Free Formidable Lord Quentin by Patricia Rice

expression.
    Relieved of her burden, Bell found a grip on the door and
yanked it shut, then signaled for the driver to resume their journey.
    Sitting back in her seat, she couldn’t see Quent’s reaction,
but she imagined it with great satisfaction.
    “Lord Quentin is quite handsome,” Tess said warily. “Does he
court you?”
    “He courts my money, and I will not have him. Men take away
all our rights and treat us as porcelain figurines for their sideboards. They
despise it when a woman has a mind of her own and power to go with it.” Bell
crossed her arms and glared at the gelding side-stepping nervously outside the
window. Kit was probably kicking the unfortunate animal.
    “Is he poor?” Syd asked with interest, dipping her head to
watch the struggle between man and boy.
    “No, he’s wealthy in his own right, but he supports his
father’s large family. Big houses and big families are a constant drain. They
all need to marry well.”
    “But Tess and I are poor,” Syd pointed out. “Why would any
of the men in his family be interested in us?”
    “You’re not poor. You’re my sisters. They know I would
provide you with a handsome settlement.” As she had her other protégées. She
would never let her friends or her sisters do without—which meant their
husbands benefitted. “Perhaps I shall have Quent tell his greedy father that I
will not settle anything on you if you marry into his family.”
    “That would start a very unpleasant fight with the family
with whom we might have to live,” Tess said reasonably.
    So it would. Of course, suing them would have the same
effect.
    In less than a fortnight, her tranquil life had descended
into turmoil and conflict. She might as well have never left Ireland.
    ***
    John Fitzhugh Wyckerly, seventh earl of Danecroft, and
Abigail, his countess, lived in the run-down family estate in Berkshire. The
huge towers and ponderous, sprawling silhouette of Wyckersham impressed new
arrivals, until they were close enough to notice boarded-up windows, unmown
lawns, and deteriorated gardens.
    Considerable improvements had been made in the time since
Fitz had taken possession of the family manor, but even the king would lack the
fortune necessary to correct generations of neglect.
    Quent decided it was just the sort of medieval atmosphere
for pondering his father’s latest irascible demands. The marquess now threatened
to send Syd and Kit to school as charity students if Bell didn’t pay their
tuition.
    Lachlann Hoyt did not understand women who chose to disobey
his orders, and his temper was not ameliorated by his son’s refusal to jump
instantly to his command. Quent lived in fear of a carriage-load of Hoyts
arriving on his doorstep, demanding the truants and freeloading off his
hospitality until he produced them.
    He held his mount and the sleeping earl steady as the
carriage pulled up to a halt at Wyckersham’s front stairs. He needed to see
Bell again to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing in defying his
father’s orders for a woman who had just rejected his suit. At the moment,
escaping on his yacht sounded preferable, but he wasn’t a coward.
    Before Bell’s footman could pull out the carriage steps, the
front doors of the house exploded open, and children, servants, and the
countess spilled down to greet them.
    “I am so glad you have come! Here, let me have Beebee. What
a precious doll! Look at your new bib!” Lady Danecroft cooed at the toddler. At
the same time, she directed servants to relieve Quent of his sleeping burden
and sent children scampering back up the stairs with bags and parcels.
    Quent admired her efficiency. “Wellington should hire you,
my lady,” he said, dismounting to aid the ladies from the carriage. “Your
troops respond instantly to command.”
    “The trick to children is keeping them interested and busy.
They’re all agog at having visitors.” Lady Danecroft returned to oohing and
ahhing over new travel costumes as