He hadn’t meant to mention the cards. He’d intended to hold that in reserve, but something about Loxleigh irritated him like a splinter in his thumb. The man was so false, with his flowery speeches and his smiling good looks and that full, inviting mouth spouting cant and false virtue. A mouth shouldn’t be at once so detestable and so desirable. It made him think of a fairy tale about an unkind princess cursed to have toads drop from her lips when she spoke. And Loxleigh intended to take Alice’s money, doing God knows what to her in the process. At best he’d abandon her, at worst—well, there was little bottom to ‘worst’ for a woman in a bad marriage.
Or, at least, Hart was fairly sure that was what Loxleigh intended. Unfortunately, he had no proof but instinct, and Edwina had her arms folded and a martial light in her eye.
“Do you believe he loves Alice?” he tried.
“I believe that he likes and respects her and thinks she would make him a good wife. Is that so implausible?”
“Yes!” Hart said, saw her swell, and added hastily, “For him. Not Alice. Of course anyone might love her.”
“So why did he say you didn’t believe she was worthy of love?”
“He twisted my words!” Hart protested. “I don’t think someone like him would love her.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t want to spell it out. Of course a glossy young Adonis like Loxleigh wouldn’t court plain Alice for her delightful character, even if he wasn’t a prating liar. That was not the way of the world. But he didn’t feel like embarking on that conversation, and he had plenty of other objections to raise. “He’s false all the way through. Can you not see? Smooth-tongued and calculating and manipulative. He’s a fortune hunter, I’m sure of it.”
“What fortune do you think he’s hunting?” Edwina demanded. “We kept her portion secret!”
“But the world knows her father was a successful man. Anyone might guess he left her something. Will you believe me if I can prove he knew about her money?”
“Is it unreasonable to ask about a girl’s portion?”
“If he found it out before he made her acquaintance—”
“How will you possibly prove that? You’ve decided you don’t like him and you’re looking for reasons to justify it. If you have anything concrete to say of Mr. Loxleigh, tell me. But if you’ve just taken against him because he’s handsome, that’s not fair.”
Hart felt himself redden. He did mistrust beautiful people as a general rule; he hadn’t realised that was obvious to others. “I don’t have anything concrete,” he said, jaw set so hard it hurt. “But I do not believe he’s honest. Everything about him is wrong. And I love Alice a great deal too much to see her made miserable by a fraud.”
“I want her to be happy too.” The self-control was audible in Edwina’s voice. “I want her to enjoy herself. To experience a London Season and meet new people and realise there is more to life than her books. And I don’t want you to spoil it by frightening off every new friend she might make!”
“He isn’t a friend if he’s after her money. And anyway she doesn’t like new people. She’s much happier doing algebra with Dr. Trelawney at home.”
Angry colour flared in Edwina’s cheeks. “That is exactly the problem! She will never pay attention to the wider world if I don’t make her. It’s not that I want her thinking of marriage now: it’s that if she buries herself in her studies to the exclusion of all else, she won’t be fit to find a husband by the time she does want to. You ought to understand that, Hart. Alice needs to acquire polish. She needs to learn to be comfortable in society, and how to talk to people. She can’t simply sit with her studies and then expect to find a good husband—which does not simply happen, you know, she will have to meet new people and show herself to advantage, not just depend on her fortune to bring the right man along. Goodness me, do you want her to be as awkward as you?”
That was a low blow. Hart was well aware he’d never acquired the social poise Edwina described. He’d never gone to university, attended rural festivities to prepare him for London ones, or even had a dancing-master. He hadn’t learned to make elegant conversation or to look as if he belonged in the society to which his birth entitled him. Probably he would never have been a graceful man since he lacked any natural gifts in that direction, but he could, undeniably, have been a more polished, confident one.
“I’m doing perfectly well,” he said, rather defensively.
“You are a man, a Hartlebury, and a baronet. You will always command some respect for those things, no matter how gracelessly you conduct yourself. Alice is none of them, so she needs to make the most of what she is. I’m not a fool, Hart; I know she isn’t greatly enjoying this. But she is my daughter and I have to think of her future. I could not bear to have her ask me in later years why I didn’t guide her better. I’d rather she sat through a few parties now and was relieved to go home than that she should ever believe I didn’t consider her well-being. She suffered too much of that.” Her voice shook.
Hart passed her a handkerchief. “I do understand.”
“I want her to be happy,” Edwina said, muffled. “And she truly likes Miss Loxleigh. She had started enjoying London. Why did you have to spoil it?”
That felt unjustly accurate. “If I’m wrong about Loxleigh I’ll apologise,” he made himself say. “If I’m right, it isn’t I who will have spoiled anything.”
“And if you’ve insulted him so grossly he doesn’t return and Miss Loxleigh takes offence, and she marries Tachbrook, and all that starts up again—”
“Let’s not borrow trouble. And don’t you find that odd, Edwina? Two siblings, unknowns, both setting themselves at wealthy possible spouses?”
“It’s what people do!” Edwina almost shouted. “That is the entire purpose of the Marriage Mart, to exchange wealth for beauty! Why shouldn’t Miss Loxleigh set her sights at a marquess, if one is willing to marry her? Why should Alice not use her riches to find a husband when she’s ready for one? My goodness, Hart, do you think Blaine married me for my looks?”
Even when young, Edwina had been far too much a Hartlebury to be called beautiful, with the family’s heavy build and strong features. Hart said, “There is a difference between a practical marriage and a fortune hunter.”
“What difference?”
He opened his mouth and realised that was in fact a very good question. “What the other party has to offer,” he tried.
“Beauty is a commodity. The Misses Gunning had nothing but beauty, and one married an earl and the other married two dukes.”
“All right, then: frankness about one’s position.”
“The Loxleighs have made it clear they have very humble means.”
“They dress damned well on it.”
“Don’t swear. I dare say they saved for this opportunity. Why should they not?”
And why should Loxleigh not gamble to fund it, Hart supposed. “What about the future? Would a man who only wanted her money make a kind husband?”
Edwina shook her head, almost pityingly. “Do you believe love-matches are safer? I made a business arrangement with Fenwick and I was very happy. Whereas when I married Blaine, I thought I loved him, and I believed he cared for me. You would not have called him a fortune hunter when we married, would you?”