by Leenie Brown
“Indeed,” Darcy agreed with a laugh. “My advice is to find a lady who stirs your heart and remove her and yourself from the marriage mart as soon as you are able. It does not become more enjoyable or easier to endure as the years pass.”
“Are you, gentlemen, intending to remove yourselves from the list of eligible bachelors?” Ralston asked.
Both Bingley and Darcy nodded.
“As soon as we are able,” Darcy said.
“Your advice seems sound and most practical. There are duties to titles and estates to which we must see, after all,” Alistair said.
“Practical,” Ralston muttered with a shake of his head. “Al, taking a wife should likely be more than just a practicality of life.”
“Oh, I intend to marry for love,” Alistair admitted rather boldly. He knew that such sentiments were not shared by all of the ton, but having heard the way Bingley and Darcy had spoken, he suspected that they were two gentlemen who also intended to make a love match, and so he dared enough to be so bold. “I just find it practical to do so as soon as possible.”
Chapter 3
“As soon as possible?” Ralston wiped his mouth and reached for his glass of port. It was the third time he had attempted to broach the subject of Alistair’s plans to marry since they had left Angelo’s and the second since arriving for dinner at White’s.
Again, Alistair shook his head in response and remained quiet. He did not wish to discuss his plans here where they could be overheard by eager ears.
“Pratt, Ralston,” a gentleman in a blue coat and dark trousers greeted them as he brushed past their table.
“Conrad.” Ralston acknowledged the man with a nod. “How is the new horse?” he asked and then turned to Alistair. “He bought a gorgeous hunter last week.”
“We are getting along splendidly,” Clifton Conrad replied with a smile as he took a seat at the neighboring table with three other gentlemen.
“And Miss Anson? Are you still getting along splendidly with her as well? My mother was saying a happy announcement was expected any day now,” Ralston leaned back in his chair and continued to consume his port. “It was among the reasons she listed for me to go to this infernal house party Stanton’s hosting.”
Conrad laughed heartily. “You going to that, are you?”
“Indeed, we are,” Ralston replied, indicating Pratt.
Conrad’s brows rose, and he gave Alistair an assessing look. The two gentlemen were friends but just. They tolerated each other’s presence with respectable indifference. Neither cared much for the other. Alistair did not approve of Conrad’s less than honorable proclivities when it came to courting ladies, and Conrad disapproved of Alistair to the point of dislike or worse because Alistair had, at one time two years ago, mentioned the name of the lady he thought Conrad was courting to the lady Conrad was actually courting. It was a passing of information from one unknowing source to another, for Alistair was as much in the dark about the lady to whom he spoke being the true object of Conrad’s matrimonial pursuits as the lady was about the existence of a rival. As events unfolded, it was discovered that Conrad was pursuing the charming woman to whom Alistair had spoken for her wealth and only for her wealth, and thanks to Alistair’s interference, all hope of ever securing that substantial amount of money was quickly and wholly lost to Conrad. Conrad held the loss against Alistair, and Alistair felt no remorse for saving a young woman from certain misery.
“Looking for wives?” Conrad queried.
“No, appeasing our mothers,” Ralston replied.
“Better you than me.” Conrad picked up fork and knife and prepared to eat the meal that had been placed in front of him. “However, you might be as fortunate as I have been. Miss Anson is all a gentleman could wish for in a wife.”
“Sizeable dowry?” Ralston asked with a chuckle.
“Among other things,” one of the other men at Conrad’s table called out, setting the whole group of Conrad’s friends laughing.
“I had heard she was pretty,” Ralston commented.
“Beauty, wealth, proper societal standing along with an understanding of how things work among the well-to-do,” he said the last part with a significant look at Alistair.
Ralston shrugged. “That might be acceptable for some, but Al and I are planning to seek something a bit more consequential.”
Alistair kicked Jack’s ankle as Jack was draining the last drops of port from his glass. Conrad and his friends were not the sort with whom Alistair wished to discuss marrying for love.
“Indeed?” Conrad said with interest. “A love match is it then?”
“With any luck,” Ralston replied.
Alistair sighed. Apparently, for Jack, a kick in the ankle was nothing of which to take note, and the subject was about to be canvassed unless Alistair could somehow turn the conversation.
“We have an early morning,” he said to Jack, hoping that his friend would take the hint that they should leave.
Thankfully, he did and, after only a few more pleasantries between tables, rose to leave. “You’ll tell me how you intend to secure Miss de Bourgh as soon as possible on our way home, will you not?” Ralston said as they moved away from their table.
“Yes, as soon as we are in the carriage,” Alistair replied, casting a wary glance over his shoulder toward Conrad. He did not wish for that gentleman to know anything of his plans. Happily, Conrad was popping a forkful of meat into his mouth and did not appear to have noticed anything more than the fact that his goblet had been filled with port. However, looks can be deceiving, and as the two friends stepped out into the night, a bet which had nothing to do with the game of cards that was to follow Conrad’s meal and everything to do with retribution was being placed at a particular table at White’s.
