Provocative in Pearls

Provocative Pearls



Chapter One

A good friend lets one spill bile, even if he finds it boring. So it was that Grayson, Earl of Hawkeswell, took advantage of Sebastian Summerhays’s friendship while they were both trapped in Summerhays’s carriage this bright August morning.

“I curse the day my cousin introduced me to the bastard.” He heard his voice snarl with anger. He had sworn to himself, sworn, that he would not do this, but here he was fuming like a chimney at the idiocy of life and pouring woe into Summerhays’s ear.

“Thompson was not at all willing to cooperate?” Summerhays asked.

“Hell, no. But, her trustee has agreed to join me in pressing for a new inquest, and with the help of Providence and the courts, I will be free of this complicated disaster by year’s end.”

“It makes no sense to interfere with the inquest. The man is not rational if he tries that.”

“He wants the connection. Or rather, his wife does. She is mining it for all it is worth while she can, hoping the new ties hold once the connection itself is severed. He is also comfortable with the way things stand. He has control of that company, which is what he wanted. If we end this impasse, he risks losing that.”

“It is good for you to be going down to the country, then. You can use some peace.”

Summerhays smiled like the good, understanding friend that he was. There was something of the physician’s sympathy in his expression, as if he worried for the health of the man he placated.

Hawkeswell saw his umbrage the way Summerhays must, and his anger turned to bitter amusement. “I am a comical figure, am I not? Such are the punishments for selling oneself in marriage for some silver, I suppose.”

“Such matches are made all the time. You are the victim of an odd circumstance; that is all.”

“Let us hope the circumstances change soon. I am in dun territory up to my eyebrows and have sold what I can. It will be porridge this winter, I think.”

The talk turned to other things, but part of Hawkeswell’s mind remained fixed on the marital conundrum that had plagued him for two years. Verity had drowned in the Thames, but her body had never been found. How she got there on her wedding day, why she left his estate at all, remained a mystery. There were those who wanted to blame him.

His old reputation for a bad temper fed that speculation, but any fool could see it was not in his interest for Verity to disappear that day. An unconsummated marriage was an ambiguous marriage, as her trustee had so clearly explained when he refused to hand over her income from her trust. The Church would have to decide if there had been a marriage at all if she were ever declared dead. In the meantime . . .

Copyright © 2010 by Madeline Hunter