Heartbreak and Honor (9 page)

Several gave her friendly smiles, but the elderly housekeeper glowered at Harrison then at Minerva as the staff obediently filed from the entryway.

Interesting. It appeared everything was not affable at Wedderford Abbey.

“I’m sure you would welcome a spot to eat. Come along. Squires, please have tea and sweets brought round to the drawing room.” Before the butler acknowledged Minerva’s request, she looped one arm through Alexa’s, the other through Shona’s, and propelled them the hall’s stretch, leaving Alexa’s family to follow at their own pace.

Alexa glanced behind her as her stepmother towed her, willy-nilly, along. Aunt Bridget spoke quietly to Uncle Hugo, and poor Katrina, looking anything but pleased, reluctantly took the elbow Harrison extended.

Alexa tried not to gawk at the ostentatious display of wealth, from the gilded paintings covering practically every inch of the silk covered walls, to the assortment of marble-topped tables, Empire style chairs, lamps, vases, and valuable whatnots lining the corridor.

“Mrs. Eades has your chamber prepared.” Forced enthusiasm tinged Minerva’s voice. “Such a lovely room, too, in different shades of yellows. You’ll quite like it, I’m sure.”

Alexa opened her mouth to thank Minerva, but her stepmother prattled on.

“Do you prefer a tray in your chamber, or will you come below to break your fast? If I remember correctly, you’re quite fond of marmalade and stovies. Do you favor tea or chocolate in the morning? Or coffee, perhaps? I do hope you are partial to cats. We have three. They’re prowling around somewhere in the house. Your luggage will be taken above stairs and unpack—”

“That’s most kind of you, but we won’t be staying long, just a day or two.” Gracious, the woman carried on an entire conversation by herself.

“Oh? Whyever not?” Confusion creased Minerva’s brow.

Alexa hurried to explain. “Aunt Bridget is anxious to return to London and begin preparations for the Season.”

“Mother says we shall both have our come-outs this year. I was . . .
unwell
last winter, and prior to that, I was too timid. But with your company, I do believe I shall get on famously.” Shona gave Alexa a shy smile. They reached the floral drawing room’s entrance, and Shona slid her uncle a wary look. “He insists at your age, you must find a suitable husband at once.”

Alexa forced an affable curving of her lips. Planning her future, were they? They’d best prepare for a rather abrupt upset then. She had no intentions of abdicating her newfound independence for the constraints of matrimony and submitting to a husband’s will just yet.

“I’m afraid I’ve no intention of seeking a husband for some time.”

Eyes widened in disbelief, Shona sent her uncle another furtive glance then bent toward Alexa. “Oh, but you must. Uncle Harrison has already contacted several eligible gentlemen on your behalf.” She lowered her voice. “Though, it’s supposed to be a secret.”

Not anymore.

“That’s quite enough, dear.” A chagrined flush swept Minerva’s cheeks as she ushered them into the grand drawing room. “She does get things confused sometimes.”

Shona’s formed a petulant pout. “But, Mama, don’t you remember? Uncle said at supper last evening he’d already received an acceptable offer for Alexandra’s hand.”

Chapter 10

My God, how many husband-hunting women did his mother and sister know?

Lucan took a gulp of coffee, and burning his tongue for the second time in five minutes, swore. Perusing the paper Genny handed him a moment ago, he pushed aside his plate of hot eggs and ham, his need for food having flown.

What he did need, however, was a lady of breeding and quality, and more on point, one with whom he could anticipate an amiable future for several decades.

Fidelity would be a nice bonus. The latter might prove to be the more difficult of the qualifications he required. He hoped his family would accept his chosen bride and that she would mesh well with them. If they adored her, so much the better. If not . . .

He mentally shrugged. He’d have to make sure he selected someone they got on well with or keep them apart. Not an ideal arrangement.

Tibbs’s clanging around at the sideboard echoed the cacophony of thoughts jarring in Lucan’s head. Commitment prodding him, he ran his forefinger down the list of eligible misses the meddling females in his family contrived with the force and speed of an avalanche once Mother’s health crisis passed.

She’d made a most miraculous recovery in the past ten days; so much so, he might have become suspicious if he hadn’t spoken to the doctor himself. However, she would never again be well, and the knowledge pricked annoyingly, like a thorn in his arse.

Sending Lucan a sympathetic glance, his brother-in-law took his customary place at the table. Lord Montgomery sniffed appreciatively as he placed two sausages on his plate, followed by a mound of scrambled eggs, a slice of ham, and a piece of toast.

“Are you quite sure you didn’t forget anyone?” Lucan shook the list.

Genny chuckled naughtily and tapped the foolscap before taking a seat and spreading her serviette.

“Those are suggestions to help you get started, Lucan. Mother and I wrote a few close friends to see if there are any more eligible women on the social scene we’re not acquainted with.”

“Wrote more than a few, old chap. My deepest condolences,” Montgomery muttered as he chewed a bite of buttery toast. “Had my fill of damsels contriving to become my countess. Sorely glad it’s you and not me this go round.”

