Harwood lost his battle for control and laughed outright. “I realize I have one foot in the grave, but still, forty is not dead, Sal.”
Chagrined, Sarah turned away, not quite able to deal with the implications of that pronouncement. “Well, then, I expect I must go with you, for it would never do for you to select a wife I could not deal well with, as I will be living with you.”
Passing his hand over his mouth and emerging sober and serious from behind it, the duke nodded. “An excellent point.”
“And you won’t push me to marry? Or arrange—”
He held up both hands. “Pax, daughter. You know my feelings on marriage. I would never push you to marry, and certainly would never arrange a marriage for you. Though I do believe you will change your mind sooner or later. You are only eighteen, far too young to think you can never love again. Nor do I think you will relish being called an ape leader.”
Sarah’s lower lip jutted out. “That is what they will call me, but I don’t care! I won’t give my heart to be trampled on again.” With dignity she stalked from the room, leaving her shaken father to stare after her.
Dear God in heaven, I hope she can change her mind, Harwood prayed. The duke was less likely than most men to dismiss his daughter’s fascination with young Allensby, which had begun at fourteen, as calf-love. He had fallen in love once and only once, at eighteen, and had waited until he was of age so that he could marry Eleanor Gresham, a farmer’s daughter, without his father’s permission.
The duke paced back and forth the length of the drawing room, remembering his utter indifference to all the lovely females his father had paraded before him in the intervening three years, in the hope of securing a more eligible bride for his oldest son.
If Sarah, like him, could give her heart but once, she was destined to be lonely all her life, a fate he did not want for his sweet, loving daughter.
His own decision to remarry was a pragmatic one. After five years of grieving for his beloved wife, he recognized his increasing vulnerability to the pangs of desire.
He did not approve of illicit liaisons, so he had now decided to select a suitable mate, to save himself from repeating the kind of folly that had very nearly resulted in his marrying a girl his daughter’s age. He would hope for regard, perhaps even affection, on both sides in his second marriage. But he never expected to be able to love again. How terrible for her if Sarah were similarly constituted.
The Duke of Harwood stopped his pacing and looked up at the painting of his wife, Eleanor. I will do my best to find a husband for her, my love. I will see that she has every encouragement to meet eligible young men. He bowed his head, remembering the clumsy efforts his father had made to distract him from his love for Eleanor. I shall be much more subtle than my father. Pray God I shall be more successful.
***
Deborah Harper Silverton, Dowager Viscountess Cornwall, suppressed a shudder as she seated herself on a backless sofa in the Egyptian Drawing Room. Merely changing the decor, as the new viscountess had done, could not cleanse the room for her. Nothing could wipe out the memory of her unhappiness in this house when her husband was alive.
She sat as stonily erect as if she were wearing a backboard and looked her brother-in-law in the eye, her own large brown eyes narrowed in an attempt to hide her alarm. It was unusual for her to be summoned in this way.
“Thank you for coming so promptly, Deborah.” Vincent smiled a quick, insincere smile as he took his place in a fragile-looking chair opposite her.
Deborah bowed her head briefly in acknowledgement and waited for him to come to the point.
“I asked you to come today to discuss Jennifer’s marriage.”
Deborah gasped. “What can you mean? She is only sixteen.”
“Yes, but before the season ends next year she’ll be seventeen, n’est-ce pas?”
“Only just.” Deborah opened her mouth to rush into protestations, but Vincent held up his hand to silence her.
“I’ve been giving the matter a great deal of thought, and Winnie and I feel it would be best if she was wed before Lettice makes her come-out, which must be year after next at the latest. And then there is Patience right behind her.”
“Could . . . could not Jennifer make her come-out with Lettice? After all, she is only three months older. Or even with Patience? Indeed, would not the most economical way be to bring them all three out together, perhaps two years from now?”
Deborah knew that economy was important to Vincent, especially as it bore upon his own purse; she was surprised he was proposing a plan that did not allow him to charge some of his girls’ expenses to Jennifer’s account.
A brief widening of Vincent’s light blue eyes told her she had scored a hit. He hesitated, his mouth pursed in thought.
Deborah rushed on eagerly, hoping to convince him. “I mean, that is quite acceptable to me, and that way she would have another year at least to grow up. She is too young to marry.”
Vincent eyed her suspiciously. “I think, madam, given your attitude, you would not see her married at all.”
