Incomparable Lord Meath Novella: A Rebellious Sons prequel (Rebellious Sons .5)(8)

Apparently more willing to listen to someone else’s story than consider her own, Lady Isabell studied her with interest. “But you’re Lord Belden’s niece, are you not? Surely he would take care of his own family.”

Honora smiled tightly. “His family is enormous, and they’re all poor. He wasn’t born rich. He had his estate, of course, and his title, neither of which paid the bills. He married a wealthy woman, invested her dowry wisely, and inherited her entire estate after she died. He uses his position in the Lords to improve his investments and to establish connections to others with wealth. He thinks we should all do the same.”

“That is silly,” Lady Isabell said in surprise. “We don’t all have titles or estates and can’t marry well!”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Honora said with a wry grimace. “I’m sure he helped my mother when she chose my father, but once she was married, he felt he had no more responsibility for her. After my father died, Belden helped me have a season in London, so I could marry. Then my husband could take care of my mother. But when I had no offers at all, it was obvious that I’d never marry well. He declared it throwing good money after bad, and I had to agree. So I offered to act as his hostess if he would give my mother and my father’s sisters an allowance. He understands receiving a return for his money. I made the best of a bad situation. And that is what you need to do now.”

Lady Isabell looked shocked and thoughtful, which proved she had a head on her shoulders. “And how do your mother and aunts fare now?”

Honora grinned. “They plagued him the first year we all lived in his London townhouse. These days, he’s paying to keep them more comfortably in my father’s home. I have apparently earned his appreciation, or being rid of them was worth it.”

And that would all be lost should Belden marry. His wife would then be hostess, she would demand costly fashions, and Belden would start counting coins. Eventually, Honora would be retired to the farm with her mother and aunts, without funds and bereft of the society she enjoyed so well. Honora saw no reason to burden the girl with her own fears.

Bell laughed, but it didn’t reach her weary eyes. “Little Dream can win a great deal,” she insisted, letting Sally help her undress. “Even more if we wager on her.”

“Until she breaks her leg,” Honora reminded her. “Or the odds go down because everyone knows she will win. You are gambling with your sisters’ futures, just as your father did with yours. I’ll leave you to think on it. You are smart and beautiful. I think you’ll see that marrying well is your best choice.”

But not to Belden, she added to herself. Viscount Meath would take care of her, and it would be good for him to learn responsibility. As much as she admired Meath’s devil-may-care attitude, he had an obligation to his title and tenants to marry and produce heirs.

She let herself into the hall instead of the parlor where the men still drank and talked. She was weary to the bone. . . and frightened. She should have spent more time considering her own future. She had not thought Belden would ever remarry. He had no need of a wealthy wife any longer and seemed content with amassing his fortune. He was healthy and likely to live until she reached her dotage.

But he hated his heir. Why had she never considered that? Probably because his heir lived in Scotland and never came to town, so they seldom discussed him.

But for Belden—a man as old her father—to consider marrying a child like Lady Isabell? No, that just wasn’t right. A high-strung young woman like that needed a lively, interesting young man like Lord Meath who could keep up with her.

She stood in the hall, debating joining Belden’s guests below or simply retiring to her own chamber with her ugly thoughts.

A figured limped out of the shadows. “I was waiting for you, forgive me.”

“Forgive you for waiting for me?” Meath’s humble phrasing shook her out of her megrims. “I was about to say good-night to the company.” Lifting her skirt, she started toward the stairs, but he caught her elbow.

“Walk with me. After seeing each other almost daily for six months, we haven’t spoken in over a decade. I rather miss our arguments.”

The warmth in his voice soothed some of her torment, until she remembered he was currently her enemy. “We have opposing views on many subjects, my lord.”

He laughed. “It was refreshing to hear a young miss who did not simper and agree with everything I said.”

If she had been less blunt. . . But no, she could never simper. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s death. How have you been faring?” She continued walking, forcing him to limp along beside her.

“My father and I rarely spoke when he was alive, but I do miss having someone making all the decisions. Really, does it matter if we have roast pigeon or roast duck for supper? And how many sheep per pasture is a particularly perplexing problem, if I’m to trust the judgement of my steward and tenants. It was far easier in the days of sloth when I need only argue with lovely ladies.”

She couldn’t help smiling at his grievance. Now she remembered why she’d enjoyed talking with him all those years ago. His complaints had been legitimate, given he’d just lost his ability to ride and enjoy the usual pursuits of young gentlemen fresh on the town. But he’d always found a way to make her laugh when he ridiculed his woes and the awkward situations he stumbled into.