~*~*~
“Now, tell me,” Ralston demanded as the door to the carriage was closed. “It is not proper to speak of marrying with all haste and then leave the details hidden for two full hours. It is simply not right. I suppose if you were another who was given to rashness such a comment as you made could be overlooked, but you are not. You are a time for everything and everything in due time Alistair Pratt.”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Are you about through, or would you care to scold a bit longer? Honestly, Jack, there are times you sound very much like your mother.” A grin spread across Alistair’s face as Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“I am her son,” he defended. “It only stands to reason I might have inherited a few traits.”
“Only a few,” Alistair assured his friend with a chuckle. Alistair liked Jack’s mother. She was doting and sweet, but she was also given to blathering on for an extended length of time when she got a bee in her bonnet. Likewise, irritation sometimes spilled out of Jack in a river of words. It did not happen often, and then only with those with whom he was intimately acquainted. “I do not intend to remain at Stanton’s for the full duration of the house party. As soon as we arrive, I must investigate the best place and time for Anne to meet me before we continue on to Scotland.”
Alistair crossed one leg over the other and peeked out the window. The sun had disappeared below the horizon, leaving only a few fingers of light in the sky. Lamps were being lit along the street and windows in homes were beginning to glow in a welcoming fashion. He smiled as he turned back to the silent interior of the carriage. “I do look forward to having Anne waiting for me behind the glowing windows of our home at the end of the day.” A peace settled into his heart at the thought. Anne had always caused such a comforting feeling in him. It was as if with her his heart had found a home.
“You are eloping?” Ralston asked as he finally found his voice.
“It seemed the most practical course of action,” Alistair replied.
Ralston shook his head as if trying to clear a fog from it. “How is an elopement ever practical?” he demanded. “It is always scandalous, but … practical?” He shook his head again.
Alistair blew out a breath of air and sett
led back into his seat. “I need a wife. I love Anne. Anne needs to escape her mother.” He held up a finger as he listed each point. “Added to that, there is the saving of the expense of a wedding breakfast. I suppose we will have some sort of dinner to celebrate when we return, but we should be able to keep it small and intimate as my mother will not be involved.”
“Escape and saving money? These are your reasons for eloping?” Ralston was looking at Alistair as if Alistair would be a good candidate for a residency in Bedlam.
“Yes, as well as the need of a wife and the fact that I love her,” Alistair added. “I did protest when she suggested the idea. I am not unaware of the scandal and possible displeasure this will bring. But, I cannot marry anyone else and neither can she.” The sharpness of his words caused his friend to recoil a few inches from where he had been leaning forward.
“Possible displeasure? Possible displeasure? Have you considered the extent of the disapprobation you will face when you return? And not just from your mother, whom you are denying the privilege of seeing you leg-shackled by a parson, but what of Miss de Bourgh’s mother?” He clasped the sides of his head with his hands. “And what of her uncle? Your father relies on the earl’s support, does he not?”
Again, Alistair blew out a breath. “My father and Lord Matlock agree on most things. It is not as if Father must persuade Lord Matlock to vote in accordance with him on many issues. And I do not see how my marrying his niece would make Lord Matlock cut ties with my father. It is not as if I am some merchant’s son without a penny to my name. My wealth is secure, and I shall, in the hopefully distant future, ascend to the title of Lord Metcalfe. A viscount is not so lofty as an earl or a duke, to be sure, but I do think it outranks a mere gentleman, even if that gentleman is Darcy.”
“You are certain of this?” Ralston asked as they drew to a stop in front of his home. “You love her enough to face whatever consequences might come?”
Alistair nodded. “I would gladly face far greater scandal than an elopement will cause to see her by my side as my wife.” He held his friend’s gaze in the fading light as the shadows within the carriage lengthened and spread into blackness outside. If anyone knew how deep Alistair’s aversion to scandal was, it was Ralston.
Ralston accepted the meaning and determination of his friend’s words with a simple nod of his head as the carriage door opened. “Then, I will assist you,” he said as he exited in front of his friend.
“And I will return the favour should it become necessary,” Alistair assured him.
“I would expect nothing less.” Ralston chuckled as he clapped his friend on the shoulder. “The place is looking positively brilliant, Mr. Patrick,” Ralston called to the man climbing down a ladder which leaned against one of the lampposts in front of Albany.
“Just keepin’ ye safe, Mr. Ralston. Don’t need no low lives hiding out around here trying to snatch your pockets clean, nor do we need you stumbling unnecessarily over the path.” The gentleman chuckled as he approached Ralston and Alistair. Placing his bucket on the ground, he doffed his cap. “Mr. Pratt, it’s a pleasure to see you. What are you boys up to this fine evening? Are you off carousing?”
“Early to bed for us, I am afraid,” Ralston replied. “There is a house party in Warwickshire which our mothers expect us to attend.”
“Warwickshire,” the gentleman said with a whistle. “That’s a distance to drive.”
“Indeed it is.” Alistair’s tone of agreement spoke of his dislike for travelling so far.
“Well, I will wish you well — whether that be that you find a wife or avoid such folly I will leave to you to decide.” He doffed his hat once more.
“A bit of both,” Ralston replied. “I hope to come home and secure a bride in town, but my friend here wishes to return with a bride in tow.”
