Maddie gasped. “You paid him off!”
Jack actually found himself smiling. Had he known Dover was susceptible to bribery, he would have done the same thing.
“That’s despicable, Papa.” She frowned. “I suppose I don’t need to write him that letter of apology now.”
Castleigh rolled his eyes. “The dog breeder is no longer my concern.” He looked at Jack. “Blackthorne, despite my best efforts to prevent an elopement, you’ve managed to succeed. Therefore, I believe I owe you a dowry.”
Jack tensed and shook his head. “I don’t want your money, sir. I didn’t marry Maddie for her dowry.”
“Oh, Jack.” Maddie squeezed his hand.
“Touching,” Castleigh said, “but let’s see how you feel when you discover how expensive my daughter can be.”
“I can afford her.”
“Thus far.”
“Thus far?” Jack asked.
“That’s right, my boy.” Castleigh gave Jack his empty glass and motioned for him to refill it. “You don’t need the money yet. But who will pay for whatever injuries that bear causes your staff? I imagine the surgeon’s fees will add up.”
“Blackjack won’t hurt anyone,” Maddie protested. “Jack will build him a secure enclosure. He won’t escape.”
Castleigh kept his eyes locked on Jack. “That’s what she said about the wolf. Cost me a tidy sum when that footman was bit. I’m still paying his salary, though the man hasn’t worked for me in over five years. Difficult to work with half your arm missing.”
Jack was about to take a large gulp of his brandy, but Maddie grabbed his arm. “Don’t believe him, Jack. Danvers is doing well, all things considered. He could even come back to work . . . if he didn’t jump and cower in the corner every time someone makes a sudden movement.”
Jack stared at her and tried not to picture the pitiful Danvers, with his mangled arm and tattered nerves.
“But if you don’t want the dowry to cover bear injuries,” Castleigh was saying, “then you’ll want it to help with the dues.”
“Dues?” Jack asked.
“Oh, they add up.” Castleigh leaned back in his chair. “How many societies do you support, my dear? Fifteen? Twenty?”
Maddie was busy stirring her tea.
“Maddie?” Jack prodded.
“Maybe a few more,” she murmured, staring into her teacup and avoiding his eyes.
“How many more?” Jack asked. “Twenty-five?”
She pursed her lips.
“Maddie,” he growled.
“Only thirty-seven.”
“Bloody hell.”
“But someone has to support them, Jack,” Maddie said, pulling away to face him. “Someone has to help the widows and the orphans and the homeless.”
“And the gamblers and the drinkers,” her father continued.
“They’re trying to reform, Papa!”
Jack put his head in his hands. He’d known do-gooders in his life. Hell, his own mother had been a do-gooder. But Maddie was the queen of Good Samaritans.
