But the fortune had told her she would. This was the man she would marry. Clearly she hadn't met him yet. Seeing this woman was supposed to leave them reassured, but this had only brought more questions. Ester flatly refused to believe what they'd been told as true, but her belief came from the fact that she didn't want to give up her dreams of marrying Marcus Sousey.
As for this dark-haired man with a limp, perhaps once she met him, she'd want to marry him. It could be that she utterly fell in love with him. Would she really marry someone unless she wanted to? No, of course not. And a limp. How had he gotten it? It certainly was a means of marking him out. All she had to do was look for a man with a limp.
As the shock of this new knowledge passed, she was getting more used to the idea. A distinct feature would mark out the man meant for her. Now all she had to do was to find him.
Chapter 3
FELIX RUBBED HIS SORE knee. The cold weather was horrendous on the war injury which stiffened and ached, even after all this time. It hadn't bothered him so much in India, but as soon as he'd arrived in South Hampton, his joint had stiffened. The doctors said it was simply flaring up and would settle in time. He hoped so, because it was aggravating.
"The old crone won't even receive us," Mr. Swallow said from the other bench in the carriage. He looked out of place in the sumptuous luxury of the dark velvets and satins. The carriage was old, but well-maintained. It had belonged to his father and had more or less been stabled since his father's death. Felix had been overseas when it had happened, returning briefly for the funeral, then leaving again.
But he had escaped responsibility too long. It had been time to return and perform his duty to the Britheney family and legacy. Obviously, he wasn't in a hurry to take a wife, but it was on the cards. Right now, though, his immediate task was to help the War Wounded's Pension fund, a commission he felt strongly about.
Railways were the investments they were venturing into, and the plans they had hinged on purchasing a piece of land currently owned by Lady Wenstropp. Their approaches had to date not met with any success. Letters were ignored, emissaries calling at her door turned away. They weren't even sure she knew of their offer. Unfortunately, the lady had no need for money and there was little incentive for her to part with a parcel of her land for a railway she probably didn't want anywhere near her estate.
It seemed an impossible task, but it was necessary and now they had called on him to help wrangle her. How he was supposed to help, he wasn't sure. It seemed the woman only received visitors of a certain standing, and the staff at the commission had come to him beseeching him to sway her to at least hear them. His role was more in terms of oversight, but Lady Wenstropp presented a hurdle they could not circumvent. The whole investment would be rendered unprofitable without this crucial piece of land.
Outside the window, the gray streets of Belgravia passed by. It was a dismal day with the only brightness being the costermonger selling flowers. Where they would have come from this time of year, he had no idea.
Mr. Swallow fidgeted as he sat and then exhaled deeply as if he were nervous. Felix supposed elderly dragons like Lady Wenstropp unnerved the man, but Felix knew her type. His grandmother had been the like. The thought drew him back into old memories he hadn't thought about in years. It would be a lie to say his childhood had been happy, but his grandmother, although not a kindly old lady, had on a few occasions shown him kindness in the form of treats. That such things like a macaroon had meant so much to him then was a wonder.
Annoyed by the interference of these thoughts, he firmly expelled them from his mind. Naval-gazing wasn't something he approved of. There was a task at hand and he had to complete it.
Before long, the carriage pulled over by a fine, whitewashed house with Doric pillars supporting a portico. Mr. Swallow exited first and Felix followed. A manservant was already opening the door for the visitors to the house. But an older man, a butler, approached behind him. "Lord Britheney, I presume. Mr. Andrew Sprite, head butler," the man said with the usual dull inflection and reverence of a servant.
"Yes. We are here to see Lady Wenstropp."
"She is waiting to receive you in the parlor, my lord," the man said. "Please follow me."
It was a finely appointed house, the main entrance painted white with green silk carpets running up the ornately carved stairs. Marble statues stood in alcoves along the wall, likely pieces that had come home with some young man's grand tour of Europe.
The doors to the parlor led to a bright room with pale pink silks covering the walls. They were announced to the lady that sat on a sofa at the far side of the large room. Her white hair had been elaborately done and she looked regal in her silk gown.
"Ah, Lord Britheney, what a pleasure. I knew your father quite some time ago. You can have your man go down to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a biscuit."
Felix felt Mr. Swallow bristle beside him. "Mr. Swallow is not my servant," Felix stated.
"Well, I am sure he will enjoy a biscuit all the same, Lord Britheney." The sharpness in her voice suggested there would be no alternative arrangement.
"But—" Mr. Swallow started, apparently not as used to ways of dragons.
"Perhaps it is for the best," Felix said quietly. The annoyance was clear on Mr. Swallow's face, being demoted to a mere servant. But if she had wanted to speak to him, she would have granted him an audience some time ago. "Forcing the issue will only put her back up."
Mr. Swallow eyed him for a moment, still upset at his position as the secretary of a very important fund being dismissed as inconsequential. With a huff, the man decided his wounded pride was not worth jeopardizing the reason they were there and followed the butler who was leading him down to the kitchen.
"A pleasure to have such distinguished company this afternoon. I understand you are recently returned from India," Lady Wenstropp said as he approached and bent to kiss her extended hand.