It was Deborah’s turn to hesitate. “True, but I know it is inevitable . . .”
“Yes, it is. Your hints to the contrary, Jennifer must marry. I cannot spend the rest of my life tending to her affairs without compensation. I’ll be glad enough to hand them off to a competent husband. As for economy, the most economical way to manage the matter would be for me to select a husband for her.”
“No!” Deborah stood suddenly, fists clenched.
“Calm yourself, madam.” Vincent leaned forward, pointing with an imperative finger to the sofa, indicating that she should return to her seat. “I will not insist on doing so, providing you can find an acceptable candidate yourself during this next season. Winnifred and I will put the town house at your disposal, and I will see that Jennifer is provided with sufficient funds from her trust to make a creditable entrance into society.
“If the season ends without your having selected a husband, I will then take matters into hand. Do I make myself clear?”
Deborah nodded, clenching her fists against her sides to keep from lashing out at him. He had that haughty look he took on when he was being Lord of the Realm.
“Good. See you purchase some respectable gowns for yourself, too. You look a veritable dowd.” Vincent leaned back in the chair, considering his sister-in-law’s appearance.
“Perhaps you will take the opportunity to seek a second husband.” With the title, Vincent had inherited his brother’s enormous debts; he considered it a great burden to have to support his relict also. Seymour had spent his wife’s portion, however, leaving only her dower rights, which Vincent must honor. His wastrel brother had not been able to get his hands on the fortune Deborah should have inherited through her mother from her grandfather, Lord Knollbridge. To keep it from Seymour, Mrs. Harper had passed over Deborah, leaving everything to Jennifer.
Vincent looked at Deborah hopefully. She was still a beautiful woman, with those large, liquid brown eyes, a perfect oval face, and hair the tawny color of old honey. Her figure was lush without the slightest hint of avoirdu pois. Neither her thirty-eight years nor her many unhappy days were written in lines on her face, which was remarkably as it had been when she had married at eighteen. Surely she could attract an eligible parti, perhaps an older man.
His sister-in-law’s response to that suggestion did not surprise him, however. “Certainly not! Once was quite enough!” Deborah’s full lips firmed with determination.
“Ah, well.” Vincent, embarrassed, skirted any discussion of her marriage. He was ashamed of his late brother’s cruelty to his wife. So far they had managed to prevent it from being generally known, and pride demanded that he keep it thus. Such behavior, while lawful, was frowned upon by the ton. Fortunately, Deborah hated scandal as much as she hated her husband’s memory, so she could be counted on to continue to say nothing.
“Then our business is at an end. Will you stay to nuncheon?�
� He stood.
It was a pro forma invitation, as both knew. Deborah avoided her in-laws whenever possible, and they were content to have it so. Making a polite excuse, she escaped to the hall, where Croyden dispatched a footman to bring her mare around. Deborah fled the butler’s company, pacing the front portico until Buttercup arrived. Croyden had been an avid observer of her tumultuous, unhappy marital struggles at Woodcrest too many times for her ever to be comfortable in his presence.
How would she tell Jennifer? Deborah felt the tears sting her cheeks as she made the short ride to the dower house. Her daughter abhorred the idea of marriage; though Deborah had tried to reassure her that not all men would behave as her father had done, the child had seen too much not to dread putting herself into any man’s power.
She was relieved that Jennifer was not in the house when she arrived. She washed the tears from her face and changed from her heavy black riding habit into a cool summer morning gown before seeking her daughter in the most likely place, their garden.
Her heart rose in her throat as she saw Jennifer romping about with her King Charles spaniel puppy. Her light brown curls were bouncing, her cheeks flushed from her pleasurable exertion. She was a child, just a child. To have to marry so soon!
But they would have to do as Vincent commanded, of course. He was Jenny’s guardian. He was not deliberately cruel as his brother, Seymour, had been, but he had little true feeling for women’s sensibilities, and such as he had was quite used up in concern for his two insipid daughters.
A few minutes of thought had brought Deborah to the conclusion that it was not dislike of administering Jenny’s fortune that caused Vincent to hurry her toward marriage. No, Jenny must marry while still a child so that Lettice and Patience would not have to compete with their beautiful, well-dowered cousin in the marriage mart.
“What is it, Mother?” With her usual sensitivity, Jennifer rushed up to Deborah as soon as she caught sight of her. “Why are you so Friday-faced? Does Uncle Vincent want you to play at some party or something?”
