Improperly Wed (Aristocratic Grooms #3)(37)
Author: Anna DePalo

“I said it was a gamble, not that emotion didn’t enter into it,” he responded. “The Elmer Street property is of sentimental value to you? You never even lived there.”

She tilted up her chin. “It’s been in the Wentworth family for two generations.”

“And that line of thinking demonstrates precisely why the Wentworths found themselves in a financial fix.”

“I’m a Wentworth.” She placed her hands on her hips. “We had an agreement. You promised not to sell Wentworth property.”

“I promised to sign over to you the Wentworth property that I owned. The Elmer Street property is one that I subsequently bought.”

Belinda fumed. “No wonder Uncle Hugh didn’t suspect you were the buyer. He thought you were bound by our postnuptial agreement.”

“I am bound by it, and I haven’t broken it.”

“You still violated the spirit, if not the letter, of our agreement. We agreed to stay married partly to keep Wentworth property together.”

“And it will. The proceeds from the sale of the Elmer Street address will be well-spent on upgrades to the other Wentworth properties.”

“What guarantee do I have that you’ll actually use the money to renovate the other properties? After all, you sold the Elmer Street house without informing me.”

Colin felt his annoyance spike. All he was trying to do was help her loony relatives out of their financial quicksand. “I didn’t promise a day-to-day update on the management of the properties.”

“There is nothing to say, then, is there?” she countered.

Belinda turned on her heel and walked toward the door.

Belinda watched Uncle Hugh frown.

“There are rumors and gossip in the press that you left Colin,” Uncle Hugh said, grasping the arms of his chair, “and they depict you in an unflattering light, I’m afraid.”

Her mother, sitting gingerly to Uncle Hugh’s right, nodded in agreement.

Frankly, Belinda didn’t give a fig about rumors. She was more miserable than she could ever remember being, including when she’d bolted from a certain Vegas hotel room.

They were in the parlor of Uncle Hugh’s Mayfair town house—or rather, her husband’s Mayfair house. It was all such a tangle.

After leaving Halstead Hall yesterday, she had spent the night at Tamara and Sawyer’s empty London flat. Tamara hadn’t hesitated to lend her the apartment as a place to stay, particularly since she, Sawyer and the baby were back at the family seat in Gloucestershire.

Her friend had been a bit curious about the reasons behind Belinda’s unexpected phone call, but the emotions had been too raw for Belinda to talk about them.

She was fortunate, Belinda thought, that no one had been witness to her sleepless, teary night. She’d tossed and turned to no avail, and the tears had continued to seep from under her lids.

By dawn, she had been unable to escape the truth.

She loved Colin’s intelligence, his humor, and, yes, his sexual skill. They had common interests, but more importantly, they complemented each other in personality. He made her feel more alive.

She had fallen in love with Colin.

It was why his betrayal was like a dagger to the heart.

But obviously, she was nothing more than a conquest to him. If he cared for her, he wouldn’t have been so cavalier about his disposal of the Elmer Street property.

Uncle Hugh drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair.

He had come down to London from Downlands earlier in the day. Upon learning that Belinda was in town, too, he had suggested that she take tea with him and her mother.

Uncle Hugh glowered. “I’m sure the stories in the press were planted by the Granvilles. Well, they might have gained the initial upper hand in the media, but we’ll win the war.”

Belinda felt her heart squeeze. Had Colin retaliated in the press, making sure he fired the first salvo in a divorce battle?

Uncle Hugh rubbed his hands together. “We’ll hire the best lawyers to contest Colin’s sale. We’ll claim he violated your postnuptial agreement. We’ll request that you be granted all of the original Wentworth property in a divorce. When the property is back under my stewardship, I’ll see to it that the Granvilles aren’t allowed to touch it again.”

“No.”

The word caught her by surprise almost as much as it did her uncle and her mother. Everyone stopped.

“No?” Uncle Hugh asked, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean, no?”

Belinda took a deep breath. “I mean I’ll never give up control of the Wentworth estates.”

Uncle Hugh relaxed. “Well, of course not, dear girl. Isn’t that what we’re trying to arrange, with any luck, and the help of a few good solicitors?”

Belinda suddenly saw things with a clarity that had hitherto eluded her.

Belinda knew in her heart that her uncle would simply start selling or mortgaging the properties to the hilt if he had control. Uncle Hugh was not competent to manage the Wentworth estates.

In a way, Belinda realized, Colin had done her and the Wentworths an immense favor. If Uncle Hugh hadn’t unwittingly found an eager buyer in Colin, he may have stripped the properties to the point of default and foreclosure. And then the Wentworths would certainly have fallen out of favor with the upper crust. They would have stopped receiving party invitations and gotten the cold shoulder in certain quarters.

Her family had been keen for her to marry Tod, and she’d assumed they’d simply wanted her to make a good match. She hadn’t been aware of how desperate they had been for her to save the family fortunes.

There was a big difference, she thought, between making it known that you were expected to marry up, and being sacrificed to save the family from financial ruin—again and again.

She loved her family, but they were human and flawed—very flawed.

What was it that Colin had said? She had a choice between being a stick-in-the-mud or a free agent.

Her uncle continued to look uncomprehending. “Of course, you’ll have a property manager in me, or Tod when you marry him.”

“No, Uncle Hugh,” she said firmly. “Tod is out of the picture—for good. What’s more, if and when I divorce Colin and have control of the Wentworth property again, we’ll do things my way.”

What a novel thought—her way.

Her mother looked quizzical. “Belinda, this is absurd.”

“No, it’s not,” she responded and then stood to leave. “I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to becoming a real-estate mogul.”