Page 4 of When the Scoundrel Sins

Yet Annabelle loved every rock-strewn, heather-tufted inch of it. After a childhood spent moving from place to place, sometimes in the middle of the night to flee her father’s creditors and often not knowing when the next meal would be, the peace and permanence of Glenarvon still seemed like a dream to her. And in one short month, when she turned twenty-five, the property would be hers.

Ifshe married.

Or she would lose it forever if she didn’t. The estate would go to the Church, and Belle would lose everything…the mountains and the wilderness, the darling sheep and their pastures, even the little pond where she swam on summer evenings. The only true home she’d ever known.

Thatwas the unbearable situation she found herself in. Just as she knew that it was all the fault of love.

Sensing her distress, the dowager added quietly, “We only wanted the best for you, my dear.”

“I know.” Belle squeezed her arm affectionately and turned away before Lady Ainsley could see the hint of tears in her eyes.

Lady Ainsley and her late husband were fond of Belle and always had been, ever since she came to live with them when she was ten. Her mother had died of fever, and her father, who had never been a part of her life except to cause misery, had been sentenced to prison two years earlier. She’d had no relatives to take her in.

Because her mother had once worked for the viscount, Lady Ainsley wanted to help by raising her to be her companion, since the viscountess had no children of her own. So they welcomed her into their lives and treated her as well as they would have their own daughter. Truly, as well as Lord Ainsley’s three daughters from his first marriage, with a wonderful education, all the dresses and accessories she wanted, and a safe and stable home. They also wanted her to be well-protected for the rest of her life. So Lord Ainsley had willed Castle Glenarvon to her, held in trust by the new viscount—but only if she married by the time she turned twenty-five. Then, the property would have been overseen by her husband and untouchable by her thief of a father.

But the road to hell was paved with good intentions, and by trying to protect her, they’d inadvertently harmed her. Because her twenty-fifth birthday was now only a month away, with no husband in sight.

“We have a plan, and it will work,” Lady Ainsley reminded her, referring to the series of teas and parties they’d planned on hosting. All of the area’s most eligible gentlemen would be invited, to give Belle a chance to meet them and decide if any might do for a husband. A rushed season in miniature.

Of course, the time had finally come to also reveal that Castle Glenarvon formed her dowry. With the viscountess’s permission, Belle had always kept that secret, except from a few trusted persons who held a vested interest in the property…the estate foreman, the family solicitor, and Sir Harold Bletchley, who owned the neighboring estate. She’d feared being inundated by fortune hunters who wanted the land more than they wanted her and terrified that she’d end up in a marriage like her mother’s. One in which her husband’s lack of love for her would turn the union into a nightmare.

But now, with a looming deadline and a dearth of suitors, she had no choice but to reveal her dowry. And no choice but to consider a marriage of convenience.

“There is always Sir Harold,” Lady Ainsley tossed out offhandedly. “He would make a fine husband.”

Belle stiffened, certain Sir Haroldwouldmake a fine husband. Just not for her. Not if she wanted to enjoy any conversations with her husband other than those about hunting and hounds.

Oh, Sir Harold wasn’t a villain by any stretch. But neither was he the kind of man she suspected would make her happy. One who saw his wife as a true partner in marriage, one equal to the task of running the estate and deserving of his respect.

Lady Ainsley ticked off his qualifications as if she were reading an entry inDebrett’s. “He has his own property and a goodly amount of wealth, the respect of the aristocracy, a fine family history.…By all accounts, he would be quite an advantageous match for you. You should reconsider his offer.”

Belle fought back the urge to cry. Lady Ainsley was being helpful, in her own way. And she wasn’t wrong. A young lady with Belle’s pedigree—or rather,lackof one—would never have been able to marry a gentleman any other way except by bringing an estate as her dowry. But Belle had never cared about social rank or her place in society, except to please Lord and Lady Ainsley. Whether society spurned her for the rest of her life or welcomed her with open arms, she couldn’t have cared less. She’d turned her back on them six years ago when they’d all turned their backs on her. Theonlything that mattered to her now was that she be allowed to keep living right here in the home she loved, surrounded by the people she cared about.

She just hadn’t planned on being forced into a marriage she didn’t want in order to do it.

“I do not believe that he and I are well-suited,” she countered before Lady Ainsley considered her silence to be an acquiescence. “I believe I should look elsewhere.”

“As long as you keep looking,” Lady Ainsley warned with all the worry and affection of a true mother. “I fear you’ve grown opposed to marriage.”

“I’m not against marriage,” Belle defended herself. “It’s a perfectly fine institution.” But neither had she ever been one of those young ladies who eagerly sought it out, who spent all their waking hours preening and plotting to snare the best husband, one of high rank and large fortune. “But I want a marriage based upon respect, friendship, shared interests…love.” Then she added softly, certain the dowager could hear the admiration in her voice for the two people who had become a second set of parents to her, “The kind of marriage you and Lord Ainsley shared.”

Marrying for love was a quaint notion, to be sure, one that certainly flew in the face of modern convention, when affection was the last consideration for a marriage match among ladies of theton. Yet Belle had seen firsthand with her own mother what could happen to a wife who had trapped herself with a man who cared nothing for the true partnership a marriage should be.

Belle wasn’t brilliant at math, but she could certainly count to nine months and knew that her untimely arrival had forced her parents into marriage. There was no love between them, and Marcus Greene thought he had the right to control his wife, if not by direct orders and insults than by his fists. He’d never provided a sound roof over their heads or adequate coin with which to buy bread and cloth—often none at all—preferring instead to spend his nights drinking and his days drifting from job to job, unable to keep one for longer than a few weeks. His wife and child had been dragged along in his wake, without means of escape. The drunkenness became worse, the beatings fierce and frequent, the debts higher…until he was arrested for theft and sent to prison. His gaol sentence had been his family’s path to freedom.

But while her mother’s situation exemplified the misery that a marriage could be, Belle had also witnessed the true partnership that Lord and Lady Ainsley had shared. Oh, they certainly fought. Angry words had been exchanged, once with the viscountess refusing to leave her boudoir for a week until Lord Ainsley apologized. But the viscount would never have cursed her or raised his fists in anger. They both dearly loved the other, and that love made all the difference.

It all came down to love, Belle was certain.

Or to the lack of it.

Given all she’d witnessed, if faced with the choice of marrying a man who did not love her or remaining unmarried, Belle would have gladly become a spinster.

But she could never utter that last aloud for fear it would break the dowager’s heart. And in her current situation, with her home hanging in the balance, it seemed she no longer had a choice.

“I want a good marriage for you, too,” Lady Ainsley agreed. “Which is why I sent for Quinton Carlisle.”

Belle tripped.