With His Ring (Brides of Bath Book 2) (2 page)

George planted a kiss on Diana's cheek.

She looked up at him with adoring eyes.
"Falling in love, my dearest."

He glanced at Glee. "Is Glee in love
again?"

With narrowed eyes, Glee faced her brother.
"Please don't speak of the idiotic act I was party to when I was a
child of seventeen."

"Yes, George," Diana urged, "Glee's nothing
like that girl who wanted to run off with her dancing master. She's
ever so much more mature now."

"I'm utterly grateful no one outside our
family knows of my former foolishness," Glee said.

"As am I," George agreed.

Glee's serious gaze nabbed her brother.
"Surely you remember I was never in love with that moron dancing
master."

George nodded sympathetically.

Glee strode to the door. "I shall leave you
two lovebirds alone while I take a walk. The only thing better here
than in Bath is that here I can walk without a maid."

* * *

Company was thin in Bath this winter,
Gregory "Blanks" Blankenship lamented as he flipped a woolen scarf
about his neck with one hand while maneuvering the reins to his gig
with the other. How he missed good old George. There was nothing
they could not persuade the pleasure-loving fellow to do—especially
when he was in his cups. Gregory chuckled to himself as he recalled
the time Appleton dared George to drink a tankard of hog's
urine—which George promptly did, earning a fat five pounds from
Gregory.

Remembering his solemn mission today,
Gregory's smile vanished. He pulled his gig in front of his
solicitor's place of business, eyeing a waiting young boy facing
him from the pavement.

Coatless with a single toe poking through a
hole of his well-worn shoes, the lad fairly bounced in front of
Gregory, a wide smile revealing missing front teeth. He must be
around six years old, Gregory decided.

"Morning, Gov'nah," the boy said.

Gregory leaped to the pavement and addressed
the lad. "I'll wager you're a young man who has a way with horses.
Keep an eye on mine, and there's a crown in it for you." Gregory
knew a crown was an exorbitant amount to pay for so menial a task,
but the boy looked as if he could certainly use it.

The lad's eyes rounded. "Right, Gov'nah! I
ain't never seen a crown before." The little fellow took the reins
and began to gently stroke the gray, speaking soothing words as
Gregory mounted the steps.

Upstairs, Mr. Willowby's young clerk greeted
Gregory. "Good morning, Mr. Blankenship. 'Twas sorry I was to learn
of your father's death."

Gregory, who’d had six weeks to become
accustomed to the idea of his father's demise, acknowledged the
man's condolences with a grim nod before withdrawing a guinea from
his pocket and slapping it on the man's desk. "Be a good man, won't
you, and see to it the little urchin who hangs about in front of
your building gets a warm coat and new shoes."

The clerk took the coin, pushed back his
chair and got up to walk to the window and peer out at the child. A
light snow was beginning to fall. "His mum cleans for us, and I
don't believe he has a father. Poor lad."

The door to Willowby's office opened, and a
slender, pointed chin man spoke to Gregory. "Won't you step into my
office, Mr. Blankenship?"

Gregory followed him into the chamber and
settled in a chair facing Willowby across an immaculate desk.

"I asked you to come today because I wanted
to talk to you privately before we meet with the entire family,"
Willowby said.

Gregory cocked a brow.

Willowby cleared his throat and met
Gregory's quizzing gaze with openness. "I wanted to prepare
you."

Gregory's brows lowered. "Prepare me for
what?"

Willowby expelled a deep sigh. "Your late
father's will is a bit unusual."

Gregory shifted in his chair. His heart
began to pound. Somehow, he knew this was not going to be pleasant.
Not removing his eyes from Willowby, he said, "Go on."

"The last time I saw your father, he was
somewhat out of charity with you. He kept mumbling that you were
entirely too ... ah, unsettled."

Gregory nodded.

"You'll have the opportunity to read his
exact words, but they were something to the effect that he did not
want you to squander away his money on your frivolous
pursuits."

"So, he's cut me out of the will."

