Page 32 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

J eremy sat slumped in a chair before the fire in his study.

Beyond the room's windows was a bright and pleasant day, but it might as well have been stormy and lashing with rain.

In Jeremy's mind, it was. The fire lapped at balls of paper containing his attempts at a letter to Harriet.

The latest draft was on the small side table in front of him.

He had begun attempting to pen the letters after returning from the Imperial to find that the Tisdales had left. He assumed they would return to Oaksgrove. Jeremy wanted to be ahorse and pursuing them, but business kept him in London.

Hang business! Hang the Winchester Opera House and hang the El Dorado! Am I going to let Ralph marry her off? Let him sabotage my purchase of the Opera House, even if he doesn't know his hand in it?

The trouble was that the threat to his ambition was not the spur to action that it had once been. The notion that Harriet would be married off to another man, however, was far more of a cold and blustery thought.

Ridiculous… Wives are easy to come by. Women are even easier. Why should I care for a woman whom I do not care for beyond lust and the need to secure the goodwill of the Winchesters?

He tried to make himself callous. To rebuild walls that he sensed had been weakened by Harriet. But it wasn't working.

I should be meeting with Simon Winchester to discuss our partnership, for that is clearly the only way I am going to be able to secure this purchase…

He took up the pen again, hovering over a blank piece of paper, intending to write a note that could be carried to Simon at his lodgings, requesting an urgent meeting. Instead, it was Harriet's name that was committed to paper once more.

If I make our engagement public and real, it will cost me my friendship with Ralph. But I will have my Opera House without Simon's help. And I will have Harriet. Forever. As my wife. If she even wishes it…

He crushed the paper in his fist and tossed it into the fire again. He needed no wife! Marriage would not secure his place at the apex of his ancestors.

A knock came at the door, and he barked an answer. Atkins entered.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. A Doctor March is in the anteroom requesting an audience.”

Jeremy had leaped to his feet as Atkins had entered, anticipating a visitor and believing for a brief moment that the butler would give Harriet's name. Now, his shoulders sagged and he sat down, slumping back.

Impeccable timing. Another loose end I must tie up.

“I have no time for an audience. Send him away,” Jeremy muttered.

“He is… rather insistent, Your Grace. He asked me to communicate that he is due to dine with the Earl of Oaksgrove on Friday.”

Atkins showed no signs of curiosity, merely conveying the message accurately. But Jeremy knew what the good Doctor was saying.

See me… or else .

“Very well, Atkins. Show him in and bring us some tea.”

Atkins withdrew, then moments later opened the door to admit Doctor March. The stocky man advanced into the room, holding his hat between his hands and looking around nervously. Jeremy did not offer him the respect of rising but waved him to a seat opposite himself.

“You have blackmailed your way into my house—so out with it, man,” he exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I apologize for my crassness, Your Grace. But I believe the ends justify the means, and my ends are a noble cause.”

Jeremy scoffed. “Men of our calibre know nobility is an utter farce, Doctor March.”

His gaze slipped to the fire, where he saw Harriet as he had only a few hours ago—the tilt of her chin in defiance, a flicker of unease shadowing her eyes.

Once, my daydreams were full of the El Dorado. Now it feels a hazy mirage. Am I so far from it? I must get a grip on myself.

“I respectfully disagree, Your Grace. My hospital will save countless lives and will revolutionize the provision of medicine in this country. That justifies any methods, no matter how unethical.”

March sounded fervent, leaning forward in his seat and punctuating his words with sharp gesticulations.

Jeremy slammed his hands on the armrests of his chair.

“Very well. I have agreed to your terms, have I not? You will have the funds when I have been able to realize some investments and liquidate them. At the moment, I have more pressing business matters occupying me, but you have my word that it will be done this year.”

“You see, therein lies the problem, Your Grace,” March began.

Jeremy frowned, looking at the Doctor for a long moment.

“Why would that be a problem?” he asked.

“The land is being sought by another buyer. The owner is keen to sell and does not care to wait for me to obtain the funds. I stand to lose the site entirely if I do not act in the next couple of days.”

“So find somewhere else,” Jeremy replied, not seeing the issue here. “London is a large place.”

