Charles’s brows rose. “That is indeed generous.” His gaze grew distant. “I have to admit that my marriage was arranged…” After a moment, he refocused on Gyles. “I fear I must ask, cousin-is there any particular reason you’re so insistent your marriage be an arranged one?”
“If you mean do I have a mistress of long standing whom I don’t wish to set aside, or something of that nature, the answer is no.” Gyles considered Charles, considered his open and honest brown eyes. “The reason I wish to keep my marriage-every aspect of it-on a businesslike footing is because I have absolutely no patience with the concept of love in marriage. It’s a highly overrated circumstance-one, moreover, with which I desire no closer acquaintance. I do not wish my prospective wife to entertain any notion that I offer love, either now or in some rosy-hued future. From the first, I want her to know that love is not part of our equation. I see no benefit in raising the prospect, and will and do insist that my intent is made clear from the outset.”
Charles regarded him for some time, then nodded. “It could be said that you’re only being more honest than others who think the same.”
Gyles made no answer.
“Very well-I now understand what you’re seeking, but why consider Francesca?”
“Because of the Gatting property. It was, centuries ago, a dower property. Indeed, it was probably the reason for an arranged marriage back then-the property completes the circle of my Lambourn lands. It should never have been separated, but because it wasn’t part of the entail, some misguided ancestor bequeathed it to a younger son, and that became something of a tradition…” Gyles frowned. “Gerrard was the elder, wasn’t he? How is it you inherited this place and he inherited Gatting?”
“My father.” Charles grimaced. “He fell out with Gerrard, as it happens because Gerrard refused to marry as he’d arranged. Gerrard married for love and went to Italy, while I…”
“Made the arranged marriage your brother refused?”
Charles nodded. “So Papa reorganized his will. Gerrard got the Gatting property, which I should have received, and I got the Hall.” He smiled. “Gerrard didn’t give a damn. Even after Papa died, he remained in Italy.”
“Until he died. How did that happen?”
“A boating accident on Lake Lugano one night. No one knew until the next day. Both Gerrard and Katrina drowned.”
“And so Francesca came to you.”
“Yes. She’s been with us for nearly two years.”
“How would you describe her?”
“Francesca?” Charles’s expression softened. “She’s a wonderful girl! A breath of fresh air and a beam of sunshine in one. It’s odd, but although she’s quite lively, she’s also restful-a contradiction, I know, but…” Charles looked at Gyles.
“I understand she’s twenty-three. Is there some reason she hasn’t married?”
“Not specifically. Prior to their deaths, Gerrard and Katrina, and Francesca, too, had discussed addressing the question of a husband more seriously, but the accident intervened. Francesca was adamant on observing the full period of mourning-she was an only child and greatly attached to her parents. So it was only a year or so ago that she started going about.” Charles grimaced lightly. “For reasons with which I won’t burden you, we don’t entertain. Francesca attends the assemblies and the local dances under the auspices of Lady Willingdon, one of our neighbors…”
Charles’s recital died away. Gyles raised a brow. “What?”
Charles regarded him speculatively, then seemed to come to some decision. “For the past year, Francesca has been actively looking for a husband. It was at her request I solicited the help of Lady Willingdon.”
“And has she met anyone she considers suitable?”
“No. Indeed, I believe she’s quite despondent over finding any suitable prospect locally.”
Gyles regarded Charles steadily. “Indelicate question though it is, do you think your niece might find me suitable?”
Charles’s brief smile was wry. “From all I’ve ever heard, if you wished her to find you suitable, she would. You could sweep any naive young lady off her feet.”
Gyles’s smile mirrored Charles’s. “Unfortunately, in this case, using those particular talents might prove counterproductive. I want an amenable bride, not a besotted one.”
“True.”
Gyles considered Charles, then stretched out his legs and crossed his booted ankles. “Charles, I’m going to place you in an invidious position and claim the right of help you owe me as head of the family. Do you know of any reason that would argue against making Francesca Rawlings the next Countess of Chillingworth?”
“None. Absolutely none.” Charles returned his regard steadily. “Francesca would fill the position to the admiration of all the family.”
Gyles held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded. “Very well.” He felt as if a vise had released from about his chest. “In that case, I’d like to make a formal offer for your niece’s hand.”
Charles blinked. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Well”-Charles started to rise-“I’ll send for her-”
“No.” Gyles waved him back. “You forget-I wish this entire matter to be treated with the utmost formality. I want it made clear, not only by word but also by deed, that this is an arranged marriage, nothing more. Your description of your niece confirms the opinions of others-grandes dames of the ton richly experienced in evaluating the worth of marriageable young ladies. Everyone declares Francesca Rawlings an unexceptionable parti-I need no further assurances. In the circumstances, I see no reason to meet Miss Rawlings socially. You are her guardian-it’s through you I’ll apply for her hand.”
Charles considered arguing; Gyles knew precisely when the realization that it would be wasted effort, and rather impertinent at that, dawned. He, after all, was the head of the family.
“Very well. If that’s your wish, if you’ll give me the details, I’ll speak with Francesca this evening… I’d better write it down.” Charles searched for pen and paper.
When he was ready, Gyles dictated and Charles transcribed the formal offer of a contract of marriage between the Earl of Chillingworth and Francesca Hermione Rawlings. As Charles scribbled the last of the settlements, Gyles mused, “It might be as well not to mention the relationship, distant as it is. It’s not of any practical relevance. I’d prefer that the offer was specifically made as coming from the earl.”
Charles shrugged. “It can’t hurt. Women like titles.”
“Good. If there’s no further information you need from me, I’ll leave you.” Gyles stood.
Charles came to his feet. He opened his mouth, then hesitated. “I was going to insist you stay with us here, or at least dine…”
Gyles shook his head. “Another time, perhaps. I’m staying at the Lyndhurst Arms should you need to reach me.” He turned to the door.
Charles yanked the bellpull, then followed. “I’ll discuss this with Francesca this evening-”
“And I’ll call tomorrow morning to hear her answer.” Gyles paused as Charles joined him at the door. “One last impertinence. You mentioned your marriage was an arranged one-tell me, were you happy?”
Charles met his gaze. “Yes. We were.”
Gyles hesitated, then inclined his head. “Then you know Francesca has nothing to fear in the arrangement I propose.”
There’d been pain in Charles’s eyes. Gyles knew Charles was a widower, but he hadn’t anticipated that depth of feeling; Charles had clearly felt the loss of his wife keenly. A chill touched his nape. Gyles stepped into the hall. Charles followed. They shook hands, then the butler arrived. Gyles followed him back through the house.
As they neared the front hall, the butler murmured, “I’ll just send the footman for your horse, my lord.”
They stepped into the hall to find no footman in sight, but the green baize door at the hall’s end was swinging wildly. A second later, a shrieking scullery maid raced out. She ignored Gyles and rushed for the butler.