Griff handed his hat and gloves to the doorman at White’s, then crossed the entrance hall to the main room where his father sat lounging in his favorite oversized leather chair in his customary place near the fire, a cup of coffee on the small marble-topped table at his elbow. Griff drew up a matching chair and sat down beside the Earl of Weymouth.
“It’s done,” he announced quietly. “The announcement will appear in tomorrow morning’s edition of the Times.”
Weymouth gave his son a curt, approving nod. He gestured for the waiter to bring a cup and saucer and a fresh pot of coffee for Griffin. “Who’s the lucky young lady?”
“Lady Alyssa Carrollton.”
Weymouth frowned. “Carrollton. That’s the family name of the Earl of—”
“Tressingham,” Griff finished his father’s sentence. “Yes, I know.”
“You proposed marriage to Tressingham’s daughter?” Weymouth fought to keep the incredulous note out of his voice. “Egads, but he has to be the biggest bore in England! I don’t believe I’ve ever heard him speak a coherent sentence that didn’t contain references to horses or hounds.”
“That may be so,” Griff agreed. “But there’s nothing boring about his daughter. She’s one of the season’s Incomparables. Lady Tressingham is thrilled at that accomplishment but her daughter’s aspirations run higher.”
“I’m not surprised,” Weymouth answered. “An Incomparable can have her pick of titles.” He pursed his lips. “So she aspires to something higher than a viscountess? Perhaps she wants to be a duchess. I heard a rumor about town that young Sussex was interested in her.”
“He was,” Griff replied. “As was Linton.”
“Bah!” Weymouth dismissed Linton with a wave of his hand. “The Marquess of Linton’s a fortune hunter.”
“As are half the suitors in London,” Griff pointed out.
“Sussex isn’t.”
“Unfortunately for Sussex, Lady Alyssa doesn’t aspire to the title of duchess.”
“Oh?” Weymouth was intrigued in spite of himself. The only rank higher was that of royal princess. “What then?”
“A gardener.”
Weymouth blinked. “Did you say a gardener?”
Griff nodded. “She enjoys gardening and aspires to design them.”
“Then it’s hardly logical that she would turn down the opportunity to become the Duchess of Sussex. The gardens at Sussex House are perfectly magnificent.”
“Too perfectly magnificent,” Griff explained, “for Lady Alyssa’s taste. A Whig at heart, my bride-to-be prefers a more natural style of gardening than Sussex could offer.” Griff leaned back in his chair, sitting patiently as the waiter carefully filled a cup with steaming hot coffee and handed it to him.
“You mean to tell me that the young lady you intend to marry chose you over the Duke of Sussex because she doesn’t care for his garden?”
Griffin grinned at his father. “That’s about the gist of it.”
Weymouth lifted his cup and saucer from the table at his elbow and took a long, bracing swallow of coffee.
“Don’t misunderstand me, my boy, because your mother and I are quite enamored of you and quite certain there’s no finer choice of a husband in all of England. But I cannot help wondering if there is a strain of madness or eccentricity in the young lady’s family? I mean young Sussex is every bit as handsome as you and a wealthy duke to boot. He has a great deal to recommend him as a suitor. And he hasn’t purchased a commission in His Majesty’s Horse Guards.” Weymouth shook his head. “He would make an ideal husband. I don’t understand what her father was thinking. Had I been in his shoes, I would have chosen Sussex.”
“I don’t know about the madness,” Griff said thoughtfully. “Although I’m quite certain the topic will come up when I meet with Lord Tressingham and his solicitor later this afternoon, but I fear there’s definitely an element of eccentricity.” Griff paused.
“How so?” Weymouth wasn’t overly alarmed. Hundreds of years of selective breeding for aristocratic bloodlines often produced eccentricities in family members. Eccentricities could be managed as long as the other family members recognized them for what they were.
“The walls of his study were lined with oil portraits of horses and hounds. There’s a massive portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence of his prized foxhound hanging over the mantel.”
“Then it’s guaranteed to be attractive,” Weymouth commented. Sir Thomas Lawrence was currently in vogue as the favorite portrait painter of the ton. He commanded exorbitant commissions and earned his reputation as a favorite because his portraits were often so flattering they barely resembled the subject.
“It is,” Griff replied. “Prettiest tricolored hound you’ve ever seen.”
“I’m sure he paid handsomely for it.”
“Then you would think he’d pay just as handsomely for portraits of his family.”
Weymouth winced. “There weren’t any Lawrences?”
