Wedding of the Year

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  “You're right.” John leaned forward. “But perhaps it is time to consider selling the company and sinking those funds into a more . . . acceptable venture.”

  “Why? You don't like having your brother being known as the Pretzel Man?” Richard asked, stung by John's remark.

  “Don't take offense, Richard. I merely want to help you.”

  Swinging his feet off the stool, Richard sat upright. “I didn't need your help before and I don't need it now. I like getting my hands dirty and creating something wonderful. I'm proud of what I do.”

  “If you're so proud, then why do you persist in acting the rake?”

  John's quiet question took the wind from his sails. How could he respond? Because whether or not he admitted it to John, part of him was humiliated that he was now a pretzel maker.

  “That's what I thought.” John settled back in his chair. “If you sold the factory and invested the money, then you wouldn't need to fear someone finding out. Many gentlemen now actively participate in their investment ventures. You could show the ton who you really are, Richard, and not have to hide behind a facade.”

  It was true, Richard knew. It was the perfect solution to everything. But there was only one hitch.

  He liked owning the pretzel company.

  “What you fail to understand, John, is that I don't wish to give it up. I'd rather play the lecherous dandy in order to hide my business. Besides, I so rarely go out to social events anymore.”

  “Because you're spending all your time at that factory.”

  “Ah, but it's time well spent.” Standing, Richard retrieved a rolled parchment from the sideboard. “Look at what I've designed to improve the production of the factory.” Spreading the paper out on top of the table, he gestured toward the sketch. “This is a strip of leather that lays on top of a set of rolling pins. My men can place the pretzels on this belt, then, by pulling on this rope here, can send them onto the next station without breaking the flow of production.”

  Placing a hand upon the drawing, John captured Richard's gaze. “You're becoming consumed by this, Richard. Last night was the first time you've gone to Almack's in over a year,” he pointed out.

  A laugh broke from Richard. “First you're concerned about me because I'm wasting my life, and when I finally pick myself up, you're starting to worry that I'm not spending enough time at frivolous parties?”

  “Attending social outings isn't frivolous,” insisted John as he sat back again.

  “I know, I know; it's a social obligation.” Richard rolled up the parchment. “Besides, however would you find a suitable bride if you didn't scour the marriage mart.”

  It was John's turn to laugh. “Trust me when I say that finding a bride isn't one of the reasons I attend soirees.”

  “You can't be serious.” Yet when Richard looked at his brother, he saw John was indeed serious. “Why on earth not?”

  “Because the last thing I want right now is to be saddled with another responsibility.”

  Responsibilities like him, Richard realized. Ever since their father died, John had been shouldering the tremendous burden of maintaining the estate. “Fine pair we are,” Richard murmured, smiling at his brother. “I have no desire to wed because I'm far too busy, and you don't want a wife because you wish for a taste of freedom.” He tipped his head to the side. “Wonder who will get the lauded title of Marquess of Wykham if you don't produce an heir?”

  “No need to think on that further, because I do have every intention of fulfilling that obligation.” A grin split John's face. “Just not right now.”

  Richard returned his brother's smile. “Fair enough.” But somehow the idea of John as man-about-town didn't seem, well, like John. “What if you happen to meet a woman who seems perfect for you? What if tomorrow you met a lady who made you feel free instead of burdened?”

  John's smile dimmed and he remained quiet for a long moment. “I honestly don't know. If there were such a lady, perhaps she would still this odd sense of restlessness I've been feeling lately.”

  “She just might,” Richard agreed. “Besides, if you marry, you'll be far too busy to worry about me.” And that would be one less burden for John to worry about.

  “While that might be the case, I don't expect to find the perfect woman tomorrow,” John said confidently.

  No, Richard thought, hiding a smile, but perhaps here was one thing Richard could do for John.

  Without conscious thought, Elizabeth headed toward the one place that had always provided her solace. Her workshop. Slamming open the door, she struggled to control the tightening in her chest, to retain a semblance of calm in front of Catherine, who had followed her.