Mr. Willowby hesitated a moment. "Not
exactly. According to your father's latest will, if you are not
married by your twenty-fifth birthday, all properties will go to
the next eldest, your half-brother Jonathan."

"The good one!" Gregory interjected, his
ever-present smile spreading across his face. Not that he was
happy. The smile was to conceal his pain, a mask cultivated from
years of practice with his stepmother who resented that he—not her
own son—would inherit her husband's wealth. So, Gregory thought
with sorrow, Jonathan would get the Blankenship fortune after all.
Their sedate father had always preferred Jonathan, and probably
with justification. Jonathan was just like their father. Serious.
Frugal. And incapable of having fun. In short, totally opposite of
Gregory.

Gregory scooted back his chair. "I'm
grateful that you let me in on my father's scheme," he said, rising
and striding toward the door.

Mr. Willowby cleared his throat. "How old
are you now, Mr. Blankenship?"

Gregory stopped and turned to watch
Willowby's amused gaze. "I'll be twenty-five in June."

"It's not too late for you to comply with
the terms of your father's will."

"To get married?" Gregory's eyes narrowed
suspiciously.

Willowby nodded.

"But I've got less than four months and no
prospective bride." Nor did he desire a bride. Ever.

"I should think any number of women would be
more than happy to accommodate you, especially with such a great
deal of money at stake."

"My brother would see through such a scheme
readily and challenge such an action."

"It is possible to actually fall in love in
a very short period of time. Take Mrs. Willowby and me. I offered
for her a week after we met."

Gregory, who had never met Mrs. Willowby,
suddenly pictured the sharp-chinned solicitor with an equally
sharp-chinned bride leading a trail of little pointy-chin
youngsters. A sure reason to avoid matrimony. "Would that I could
be so fortunate," Gregory murmured.

He stepped toward the solicitor and placed a
firm hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Willowby."

Willowby's clerk was gone when Gregory
passed through the chamber again, drawing on his gloves before
braving the day's chill. He hoped the clerk was off procuring a
coat and shoes for the wretched lad now tending his horse.

The boy stood faithfully beside Gregory's
mount, despite the snowflakes which settled into his blond hair.
Gregory patted the lad's head. "I see you're as good as your word."
He tossed the boy a crown. "It's much too cold for you to be
outdoors without a coat. Be a good lad and go warm yourself in Mr.
Willowby's second-floor office." Gregory shot a glance toward the
building.

He watched the boy, clutching his coin,
enter the building, then Gregory took a seat on the box and
directed his conveyance down Bath's Milsom Street. Despite the
bitter cold, he had no desire to return to his townhouse. He did
not feel like making polite conversation or flashing insincere
smiles. Though he had presented a stoic front to Willowby, Gregory
felt lower than an adder's belly.

Once more, his father had played him cruelly
in favor of Jonathan. Gregory wanted to hate his half-brother as he
hated his father, but he could not. Jonathan was younger and
smaller and always evoked a sense of protection in Gregory despite
that his brother looked upon him as an opponent. Though they were
just over two years apart in age, they had never been close.
Jonathan resented it when Gregory was better at his sums or when
Gregory's mount went faster than his. And Jonathan coveted whatever
Gregory had, even though their tastes were vastly different.
Gregory would weaken and give his brother the toy sword or the
silver spurs or the book of poems Jonathan hungered after, only to
watch dust cover them once they were in Jonathan's possession.

Gregory rode across Pulteney Bridge, which
covered the frozen River Avon. He was too angry to take note of the
chill in his bones. Never had it occurred to him that he would not
live out his life in the extravagant style he had lived it these
first four and twenty years.

It was different with Jonathan. Not only was
he not raised with such expectations, he would never know what to
do with such vast sums of money. Jonathan's life's passion was
squeezing as much as he could out of a shilling. At his own
lodgings in London, he denied himself what other young men of his
class considered necessities. He kept no horse, nor a fire in his
chamber, and he substituted inferior tallows for the better quality
wax candles—and these used only sparingly. Gregory suspected his
brother saved a goodly portion of his three hundred a year.
Jonathan frequently put up at Sutton Manor to spare himself
expenses.

