchange for the girl’s hand, you should know he is in no position to do so, and I certainly have no intention of handing even a single farthing over to some fortune hunter.”
Fortune hunter! Greg’s blood began to boil at the insult. The Avery barony was more than flush and always had been. Before he could find the words to say as much, he noticed Bella’s gaze was trained on the floor at her feet as though she was too hurt to meet her grandfather’s eyes.
Greg’s heart went out to his temporary fiancée. Insinuating that only a fortune hunter would be interested in pursing the lady, the duke had insulted his granddaughter with the same brush stroke. That was hardly the case. She was genuine, with a pleasing disposition, and she was bloody gorgeous. She should have men lined up outside Chatham House for just a glimpse of her.
But with Chatham for a grandfather, it was no wonder she found herself in the unfortunate position she was in. The duke’s very existence would frighten away any reasonable fellow from pursuing her. Though Greg wasn’t truly pursing Bella, he wasn’t about to let anyone, not even her grandfather, say such things about the girl and especially not in her presence, for God’s sake.
Honestly, though, shouldn’t her father keep the duke from saying such awful things to her? Shouldn’t he at least attempt to defend his daughter’s honor? Apparently not, as the marquess was gazing at his own feet, rather uncomfortably.
So Greg tipped his head higher, directly meeting the duke’s gaze and said, “My funds are quite in order, Your Grace. And Lord Aylesford has not offered me anything other than his blessing, which I am quite certain he is in the position to offer.”
“And dinner,” the marquess added quickly. “It would be so nice, Lord Avery, if you could join us for dinner this evening before we head to the Kelfield ball. It will give you the opportunity to meet all of Bella’s family in a more private setting before the announcement.”
The rest of Bella’s family? He’d already encountered her tyrannical grandfather, her a souse of a brother, and her spineless father. He wasn’t terribly excited about the prospect of meeting any other Winslett, but he agreed with an incline of his head anyway as there was no way he could refuse. “Of course, sir. I look forward to it,” he lied.
Chapter 8
They’d done it! Well, Lord Avery had done it, rather. He’d come to Bella’s aid when no one else was able to do so and saved her from a fate worse than death. She wouldn’t have to marry Johann and spend the rest of her days in Prussia. Her future was uncertain, but not set in stone. Gregory Avery had saved her from that unfortunate destiny and she could never, not in a million years, repay him for his generosity.
It was still hard to believe that he’d offered to help her. When she’d first spotted him that afternoon and recognized him, her heart had leapt. He’d been so handsome that first night at the Astwicks’, and kind in coming to Elliott’s aid…well, at least until her brother had cast up his accounts across his lordship’s boots. But even after that unfortunate event, he was still willing to help Bella. He was almost like her own personal knight in shining armor. And a devastatingly handsome one at that. His dark as night hair, his serious green eyes that seemed to hold such depth – pain, sadness, intelligence, honor, devotion. If she could just capture the look behind those eyes on her canvas…
She rushed, happily, toward her bedchamber, hope burgeoning in her chest. Gregory Avery had saved her, and now life was full of possibilities. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so relieved in her life.
“Bella.” Elliott cleared his throat and dropped against the doorjamb that led to his set of rooms. He looked awful, like he’d spent the night trying to climb his way out of a bottle, but had fallen back in. “I think I might have found a fellow you can marry…”
Oh, drat! She’d almost forgotten that Elliott knew that she needed to find a husband. Honestly, it was surprising he remembered his own name, let alone her unfortunate predicament. But, still, if her brother said the wrong thing to the wrong person, then the carefully plotted plan Lady Clayworth had crafted would be for naught.
“…he’s a bit unlucky at cards, but other than that—”
“Elliott!” she hissed, praying no one else had overheard a word he’d said. “Please don’t say another word.” She lowered her voice to a mere whisper, rushing toward where he stood. “Please.”
Elliott’s light gray eyes rounded in surprise, and then he blinked at her. “But Johann—”
Bella quickly pressed a finger to her brother’s lips to keep him from saying anything else. “I am quite happy, Elliott, to tell you that as of this morning I am now betrothed to Lord Avery of Nottinghamshire. Please, do be happy for me.”
“Lord Avery?” A look of confusion flashed across her brother’s face. “Tristan Avery? Didn’t he—”
Greg’s sainted brother? “No. no.” She quickly shook her head. “He’s Lieutenant Avery’s older brother.”
“Oh…” Then Elliott frowned. “Russell? I hardly think Grandfather would approve of—”
“Russell?” she echoed. Who in the world was Russell?
“Tristan Avery’s older brother.” Elliott’s frown deepened. “I don’t think he’s the sort His Grace would approve of.”
There was another Avery brother? Bella had no idea. Of course, there were probably a million things she didn’t know about Greg or his family, not that any of it was any of her business, of course. She heaved a sigh. “Gregory. Greg Avery is my betrothed, Elliott. I don’t know a thing about Russell.”
“Huh.” Her brother rubbed his brow. “I didn’t realize there was a third brother. Where did you meet him?”
“He kept you from falling on your face the other night and…” you repaid him by casting up your accounts upon his boots. No, the less Elliott knew about the entire situation, the less likely he was to reveal her ruse to someone, accidentally or otherwise. “…And we have fallen quite in love,” she lied.
It would be best, after all, if everyone believed the tale she and Greg would publicly spin this evening at the Kelfields’. At least until it was time for her to cry off.