“I’d like to remain the richest cove in England, thank you very much.”
A silence fell, easier because Jonas had given vent to his irritation. Sighing, he leaned his head against the back of the chair. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain. Calmness stole into his restless soul. It wasn’t fair to blame Sidonie for this shambles. The awful weather had its part to play in turning his home into a madhouse. Or as Richard had jokingly remarked, an ark.
One thing was certain—if he had to house the melee for forty days and forty nights, he’d be up for murder before the sun shone again.
“Is he a coxcomb?” Richard asked idly after a long delay.
Jonas didn’t open his eyes. “Who?”
“Young Tranter. Society loves him. Hands
ome. Charming. Unattached. Good family.”
“Do you fear for your pre-eminence in the ton?”
“He’s a way to go before he’s a serious rival,” Richard said airily. “Surely he’d make a good choice for Marianne. I know Baildon wants Desborough and his political connections, but the fellow’s too old for her.”
Jonas lifted his head and regarded his friend thoughtfully. “I’ve heard a few disturbing whispers about Tranter.”
Richard looked interested, as well he might. Jonas’s sources of information were the best in Europe. “Have you indeed?”
“His fortune was no more than respectable, and he’s been playing deep in the hells. Not to mention that cutting such a dash doesn’t come cheap.”
Richard’s frown was troubled. “So he’s in need of an heiress. Should we warn Baildon and Marianne?”
“I will if I think the fellow looks likely to win the prize. He might inveigle himself into my house in pursuit of her, however I think he’s too late. According to her father, she’s all but accepted Desborough.”
“So Elias has no chance? That’s a pity. I thought they got along well last Christmas.”
“He’s another fortune hunter.”
“Do you think so? I would have said there was genuine feeling between them.”
“You’re a romantic.” He’d said the same thing to Sidonie.
Richard smiled without offense. “Undoubtedly, old chap. And I suspect beneath that crusty exterior, you are, too.”
“You’ve been talking to my wife.”
“I don’t need to.”
“As far as Sidonie’s concerned, my plans for houses in Hampstead can go to blazes as long as Marianne makes a love match.”
Richard laughed. “If I were a betting man, my money would be on her having her way.”
“Are you implying I’m under my wife’s thumb?” Jonas drawled with lazy amusement.
“I’m implying you’d do anything to make that woman happy—and that includes sacrificing a deal likely to net you another fortune.”
“True,” Jonas admitted. “But don’t tell her that.”
“So we’re backing Elias in this particular race?”
“I’m not convinced he’s after anything more than Marianne’s money.” Jonas paused. “And the lady plays her cards damn close to her chest. I have no idea which man she favors.”
“Trust Sidonie. She’s the most perceptive woman I know.”
“She is that. In the meantime, I might devote a little more attention to Tranter’s affairs.”