Amanda Scott Read Free Page A

Eighth?”
    “He had six, did he not—wives? And only to get a son. If Katherine of Aragon had given him one, that would have been that. Not that he would not have enjoyed himself with Anne Boleyn all the same, but men will be men, after all, and kings even more so, no doubt. No one would have objected very much.”
    Nell believed herself to be generally quick-witted, but there were times when her great aunt left her standing, when it took her a moment to catch up. Now, though she would have liked to avoid the tangent altogether, she found herself saying, “But his third wife gave him a son, and he still married three more.”
    “But she died, my dear, and the boy was feeble. And the next was Kat Howard—not at all suitable. She played him false, which he ought to have expected, for he was getting on by then, but men, you know, always believe themselves up to every—”
    “Aunt Flavia,” Nell said firmly, “whatever can Henry the Eighth’s wives have to do with the point at hand?”
    “Why, sons, Nell, to inherit. I thought you understood.”
    There was a moment of silence before Nell said, “Do you mean to say that Cousin Jarvis wants to marry me only for the purpose of begetting sons? But surely, any female of age and not utterly stricken in years would serve his purpose if that were the case.”
    “Highgate is still the case, I believe.”
    “But Nigel owns Highgate,” Nell protested. “Perhaps I did not make the matter clear when I explained it—indeed, it is all very confusing—but even though Papa lost the wager he made with Reginald, Jarvis made only the one attempt after Reginald’s accident to claim Highgate. Then, after the duel, when Nigel was forced to flee the country, he said no more about it.”
    “He will, my dear. Nigel is on the Continent, after all, and may even be dead by now for all you know. He does not write to you, does he?”
    “No, but—”
    “So few men do,” Lady Flavia said with a sigh.
    “He is still the owner of Highgate.”
    “If he should be found guilty of murder, he won’t be,” Lady Flavia said tartly, “and that is precisely what will happen if he has to stand his trial. It may become a matter for Parliament in the end—I know little about such things—but Jarvis Bradbourne stands next to inherit the barony, and his position in a Court of Chancery could only be strengthened if he were married to you. Like Henry the Seventh, that would be.”
    “No more Tudors,” Nell said firmly.
    “I meant only that your marriage to Jarvis would unite the two lines, much the same as when the seventh Henry married Elizabeth of York, and of course your son, if you had one—”
    “I wouldn’t!” Nell exclaimed, revolted. “I would not marry Cousin Jarvis under any circumstance. Even if I liked him, which I do not, he is too old. I mean to marry a man my own age, not one who will precede me into senility by a dozen years. Jarvis simply must be brought to understand as much.”
    “Men,” Lady Flavia said with an air of vast experience, “generally believe themselves to be not only infallible but irresistible. And, too, you know, he is a greedy man, so one must consider your inheritance.”
    “But I have none,” Nell protested. “Papa meant me to have a proper dowry, of course, and I daresay that once the estate is running properly again there might be enough for a settlement of some sort or other, but—”
    “I meant,” Lady Flavia interjected patiently, “the fortune that you will inherit from me, or—to put the matter more exactly—the fortune you are expected to inherit from me.”
    “But you said there is no fortune.”
    “I said nothing of the kind. To be sure, there is not nearly so much as people think, but my capital is intact, and at all events, Jarvis is no more aware of how matters stand with me than you were. Moreover, whatever else he may believe, you can depend upon it that his father will have told him that this house is a property worth