  “What are we going to do?” Catherine whispered, clutching her skirt.

  The fact that Catherine didn't even seem aware that she was wrinkling her dress spoke volumes about her distress. Elizabeth shook her head, at a loss as to how to get them out of this mess. “I don't know,” she replied honestly. “Maybe after Papa's had a while to consider . . .”

  Before she could even finish her thought, Catherine interrupted. “No, he won't,” she stated emphatically. “You know Papa. When he makes up his mind, he doesn't change it. Ever.”

  “You're right,” Elizabeth admitted, though it galled her to do so. Looking around her workshop, she wished that devising the solution to this problem was as easy as figuring out the next step in her experiments. She stilled at that thought, before slowly murmuring, “Then we'll just have to find a way around his dictate.”

  Hope brightened Catherine's gaze as she released her gown. “Around? How do you mean?”

  Biting her lower lip, Elizabeth gestured to the partladen shelves of her workshop. “Whenever I reach an impasse in an experiment, I don't try to find a way to change the problem; I try to find a way around it.” She could tell by Catherine's expression she didn't understand, so Elizabeth struggled to find the right words. “For example, if I'm building a machine and the bolt the diagram says to use doesn't fit, I don't try to force it. Instead, I find a new one, or sometimes I even redesign the entire joint to make it work better.”

  Catherine furrowed her brows. “I still don't understand what that has to do with the fact that Papa insists you marry before I do.”

  “All I'm saying, Cat, is that there has to be a way around this problem, and all we need to do is consider it from all angles and figure out a different approach.” Elizabeth smiled for the first time since hearing Papa's horrid pronouncement. “Don't worry, Cat. I'm very good at finding ways around problems.”

  Catherine's expression didn't lighten. “Figuring out a problem with a few bolts is a much different thing than devising a way to outsmart Papa.”

  Her sister had a point, Elizabeth conceded, but she thrust her doubt aside. Positive thinking was what was needed here. That's right, she assured herself. With enough positive thinking, she could find her way around any problem.

  Especially when her sister's future happiness depended upon it.

  Walking into White's was one of the hardest things Richard had forced himself to do in a very long time. Still, he'd found himself tossing restlessly upon the bed this afternoon when he should have fallen into an exhausted sleep. Thoughts of his poor behavior toward Lord Shipham and Elizabeth had raced through his head, keeping him from his much-needed rest.

  There were times, Richard admitted as he tugged upon his waistcoat, that this new moral consciousness of his was a bloody pain in the arse. After having called upon Lord Shipham at his house, Richard learned that Elizabeth's father had come to White's . . . and so he'd followed.

  Spotting Lord Shipham near the fireplace, Richard took a fortifying breath and headed toward him. Three steps away, Richard stopped and cleared his throat, causing Lord Shipham to glance up from his paper. The cold expression on his face did little to encourage Richard.

  “Pardon the interruption, my lord, but I wondered if I might have a word with you,” Richard began in his most polite voice.
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  “I'd rather not,” Lord Shipham returned bluntly. “I'm quite enjoying my moment of solitude.”

  Despite the response, Richard forged onward. “I assure you, my lord, it will only take a moment of your time.” Before Lord Shipham could say another word, Richard sat down beside him. “Currently, I find myself in the awkward position of having to apologize to you.”

  Lord Shipham raised an eyebrow.

  Taking this as a positive response, Richard continued, “Last night I was blatantly rude to you and your daughter. My actions were not those of a gentleman and I offer my most sincere apologies.”

  Still, Lord Shipham remained silent.

  The man's unblinking stare was bloody unnerving, Richard decided. Lord, he'd been a fool to come here, offering up an apology like a miscreant. Feeling his cheeks warm, Richard rose without another word and turned on his heel.

  “Sit down, Lord Vernon, and allow a man a moment to respond before you race off.”

  Surprised, Richard resumed his seat.