“Hush, darling.” Genny waved him silent with a vague flutter of her ringed fingers, her attention lingering on Lucan. “We’ve already received a couple of responses, and I’ve added their names.”

There are more
?

“Tea, Miss Genevieve?” Tibbs pattered to her chair, holding the tea and coffee pots at precarious angles.

Lucan held his breath as the wavering butler prepared to pour the hot beverage.

“Leave the pots, please, Tibbs. I can pour for Lord Montgomery.” She bestowed a brilliant smile upon the butler. “I’m ravenous this morning and shall require several cups of tea while breaking my fast.”

Well played, Genny.

“She’s always owned to quite an appetite in the morning,” Montgomery said between mouthfuls.

Lucan hid a grin at his brother-in-law’s double entendre.

“Complaining, darling?” Genny poured her husband’s coffee then added two lumps of sugar while giving him a sensual smile.

Spearing a sausage, Montgomery grinned. “Not at all.”

She peered around the table. “I would dearly love some marmalade, Tibbs.”

“
At once, Miss Genevieve.” Tibbs had never quite become accustomed to Genny’s or Lucan’s status as adults. “Young sir, do you require anything from the kitchen while I’m there?”

Searching the neatly scribbled rows for names of ladies he might know, Lucan glanced up. “No, thank you.”

Not unless you can find an acceptable wife in the larder. Gently bred, well-mannered, above reproach, and from good stock.

The butler pushed his new spectacles to the bridge of his nose and puttered to the door. The apparatuses might well be more of a hazard than the old man’s poor eyesight.

A playful glint sparked in Genny’s eyes. “Mother and I shall put our heads together and produce more candidates. I shall send them along—”

“No, no”—
God, no
—“send a note round, and I shall come to Chattsworth Park.” Lucan scrubbed his hand through his hair while counting the neatly penned names. He glanced up for a moment again. “If the roads are passable, I intend to visit often. I would be remiss in not checking on Mama.”

He finished counting.

Eighty-nine
?
And they have more
?

Glaring at the list, he slumped in his chair.

Holy, bloody hell.

“I can send you updates about her health,” Ginny offered, teacup poised at her lips. “So you don’t lose a single moment in your pursuit.”

“Stubble it, Gen.”
Eighty-nine
? He would need months, not weeks to do the list justice.

Montgomery released a devilish chuckle.

A dish of marmalade in one hand, Tibbs shuffled into the breakfast room, holding his eyeglasses in place with his other. He had reluctantly accepted the eyewear but steadfastly refused false teeth. Claimed they looked peculiar. Had the man viewed himself in a looking glass of late?

“The coach is ready, and your bags are aboard, young sir.”

“Thank you, Tibbs. Please tell the driver I shall be out momentarily.” After folding the list, Lucan tucked it inside his coat and stood.

Genny leaned over and placed her hand on his arm, her earlier bantering demeanor absent. “You were generous to promise to marry, but I worry you’re sacrificing your happiness for Mama’s.”

“If it extends her life, it’s worth it, I think.” He bent and gave her a brief hug then tweaked her nose. She hated her nose’s slight hump.

“Stop that.” She swatted at his hand before growing serious once more, concern darkening her eyes to pewter. “Marriage is forever, Lucan. With the right person, it can bring untold joy, but with the wrong one . . .”

Even when you think you’ve found the ideal person, they might betray you.

Mother had worshiped Father. To what end? His sire’s duplicity left a cynical chink in Lucan’s heart and a lingering stench more putrid than fish—green and rotting, in the August sun—permanently in his nostrils as well. If Montgomery ever stepped out on his sister, Lucan would kill him.

“You’ll have to trust me to make a brilliant match, then, won’t you?” He didn’t hold hope of that, truth to tell, but Genny needn’t know that.

“She’s right, you know, Harcourt.” Pausing in cutting a bite of ham, Montgomery raised his knife. “Leg shackle yourself to the wrong woman, and you’ll endure heartache and misery for the rest of your life. I’d advise you to take your time. I did, and look how I’ve been blessed.”

The heated look he leveled Genny could have melted butter.

She flushed and busied herself spreading marmalade on her muffin.

Would Lucan ever look at a woman like that?

“Well, only the Little Season is in session, so although the list seems daunting,” Genny pointed at his coat with her knife tip, “likely you’ll find a more manageable portion of ladies present.”

Montgomery stood and extended his hand. “We shall stay until Winifred fully recovers, so don’t worry yourself in that regard. We’ll make sure Jeremy is well-cared for as well.”

“Thank you. That relieves my mind greatly.” Lucan shook Montgomery’s hand then kissed the cheek Genny angled upward. “I bade Mother and Jeremy farewell last night. I didn’t want to wake them this morning. I did speak to James and Arthur earlier, however.”

