An Inadvisable Wager (The Curse of the Weatherby Ball Book 2) by Eliza Lloyd (the best novels to read txt) 📕

the past. I have promised to take you back to Henbury Hall, but I did not promise to take Timothy back.”

“But it’s his heritage.”

“If I deed Henbury to you, are you giving the property to Timothy?”

“Does that not seem the honest thing to do? And based on our marriage arrangement, it shouldn’t matter to you what I do with the property.”

“I expect my wife to protect our interests. We will have children someday, and those properties would be held for them.”

“Perhaps. There is no guarantee.”

“What if one of those children is the next Earl of Carlow? Now you are angry that I didn’t support you with regard to Timothy and I am a little concerned that you are not going to support me over Timothy’s future needs. You are going to have to choose, whether now or two months from now. Or when I die.”

“Reading Mother’s diary would be more pleasant than a conversation with you.”

“Because it’s true?”

“Because for once I want the last word.”

“Not possible. There is so much more we have to discuss.”

“But I have something to ask first. Something I’ve been thinking about.”

“Go ahead.”

“If my father sold his properties legitimately, how much did he sell them for and where is the money? Wouldn’t your estate books record the amount?” she asked.

“Hmm. And that leads to another question: Why didn’t he sell the properties back to Exeter? George would have known how his father acquired the properties. Exeter would have been the most likely to want the assets returned and maybe pay a premium for them.”

“How could Papa do that? If Exeter and my mother were…being dishonest with my father, Exeter would be the last person to whom he would sell.”

“Being a cuckold would certainly jade the most honest man. How much more so the infamous George Blasington?”

“So, why would he choose the three buyers that he had?” she asked.

“If only one of them were alive to ask…”

Nora gasped, then bit hard on her lip. “But it’s so obvious! He would not risk the property going back to Exeter. If Mother was so enamored with the duke and my father knew it, he had to see a future where all his holdings would end back in Exeter’s hands and not Timothy’s. That’s it, Carlow. That’s why Papa did it.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked, as Carlow remained silent, his eyes closed. “Carlow?”

“Let me think a minute. When we get back to London, we have to finish your mother’s diary. I think much of what you say will be confirmed.”

“Of course it will. Lady Fortenay did not raise a simpleton.”

He turned toward her again. “Do you have gooseflesh on your arm? I think I do. I’m feeling quite thrilled with this potential discovery.”

“I think I feel it on my legs,” she said. “But perhaps not.”

“Maybe I should check.” He reached for her thin skirt and her worn chemise and she didn’t care. He lifted the material from her leg and then stroked from her knee upward. “Indeed. Gooseflesh.”

“In the carriage, Carlow?” She wrapped her arm about his neck.

“Anywhere, as long as you are in agreement.”

“Anytime, as long as you are able.”

“Oh, my dear. I cannot think of a woman in London who entertains me the way you do. I do hope you are going to love me soon.”

“Well, you have two more months to prove your worth. And my standards are very high.”

* * * * *

“I think I should have a shot of whisky before we get started,” Nora said. The diary was on the bed beside her. After much discussion on the road home, and in spite of her acute fatigue, they’d agreed to settle in and read the most significant words of her mother’s writing. The minutia wasn’t important to this discussion, but Nora knew that is where the pain laid.

Why did Mother leave them to a guardian? Why didn’t she try to contact them, through letters or visits?

Carlow stood at the small sidebar in his room where he kept a few bottles of liquor. “I think we’ll have the Banffshire whisky made from the most holy waters of Fons Buliens in Scotland.”

“Saving it for a special occasion?”

“If it was good enough for fourteenth-century monks, it is surely good enough for two imperfect people looking for truth.”

He handed her the drink. Fortification burned from her throat to her belly and then pooled there like the embers of a leftover fire.

She set the glass aside and reached for the diary as Carlow sat beside her, legs outstretched and back propped up next to her on the voluminous pillows.

“Nothing but the truth,” she said. She opened the first page and took a deep breath. Those words were enough to make her dizzy with regret and sadness. “Page two,” she said. “I’m just going to summarize. Unless it is really important.”

“Seems logical.”

“I’m nervous.”

“Don’t you think you’ve already read the worst?”

“Possibly. I hope so.” She took a deep breath and turned her gaze back to the writing. "She’s arrived in London. She loves Exeter. Oh, I hope there aren’t pages and pages full of such tripe. I don’t want to know any more about her unfaithfulness to Father.” She reached for Carlow’s hand, laying over his stomach. “Carlow, I don’t want you ever to think I will be unfaithful to you. I may be my mother’s daughter, but not in that way.”

“You only have two more months to keep those vows. I should hope any woman could be faithful that long, but if you are talking for the entirety of the marriage I hope for, then I appreciate your conviction.”

She gave him a one-sided smile and then turned her attention back to the neat, leather-bound book, reading in silence for a while.