Damned brandy.
Soberly, he lifted a finger. “And here’s what you’re going to do,” he stated firmly. “You’re going to accept his offer of a ride in the park, and you’re going to pretend we never spoke.”
“Well, of course,” she replied, her eyes darting left and right before she pushed his still-lifted finger from in front of her face. “Are you... foxed?”
He seemed oblivious to her query. “You will not speak of this conversation with Mother or Father.”
“Of course not,” she agreed, her heart pounding hard.
“And you’re going to give me your pin money for a month to cover my matchmaking fee,” he added.
“A month?” she countered. “I’ll give you six months’ worth!”
Gabe wasn’t prepared for what she did next, for he was nearly bowled over when she launched herself from her chair, bent down, and hugged him harder than even their mother had done earlier that day. “I was joking about the matchmaking fee,” he murmured, belatedly returning her awkward hug.
He finally pulled away and regarded her brilliant smile. “He’s the very opposite of a rogue. Don’t you dare do anything to... embarrass him. Or me,” he warned. “And don’t you dare say anything to Lady Angelica or to Mother.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
“And while you’re pretending you don’t know anything of what I’ve told you under extreme duress and the influence of White’s best brandy, do try to act a bit... demure in his presence, won’t you?”
Anne’s eyes instantly widened, taking on the appearance of the eyes of a doe he had nearly shot with an arrow the year before. Never mind that hers were cornflower blue and the doe’s had been brown. “I am usually demure,” she said in a quiet voice. “I excel at demureness.”
A most unpleasant sound emanated from him just then. “Not when you’re determined to marry,” he argued.
Blinking a few times, Anne finally allowed a nod. “True,” she murmured, remembering how she had been putting voice to her desire to marry far more often these days.
Gabe narrowed his eyes. “What’s really going on here, Anne?” he asked in a quiet voice. “I could understand this kind of behavior if you had been out for a few Seasons and you didn’t have any marriage prospects, but... you haven’t even made your come-out—”
“I don’t wish to.”
Despite how the room had started spinning, he straightened in the chair. “What?”
“I don’t want to. To have a Season.”
Blinking much like she had done, Gabe dropped his head onto a hand, rather glad his elbow had taken purchase on the arm of the chair to support it. “From my experience, and I do have just a few years of it, every young lady in London wants at least one Season. Most want two or three,” he argued. “Even after they marry, women seem to live for the Season.”
“But I do not,” she replied quietly. “I don’t want the petty jealousies over who has the finest gowns, or be the subject of endless gossip and ridiculous rumors, or to suffer the pretentiousness of chits who claim to be friends but then turn around and stab me in the back.”
Gabe stared at her. “You’re awfully critical of your sex.” Then his brow furrowed and he inhaled sharply. “Is this because I am a bastard?”
Anne shook her head. “What? No. That isn’t it at all,” she replied, annoyance tingeing her voice. “You have Father’s name. Our parents have been married since before you could walk,” she reminded him. “You could have your pick of just about any young lady in the ton,” she went on. “Including Lady Angelica.”
He shook his head. “She’s already spoken for,” he countered, and then when he saw her look of shock, he rolled his eyes. “Damned brandy,” he muttered. “You did not hear that from me.”
“Did Hexham tell you that?”
Gabe’s eyes darted to one side. “I’m not saying anything else,” he said. “Except that I will not be marrying Lady Angelica. And I really don’t wish to.”
Anne settled onto the chair adjacent to his. “I was sure you felt affection for her,” she whispered.
His head dipping—his supporting hand seemed to have disappeared—Gabe allowed a sigh. “At one time, I did,” he admitted. “But... that was before I went to university. Before I had the opportunity to meet other people. Before I started my work at the museum. Before I learned there was a much larger world outside of the aristocracy,” he explained. “Mother’s world,” he added in an exaggerated whisper.
He was definitely drunk.
Inhaling softly, Anne understood some of what he was saying, even though she had only been away from home for a year of finishing school. “So you can understand why it is I don’t wish to have a Season.”
Gabe allowed a chuckle. “I do,” he murmured. He didn’t, really, but thought he might after he had a night to sleep on it.
He doubted he would even remember this conversation come morning.
“I should probably tell Mother,” she whispered. “Maybe over breakfast.”
“You’ll still have to go before the queen,” he warned, thinking that might be another reason why she didn’t wish to have a Season.
“I will. Gladly. Especially since I’ll be marrying a future earl,” she said as she displayed a brilliant smile. “Thank you for what you did for me tonight.”
Gabe frowned. “Don’t thank me, Sister. It was all the fault of the brandy.”
Anne stood up and gave him a quick curtsy, annoyed when he stayed slouched in the chair. “Oh, don’t get up on my account. I’m only off to bed,” she teased, just before she hurried out of the parlor.
Gabe heard her slippered feet padding up the marble stairs, and he contemplated heading to his own bedchamber. He was about to attempt it when he realized he wasn’t alone.