“No, Jenny, it is much more serious than that.” Deborah led her daughter to the bench beneath the willow tree, where it was marginally cooler on this warm summer day.
When she had explained her brother-in-law’s edict, Jenny threw herself on her mother’s breast, weeping. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to marry, ever!”
“Now, Jenny, we have discussed this.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Just because I had an unfortunate marriage does not say that you will. We shall just have to choose your husband with great care. At any rate, you don’t wish your uncle to choose. He would focus upon a title and a fortune, without regard for whether his candidate and you would suit.”
Jenny sat up, her lower lip trembling. “I’m afraid, Mother.”
Deborah nodded, staring off into the distance toward the magnificent outlines of Woodcrest, where she had been brought as a young, innocent bride a little more than nineteen years ago. She had been afraid then, too, and with good reason. Her parents had chosen Seymour for her. He had seemed a good choice—handsome, titled, wealthy, witty, sophisticated. They had forgotten to inquire if he had a heart.
“If you will allow yourself to be guided by me, Jenny, I do not despair of finding a man who will treat you well. I believe I have gained some insight into the sex.” Dearly won, she thought. Oh, so dearly won.
Jenny nodded fervently. “I will, Mother.”
Deborah patted her hands soothingly. “I will make it my first concern to know whether he is apt to be kind and gentle, and no gamester. But in case we are deceived, or he should change, I will insist that the marriage settlements be structured in such a way that he cannot waste, all of your portion, so that you do not have to live on the charity of your in-laws, as I do!”
“Yes,” Jenny agreed, nodding her head until her soft curls bounced. “And one who will agree to let you make your home with us.”
“That may be asking too much,” Deborah cautioned, but her brown eyes kindled with hope. This was an idea she had not yet contemplated. Was it possible? Oh, to be free of Vincent and Winnie, and out of sight of the towers of Woodcrest!
I shall look in the peerage, Deborah thought. And study the papers. I must find out who is available, sufficiently wealthy, and yet likely to be kind to a young wife. Reluctantly, but with a grim determination born of necessity, she began laying plans for finding a suitable husband for her daughter.
***
Click here for more books by Intermix
June Calvin lives in Oklahoma with her husband of almost fifty years. Her recently married son and his delightful new bride live nearby. June was a secretary, P.R. person, museum educator, antique dealer, newspaper reporter, and middle school teacher before discovering her most enjoyable career, writing Regency romances. Her interests include candle-making, gardening, and bird-watching. Thanks to the advent of easy-to-use digital cameras, she also loves taking pictures of family, friends, and the natural world around her.
Discover more Signet Regency Romance treasures!
Available now as eBooks from InterMix and Signet Regency Romance
Libby’s London Merchant by Carla Kelly
The Errant Earl by Amanda McCabe
The Unwilling Heiress by Sandra Heath
Seducing Mr. Heywood by Jo Manning
The Nobody by Diane Farr
Miss Carlyle’s Curricle by Karen Harbaugh
An Unlikely Hero by Gail Eastwood
An Improper Widow by Kate Moore
The Smuggler’s Daughter by Sandra Heath
Lady in Green by Barbara Metzger
The Reluctant Guardian by Jo Manning
To Kiss a Thief by Kate Moore
A Perilous Journey by Gail Eastwood
The Reluctant Rogue by Elizabeth Powell
Miss Clarkson’s Classmate by Sharon Sobel
The Bartered Bride by Elizabeth Mansfield
The Widower’s Folly by April Kihlstrom
A Hint of Scandal by Rhonda Woodward
The Counterfeit Husband by Elizabeth Mansfield
The Spanish Bride by Amanda McCabe
Lady Sparrow by Barbara Metzger
A Very Dutiful Daughter by Elizabeth Mansfield
Scandal in Venice by Amanda McCabe
A Spinster’s Luck by Rhonda Woodward
The Ambitious Baronet by April Kihlstrom
The Traitor’s Daughter by Elizabeth Powell
Lady Larkspur Declines by Sharon Sobel
Lady Rogue by Amanda McCabe
The Star of India by Amanda McCabe
A Lord for Olivia by June Calvin
The Golden Feather by Amanda McCabe
One Touch of Magic by Amanda McCabe
Regency Christmas Wishes Anthology
June Calvin Page 21