  Folding his paper, Lord Shipham gave Richard his full attention. “When you get to be my age, Lord Vernon, there's not much that surprises you.” He pointed at Richard. “But your apology did. And since you were so forthcoming, I feel I must admit that, after having heard the gossip about your past behavior, I might have been quick to jump to conclusions about your behavior.”

  “That is most generous of you to admit, sir.”

  “Not generous, just honest,” Lord Shipham corrected. “And for a man who prides himself on taking stock of a person's character rather than heeding the tainted tales of a few very bored old women, it isn't an easy thing to admit.”

  Richard couldn't help but laugh. “Though I'd like to assure you that all the stories you've heard were falsehoods, I find myself unable to do so . . . and remain honest.”

  The corners of Lord Shipham's mouth tilted upward. “Of course you can't. Don't know of many young gents who haven't reveled a bit before settling down.” Leaning forward, Lord Shipham admitted, “Before I wed, I'll wager the gossips had a tale or two about my . . . adventures.”

  Relief eased the tightness in Richard's chest as he sat back in his chair, enjoying the company of Lord Shipham. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing after all to allow people to see the man he'd become.

  “Now why don't we order up a few brandies, and I'll tell you about the time I rode a horse into Lord Hammond's country home on a lark.”

  “That sounds like a tale I simply must hear,” Richard replied with a laugh.

  Lord Shipham's gaze sharpened. “And then when I'm done, you can tell me why you behaved like such a bastard last night.”

  Nodding, Richard lifted his hand to beckon a server. “Fair enough.”

  “Excellent.” Setting aside his paper, Lord Shipham leaned back in his chair as well. “In fact, why don't we begin with your explanation before we start swapping tales of misdeeds?”

  Richard decided that the only way to handle this situation was with complete honesty. “Very well, sir,” he began, “earlier that evening, I'd come upon your daughter, Lady Elizabeth, standing alone in the ballroom, and invited her to dance. Though she declined my invitation, I'm afraid I insisted she join me.” He glanced at Lord Shipham to measure his response to that bit of information. When he realized Lord Shipham wasn't scowling, it gave Richard the courage to continue. “While she was shy, your daughter seemed to enjoy my company and, naturally, I found her charming.”

  “Naturally,” Lord Shipham agreed, a corner of his mouth quirking upward.

  Encouraged, Richard finished his tale. “But when we were formally introduced, she acted so cool . . . undoubtedly because of the tales she'd heard. While I understood the reasons behind her reception, I had little liking for her coolness, which is why I behaved so abominably.”

  Lord Shipham considered the admission for a moment. “So you set out to prove that all the stories she'd heard about you were true, since she seemed so determined to believe them.”

  “Precisely,” Richard said, relieved that Lord Shipham at least understood the reasons behind his behavior. “Still, that doesn't excuse my rudeness to you and your daughter.”

  “No,” Lord Shipham agreed, “but it certainly makes it understandable.”

  Lord Shipham's reaction was so different from the one he'd imagined that Richard found himself struggling to take it all in. He'd thought Lord Shipham might accept the apology at best. Yet here he sat, as the man ordered two brandies for them, seemingly at ease with Richard's apology. More surprising still was the odd sensation of satisfaction sinking into him.

  Perhaps there was something to fulfilling gentlemanly obligations.

  “Now, I believe I was going to tell you one of the misdeeds from my past.”

  Richard settled back to enjoy the tale. . . .

  4

  “Have you devised a way around Papa's scheme?” whispered Catherine from behind her fan.

  “No, but don't worry, Cat. I will,” Elizabeth reassured her sister. Indeed, she'd been turning the problem over in her head all afternoon and was no closer to a solution. Closing her eyes, she rubbed at her temple.

  “Well, if you don't think of something soon, we'll have to begin to concentrate on finding a gentleman for you to wed.” Catherine touched Elizabeth's arm. “I know you said you didn't find anyone appealing, but surely there's someone here that you might find suitable.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “If he's in town, I've yet to meet him.”

  “What of the gentlemen I saw you with yesterday? The Marquess of Wykham and his brother.” Her eyes brightened. “The Marquess is a fine-looking fellow.”

