Page 13 of A Proposal to Wed (The Beautiful Barringtons #9)

“What is it?” Romy stopped and looked up at her. “Did I poke you with a pin? You’ve gone all stiff, and there’s a sour look on your face.”

It seemed poor manners to only just reunite with her friend and immediately beg help. But if ever Lucy needed the friendship and help of Andromeda Barrington, Duchess of Granby, it was now. She had no desire to spend her days married to Dufton and confined to a sanitarium.

“Father has arranged a marriage for me.”

Romy’s clever fingers paused at the hem of the gown. “I see. You do not care for the match?”

“No.” Lucy took a deep breath. “Lord Dufton and I do not suit.” Her lips tightened as the lisp made itself known. “And your suspicions concerning Father’s generosity are correct. Dufton is paying for this dress.”

Romy stood abruptly, pins spilling from her mouth as her lips popped open in astonishment. “Dufton? You’re joking.” She frowned. “You must refuse.”

Her friend’s adamant and immediate aversion to Dufton told Lucy the earl was far worse than even she’d imagined, which was difficult to believe. “The situation is rather complicated.”

“No, it is not. Forgive me, Lucy, but I’m not sure why you continue to allow Gerald Waterstone to dictate your existence. You have a right to live your own life. Good lord, you’re…”

“Ancient,” Lucy whispered. “Nearly twenty-seven. But that matters little.” Not after overhearing how Father wouldn’t bat an eye at drugging her to wed Dufton. He’d have it put in her tea, and Lucy would wake up to find herself standing before a vicar. Or worse, a bed. With Dufton looming over her.

“Dufton is…suffice it to say he has a poor reputation.” The look in Romy’s eyes said it was far more than that.

“Take your pin money. Your dowry. Make your own life. I can send you to The Barrow. Dufton’s first wife…

vanished from society, quite suddenly, never to return.

His business practices are questionable.

” Romy took Lucy’s hand and led her over to a chair, forcing her to sit, before jumping up on the worktable.

“And his character is non-existent. Title or not. Refuse.”

“It is not so easy.” Lucy took a deep breath.

Instructed her tongue to not cling to her teeth.

This was Romy, after all. Her friend. “Father is deeply in debt,” she started, explaining to Romy what she’d found in his study.

The demands from creditors. The ship that he’d invested in heavily that had been lost at sea.

How maids, at least one footman, and the gardener had disappeared.

“At our marriage, Lord Dufton has promised to wipe away Father’s debts. ”

“The ton whispers that his mother demands he wed, though there is a reason a host of young ladies aren’t being tossed in his direction. Some of which I’ve just apprised you of.” Romy cocked her head. “But why you ?”

“You mean because I am an ancient, lisping spinster with no dowry?” At Romy’s look she said, “Gone. Father used my dowry to purchase—a business.” How shameful to acknowledge what Father had done out of pettiness, let alone admit to it.

“No dowry?” Romy shook her head. “I can well imagine. Probably bought a bloody horse with it.”

Or an ironworks.

“I can barely hear it, by the way. That tiny little lisp. What are you not telling me?”

Father didn’t deserve discretion.

“There is a piece of land. Property,” Lucy said, forming each syllable slowly so as not to lisp. “I’m not even sure where it is, exactly. But…the land is attached to me.”

“Attached? But you’ve only just said you have no dowry.” Romy’s brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”

“Marsden isn’t a dowry. If it was, Father would have sold the property long ago.

” Lucy clasped her fingers together. “But Marsden cannot be sold. Not even by me. Nor can the land be owned by a father or a husband. Only me.” Lucy took a deep breath.

“But the use of Marsden can be gained through marriage. At least, that is what I’ve ascertained.

I don’t know the specifics.” Lucy looked up at her friend.

“Joshua Marsden was my great-grandfather.”

“He’s bartering you. Trading you,” Romy hissed. “Your hand in marriage to an unsavory individual like Dufton because of a piece of property and in return Waterstone is made whole? I thought I couldn’t possibly detest your father more, Lucy.”

“Father fears impoverishment and the loss of his status in society,” she murmured, twisting the fabric of her skirts.

“What you mean is that pompous, controlling idiot, who has literally kept you silent for years, is going to force you to wed Dufton, so that you may wash away the stains of his stupidity. He’s dictated your entire existence, even controlling who you can forge friendships with, namely me . Not to mention what he did to Estwood.”

Pendergast .

“Though it cost him the friendship of my duke, which he no doubt regrets.”

