Free The Wedding Escape by Karyn Monk

spent the first two months of their marriage locked in her room weeping, for God’s sake. Nearly drove the poor chap mad. Thank God he had his French mistress to keep him sane.”
    â€œIt seems the American heiresses’ reputation for being difficult has not kept Lord Philmore from getting himself engaged to one,” Jack observed offhandedly. “Didn’t I read about his betrothal in the
Morning Post
?”
    â€œAh, yes, and I expect we’ll hear all about it shortly when he arrives for lunch,” said Lord Chesley. “He usually appears at one o’clock.”
    â€œFortuitous that he was finally able to snare one of those girls,” observed Beardsley. “God knows, he’s been working at it long enough.”
    â€œEdith Fanshaw seems a quiet, sensible kind of girl,” Farnham added. “If she never opened her mouth and revealed that horrid accent, you’d think she was English.”
    â€œShe has a face like a squashed cabbage,” objected Lord Sullivan with drunken candor. “And no neck whatsoever. The children she will breed will look like trolls.”
    â€œShe may not be as comely as Miss Belford,” conceded Lord Farnham, “but she won’t cause Philmore any headaches, either. At any rate, I’m sure he’s relieved. He couldn’t have gone on much longer if Miss Fanshaw’s father hadn’t agreed to let him have her.”
    Jack was careful to appear only mildly interested. “What do you mean?”
    â€œPhilmore has been teetering on the brink of financial ruin for years,” supplied Lord Sullivan. “Well, everyone knows it,” he snapped, scowling at the disapproving glances of the other members. “It’s no great secret.”
    â€œSullivan is right,” agreed Lord Chesley. “Until he signed the papers with Miss Fanshaw’s father yesterday, Philmore couldn’t begin to cover the expenses of running his estate.”
    â€œOr his gambling debts,” added Lord Beardsley.
    â€œOr his taste for expensive women,” observed Lord Dunlop.
    Lord Sullivan snorted with disgust. “Or expensive men.”
    A strained silence fell upon the room.
    â€œOh, for God’s sake, all of London knows about that.” He glared at the other members as if they were all imbeciles. “You can’t think Kent here will be shocked by Philmore’s appetite for stupid, brawny young men. He pays to bed them, then pays them again to keep their mouths shut.”
    Lord Chesley scratched his nose with his little claw hand. “Obviously he hasn’t been paying them enough.”
    â€œVery little has the power to shock me anymore—except for Lord Sullivan’s remarkable ability to hold his liquor.” Jack smiled and raised his glass to him, as if he thought Lord Sullivan’s remarks must have been a drunken joke.
    â€œDamned right.” Lord Sullivan clamped his cigar between his yellowing teeth and held out his glass so it could be filled once more.
    â€œAt any rate, it’s good that Philmore finally caught himself an heiress,” said Lord Beardsley, trying to revive the conversation. “He needs the money desperately.”
    Jack signaled for his own glass to be filled again. “But surely he inherited some wealth along with his title?”
    â€œAny money he inherited he lost to gambling years ago,” replied Lord Farnham. “He’s terrible at it, yet he can’t stop himself.”
    â€œDon’t forget about those dreadful investments,” added Lord Dunlop, thumping his cane. “The fall in Great Atlantic’s stock has nearly destroyed him.”
    â€œDidn’t he inherit some land?” persisted Jack. “Some sort of ancestral holding?”
    â€œHe inherited the family’s country estate, with a house in dire need of repairs. But the days of living off the land are gone—as we all know.”
    â€œBloody