The Heiress - Lynsay Sands [12]
“Of course, Christiana wanted to call in the authorities and report his death. But I reminded her that we only have the two weeks for me to find a husband and claim my dower.”
“Hmm,” Daniel said dryly, disappointment claiming him again as he realized that Suzette was just another woman in search of a husband with heavy pockets.
“So, she agreed to put Dicky in his bed, pack him in ice, tell the servants he was ill and keep his death a secret for two nights so that I could find a husband.” Suzette’s mouth twisted and she muttered, “All that trouble and the man wasn’t even dead. I just know he shall ruin everything now. He’ll keep us from attending any more balls to find a husband. If he had any sense of honor at all, the man would have stayed dead.”
“Unfortunately, it appears he was merely unconscious,” Daniel murmured. He was becoming quite certain George was dead. This might greatly simplify matters, or at least it would if Richard was willing to uphold the marriage to Christiana . . . and really, Daniel was beginning to think that would be the most honorable thing to do here. While he didn’t think much of their looking to marry a man with money to solve their problems, it did seem a shame to cast the scandal of George’s actions on these three women when none of it was their fault at all.
“Unconscious,” Suzette spat the word with disgust. “He must have been, and he had obviously been drinking.” She tsked with exasperation and stomped her foot, muttering, “Why could the beast not have been dead? I should have smothered him in his bed to be sure he was and stayed that way.”
Daniel stared at her with amazement. His first thought was that, really, aside from her fortune hunting and homicidal tendencies, the woman was quite fascinating in her complete and utter lack of artifice. His next thought was that the ton would eat her alive. Artifice and subterfuge were necessary tools to survive society and she was obviously completely lacking in both.
Suzette suddenly heaved out a put upon breath and muttered, “I suppose I had best be sure I find a husband tonight. Otherwise, surely Dicky will find some way to throw a spanner in my plans.”
Daniel’s eyebrows flew up at her words and then she peered at him with interest.
“You’re a handsome enough fellow,” she commented thoughtfully.
Daniel blinked, and then muttered, “Oh . . . er . . . thank you. I think.”
“You don’t seem a dullard either,” she added, tilting her head to inspect him consideringly.
“Erm,” he said weakly.
“And you aren’t old. That’s another plus.” Daniel was puzzling over that when she asked abruptly, “Are you rich?”
At first, he was just startled by the blunt question. Someone with that artifice and subterfuge she lacked would have gone about finding that out in a much more roundabout way. Actually, most members of the ton wouldn’t even have tried to figure it out. They had all assumed for years that Daniel’s family was well heeled, and his mother had worked very hard to ensure everyone thought that. However, the truth was that they had been near paupers, selling off old family antiques one at a time to keep the creditors at bay, while trying desperately to uphold the image of wealth everyone expected.
His mother had started pestering Daniel to find a wealthy wife the moment he’d come of age and he’d almost allowed himself to be pressured into it when one night, under the influence of too much alcohol, he’d confessed all to Richard. Richard hadn’t been surprised. Much to Daniel’s amazement it appeared his mother’s efforts hadn’t been as successful as she’d thought and his best friend had long suspected their financial state. Or, perhaps being that close he had simply noticed that Daniel wore the same clothes most of the time, treating them gingerly to make them last, or that their parlor was threadbare with wear, and that no one was allowed beyond the parlor, mostly because the rest of the house was nearly