Romy hopped off the table and began to pace about the room, tapping her cheek with the end of her pencil before halting abruptly before Lucy. “Wait, what was the name of the property again?”

“Marsden. Named for Joshua Marsden. As I said, he was my great grandfather and left the property to my mother. Upon her death, the land passed directly to me. Father can’t touch it. Can’t profit from Marsden, according to the terms of the behest.”

“Yet he’s found a way to do so,” Romy mused, continuing to pace.

“The land’s only worth, according to Father, is river access, which Dufton wants, and a bit of copper.”

Romy let out a bitter laugh. “Marsden is far from worthless,” she said. “Nothing could be further from the truth. This is…unsettling news.”

“You’ve heard of Marsden?” Lucy’s eyes widened. “How? Where is it? I assume it is close to Pendergast, given?—”

“Yorkshire.” Romy interrupted. “Specifically, the Cleveland Hills. Dufton might want land close to the river, but I think he wants Marsden far more for the exceptionally large deposit of iron ore to be found beneath the rock. Along with some coal and copper.”

Lucy came to her feet. “Iron ore?”

“Yes. Loads of it. So much so, that the worth is incalculable. Huge .” Romy threw her hands up. “The estimated sum staggered David, which is no easy feat.” She quickly related all she knew of Marsden to Lucy.

“Dufton doesn’t need a wife,” Lucy said.

“No.” Romy stopped her. “He most certainly does . But why not take the woman who can also give him Marsden? That is why he is being so generous to your Father. Whatever his debts, the sum can’t be close to the value of all that iron ore.”

“Father doesn’t know.” Lucy covered her mouth to stifle a gasp.

“He has no idea. Because if he did, he’d put me up for auction like one of his brood mares.

” Iron ore was used to make pig iron and wrought iron, both of which were used in the construction of…

well, nearly everything. “How do you know, Romy? About Marsden?”

“I—may have accidentally seen a survey relating to the abundance of iron ore on the property while in my husband’s study.” A blush colored her cheeks, a rarity for Romy. “It was on his desk. I may have…sat on it.”

Metallurgy .

Lucy had made the assumption, incorrectly, it seemed, that Estwood wanted Marsden for the same reason Dufton supposedly did; river access. But that wasn’t it at all. He knew about the iron ore. He wanted Pendergast. And Estwood was heavily invested in the building of bridges, railways, even sewers.

“Do you know where I can find Harry Estwood? I need to speak to him.” Her voice never wavered, for which she was grateful. Lucy could see clearly what must be done. Despite what Father and nearly everyone else assumed, she was not a nitwit.

“He’s only just returned from visiting Blythe in Hampshire and—” Romy blew out a breath. “ You sent the note, didn’t you? Not your father. David has been furious Waterstone used his name, but it was you.”

Lucy nodded. “I didn’t know about Marsden when I sent the note,” she answered carefully. “I found out my father means to cheat Estwood once more over the sale of Pendergast. I thought to warn him, though he despises me.”

Romy, for once, looked chagrined. “The house party, Lucy.”

Lucy turned away, not wanting to relive that particular night—or her own stupidity. “Of course.”

A soft rap at the door revealed Marisol. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. But Mrs. Waterstone is growing anxious over the whereabouts of Miss Waterstone. ”

“Tell her Miss Waterstone’s fitting is over. She’ll return in a moment,” Romy said, gesturing Marisol out. Once the door was shut again, she said, “There is a solution. A way for you to avoid Dufton. I see by the look on your face you’ve come to the same conclusion.”

“I must marry.” It was her only means of protection.

“ I can send you to Rome, Lucy. Or The Barrow. But once word gets out about the survey, every fortune hunter in England will attempt to force you to the altar. If your father realizes how little Dufton is offering in exchange for you…” Romy hesitated.

“He might find someone far worse.” Lucy finished her thought. “He is desperate.”

“So yes, you must wed.” Her friend glanced at her. “Quickly.”

“Estwood.” Lucy had come to the same conclusion last night, stomach knotting at the mere thought of approaching Estwood, a man who, though he wanted Marsden, despised her .

But it must be him. He had been trying to buy Marsden for some time and might possibly want it more than Dufton.

Estwood was also wealthy and powerful enough to protect her.

Though he’d have to put aside his dislike of Lucy to have the property.

“He is your best candidate given how badly he wants Marsden.”

“I’m to be presented to Lady Dufton at the Shaftoe ball,” she said, though it came out as Thaftoe ball, her lisp returning with a vengeance. “At most, I have less than a month before Dufton drags me before a vicar. Expediency is of the essence.”