“May she be a blessing to you as my Molly is to me,” said Mr. Patrick before moving on.
“Thank you,” Alistair called after him. “I very much think she will be.”
Chapter 4
The next day as Alistair was dozing off while reading poetry shortly after they had stopped to change horses, Clifton Conrad was approaching the village of Westerham. His horse was fresh. He had changed mounts at Bromley and was determined to make an appearance in Hunsford. With any luck, he would find out something about what he needed to know.
Last evening, after Alistair had left White’s, Conrad and his friends had set to finding out all they could about one Miss de Bourgh. It had required them to spend an extraordinary amount of time at the home of one of his friends instead of playing cards as they had intended. However, it had been well worth the effort, for they had discovered that the young lady was likely of no small fortune, being the only heir to her late father. The estate, it seemed, had not been entailed away from the females in the family, and as such, she was to come into ownership of it either when she came of age or married. In addition to her sizable fortune, she was also well connected, being the niece of Lord Matlock and cousin to Fitzwilliam Darcy, who, though not titled, was among the most respected gentlemen of the ton.
Conrad chuckled. It was amazing what information was held by some of the wags of the ton. A simple — “Pratt mentioned a Miss de Bourgh, who is friends with his mother, Lady Metcalfe. I cannot say I recall the name de Bourgh.” — had been enough to unveil all he needed to know.
According to his friend’s mother, Conrad had discovered that Miss de Bourgh was a novice when it came to social matters in town, for she had never had a proper come out. However, his friend’s mother was almost completely certain that Miss de Bourgh, who was nearly twenty, would make her debut on the arm of her cousin, Mr. Darcy, next season. After all, theirs was a long-standing arrangement, and since everyone knew that Darcy was not the sort to shirk his duty, Miss de Bourgh would soon be wed. To prove her point, she had pointed out how Darcy had been in town for several seasons and had not once singled out any lady in particular.
Conrad patted the side of his mount’s neck. “To think Pratt was going to step between Darcy and duty.” He chuckled again. “Pratt! Of all people! I should very much like to see that. He’d not have stood a chance.” He chuckled again at the thought of the much smaller Pratt being called out and handily dispatched by the larger and more capable Darcy. “Perhaps that is how I should have allowed him to find his fate,” he said as he patted his horse again. “Ah, but Pratt is no fool. He would not set himself up against such odds even if this Miss de Bourgh was Venus herself. Therefore, my four-legged friend, there must be some scheme afoot, and I intend to discover it.”
And discover it he did by happy chance as he entered Hunsford.
“Good day,” he said, tipping his hat to a pretty young lady in a curricle.
“Good day,” she returned with a bright smile.
“I am certain you would not know where the best ale might be found, but could you direct me to where any ale, whether good or not, might be acquired?” An alehouse or tavern were often the best places to ferret out information.
The young lady straightened her posture and lifted her chin. “I happen to know both,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“Indeed?” Conrad replied in surprise. He had not expected any female to admit such a thing. He knew that not all ladies were ignorant of such topics, but most were not willing to admit to such intelligence.
“Oh, I do not speak from personal experience, of course.”
The young lady’s cheeks flushed a light shade of pink that added a vibrancy to her features that had to this point been lacking. She had been pretty before, but now — he noted with great pleasure — now she was rather beguiling despite her slight frame and angular features. There was life behind her proper exterior.
“Of course,” he assured her.
“The knowledge has been shared with me by both a dear friend as well as my mother’s parson.”
A slow smile spread across Conrad’s face. Her mother’s parson? There was only one person in Hunsf
ord who would be in the position to bestow a living. That much he knew from the ramblings of his friend’s mother last evening. “Do tell,” he said, encouraging the lady whom he suspected to be Miss de Bourgh to continue.
“Mr. Collins must indubitably be believed based on his profession, in which, I might add, he takes great pride.”
“He is your mother’s parson?” Conrad asked. This young lady was pretty but also a bit of a rambler when she spoke. Hopefully, that would mean she was naïve and would be easily lead.
“Oh, yes,” she replied with a laugh. “I often forget that not everyone knows Hunsford as well as I.”
“And this Mr. Collins concurs with your friend about the ale at a particular house?” He asked, looking around to his left and then his right. “It is always good to have two opinions that agree,” he added.
“Indeed it is, Mr.?” She fell silent and waited for him to introduce himself.
“My apologies, miss. Mr. Clifton Conrad, at your service.”
Her lips twitched. “I do believe, Mr. Conrad, that at the moment I am at your service for you have no idea where the best ale can be found.”
He chuckled. She was a saucy thing. He could understand why even a dullard such as Alistair Pratt would be charmed by such a lady. “And to whom do I owe my gratitude for such service as directing me to an alehouse?”
She dipped her head very prettily. “Miss Anne de Bourgh, at your service, Mr. Conrad.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss de Bourgh.” He had never spoken truer words in his life. He was more than pleased to have stumbled upon his prey so easily. “Now, Miss de Bourgh, if you could direct me to a source of refreshment, I will ever be in your debt.”
“The Pig’s Snout is just around that corner,” she replied pointing in front of her and then to the left.
“And you say that your parson and a friend both recommend this establishment.”