“If she doesn’t give you six months of pin money, then I certainly shall,” Trenton said from where he was sitting in the dark, close to the parlor’s only window.
“Father?” Gabe whispered, startled. He straightened in his chair and found the earl staring at him from over the top edge of a settee arranged so it faced the window. “How long—?”
“Since before you arrived,” Trenton said on a sigh. He stood up from the settee and made his way to where Gabe sat, a glass of brandy in one hand and a book in the other. Although he wore a pair of dark breeches and a shirt, the shirt’s button was undone, and he was barefoot. Gabe wasn’t sure he had ever seen his father in such a disheveled state.
“Then you heard... everything,” Gabe said, his mind racing to replay the conversation with his sister in his head. Although racing wasn’t quite right. His thoughts seemed to move at a turtle’s pace.
“I did. A masterful plan you hatched.”
“I didn’t plan anything,” Gabe replied. “It just sort of... happened.” He gave his father an assessing glance. “Did something happen with mother?”
Trenton allowed a brilliant grin. “That, my son, is none of your business. Suffice it to say, she is sound asleep with a smile on her face, and I would be as well, but I think I napped too long in the coach this morning.” He lifted his glass. “Thought a book and a brandy might help.”
Gabe allowed a grin. “So... if Hexham pays a call—?”
“I will welcome him, ply him with my best brandy, and hand over a cheque for your sister’s dowry,” he replied with a chuckle. He sobered. “He would be an excellent match for Anne, although I have to admit I am surprised he would consider marriage at his age. He’s younger than you, if only by a few months.”
“I wondered the same,” Gabe admitted, sobering a bit. “But he’s determined not to follow in the same footsteps as his father.”
Trenton nodded. “And you? Sounds as if you won’t be seeking a wife at any of the balls this Season.”
Gabe gave a shrug. “I think I shall wait for one to find me,” he said with a grin. “Let her chase me ’til I catch her.”
Trenton nodded his understanding, suppressing the grin that touc
hed his lips at hearing his son’s comment. “Well, I’m off to bed. I’ve left your mother alone too long.”
When Gabe’s brows rose in surprise, Trenton chuckled. “I promised to keep the bed warm.” And with that, he took his leave of the parlor, and made his way up the marble stairs.
Left alone, Gabe pondered the evening’s events, and he, too, would have climbed the stairs to his bedchamber, but he was sound asleep before he could stand up from the chair.
Chapter 19
Two Letters
Meanwhile, at Bradford Hall
Ben took a seat at the desk in his study and unfolded the two letters he had received nearly a week ago.
To say it had been a surprise to hear from his godfather, Milton, Earl of Torrington, would have been an understatement, except that he had opened and read one from his brother, Benedict, Earl of Wadsworth, just the moment before, and was therefore prepared for the older earl’s letter.
Remembering how he had reacted then had him feeling rather embarrassed. He had cursed his godfather, yelled an obscenity in the direction of the ceiling, thrown a pen across the room, kicked his desk, and decided he wouldn’t have anything to do with his brother for the rest of his life.
Now... now he understood.
He reread the letters and gave his head a shake, deciding perhaps his brother wasn’t a gap stopper.
Dear Ben (or Sir Benjamin, I should say),
I hope this letter finds you settled in your new home and happy with life in London. I know you will be once the telescope is installed and you’re spending your nights stargazing again.
I hope your days might be spent in pursuit of what I have been unable to achieve.
I know this will come as no surprise to you, but I have given up hope of ever siring an heir. The issue has proven to be a point of contention with Sylvia, and I have lost her and her good graces, perhaps for the rest of our lives.
Therefore, my dear brother, it falls on you to carry on the Wadsworth title once I am in the grave.
Knowing you are unfamiliar with London and the Season and all that is expected of an aristocrat, I made sure the house I purchased on your behalf is next door to one in which a young lady of impeccable credentials lives with her twin brother. Their parents, the Earl and Countess of Torrington, are of an age when they no longer wish to pursue the entertainments of London but are satisfied with a life in the country. They do want their daughter married, however. And they would like her to remain close in proximity to her brother, at least until he has secured a wife.
I have been in contact with Lord Torrington on the matter, and he assures me he will write to you with an offer.
Do not groan, brother. Do not curse me (although I am quite sure I will hear it all the way here in Suffolk when you do read this), for I am doing you a Favour.
Marriage to Lady Angelica will provide you with a dowry on which you two—and your children—can live more than comfortably for the rest of your lives and still provide her with security for when you, too, are in the grave. My daughters’ dowries, which I expect to have to begin doling out in a few years, will not allow me to support you in the manner you have come to expect, and you deserve to live a life beyond your new dome and modest income.
Having been introduced to the young lady, I can assure you she is a beautiful creature. Your children will be handsome, and they will suffer the attentions of two sets of doting grandparents.
I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the matter, but please do not put pen to paper until after you have had a chance to meet the young lady. You may decide she is a better companion than your beloved Venus.