"That is correct." Truthfully, he had been gone so long, he didn't think anyone really remembered him. Spending time in society had never been high on his list of priorities.
"Poor Bernard. I was sorry to hear of his demise."
Frankly, not many who really knew him had been all that sorry when he'd died, and sadly, that included his sons. 'Poor Bernard' hadn't been a pleasant character.
"Such a handsome young man, he was," she said, lost in memories for a moment. "But he hardened, I think. Life was hard on him."
As hard as it got when you lived comfortably on a large estate with overflowing coffers. Like for many others, declining wealth had never been the problem of the Britheney line. What hardships Lady Wenstropp were referring to, Felix had no idea. Any hardships suffered by his father was of his own making.
"Some men are like that, they harden as they age. Do not be one of those men," she warned, considering him. "Very handsome too. And unmarried, I understand. We do so love a handsome, unmarried and titled man."
The turn of the conversation was making Felix uncomfortable. "I come today to speak about an important issue."
"Oh, I don't wish to speak of important issues today," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "This dismal weather gives me such headaches. Tea?"
Felix bit his cheek as he considered how to proceed. Pushing her might not be the best idea. It could be that she dug her heels in and would refuse to ever hear about their proposal. Searching his mind, he tried to think of the best way his grandmother had to be dealt with, but he had been a child at the time. Looking adorable had been the best way, but he was well beyond managing that now. A light touch was perhaps best. "I would welcome a cup."
"I suppose in India, you had the best teas at your fingertips. It's hard to get the very best quality. I send Mr. Sprite down to the tea merchants by the port to buy the best coming in before the flavor is dulled by countless warehouses."
Truthfully, he wasn't that invested in tea. Preferred the stronger taste of coffee and always had. He'd also learned to enjoy the stronger fl
avors of Indian spices. "Exceptional thinking, I am sure."
The woman smiled at the compliment as Felix knew she would, sizing her up as he would the opposing party in an important negotiation. Being successful at these things often came down to how well one understood the person standing in the way, and he was cataloging Lady Wenstropp.
"My cousin is throwing a ball next week, and it would be a pleasure to introduce you. Lord Wallings, takes quite an interest in the railway. And his daughter, Amanda. A beautiful creature."
This last sentence told him quite a bit. Firstly, Lady Wenstropp knew of their proposal and what it pertained to, even if she pretended not to. Secondly, she was trying to introduce her niece or grand-niece to him. Pursing his lips for a moment, he had to concede the shrewdness of the woman, because he couldn't very well say no, making one was contingent on the other. Well, he certainly wouldn't marry to secure this parcel of land, but he might have to go so far as to meet this girl of marriageable age.
Everything in him strained against it. Even as he knew he would eventually have to take a wife, the process of doing so, of venturing into society and dealing with people like Lady Wenstropp, was close to unbearable.
Perhaps he had become too uncivilized in his years across the seas, dealing only with bureaucrats, diplomats and military men—people who could generally be depended on to be efficient, to the point and utterly lacking beyond the most basic manners. That went for himself as well. Hadn't been to a ball since he'd been seventeen. There had always been invitations, even in India, but he'd never accepted any.
"It would be a pleasure," he said with a tight smile.
Chapter 4
“YOU WILL NEVER GUESS what I just heard,” Ester said, bursting into Sylvia’s bedroom, fiercely enough that Sylvia startled. “A man with a limp.”
It was astounding how hard it was to find a man with a limp when one sought one. And it didn't help that they mostly stood around in groups and talked, so it couldn't be seen if they limped or not.
There had been Lord Sunderstone, but he was very much in his dotage. The fortune could not refer to him, but for a moment, Sylvia had had to wonder if fate could be so cruel. Not that Lord Sunderstone wasn't a nice, old man. Or he seemed to be as he rarely spoke and didn't really hear when someone spoke to him.
"Lord Britheney his name is and he limps from a war injury.”
Was Ester now believing that the prophecy was real? For a while, she had been adamant that the woman was wrong. “I have never heard of a Lord Britheney.”
“He hasn’t been around for ages, I am told. Marjorie Dellham told me he has recently arrived from India after a long absence. Divinely handsome, she says. It must be him. It simply must. And he has dark hair.”
Sylvia didn’t know how to react to this. A dark-haired man with a limp happened to turn up in London a few days after the prediction she would meet such a man.
“It has to be fate,” Ester said.
“I thought you didn’t believe in this.”
“Well, I don’t. Clearly, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a quick look at him. She told me where he lives and it’s not far away.”
Sylvia’s feelings were so mixed she didn’t know what she thought. Obviously, she could barely contain her curiosity. The man she had been foretold of had suddenly appeared, and no one had ever heard of him before.
“Is it not curious?” Ester said, staring at her intently. “We must go see what he looks like.”
“We have no reason to call on him. We don’t know him, and apparently no one else does either.”
“No, of course not, but that doesn’t mean we can’t happen to see him coming out of his house.”
“So we’re going to go spy on him?” Sylvia asked with a snort and Ester shrugged.
“Aren’t you even curious to see the man that a prophecy says you will marry?”
