Miss Georgiana Blythe had never been offered a glass of Madeira at half past 10:00 in the morning, and she took this as the first of many ominous signs.
The library at Rosewick Park was a cavernous, chilly place, its walls lined with leather-bound books that had not been opened in 50 years. A fire struggled in the grate, casting more shadow than warmth.
Georgiana sat very straight in a wingback chair, her gloved hands folded in her lap, while across from her, Viscount Hale poured two generous measures of wine with the casual ease of a man who had been drinking since breakfast.
Sebastian Hale was, by any reasonable measure, a disaster.
She had known this before accepting his summons. The entire county knew it. He was the eldest son of an earl, heir to a title and an estate that he was systematically dismantling through gambling, racing, and a profound disregard for arithmetic. He had the lean, wolfish handsomeness of a man who had never been told no: dark hair falling across his brow, gray eyes that gleamed with restless intelligence, a mouth that seemed permanently poised between a smirk and a sneer.
But this morning, Georgiana noticed something else: shadows beneath his eyes, a tremor in his hands as he passed her the glass.
"You're wondering why I asked you here," he said.
"I'm wondering many things, my lord. Chiefly, whether you intend to seduce me or murder me, as neither seems particularly likely at this hour."
A startled laugh escaped him. It transformed his face, made him look younger, less cynical.
"Seduction wasn't on the agenda, though I confess I'm flattered you considered it. Murder would require more energy than I currently possess."
Georgiana allowed herself a small smile. She was 24 years old, the eldest daughter of the vicar of St. Margaret's, and she had long ago learned that the only way to manage difficult men was to refuse to be impressed by them.
"Then shall we dispense with the preamble, my lord? You did not invite the vicar's daughter to Rosewick Park for the scenery."
Sebastian set down his glass. He leaned back in his chair and regarded her with an expression she could not quite read—calculation, perhaps, mixed with something that looked almost like embarrassment.
"I am in debt," he said. "Not the ordinary, manageable sort of debt. The sort that has men with large fists and small patience arriving at my door. The sort that has my father threatening to disinherit me. The sort that..."
He stopped, ran a hand through his hair. "...The sort that will land me in Marshalsea Prison before the month is out."
Georgiana said nothing. She waited.
"I need money," he continued. "A significant amount, immediately. And I need respectability. I have two younger sisters, you see. Beatrice and Charlotte. They're 12 and 14, still at school in Bath. If I am imprisoned, or if my father carries out his threat to cut me off entirely, they become wards of my uncle, a man whose estate is run on principles of such draconian economy that he once sent back a pudding because it contained too many raisins."
"The horror," Georgiana said dryly.
Sebastian's lips twitched. "You mock me, but you have not tasted my aunt's cooking. It is a form of cruelty that should be outlawed by Parliament."
He sobered. "I cannot allow them to be raised in that house. My mother would have hated it."
There was something genuine in his voice then, a thread of real feeling beneath the rakish facade. Georgiana filed this away and took a careful sip of her Madeira. It was excellent, probably stolen from her father's cellar.
"All of this brings us to the question of why you have summoned me, my lord," she said. "I am not a banker. I am not a bailiff. I am a vicar's daughter with no fortune, no connections, and no particular beauty to recommend me. If you need a wife for her dowry, there are at least a dozen young ladies in the county who would throw their bonnets at you."
"Their fathers would not," Sebastian said. "I've already tried. Lord Beck threatened to call me out when I so much as glanced at his daughter. Sir Reginald Pemberton offered to have me removed from his property by force. The only fathers who would consider me at this point are those so desperate they would sell their own mothers, and their daughters are either 14 or missing several teeth."
"Charming."
"I am not seeking charm. I am seeking practicality." He leaned forward, and now his gaze was intent, focused entirely on her. "Miss Blythe, I have made inquiries about you. You run your father's parish school. You have managed his household since your mother's death. You are known throughout the district as a woman of sense, economy, and unimpeachable character. You are not romantic. You do not play the pianoforte or paint watercolors of ruins. You are, by all accounts, as practical as a pocketknife."
Georgiana felt her spine stiffen. "I am not sure whether to thank you or strike you."
"Thank me. I mean it as the highest compliment." He smiled, and there was no mockery in it. "I am not asking you to love me, Miss Blythe. I am asking you to enter into a contract, a marriage of convenience, nothing more. You will have the protection of my name, a comfortable house in London, and a settlement of 5,000 pounds to be paid to you directly upon the signing of the marriage articles for your own use."
5,000 pounds.
Georgiana kept her face perfectly still, but her heart had begun to race. 5,000 pounds was a sum beyond her wildest imaginings. It would repair the leaky roof of the schoolhouse. It would purchase new slates, new primers, new benches. It would pay a proper salary for a schoolmistress, so that the children of the parish need not rely on Georgiana's increasingly exhausted volunteer hours. It would save St. Margaret's school for the indigent children of the parish.
"You have done your research," she said carefully.
"I told you. I made inquiries."
Sebastian reached into his coat and withdrew a folded paper, which he placed on the table between them. "I know that your father's living is barely sufficient to support him and your younger siblings. I know that the school is funded almost entirely by parish subscriptions, and that the largest donor recently withdrew his support after a disagreement about hymnody."
"Mr. Gresham objected to the teaching of the catechism to children whose parents are dissenters," Georgiana said. "He felt it was an imposition."
"I felt it was an excuse to stop paying his subscription. The point stands." Sebastian tapped the paper. "This is a draft of the marriage settlement. It is generous, overly generous, my solicitor tells me. But I find myself in a position where generosity is a necessary expense. You will be my wife in name only. We will live separately if you prefer. I will not impose on you beyond what is required for public appearances."
Georgiana looked at the paper. She did not pick it up. "And what do you gain from this arrangement beyond my impeccable reputation?"