her lip as his voice trailed off suggestively. It was tempting. She always felt dull and insignificant next to her beautiful, sparkling mother. How startling that Gerard should appear immune to Mama’s charm. “We are already engaged several evenings this week.”
“I certainly won’t cancel an invitation from friends.”
A smile crept over her face. “Nor would I.”
“Well.” He grinned. “We shall dine with them tomorrow night. Perhaps they’ll become swept up in Bath society, and we shall be hoping for invitations from them.”
She laughed, as he’d hoped she would. Gerard hoped his impressions of his mother-in-law and Lord Howe would improve on further acquaintance, but he doubted it. He sensed Mrs. Hollenbrook was drawn to titles and wealth, and that if he’d been Gerard de Lacey, son of a prosperous boot maker instead of the Duke of Durham, she wouldn’t have nearly as much interest in getting to know him. He remembered what Tyrell, Kate’s father’s attorney, had said: Mrs. Hollenbrook was eager for her daughter to marry well. There was nothing exceptional in that, particularly when the daughter was an heiress, but she’d chosen a middle-aged viscount for her only child. Gerard could think of no less than four good, decent men in the army, all sons of dukes or earls, all in the prime of life, who would have waited attendance on any heiress with more than ten thousand pounds, were she ugly, quarrelsome, or elderly. Kate was none of those. If she’d been brought out properly, dressed becomingly, she would have had more than one suitor. Instead she ended up stashed quietly in the country while Howe went about his business. Even Lady Eccleston, society spy premiere, had heard nothing of Kate.
So why had Mrs. Hollenbrook been so keen on the Howe marriage? Was there something else between the families? Gerard didn’t know, but knowing how lonely and neglected Kate had been during her first marriage made him loath to spend much time with his mother-in-law.
Nothing happened the next evening during dinner to change his mind. Mrs. Hollenbrook, for all her beauty, was the shallowest woman he’d ever met. To him, she was warm and solicitous; when he spoke to her, she gazed at him as if the sun shone at his command. Her demeanor toward Lord Howe was similar although with a touch of familiarity that put Gerard in mind of a mother artlessly embarrassing her grown son. But it was her effect on Kate that caught his attention more. When Kate spoke, her mother’s reply often had some subtle shade of rebuke, and Gerard watched in silent dismay as his wife grew quieter as the evening went on. Finally he understood the ice maiden. If one’s every word was judged lacking, why bother to speak?
When the ladies excused themselves after dinner, Gerard caught Kate’s hand. “We won’t be long,” he breathed. He had no more desire to sit over port with Lucien Howe than he wanted to leave Kate to her mother’s mercies.
She looked at him somberly, then the light was back in her eyes. “Good.” She smiled and went out with her mother.
Relieved, Gerard waved to Bragg to pour the wine and bring out cigars. A quarter hour should be plenty of time, and they could rejoin the ladies.
“I hope it is not presumptuous of me, de Lacey, but I must speak to you on business.” Howe faced him with grim resolve in his face.
“So soon after dinner?” He really didn’t want to deal with “business” tonight.
Howe’s lips thinned. “I came to Bath for nothing else.”
“A letter would have sufficed.” Gerard tossed back the rest of his wine. A quarter hour was too long after all. “Shall we join the ladies?”
A deep flush covered the other man’s face. “The ladies can wait. You must see reason; that note is ruinous. I cannot pay four percent.”
Gerard raised one eyebrow. “Your uncle expected he could make the payments. Surely he knew his estate’s income.”
“Perhaps,” said Howe in a stony voice. “Unfortunately he died a few months after signing it.”
“Then where did the money go? Surely he didn’t spend all ten thousand pounds in a few months.”
The viscount glared at him. “Very nearly, much to my dismay.”
Gerard snorted. “What terms do you want?”
“Leniency. I need time—a year—to reorder my finances. A rate of two percent would be more reasonable, especially between family.”
“What, pray, is our familial relation?” he asked sharply. “And I understand you don’t have to repay a farthing; there was a security, which you could simply