Of course she was, but she was also a bit scared now. What if this prophecy was actually true and she would marry this stranger that had just appeared in town?
“Do we even know if he is who he says he is? He could be a complete imposter,” Sylvia said, but recognized that her logic was flimsy at best. “Alright, fine, but only briefly.”
Ester shot up from the bed. Now she was excited about this prophecy, while her own was completely fabricated. How could she manage such paradoxical views on the same thing?
Coats were needed for the bracing chill outside, and as they walked, Sylvia wasn’t convinced this was a good idea. In fact, she was nervous, and she didn’t understand why. It only took about ten minutes’ walk to get there, arriving in a green square with a reasonable sized park in the middle. A very nice neighbourhood.
“Come,” Ester said, drawing her over to some pruned rose bushes.
“What possible reason have we for standing here?”
“We’re discussing pruning, of course. His house is over there. Isn’t it grand?”
Looking over, Sylvia sighed. It was a grand house. It took up most of that side of the square.
“Apparently he has a sizeable estate in the country with a very handsome income, or so Penelope says.”
“Penelope? Is everyone talking about this man’s arrival?”
“Well, it’s hardly surprising. Handsome man, unmarried. People are beside themselves. Penny did say something about her mother not approving, but I didn’t really catch it.”
“What could Penny’s mother know about him?”
“Well, that’s the thing. As far as I know, this Lord Britheney has never been around, so I don’t know what they are talking about. Maybe there was some scandal that had made him flee the country, but I don’t know of any. His brother inherited the title initially, but died. He bought a commission as you would expect of a second son,” Ester said.
The poor man had only just arrived and his entire existence was being scrutinized and analysed by the whole town.
“There he is,” Ester said with a gasp. They quickly stepped behind an evergreen bush, more out of instinct than on purpose. His hair was dark and he walked down the steps toward a carriage that was just coming around the corner. His steps had a distinct limp, so that part was true. “Isn’t he handsome?”
Yes, he was, Sylvia had to admit. His expression was serious, as if he wasn’t pleased about going wherever it was he was heading to. A black jacket and dark breeches. There was definitely a notion of darkness about him.
As the carriage approached, they lost sight of him and he left with it.
“What do you think?” Ester asked.
“I think we look like ninnies standing here hiding in a bush. That’s what I think.” Sylvia couldn’t believe she had let Ester talk her into spying on this man. As to the man himself, she didn’t know what to think. Her mind refused to acknowledge him in any meaningful capacity. Could it be that this man was to be her husband?
It was such a ludicrous notion, it didn’t bear thinking about. What she did know was that she felt inordinately silly being there—maybe even embarrassed, but it was her curiosity that had driven her there.
It was the strangest thing, it being suggested that you were to marry a complete stranger. It just felt wrong.
*
In front of them, dancers were taking their places for the impromptu dancing that was starting at Lord Walling’s late afternoon soiree. In reality, it was his cousin, Lady Wenstropp, who organized the afternoon. It was a little impromptu as well, but they had received invitations and the lady was not one to refuse invitations from. Not that Sylvia knew her well, but she was one of the ladies that decided what invitations were sent to some of the more important balls that occurred later in the season. So when Lady Wenstropp sent out invitations at short notice, it was worth it to make an effort.
Ester had to rush as Tobias Hartman was claiming a dance with her. As for herself, Sylvia had kept away from any impromptu dancing—at least as much as she could get away with without being downright rude. Most appeals had been successfully foiled by her supposed
sore ankle.
Ester however was accepting any and all—in case that prophesied man should appear and fall instantly in love with her. Hedging her bets, some would say, because she was still hopeful that Marcus would notice her, even as he seemed quite entranced by Miss Calderton, who was the belle of the ball with her bouncing blond hair and curvaceous form. Sylvia could see her over on the other side of the room, surrounded by men, including Andrew and Marcus. Sometimes, she wondered if they gathered somewhere simply because everyone else did. Miss Calderton was pretty, and certainly enjoying the attention, but she was not really the kind of girl Andrew liked. Still, he was there with all the others.
"Miss Bellworth, so lovely to see you tonight," Lady Thornton said beside her and Sylvia smiled at her mother's friend. "Don't you look marvelous. Quite like your mother in her day. I was sorry to hear she has come down with a chill. Nothing serious, I hope."
"No, just a cold, I think. Papa is pampering her."
"I am sure he is. I haven't seen you dance tonight."
"I am keeping my dance card clear."
"Excellent idea. It always serves to have an air of mystery."
It wasn't the reason, but it wasn't worth explaining either. Lady Thornton would absolutely not approve of them sneaking off to consult some fortune reader in Vauxhall Gardens. Or giving the woman's prediction any consideration.
At the end of the ballroom, manservants announced a new arrival. "Lord Britheney," the man called and Lady Thornton immediately stopped talking and turned. Sylvia followed her gaze to the door, trying to hide her shock.
A dark-haired man they had spied on just a few days earlier appeared, sullenly surveying the room, and he leaned slightly on a cane. How was it he was there? Was he the reason for the short notice of this afternoon’s entertainment?
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