“No need? Mama, if you’re saying he isn’t to receive a penny, I heartily endorse that decision, but I have the uneasy feeling that is not what you mean.”
“It isn’t. I am settling a sum on Antonio out of my private funds as a dowry.”
Henry wasn’t surprised by this news, but nonetheless, his guts twisted into a sick knot of dismay. “I see. So you have already visited our solicitors and drafted the marital agreement?”
She gave a little shrug. “I mentioned to Antonio that you would expect one to be drawn up.”
That wasn’t the same thing, but Henry refrained from pointing out the fact. “And what,” he said instead, “was Foscarelli’s reply to that?”
“He’s not fond of the idea.”
“How shocking.”
She seemed to miss the sarcasm. “His people don’t believe in that sort of thing, and frankly, neither do I. Most people don’t. It’s a very modern view, Henry. Formal documents and discussions of money . . . I cannot help thinking it sordid. Besides, the law protects my property well enough. The Married Women’s Property Acts—”
“Mama,” he cut her off, “the law as it stands now is all very well, but in practical terms, it’s a sticky wicket, particularly if people separate later. A prenuptial agreement would do no harm.”
“I refuse to enter my marriage anticipating its demise.”
Henry took a deep breath, reminding himself it was best to fight one battle at a time. A marriage settlement only became relevant if he couldn’t stop the marriage from happening. “You say you intend to settle a sum on him. How much?”
“Fifty thousand pounds.”
The enormity of the sum sent any notions he had of being calm and reasonable to the wall. That swine, he thought, rage rising within him as he appreciated how Foscarelli must have worked on her to persuade her to such an exorbitant amount. That worthless, fortune-hunting swine. “God, Mama,” he managed after a moment, “that’s nearly half your fortune.”
“I’m well aware of that. But offering a dowry is perfectly acceptable, as you know. A man can’t be having to beggar pin money from his wife each month.”
“Yes, yes, God forbid fortune-hunters be kept in check with a pesky allowance.”
“Really, Henry, must you be crass?”
“Yes, Mama, it seems I must, if only to prevent you from being a fool. You know you will have to sell out half your personal capital to raise that amount of money?”
“Of course.”
“I do not understand you, Mama,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, trying to think. “Why not just put him on a quarterly allowance? Why does he need a dowry at all, especially such a vast one? Fifty thousand pounds is an enormous sum. Why would you—”
He stopped, realizing in a sudden, horrific flash of insight what his mother was doing. “My God, you’re spiking my guns.”
She looked away, staring down at her fingertips as they idly traced the intricate embroidery of a sofa pillow. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. I came here assuming you weren’t aware of the true nature of his suit, but now I see that I was mistaken. You know full well what sort of man you are marrying, and you don’t care.” He gave a laugh of utter disbelief. “Your motives for being such a fool prove you an even greater fool. You realize that?”
He regretted his words at once, even before she spoke.
“If you insult me again,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “this discussion is over.”
Henry rubbed his hands over his face, cursing himself for being so blind that he hadn’t put a stop to the Italian’s machinations months ago, cursing his usually sensible mother for being so damned foolhardy, and cursing Lady Truelove for aiding and abetting it all. It was several moments before he could trust himself to speak.
“Let us leave off discussions of money for the moment,” he said, working to think. Talking his mother out of this could not be accomplished in one conversation, that was clear. He needed time, and as much information as he could glean. Only then could he figure out how to prevent her from taking the foolhardy course she was bent upon. “Where are these nuptials to take place, if I may ask? Neither the ducal chapel nor our parish church shall be appropriate under the circumstances, since he is a Catholic.”
“You say that as if it’s akin to having the plague.”
“If he had the plague, I would celebrate,” Henry muttered. “Are you prepared to convert? You’ll have to, you know. Or he will.”
“There is no need for conversion. We shall not marry in any church, but at the Registry Office. You are welcome to come, though I’m sure you won’t wish to.”
“Oh, I will be there, you may be sure. If only to object when the magistrate puts the question.”
