Page 91 of Gentleman Jim

It brought a faint smile to St. Clare’s lips. Perhaps he should have warned his grandfather that Maggie had been raised by the biggest bully in the West Country? Squire Honeywell’s temper had all but inoculated his daughter. When it came to overbearing men, she was accustomed to giving as good as she got.

“And what if he should forfeit the title? What then?” Allendale addressed St. Clare. “You haven’t the coin to keep a wife. Not one who’s accustomed to living in a fine house with a full staff of servants, and…what else?” He gave Maggie a hard look. “A string of hunters, and a coach and four? Trips to London for the season?”

“You mistake me,” Maggie said. “I require none of those things.”

“And what of my grandson? What about what he requires? A lad meets a gel in his youth, puts her on a pedestal. Doesn’t mean she’s suitable for the gentleman he becomes.”

Maggie lowered her teacup back into its saucer with a sharp clink. “There’s no one more suitable for Lord St. Clare than I am. And surely it’s his choice?”

“It is my choice,” St. Clare said. “And it’s been made. Miss Honeywell and I are to be married, as soon as we can contrive it.”

“No matter the consequences?” Allendale asked.

“I hope,” Maggie said, “that the compensations of the match will outweigh any consequences.”

St. Clare’s gaze met hers. And he felt it there, the love for her anchored deep inside him, as elemental as his own heart’s blood. It didn’t seem possible that it could grow stronger. And yet it did; the more he was with her, the closer he came to making her his.

He prayed she was right. That marrying him, giving up her claim to Beasley Park, wasn’t something she’d regret for the remainder of her days.

A better man—a nobler man—might have prevented her from making such a sacrifice. He might have withdrawn his suit and saved her from giving up her home and her fortune.

But St. Clare was neither good, nor noble.

This time, when he left Somerset, he was taking Maggie Honeywell with him.

“St. Clare was here?” Fred’s enraged voice exploded from the door of the Beasley Park library. He stormed across the room to where Maggie was sitting by a tall window, curled up in an oversized armchair. “And you received him?”

She glanced up from the book she’d been reading. “You’re back early.” She looked past him. “Where’s Miss Trumble?”

“To blazes with Miss Trumble,” he said harshly. “Is it true? You entertained him here? Alone?”

“I was in no danger. He was accompanied by the Earl of Allendale. Unless you mean to suggest that Lord St. Clare would ravish me in front of his own grandfather?”

A wash of color darkened Fred’s face. “Did you know he was coming? Is that why you claimed to be too tired to join us on our outing? Did you have an assignation with the man?”

Maggie turned the page of her book. “This may come as a surprise to you, Fred, but I have no desire to be traipsing about the countryside on a hot day. I’d far rather stay at home. And yes, when acquaintances from town come calling, I invite them in and offer them tea. Would you prefer I have the servants cover the windows and remove the door knocker?”

Fred gave an enraged snort, like a bull preparing to charge an unseen enemy. “He’s followed you down here, the blackguard.”

“My cousin has arrived?” Lionel Beresford came into the library. He looked from Maggie to Fred and back again. His normally languid gaze was alive with calculated interest. “And my uncle with him? Now that is unexpected.”

“They had tea here.” Fred’s tone was thick with insinuation, making the act sound like some kind of debauch.

Jane followed not far behind Mr. Beresford. Her bonnet was still in her hand. “There you are.” She went straight to Maggie, plumping down in the chair beside her. “What’s this I hear about Lord Allendale and Lord St. Clare coming to call?”

“They’re staying at the Hart and Hound. I wonder…” Maggie mused. “Do you think they’d be more comfortable here? We could make a house party of it.”

“We’ll do no such thing,” Fred said. “I forbid it, absolutely. The sooner St. Clare returns to wherever it is he came from, the better. I’ll not have him in this house making advances toward you.”

Advances.

Maggie’s blood warmed to recall her early morning meeting with St. Clare on the banks of the stream. “Don’t be ridiculous, Fred. His lordship behaved in a perfectly proper fashion, and I intend to reciprocate. I’ve invited him to dinner tomorrow.”

Fred’s fists clenched at his sides. “You wouldn’t—”

“He’ll be here at seven, along with Lord Allendale.” She gave him a stern look. “And I’ll hear no more on the subject. You’ve fought with him, and he’s won. It’s time to accept your loss with good grace.”

Jane made a strangled noise.