Your brother,
Benedict
The letter from Milton, Earl of Grandby, was far more succinct.
Dear Sir Benjamin,
Congratulations on your recent knighthood. I should think your discovery of a new comet will eventually make you a Fellow in the Royal Society. Even though I am your godfather, I cannot take credit for having anything to do with your accomplishment; however, I do have bragging rights, do I not?
I understand from your brother (and another of my godsons) that you or your issue will be expected to take on the Wadsworth earldom upon his death.
May I suggest you do so with my daughter, Angelica, at your side? I do not make this offer lightly, for she is my pride and joy. Given my age at the time she was born, I never thought to see her married. In fact, I have spent the past three years denying permission to those who wished to court her.
I denied them not because they were lacking in excellent lineage or good fortune, but because they would not have been a good fit for a girl raised with a twin brother. Nor for a young woman who is both curious and educated. She requires a husband who is the same.
I believe that gentleman may be you. Even if you eschew your duties as an earl, Lady Angelica will make an excellent countess.
I look forward to your favourable reply,
Torrington
Post scriptum
I neglected to mention my daughter comes with a dowry. Should you wish to build another observatory or buy a larger telescope, be assured you will be able to do so. Angelica will no doubt wish to join you in your pursuit of your next discovery.
Ben settled back in his chair. No longer of a mind to curse, he could still feel a sting of annoyance at what had been arranged without his knowledge.
Without his permission.
Had Lady Angelica been apprised? Is that why she had paid him a call this evening? Wearing only her nightclothes, no less?
Her verbal lashing of him suggested otherwise.
Once more, a grin raised the corners of his lips. He decided he would do nothing more than wait and discover what he could of his future wife.
Future wife?
He rolled his eyes and wondered how she would react when she learned what had been arranged on her behalf—if she didn’t already know.
Would she put voice to a curse? Throw a vase? Stomp her feet and clench her hands into fists? Punch someone?
Perhaps.
But he hoped not. He rather enjoyed her kiss.
Chapter 20
An Invitation to Ride
The following morning
Angelica breezed into the breakfast parlor, surprised to find her brother already there. His nearly empty plate seemed forgotten, his attention not on that morning’s edition of The Times, but on a sheet of stationery. The scratch of an ink pen on the fine paper was the only sound in the parlor.
“You’re writing a letter during breakfast?” she asked as she helped herself to a plate and filled it with coddled eggs, toast, a slice of ham, and bread rolls.
George had frequently teased her about how much she ate in the mornings—their mother rarely ate more than toast and a single egg with her morning tea—claiming she would end up more than pleasantly plump. Despite years of large breakfasts and several biscuits at tea time, Angelica still displayed a fine figure and long limbs that had her standing taller than most women of her age.
George had stopped teasing her when he tired of being punched in the arm.
“An invitation to a young lady for a ride in the park,” he murmured as he signed his name. He held out the sheet and reread it to himself, hoping it wouldn’t seem presumptuous. “How does this sound?” He cleared his throat as Angelica quickly took her seat. A footman poured a cup of coffee for her and left the breakfast parlor.
“Dear Lady Anne,
“Just yesterday, I learned you have arrived back in town, as have I. Even though a parade is not expected in Rotten Row this afternoon due to the snow that fell last night, I wondered if you might join me for a ride, perhaps a bit earlier in the afternoon, in the hopes it would be warmer? My horse could use the exercise and I the fresh air. I could call upon you at three o’clock.
“I look forward to your reply,
“George Grandby, Viscount Hexham.”
He looked up from the note to find his sister regarding him with a look of sho
ck. “What is it? Too long? Too short?”
“You truly wish to court Lady Anne?” she asked, ignoring his other questions.
He straightened at the table. “Do you know something about her I should know?” he countered.
Angelica shook her head. “No. Other than she would make you a fine wife, and me a grateful sister,” she replied, a brilliant smile replacing her look of shock. “Have you seen her since that day in the park?” she asked, her question sounding as if she was accusing him of hiding something from her.
“I have not,” he replied defensively. “When would I have had the chance? We left for Torrington Park only a few days after that ride.” He dipped his head. “That’s not exactly true.”
Her ham-filled fork stopped halfway to her mouth, Angelica stared at her brother. “Wot?”
He sighed. “I saw her. Yesterday. She was riding in a barouche that passed by the house when we first arrived,” he explained.
“Did you... wave at her?”
George shook his head. “Should I have?”
Angelica rolled her eyes, and tucked into her breakfast. “It’s too late now,” she murmured, a teasing grin lifting the corners of her mouth. She enjoyed seeing her brother so bothered. He was too young to behave as a staid, stuffy aristocrat, as much as he wanted to put on airs that he was. She was determined to keep him humble. “If you have any hope of receiving a reply to your invitation before this afternoon, then I suggest you have a footman deliver that note right now,” she added.
“You don’t think it needs a bit of... of editing?”
“Probably, but it will do fine,” she assured him. “When did you decide you wished to marry?”
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