The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [12]
He looked as if he were suffering from excess bile when he said the word. Helen just smiled at him, understood him down to his socks, and was not only pleased but vastly relieved. She took another bite, savoring the lovely burst of cold filling her mouth and the cold, soft, slick cream sliding down her throat. “I quite agree with you, Lord Beecham. Marriage is only for weak-minded fools.”
He didn’t like that. A man, by his very nature, was supposed to evade marriage, but not a woman. He managed to keep his displeasure with her from showing. “Tell me, now. What is your use for me?”
“We do keep getting off the subject, don’t we?”
“Yes, but no more. Talk to me. Tell me what I may do for you.”
Helen wasn’t a fool. She saw clearly in his brilliant, dark eyes that he wanted nothing more than to pull her gown away and make love to her.
“You obviously find marriage distasteful.”
“Yes, as would any reasonable man. Unfortunately women must bear a man an heir, so at some date before his death, he must produce the requisite male child. I do not plan to pass to the hereafter until after my fiftieth year. When I am forty-nine, I will wed and beget an heir. Then I will die with a smile on my face. Perhaps my pregnant wife, who will be puttering around my country estates, will also have a smile on her face. The country estate in Devon. It is charming.”
“I have found that every nobleman has a country house and every one of them has a name. What is the name of this one in Devon?”
“Paledowns.”
“Unusual.” She leaned toward him. “It is a bit more difficult for a woman, don’t you think, Lord Beecham? A woman doesn’t have a man’s freedom unless she simply does what she wishes to do and ignores what society says about her.”
“Women rule the world, Miss Mayberry. If they are smart, they can control a man with but a look.”
“What if the woman doesn’t happen to be passably pretty, Lord Beecham?”
“Then she will obviously not rule many men.”
“And if she doesn’t have money?”
“Then she will sell her services and rule the fellow who has paid for her.”
“I do not think I have ever met a more cynical man,” Helen said, her ice forgotten.
“I am only a realist, Miss Mayberry. I trust you don’t complain about women’s dreadful lot on this earth. You would look like an idiot and a hypocrite were you to whine even the least bit.
“Your father is a peer, you have doubtless led a raft of short young men around by the nose, you are young and quite independent to boot, and you are more beautiful than you probably deserve. No, I don’t want to hear a single plaint out of you about the unfairness of a woman’s life on this damned earth. To sum it all up, Miss Mayberry, you look far too happy and robust to be anything other than deliriously pleased with your lot in life.”
“That certainly puts me in my place.”
“And a very good place it is.”
“What about this poor wife you will procure when you are forty-nine years old? She will have no say in anything. You just want her for breeding purposes, like you would breed animals. She will have needs and desires and hopes, and you will treat her like a sheep in a pen.”
He laughed at that. “What a picture you paint, Miss Mayberry. Please don’t ignore the facts. This lady will want to marry me. She will gain my title, my money, and she will have anything she desires, except a lover, at least until I am passed to the hereafter. She will be the mistress of Paledowns and three other properties as well. After she buries me, she will be rich, her son will be Viscount Beecham, and she can bed every gentleman from Pall Mall to Russell Square.
“No, don’t feel sorry for the future Viscountess Beecham. Now, I will agree, Miss Mayberry, that most women, just like