Andrew Lord of Despair(39)

“Douglas knows, doesn’t he?” Hence his offers to manage her funds, the rat.

“I would guess he does, though nobody has approached him on this issue directly. The state of your funds should have come to his attention as part of his efforts to take over the viscountcy. He is, for all his faults, not a stupid man. But, Astrid, you must not fret over this money,” he whispered, nuzzling her nape.

Herbert used to tell her not to fret, usually as he was on his way to go look at another smashing bay hunter just shipped to Tatt’s from the Midlands.

Which might have been male euphemism for all manner of prurient, expensive pursuits.

“Andrew, all a widow has is her portion. Herbert made no will, and I am left with only the provisions in the marriage settlements. Now you tell me those are gone and I have nothing.”

“You have Gareth, and you have Fairly, both of whom can provide for you quite, quite generously.”

Astrid did not, in any sense Society or the law would recognize, have Andrew. He might be her lover, her friend, and her sister’s brother-in-law, but he had no right, with both Gareth and David in good health, to provide for her. “I do not want to be a poor relation to my family any more than I do to my in-laws.”

He kissed her temple, likely an attempt at distraction. “Astrid, use your formidable common sense: many women are poor relations. The widow’s circumstance, having her own money and her own property, is the exception. When you married Herbert, you had only what pin money he gave you. Fairly will see to it you have far more than that for emergency funds.”

This conversation, about money and the lack thereof, was intimate in ways that had nothing to do with two naked bodies entwined under a blanket—intimate and enraging.

“Do you know my brother, David, the estimable and ever so self-contained Viscount Fairly, is a widower? I have no details, but this disclosure came up when he last called on me in Town. I wasn’t managing very well, and David asked me what I was doing with the guilt, for I am alive and my husband will never draw breath again.”

She gave Andrew a moment to absorb the news of her brother’s previous marriage, then went on in quiet, clipped tones. “I am faced with a different question now, upon finding my late husband stole from funds that were to have been for my dotage, all the while telling me not to worry my head about his extravagances. I am faced with the issue of how I will deal with his guilt, his betrayal, his damned pride, that wouldn’t allow him to practice the economies most folk observe out of sheer prudence.”

Andrew rolled her to her back. “Hush. You will wake the household.”

“I want to wake the household. I want to run down the drive, bellowing at the top of my lungs that Herbert was a fool, a cheat, and a lousy husband.”

She also wanted to cry and to hear Andrew say he’d make everything turn out right. Flying pigs came to mind.

Andrew kissed her chin. “Herbert’s brother will be here tomorrow, expecting you to do the pretty as the grieving widow, and you were the one to remind me Douglas will be your child’s guardian. He is not responsible for Herbert’s mismanagement and duplicity, at least as far as we know.”

She wished she had more than the last of the firelight to illuminate Andrew’s expression, because his tone suggested there was worse news yet. “What does that mean, ‘as far as you know’?”

When he was silent, Astrid brushed a hand up along his brow, sifting her fingers through his thick locks. He did not lie to her, even when she wished he would. “Andrew?”

He caught her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, then kept his fingers wrapped around hers. “Fairly heard a rumor Herbert may have taken his own life.”

Astrid’s hand went to her belly, low down where the child grew. “Andrew, no! Herbert was proud, old-fashioned, stubborn, and occasionally slow-witted, but he would not do such a thing, ever.”

Defending Herbert this way—sincerely—felt good, but what a wretched accusation Andrew made.

“People commit suicide for reasons less compelling than shame,” Andrew replied in the same ominously quiet voice.

Dear God, what did that tone of voice mean? “Herbert would not have wanted to shame his family.” A man who indulged his mistress lavishly did not give a thought to whether he shamed his wife. Another equally bleak thought eclipsed that one. “I doubt my late husband had the courage to take his own life.”

“Perhaps he did; perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps he made it look like an accident, but you must consider another explanation.”

This was not how Astrid wanted to spend their last night together. She laid that complaint at Herbert’s sainted feet.