Using the corner of her serviette, Genny dabbed her mouth and nodded. The curls framing her face bounced with the motion. “Jeremy’s new assistants have adapted to their duties well. I pray, with them about, he ceases making unsolicited sojourns to Aldecot.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Since hiring extra hands to monitor the estate, there’d been no more mysterious mishaps. Lucan gave a short bow then turned toward the door. “Wish me luck. I’m off to London to find a duchess before Christmastide.”

Placing his booted feet atop his London townhouse desk, Lucan tilted his chair back. He perused the list of possible future Duchesses of Harcourt and permitted his upper lip to twist in derision. The eligible ladies populated London faster than rabbits or mice.

True to her word, Genny sent missives, almost daily, reporting Mother’s health, Jeremy’s activities, the antics of her daughters, and other tittle tattle she imagined he might find amusing. She also revealed that Renishaw had departed Aldecot Vale, but Genny didn’t know where he’d got to.

The fires of Hades, with luck.

For various reasons, Lucan had already crossed twenty names from the bride list, including two who eloped, one who broke into hysterics and then fainted when she’d been introduced, a widow who’d eyed him like a famished tiger, and another who outweighed him by a good five stone and growled when he suggested they might stroll about the veranda.

Truly terrifying, that one.

The four giggling misses scarcely out of the schoolroom wouldn’t do. Three more ladies boasted new betrothals, another had decided all males were toads, and while he strove to act the gentleman and make every women feel attractive, Miss Blankenship’s thick mustache and eyebrows would benefit from a dose of feminine attention. Perhaps she claimed kinship to the Blackhalls.

In any event, he needed to decide which assemblies to put in an appearance at this evening and which young women he’d direct his attention to. He blew out a long breath and studied the list.

Why, in God’s blessed name, had he promised Mother he’d find a wife by Christmas? The task might prove beyond him, and now his honor demanded he keep his word, which meant he might have to settle for a less than ideal candidate.

According to Genny, Mother had already begun preparations for a house party during the holiday, devil it. She should be relaxing and concentrating on getting well, not poring over menus, selecting greeneries, making a guest list, and whatever else went into putting together a lavish Christmas affair.

He considered tightening the purse strings but knew damn well, in the end, she’d find another way to get what she wanted. That trait he’d inherited from her.

Busy pursuing possible brides, Lucan had neglected to retain a mistress. No point now. He’d have to dismiss her in a few weeks. He would be faithful to his wife, which made it even more imperative bedding her wouldn’t be objectionable.

A violet-eyed, gold-flecked gaze popped to mind.

Oh, the gypsy lass stirred his blood; fine, set it to boiling with want, but one didn’t take a gypsy traveller to wife, expressly not a hot-tempered, untamed one. The shock would stop Mother’s heart cold, send Genny into an apoplexy, and turn the
ton
on its rear.

He’d rather enjoy the latter.

Lucan sighed again and eyed the stack of beribboned parchments atop his desk. Word had circulated on the Marriage Mart thicker and faster than bees to spring blossoms that he sought a wife, and although the official Season hadn’t started, invitations and callers inundated him daily.

He focused on the next five women listed.

Elizabeth Beeton-second daughter of the Dowager Viscountess Beeton. Large dowry, well-educated, a long meg.

Juliette Maddox-The Marquis of Craythorne’s youngest sister. Musically talented, decent dowry, speaks three languages, lisps.

Ursula Amberly-sister to the Duchess of Dunnaby. Bluestocking, bequeathed Rushford Hall, dabbles in writing poetry, one thousand pounds guaranteed annually.

The Honorable Alexandra Atterberry, heiress. (??? Newly arrived in England.)

Margaret Reddington-Vicar Reddington’s only child. Intelligent, lovely singing voice, pittance of a dowry, fond of confections.

Genny’s polite way of saying the chit boasted chubby cheeks and undoubtedly, chubbier thighs.

The ladies’ credentials didn’t mean a fig to Lucan. Besides, he didn’t know a single one. They must all be debutantes, which meant they would be young and silly. And giggly. God, how he’d come to cringe upon hearing high-pitched female tittering.

Alexandra Atterberry’s name drew his gaze once again. Likely a widow as she bore a title.

He gave a sideways smile.

No list of glowing attributes for her? Maybe she didn’t have any, other than being female of a marriageable age. Or perhaps, this Atterberry woman was one of the ladies Genny and Mother hadn’t met, thus the question marks. No doubt Mother believed
heiress
a sufficient qualification.

Considering how she’d adored Father and believed in love matches, her marked attention to procuring a high-born spouse surprised him. But then, Mother seldom flaunted propriety and appearances. To do so, invited the gossipmongers’ unwanted attentions, and she’d spent a lifetime avoiding the wagchins’ censure.

Houston entered the study bearing the post, amongst which peeked several additional invitations. “Where shall I put these, Your Grace? With the others?”

Lucan nodded and stifled a groan. At least ten more wax-sealed, wife-enticing invites. Too bad the clock hadn’t struck noon, so he might indulge in a finger’s worth of brandy. Might it be acceptable if he poured a draught directly in his tepid coffee?