The Formidable Earl (Diamonds in the Rough #6) - Sophie Barnes Page 0,119

I’m sure,” Marcus said with a grin.

“Good lord,” Regina murmured.

“Without a doubt,” Guthrie agreed. “Shall I?”

“No.” Regina gave her husband a firm look. “There will be no coercing. I merely thought it might be nice to offer Blayne and Marcus the means by which to attend a social function.”

“To the horror and despair of the ton,” Blayne said right before he spooned more shortcake into his mouth. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Regina, but I think your ball would be better served if I stayed away.”

“Nonsense,” Regina said. “You are a handsome man, Blayne. Kind too and hardworking.”

“Not exactly the qualities any upper-class parent would want in a future son-in-law.” Blayne took another bite of his dessert. It truly was exceptionally good. “A yearly income close to five thousand pounds would be more desirable. Preferably if there’s a title to go along with it. I, as you know, have a very modest income and no title.”

More importantly, he had a past he couldn’t in good conscience chain another person to. And he sure as hell couldn’t confide it in any woman. So if he did wed, his marriage would be a sham. He took another sip of Madeira.

“My situation is similar,” Marcus said. “Worse than Blayne’s, in a sense, seeing as I had a title and lost it because of our father. No man in his right mind would allow his daughter to be seen with me, Regina.”

The duchess huffed out a breath. “In my opinion, a man’s character – his very own actions – ought to be of greater value than what a relation of his might have done.”

“I don’t think any of us disagree with you there,” Guthrie said. He gave Blayne and Marcus a pensive look. “Perhaps I can help?”

“Thank you, but no.” Guthrie had offered to give Blayne a handsome sum once before, and Blayne had turned him down then as well. He didn’t want handouts, not even from a friend who wished to disguise it as overdue wages. “There is something to be said for earning one’s own living.”

“I’m of a like mind,” Marcus said. “Although I might appreciate a loan for the sake of acquiring a profession.”

“Indeed?” Regina regarded her brother with a pensive mien. “And what profession do you have in mind, Marcus?”

“Well.” Marcus cleared his throat. “Medicine would be an interesting field of study. Certainly more so than law.”

“I think that would be marvelous,” Regina said with a smile. “Don’t you agree, Guthrie?”

Guthrie nodded. “I would be happy to provide you with the necessary funds, Marcus.”

“As a loan,” Marcus reiterated.

Blayne hid a chuckle behind his last spoonful of desert. It was clear Marcus did not wish to feel beholden to Guthrie any more than he did.

“Of course,” Guthrie said. He turned his assessing gaze on Blayne. “What about you? If you accept a loan you’ll be able to purchase that property you want a lot sooner than otherwise.”

“What property?” Regina asked.

“I’ve been of a mind to get away from London for a while now,” Blayne said. “With my interest in plants, I’d like to have a spot of land to cultivate, maybe with a wee house on it. I don’t require much in the ways of a home, but a sizeable piece of land would be grand.” It would provide him with the freedom he’d started to crave since Guthrie had left The Black Swan. Blayne ran the St. Giles tavern on his own now and saved every hard-earned penny, but the place was different without his friend there, and with every passing day Blayne could feel himself getting older. It was time to move on and settle down to a quieter way of life.

“Then I hope you shall soon be able to acquire it,” Regina said. She raised her glass. “To Marcus’s medical aspirations and to Blayne’s countryside acquisition.”

Blayne drank and breathed a sigh of relief when the conversation turned to the recent coronation of George IV.

It appeared Regina’s idea of a ball had been forgotten for now, for which he was grateful. Aside from the obvious reasons he had for not attending, there was the more dreaded prospect of being recognized. As unlikely as it was after he’d spent twenty years in hiding, one couldn’t be too careful.

Least of all when one was on the run for murder.

Apprehension filled Charlotte Russell’s veins whenever she had to visit Carlisle & Co. Located on the east side of London, the publisher wasn’t in the worst possible neighborhood, but it certainly wasn’t