“The lack of sun is a sound point,” Belinda decided. “What Gwen needs is someplace cheerful.”
“Hmm,” Alex said. “Rules out England, then, doesn’t it?”
Belinda flashed him a sharp look.
“Not the north, then,” Elma said hesitantly.
“Not the north,” Belinda confirmed.
Sighing, he tipped his head back to study the ceiling. It was an interesting geography they were assembling, here. For shame, Gwen could not stay in London. For pride, she could not go south. For spirits, north was out of the question. East lay the ocean, of course.
His eyes had shut.
Forcing them open, he said, “There’s always west.”
His sarcasm was lost on Elma. “Wales, do you mean?”
The syrupy note. He pulled his head down to confirm it. Yes, she was posing for him. Her hand strategically stroked the neckline of her gown. He did not wish to glance onward toward her husband.
Belinda cleared her throat. She looked dubious, and he did not think it all for Wales. “Herefordshire, perhaps.”
“Ireland!” cried Caroline. “Whisky cheers a lady as well as a man.” She cast a pointed look toward Henry Beecham, who had not offered to share his joy.
“Boston?” Elma frowned. “Do we know anyone in Boston?”
“Newfoundland,” said Alex. “San Francisco—bit foggy, no doubt, but most Londoners would call it tropical. Or why not China? Keep going west and you’re bound to hit it eventually. Usually works for me.”
“You might wish to reconsider that,” Caro said. “You got kicked out of China last year, if I recall.”
“Did I? Well, that explains the rude reply to my greeting at the port authority. I thought I was in Japan.”
“Your flippancy helps no one,” Belinda informed him.
He shrugged. “You propose to hide her away like a broken toy. London is her home, and you want to hound her out of it. Is that the act of a friend?”
Caroline leaned forward. “Alex, you must try to understand. It’s not at all like last time! The groom cried off. And in such a horrible way—when he needed her money so badly! People will assume he discovered something awful about her at just the last moment.” She faltered, going pale. “I really do fear she is . . .”
“Ruined,” Belinda whispered.
Elma flinched.
“For God’s sake.” Hearing the edge in his voice, he caught himself. “It isn’t as if she were caught in flagrante delicto. This is London’s darling you’re talking about. I hope you won’t feed her this nonsense; she’s silly enough to believe it.”
“You’re so naïve,” Belinda said pityingly. “How do you manage that with all these foreign places you visit?”
He sighed. In an argument, Bel was like a dog with a bone: she would never let go of her point. “Naïveté is imagining that doors will stand closed to her after this. Naïveté, Belinda, is your vast underestimation of the power of three million pounds. Preach all you like about what people will say. In Shanghai, they gossip if a woman’s feet are too large—in Valparaiso, if her mantilla clings too tightly to her breast. But no matter where you are, money makes every sin disappear. It’s better than vinegar that way.”
She gaped at him. “You can’t really believe that,” she said. “If you do, then you’ve been away from civilization for far too long.”
“Civilization,” he said dryly. “Half the guests in that church this morning were using the opportunity to pray that land prices will rise so they can sell their forty thousand acres and pay off their debts before creditors seize their town houses and ruin their season. That is your civilization. As venal as any other.”
Belinda tipped her chin mutinously but did not reply.
“Oh, and let me tell you,” he added helpfully. “Land prices are not going to rise. Not that much. Not anytime soon.”
The silence extended. It seemed to him a minor miracle. Finally, his sisters were listening to sense.
He decided to take advantage of it, for the occasion came only once in a blue moon. “And from now on, instead of standing by while she stumbles into an engagement with the first rotten bounder who bothers to smile at her, I suggest that you take an active hand in the business. Find a man who will make a proper husband for her—or at least manage to stick it out at the altar.”
Belinda huffed. “Oh, Alex.”
Of course there was an objection. “Let’s have it.”
“What do you propose? That we pick a man and instruct her to love him?”
He snorted. “Love? Have you not—”