The good doctor shook his head. “The site is perfect. The foundational structures on the site are perfect. There is nowhere else. Therefore, I must humbly ask for the money now.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“How much is needed?” Jeremy finally enquired.

“Ten thousand, Your Grace,” March said hurriedly as though wanting the words out of his mouth as quickly as possible.

“ Ten thousand ?!” he barked. “Good lord, are you looking to purchase half of Southwark?”

Ten thousand would take up a portion of the funds set aside for the Opera House, leaving him considerably short of the asking price.

“Impossible,” he shook his head. “The funds that I currently have in a liquid state are ring-fenced. I can raise the capital in time, but not right away.”

March turned his hat over in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the tea arrived, and he clamped his mouth shut until the servant who brought the tea tray had departed. In the meantime, Jeremy watched the other man intently.

“I'm afraid it must be made possible. With all due respect, whatever purpose you had in mind for these funds must be moved back, and my project must take priority,” the doctor said with quiet but dogged persistence.

Jeremy shot to his feet, his chair scraping back. “You insolent cur ! You dare tell me how to spend my money?”

“I regret the necessity, Your Grace, but I’m afraid this project cannot be delayed!

I will not see the greed of one man triumph over the lives of many.

If I must resort to desperate measures, so be it.

When the hospital opens, the knowledge of how many you have helped—saved—will make it worthwhile, I swear. ”

There was a fervent light in March's eyes now. He had also risen, gesturing as he spoke as though preaching.

My God, but the man is a fanatic! I have no doubt that he would do as he threatens if I do not comply. But if I do comply, I will not be able to afford the Winchesters’ Opera House. Unless...

An idea occurred to him then. It was repellent, but it still allowed him to claim ownership of the Opera House and keep Doctor March quiet.

I wonder if that rogue Simon will agree. Surely the answer will be a resounding yes. Yes, to me offering him a larger stake in the Opera House in exchange for making up my shortfall in cash. Giving up part of my ownership. Another consequence of the silly ruse I started. Devil take it…

“Very well, Doctor March,” Jeremy huffed after a long silence, “you will have a promissory note before you leave this house, and I will write to my bankers to inform them you will be seeking an encashment. Go to Goldings Bank on Threadneedle Street tomorrow and you will have gold.”

Harriet walked the paths of Oaksgrove's gardens, disconsolate. She found herself looking back over her shoulder towards the house continually. She hoped to either see Beecham walking briskly towards her bearing a letter from Jeremy or to see Jeremy himself.

I did not imagine it. I reached him behind his high walls.

He admitted to a passion for art. Maybe a greater passion than his ambition for the El Dorado.

And he seemed to care more for being with me than for inveigling himself into the good graces of the Winchesters.

Only to see me being introduced to my future husband…

She looked and hoped, but there was no sign of either letter or Jeremy himself. Harriet had returned home to Oaksgrove two days prior. This was the third day since the Drury Lane Theater. And still no sign of him.

A golden-haired head poked up from over the wall. A familiar face and a familiar introduction.

“Hullo, Harriet!” Jane chirped.

“Hullo, Jane. No need to hide. All is out in the open now. Beecham, and probably Ralph, know that I have been sneaking away.”

Jane grinned and disappeared behind the wall. Harriet strolled on, unhurried, waiting for her friend to circle round to the nearest gate. Moments later, Jane appeared, brisk as ever, and tucked her arm through Harriet’s.

“I have not seen you in such a pitiful state since Ralph forwent escorting you to the Chelmsford ball. And if memory serves, I found the solution then. I daresay I can again. Now—what exactly is the matter, dear Harriet?”

Harriet laughed bitterly, remembering when her only worry in the world was being unable to attend a ball she had been looking forward to. Oh, how much had changed since that fateful day…

“It is not quite that simple this time, Jane,” she murmured.

“Doubtless it seems that way now, but I assure you that our troubles always have a way of appearing bigger than they truly are.”

Harriet took a breath, considering the things that were on her mind.

Where should I begin? With the marriage Ralph expects me to enter into? With the engagement I was pretending to? With the dalliance I engaged in with a man known to be a rake and a scoundrel? A man I believe I am falling in love with...

“It seems my brief days of freedom are coming to an end. Ralph has found me a husband, as promised,” Harriet eventually said.