  Elizabeth nodded slowly. “True, and he was a perfect gentleman . . . unlike that odious brother of his.”

  “Odious, am I?”

  Elizabeth started at the voice behind her. Gritting her teeth, she glanced over her shoulder. “Still making it a habit of eavesdropping upon ladies’ conversations, I see,” she said coolly. After all, he could hardly expect a warm welcome after he'd played her for a fool.

  Stepping around to face them, Lord Vernon grinned wickedly at her. “If I stopped, I'd miss out on all the interesting gossip fluttering about town these days.” His gaze shifted onto Catherine. “I don't believe we've had the honor,” he murmured, bowing low. “Richard Vernon, at your service, my lady.”

  Catherine dipped into a curtsey. “Lady Catherine Everley.”

  Lord Vernon's brows arched upward. “Everley?” He glanced between the two ladies. “Are you sisters or cousins?”

  “Sisters . . . though you couldn't tell by looking at us,” Catherine returned with a laugh.

  “True enough, but then beauty comes in all different forms, does it not?” The charming smile he bestowed upon Catherine grated on Elizabeth's nerves.

  Well, she wasn't about to allow the cad to deceive her sister the way he'd deceived her! But before Elizabeth could issue a word of warning to her sister, the marquess joined their group.

  “Good evening, Lady Elizabeth,” he said smoothly, bowing to her.

  “And to you as well, sir.” Gesturing toward her sister, Elizabeth murmured, “Might I introduce my sister, Lady Catherine?”

  Once again, Lord Wykham dipped into a bow. “A pleasure, my lady.”

  “I didn't know you were coming to the Swanson's musicale this evening,” Lord Vernon remarked.

  Lord Wykham shrugged lightly. “Neither did I, until Mother asked me to escort her.”

  Elizabeth watched the interplay between the two brothers with interest. Lord Wykham's affection for his brother was evident.

  “You could have sent a note around to me and I would have taken her,” Lord Vernon offered.

  “I did,” Lord Wykham remarked dryly, “but you'd already left for the evening.” He lowered his voice before admitting, “While I hold my mother in the greatest esteem, it is somewhat of a family secret that I absolutely abhor musicales.”

  Laughing, Lord Vernon placed
an affectionate hand upon his brother's shoulder. “I've told John that I've been working on a design for a machine that alters any singer's voice into that of a songbird.”

  Elizabeth knew Lord Vernon was teasing his brother, but his comment about designing a machine intrigued her. “What sort of machine were you considering, my lord? I've not heard of components that you can assemble to actually change sound.”

  Catherine nudged her ribs—hard—before she trilled a charming laugh. “Come now, Elizabeth. What on earth do you know about machines and the like?”

  In an instant, Elizabeth remembered her unfortunate penchant to get lost in discussions that were utterly inappropriate for polite society. Still, she thought mutinously, it wasn't as if she started the conversation this time!

  Lord Vernon's brows drew together as he gave Elizabeth a pointed look. “You certainly sounded as if you knew what you were speaking about.”

  Dear Heavens! She'd done it now. Shaking her head, she laughed nervously. “I was merely teasing.”

  “But . . .”

  The marquess cut off his brother. “Why don't we let this discussion rest, Richard?” he suggested in a tone that left it clear that the question was not a suggestion. “Will you accord me the honor of escorting you to your seat, Lady Elizabeth? I'm sure my brother would be delighted to lead Lady Catherine as well.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Elizabeth murmured politely, accepting his proffered arm. Smiling at her sister in farewell and giving Lord Vernon one last glance, she allowed Lord Wykham to lead her into the music room.

  Blast it all! Richard fumed, watching Elizabeth walk off with his brother. Why the devil wouldn't John allow him to speak with her further on this matter of machines? The woman had certainly spoken like she was interested in the discussion. Though perhaps she was merely making fun, as she'd claimed, Richard conceded, holding back a sigh.

  “I couldn't help but notice, Lord Vernon, that your brother seemed most taken with my sister.”