“There weren’t any. There wasn’t so much as a miniature of Lady Tressingham or any of his four lovely daughters in sight.” Griff stared at his father over the rim of his coffee cup. “Nothing human. Every painting, every sculpture, every tapestry I saw from entry hall to study was canine or equine or both.” Griff paused for a moment to let his father absorb that facet of Tressingham’s personality. “You said it yourself, Father. The Earl of Tressingham is likely the biggest bore in all of England. He’s obsessed with his foxhounds and his horseflesh. The reason he consented to have me as his son-in-law rather than Sussex is because you happen to possess kennels and stables that outstrip everyone else’s—including his. And Tressingham desperately wants to breed his prized female to your stud hound.”
“What?” Weymouth choked on his mouthful of coffee and came very close to spewing it all over Griff and the red Turkey carpets covering the floor.
“He chose me over Sussex because I guaranteed him that breeding. I assured him that you would happily align your kennels and your stables with his. And that as a member of the family, he would have complete entrée to both.” Griff set his cup back on its saucer and reached up and tugged at the folds of his neckcloth. “In short, I bribed him. And when he hesitated, I sweetened the offer by giving him the loan of Apollo for the duration of my service overseas.”
“You’re parting with Apollo?” The earl couldn’t believe it. Griffin had helped bring that stallion into the world, raising and training him himself.
“I’d have to part with him anyway,” Griff said. “I’m not taking him to Spain. I’ll not risk having him killed in battle. He’ll stay here where he’s safe, and Tressingham will take very good care of him.” He closed his eyes and firmed his jaw against the sudden pang of loss. “Tressingham’s an eccentric bore, but he knows the value of prime horseflesh, and he knows how to breed champions. Tressingham was thrilled to get him, even on loan. He’ll take excellent care of Apollo. He’s convinced he’s gotten the better bargain.”
“Does the girl know?” Weymouth asked as soon as he’d recovered his composure and his ability to speak.
“That her father traded her for a black stallion and the promise of a litter of foxhounds?” Griff shook his head. “God, I hope not.” He opened his eyes and stared at his father. “Being forced to marry a virtual stranger in order to fulfill one’s obligation to one’s family is bad enough. She shouldn’t have to face the fact that her father didn’t give a rip about her wants or needs but thought only to satisfy his own selfish desire.”
“The girl means that much to you?” Weymouth was clearly surprised by Griff’s vehement reaction.
Griff snorted. “She means nothing to me, sir. I only met her last evening.”
Weymouth frowned once again. “But—”
“Let’s just say that, contrary to what you and Mother believe, I’m not especially prime husband material for a lady like Alyssa Carrollton. I’m a cavalry officer. She deserves much better than what I’m offering.”
“Her family put her on th
e marriage mart, son. You had nothing to do with that.”
“But I’m about to take advantage of it.”
“That’s true,” Weymouth replied. “But you don’t have to be eaten up with remorse about it. You made an offer. Her father accepted it. If you think she deserves better than what she’s getting, you’re to blame because you’re the only one who can change it. Give the girl the best you have to give. You’re marrying her to satisfy your family obligations so that you can go to war and defend your country, knowing you’ve done your duty to provide for the future of the family. That’s as it should be.” He looked Griffin in the eye. “Almost all of us marry for reasons of family and duty. That is how great families survive and prosper. But marrying for dynastic reasons doesn’t mean that it has to be all business. Romance the girl.”
“Lady Alyssa doesn’t appear to be enthralled with the idea of romance,” Griff replied. “And quite frankly, neither am I.”
Weymouth shook his head in disbelief. “Youth is wasted on the young. Don’t be a fool, Griffin. All young girls are interested in romance,” Weymouth pronounced. “Whether they know it or not. You’ve chosen her to be the mother of your child,” he reminded his son. “Make certain she gets something out of it.”
“She’s getting a possible child, a title, an absentee husband, a neglected manor house, and the opportunity to create the garden of her dreams,” Griff replied sarcastically. “Not to mention a betrothal ring the size of a bird’s egg and a wedding at Saint Paul’s. What more could an Incomparable want?”
“Memories.”
Griff looked over at his father.
Weymouth met his unflinching gaze. “You’re going off to war, son. Make certain that it’s worth the pain and the bother. Don’t just make a child, my boy. Make memories. Give your bride a reason to look forward to your return and give yourself another reason to return.” Weymouth cleared his throat once, and then once more, before shifting the conversation to a safer topic. “Have you presented her with a ring?”
“Not yet.”
“I assume your mention of a betrothal ring the size of a bird’s egg means you wish to present her with your great-grandmother Abernathy’s betrothal ring.”
“Not necessarily. I simply used it for reference. I don’t make a habit of studying them, but the ones I’ve seen are the size of bird’s eggs. I assumed that any betrothal ring I give her should be large enough to please and impress the future in-laws and the society gossips.”
“Well, you’re entitled to give her your great-grandmother’s ring if you wish. It’s in the safe at Weymouth House along with all the other Abernathy and Maitland family jewels.”
