Free How To Vex A Viscount by Mia Marlowe Page B

them, hoping for a reference to the missing Roman pay wagon, but he hadn’t done detailed translations of them. Household accounts and bills of lading seemed safe enough. She settled to the work, taking another sip of the tea Lucian obligingly sent out to her.
    She kept “Rowena Clavenhook’s” steel-rimmed spectacles at hand in case Lord Montford should make an unexpected appearance.
    A distant rumble warned of an approaching shower. Daisy decided the shed would offer enough protection for her to remain at work. But after only a short time, the Latin etched on the tablets began to blur as if she were actually wearing the ill-fitting glasses. Daisy’s concentration kept wandering to the Montford parlour, where Lucian was courting Lady Clarinda.
    What on earth would Lucian find to talk about with Clarinda Brumley? The girl was useless. She gave new definition to shallow. Surely Lucian couldn’t be taken with her.
    Clarinda was appealing enough, Daisy supposed, in a plump, German-partridge sort of way. Or perhaps what drew Lucian’s interest was her dowry, which was reportedly even more ample than the girl’s shapely bosom.
    Men married for money all the time, exchanging their name and title for fresh infusions of cash or lands. Even Daisy’s uncle Gabriel had set out to do it once, but he fell in love with a penniless girl and couldn’t bring himself not to marry her. Daisy hated the way money intruded on what should be a matter of the heart.
    Quite often, it was painfully obvious in well-moneyed matches that the transaction was purely financial, and yet the world didn’t call the men involved whores. Daisy frequently complained of the inequity. But Isabella, who’d been called many things, simply reminded her that butting her head against that particular wall would only produce a headache without any effect on the wall whatsoever.
    Still, it seemed weak-minded for Lucian to court a woman for her money. Even though the world in general would heartily approve, she couldn’t imagine why he allowed himself to be bullied into it. After all, he was a man who wasn’t afraid of manual labour—an activity fashionable folk would frown upon—and he was stout-hearted enough to pursue his dream even when the Society of Antiquaries laughed him from their halls.
    If Lucian had to marry for money, why not marry her?
    The thought startled the quill right out of her hand. She’d nearly set herself to the idea of never marrying. The long march of days alone stretched ahead of her now. She might enjoy her freedom in the sunshine of her youth, but the light patter of rain now plinking against the shed’s roof reminded her that life was not always fine. Dark days of illness or loss might rise to meet her. And to go through those times alone was not a pleasant prospect.
    Still, a woman must have scruples.
    No, she decided as she bent to retrieve the fallen pheasant feather. If she had to purchase a husband, she’d do without.
    Besides, if Lucian wouldn’t accept her funds for his project, he’d never accept her fortune for his name. Not so long as his father hated her family.
    With a sigh, she turned back to the tablet she was translating. Her eyes flared when she recognized a name.
    Caius Meritus. The ancient thief.
    She bent over her work with absorption. Lucian must have missed this one. Her quill flew across the page. If she could translate it quickly, she might be able to dash up to the manor house before the rain began in earnest.
    And before Lucian could seriously court Clarinda Brumley.
     

“When one marries solely for financial considerations, one is exchanging one’s body for the sake of mammon. In what respect is this different from harlotry?”
    —the journal of Blanche La Tour

CHAPTER NINE
    “And so you see, my dear Lord Rutland”—Lady Brumley punctuated her speech with an aristocratic sniff—“you simply must come to the Duke of Lammermoor’s masquerade next month. Everyone who is anyone will be there