A Pitiful Remnant by Judith B. Glad Page A

of her hand?
    Seating himself, he picked up the pamphlet, one he'd
expected to find soporific, and it had turned out to be quite
fascinating. Who would have known that an application of urine
could improve the yield of the soil?
    But he could not concentrate. His thoughts returned again
and again to her words. "...my grandfather was cheated." Did she see
herself as a chattel, sold to his father--to him, if the truth be told--as
someone to rescue Guillemot and the rest of the properties from the
morass of debt into which they had sunk? Had his father that much
foresight? That accurate a picture of the devastation he'd
caused?
    "Wait!" Where was that correspondence file? He'd run
across it while going through the contents of Fa's desk. In one of the
boxes lined up against the wall? He transferred himself to the chair
with rockers, having discovered it could easily be scooted across the
well-waxed hardwood floor.
    The file was in the third box, the letter in the middle folder.
He unfolded it.
...I believe it will benefit both our estates,
but even more an alliance between our families
will assure my granddaughter of a stable future
and will ensure that her inheritance is protected.
As my son's lifelong friend, you were the first I
thought of when seeking a possible husband for
Lisanor. The report I received of your son painted
him as a sober, responsible young man, a fitting
mate for my granddaughter, who is sensible,
even-tempered, and not given to the usual female
moods and vapors.
    "Ha! When she sees this, she'll sing another tune." Clarence
refolded the letter and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Sensible and
even-tempered, indeed! What the old man had forgotten to mention
was that she was managing, dictatorial, and aggravating. No wonder
he'd sought a husband for her. He was probably doing his best to get
her out of his house.
    I wasn't even Hight's first choice. I wonder how many
turned him down before he thought of me. Twice she'd lost a
fiancé to the war, but how many others had refused her
grandfather's offer? A young woman with merely a token dowry,
who brought no land but instead came with a humiliating condition
that no man worth his salt would accept. The terms of the marriage
contract, terms he'd had only cursory knowledge of until he had
been married a full fortnight, were barbarous. Perhaps even illegal. Had I but known...
    Clarence spent the rest of the afternoon in a fine glow of
righteous indignation, but he did finish reading the pamphlet about
methods of increasing crop yields.
    * * * *
    For whom had the late marquess purchased the ruby
parure? Rubies would not compliment the dowager. The bill had
arrived in this morning's post and had been the real reason behind
Lisanor's temper, yet she had completely forgotten to tell her
husband. Ten thousand pounds! Yet another hemorrhage of future
income for her to cope with, until she began to wonder if it were
even possible for Guillemot to recover from indebtedness within her
lifetime.
    Perhaps I should simply give up. Our marriage is thus far
in name only. An annulment might be possible. The thought of
making something so personal a matter of public record sickened
her.
    And with that thought came another, unexpected
realization. An annulment would mean she would never see Clarence
Lamberton again. That, far more than shame, made the prospect
completely unthinkable. Good heavens, I have become fond of the
man.
    She'd retired to the morning room, the only public room
they were keeping heated. Unable to concentrate, she sat at the
pianoforte and idly touched the keys. Although she had never had
lessons, she could pick out a few simple melodies. But even with her
lack of training, she could hear that the instrument was badly out of
tune.
    She closed the lid and wandered to the window overlooking
the overgrown rose garden. Lady Guillemot had admitted that
after the head gardener had died several years ago, she had not
bothered to request that another be hired.