Griff frowned, uncomfortable with the prospect of weighing Alyssa down with a child and a collection of his great-grandmother’s gaudily ostentatious canary diamonds. “The Abernathy jewels belong to Mother,” he said.
Weymouth allowed a tiny amused smile to turn up the corners of his mouth. “Only until you marry; then they belong to the Viscountess Abernathy. Your mother understands that.”
“I’ve never really cared for Great-grandmother Abernathy’s ring,” Griff said. “And I thought Alyssa might like a ring of her own. I thought she might appreciate having a ring that hasn’t been used for someone else’s betrothal.” He took another sip of his coffee. “I’ve an appointment with Rundell and Bridges Jewelers on Ludgate Hill at four of the clock this afternoon.”
The earl widened his smile. “The center stone of your great grandmother’s ring is a forty-carat canary diamond. Matching rows of lesser-carat diamonds surround it, and your mother never cared for it, either.” He shook his head. “I vow I’ll never understand it. Yes, I agree, it’s gaudy. But it’s worth a bloody fortune. Queens have financed entire armies for less, and our own Prince of Wales salivates every time he sees it.”
“Nevertheless.” Griff shook his head. “I can well afford the price of a betrothal ring for my bride-to-be, and I would like to buy her something special.”
Ever practical, Weymouth replied, “You can always have the stone placed in a new setting.”
Griff declined the offer. “I think another type of stone would better compliment Lady Alyssa’s hand.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Griff shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t the slightest. But I’ll know it when I see it.”
“I know Rundell is the Prince of Wales’s favorite and the jeweler of choice of the smart set, but if he can’t accommodate you, try Dalrymple’s on Bond Street. I often shop there for gifts to present to your mother, and she always appreciates his unique designs.”
Griff glanced up and met the earl’s steady gaze, in complete accord with his father for the first time in days. “Thank you, Father. I’ll remember that.”
“Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?” Weymouth asked, suddenly acutely aware that time was running out. Soon, there would be no more opportunities for long conversations before the fire at the club and morning rides through the park with his only child. Griffin was leaving soon. And he might never return.
“I can’t,” Griff said. “After my trip to the jeweler’s, I’ve scheduled a meeting with my solicitor and Tressingham and his solicitor in order to draw up the marriage contract and settlement.” He looked at his father. “Which I assured Tressingham you would honor in my absence and in the event I fail to return from the Peninsula.”
Weymouth nodded. “It goes without saying that I would honor your wishes.”
Griff chuckled. “It doesn’t go without saying to Tressingham. He insisted on having it in writing.”
“But of course,” Weymouth replied, forgetting his reputation for having no sense of humor. “One can’t rely simply on a man’s word when the prospect of producing a litter of champion foxhound pups is at stake. One must get that promise down in writing.”
“Not just in writing,” Griff added, “but written into the marriage settlement.”
“And whose idea was that?” Weymouth asked.
“Mine, of course,” Griff told him.
“And he fell for it?”
“Completely. But then, how could he refuse a chance to ally himself with his idol?”
“Remind me never to bargain with you when it’s something you truly want.”
“You already have,” Griff retorted. “Eight days ago. Everything I know, I learned from you.” He grinned at his father. “Like father, like son.”
Weymouth’s smile grew into a chuckle and then into full-fledged laughter. And the sight and sound of the Earl of Weymouth doubled over in laughter was rare enough to induce other members of the club to stop what they were doing in order to watch.
Weymouth laughed until he cried, then carefully removed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his eyes before casually signaling the waiter for a refill of coffee. “What have you scheduled after your meeting with the earl?”
“I’ve asked for a few moments alone with Lady Alyssa in order to present her with the ring. And then I’m escorting her and Lady Tressingham to Lady Harralson’s soiree.”
“Why don’t I have Eastman bring your evening things from your town house to Weymouth House? Surely, you can spare a few moments for your mother and me while you’re dressing for the evening.”
Griff nodded.
“Good. I’m sure your mother will appreciate hearing the news from you tonight rather than reading about it in tomorrow’s newspapers.”
Griff stood up. “Why don’t you and mother make an appearance at Lady Harralson’s?” he suggested. “Give the ton something to talk about. And give me the chance to introduce you to Alyssa.” Griff put up a hand when his father would have spoken. “Nothing formal. Just an introduction. We’ll arrange a more formal meeting at Weymouth House later. I’m sure Mother and Lady Tressingham and Alyssa will need to begin preparations for the wedding.”
“Agreed,” Weymouth said, pushing himself out of his chair, standing to embrace his son. “Your mother and I will meet you at Lady H
arralson’s later this evening.” He gave Griffin a wry grin. “Now, I’d better go inform your mother that we’ll be attending.” He winked at Griff. “She’ll want plenty of time to deck herself out in all her ‘official’ Countess of Weymouth finery.”
Chapter Ten
Barely a Bride Page 17