Gregory could not understand Jonathan's
frugal obsession. What good was money if it could not be used to
purchase what made a soul happy? In one bleak second the full force
of how perilously close he was to losing his fortune walloped
Gregory. Good lord, would he have to give up his horses? And his
tailor? And his gaming? His heart tripped. Would he have to dismiss
Carlotta?

How was he to get along? He remembered when
his best friend George had lost the little bit of fortune that he
was left him by his viscount father. How had George managed before
he married the sister of the fabulously wealthy Mr. Thomas
Moreland?

Perhaps George would have some timely advice
to offer. Damned if he wouldn't just ride over to Warwickshire and
visit his viscount friend.

* * *

From the second floor window adjacent to
Willowby's office, Jonathan Blankenship watched his brother get on
his gig. With a satisfied smile on his face, Jonathan continued
watching until Gregory crossed the River Avon. Now, to remove
himself from the building without old man Willowby seeing him and
knowing he had listened to everything.

Chapter 2

Diana was always right. Glee's merino
pelisse would have offered little protection against the
afternoon's dank chill. Even the emerald cloak Diana had suggested
barely warmed Glee as she trod through the sodden land surrounding
Hornsby Manor. Then there was also Diana's astute observation about
Blanks. Her own subsequent admission liberated her from years of
secret devotion. Glee's insides roiled and shook and settled into
sweet anticipation as she contemplated Gregory Blankenship and her
ardor for him.

The feelings which currently swamped her had
always filled to capacity the innermost chamber of her heart. It
had just taken Diana's sage observation to unleash them, drenching
Glee in feelings she could not put a name to. Thoughts of Blanks
aroused her in ways she had never before experienced. A bittersweet
longing surged deep within her, a longing only Blanks could
satisfy.

She lifted her skirts and crossed the brook
over a submerged stone path, feeling feather light and not at all
distressed over her wet slippers. She felt unaccountably womanly,
ripe for the love shared by a man and a woman. A love that
encompassed body and soul. Now she knew what had been missing from
her life. Until she could capture Blanks's prurient heart, she
could never be complete.

But how did one go about snaring such
illusive love? Blanks's life had been little more than a series of
playful pranks and illicit love. If only Blanks had admired a lady,
then Glee might have some idea what type of woman appealed to him.
She would have something to emulate. Instead, she had no clue.
Never had he been attracted to a women whom he could bring home to
the stern man who had been his father.

Perhaps, she thought hopefully, his father's
death—and his own subsequent position as head of the house—would
force him to mature, to want a wife and family. After all, he was
four and twenty. The same as George. And look at how happily George
had embraced matrimony and fatherhood.

Blanks's father's death also secured for him
a fortune. Her heart hammered as she thought of how such blessed
circumstances would attract lovely fortune hunters. As if his
powerful good looks had not already made him one of the most
desirable men in England.
Drat.
One more obstacle to her
only happiness.

After leaving the thicket, she glimpsed a
clear view of Hornsby Manor a half mile away. Its three stories of
gray stones nearly blended with the murky skies of the same color.
She heard the pounding of hooves from behind and turned to see a
young man, great coat flapping behind him, galloping toward the
manor. Had her thoughts conjured up Blanks? The man's mahogany hair
and the elegant ease with which he sat his horse most certainly
looked like Blanks. As he came closer, she realized the rider was,
indeed, her secret love.

And her heartbeat accelerated. She ran her
fingers through her tussled hair and turned to face him, biting
into her lips to render them rosier. Now she was sorry she had
taken Diana's advice and worn the ill-fitting voluminous cloak.

When he was within ten feet of her, a smile
of recognition lighted his ruggedly handsome face. Unconsciously,
she returned the smile as he dismounted and began to lead his bay
behind him.

"Ah, Miss Pembroke, a pleasure to see you
again," he said.

Though conversation had always come easily
between them, Glee found herself at a loss for words. She stood
stone still facing him, her teeth chattering. "Was George expecting
you?" she finally managed.