Marriage to a Mister (A Daughters of Regency #1) (2 page)

MATCHMAKING FATHERS

Julian Osborne, the Duke of Norfield, sat in his library, his head in his hands and elbows propped upon his desk. His eyes pinched closed against the glare of the sun as it reflected on polished wood walls. He willed the throbbing to cease, he even demanded it, but his body refused him.

He groaned in defeat, laying his head upon his desk, deciding he would benefit from a swift beheading, when Baines laid the rest of the day's correspondence in front of him.
 

"Your letters, your grace."

Julian raised his head, his dignity demanding it. "I ordered Craigs to not admit anyone. Is he daft? Letting in that foppish Hamilton. The fool repeatedly asked me if Lady Fleur's engagement was settled like some lovesick puppy, nearly weeping all over me before I tossed him out. I cannot fathom what on earth made him think she was engaged. Damned fool."

"I believe Craigs will follow your orders from now on, your grace, considering he was almost run over roughshod by the young man when he made his escape. You were less than subtle with your censure."

 
"Not the calm and patient whelp I once was, eh, Baines?" Julian asked, raising his hand to smooth down his neatly trimmed beard.

"I would never say so, your grace," said Baines with a long, amused look.
 

Julian grinned and tugged on his shirt sleeves to straighten his appearance. "No, I suppose you wouldn't, lest you find yourself out on your ear."

"After forty years of loyal service I doubt you would do something so cruel to this old man."

"Old man," Julian whispered. "Are we really so old, Baines?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

Julian could not fault his answer. His own hair was not so dark as it once was, the grey at his temples and beard glistening in the sunlight, the fine lines around his dark eyes increasing as he smiled at the man who had been his valet, and then his steward, his strongest ally since he inherited his duties at the age of fourteen.

"You're getting mischievous in your declining years, Baines. Shall I alert Lady Julia that she has another cohort in the household?"

"I would never presume to give a duke, especially the Duke of Norfield, any sort of mischief, milord. As to the other, please spare both you and I the trouble. Lady Julia has many spies and compatriots in the household. I do not wish to be added to her ranks."
 

Julian laughed, running his fingers through his hair before rubbing his eyes. "It's true, instead of using her come-out to find herself a husband, my youngest daughter has been devious as ever, purposely ignoring the entire production of these seasons, to give her a chance to find a suitable match."

"Was not it you, your grace, who turned down at least two of her suiters in the last week alone?" Baines asked. "And that's two less than you've rejected for Lady Fleur, if my count is correct. The young men about town are beginning to call you 'The Tyrant'."

"The Tyrant?" Julian shouted, whipping his head to meet Baines' eyes and regretting the action instantly when his head swam and his stomach churned. He supposed he had been a little harsh on the last boy, but really, the man was an idiot. Rambling on and on like that, daring to weep like a child. How could he ever entrust such a man to take over the care of his precious daughter?

"If having a name such as 'The Tyrant' scares unsuitable young men away from my daughters, so be it. I'll not allow them to marry fortune hunters or useless, brainless young men that can neither provide for nor protect them."

"Wasn't the last gentleman heir to the Bransford Earldom? I dare say he would have been able to provide for Lady Fleur admirably."

"Hamilton? No, no, he would never do, complete fool that one. Lord Blackburn would never let me live it down if I acquired a dandy for a son-in-law."
 

Baines raised his brow and cleared his throat, an action Julian knew to mean he did not agree. "If you say so, your grace," he replied, simply.

Feeling his headache worsen, he gently returned his head to the desk, basking in relief from the cool wood against his brow when an insistent knock came at the door followed by the blustering entrance of his friend Charles Woolf, the Earl of Blackburn.

"Norfield!" boomed the earl, followed by the crash of a slamming door. "We need to... what in the dickens are you doing?"
 

Julian raised his head hastily, trying, for all intents and purposes, to look like he had not been slobbering on his desk only moments before. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked, trying to keep his head still, his voice low and menacing. Which was harder than it looked when it was all he could do not to ask Charles why he was carrying a serving tray. "I'm resting. What do you want?"

"Resting? I'm absolutely aghast that you could rest at a time like this. And did you know your new man tried to put me off at the door? Fleur had to come to my rescue when he would not allow me to enter." The earl motioned widely with the tray, and the drink overflowed the glass.

Baines made his way forward from the corner of the room, taking the drink from the earl before he could spill again. He set it on the desk in front of the duke.
 

Julian gave him a thankful look and waved him off, gently dismissing him.

He gaze found Charles as Baines left the room. "Blackburn, you are rambling again. As for the other, that's what servants do, they follow orders," Julian said, his sarcasm evident. "Orders like, 'I do not wish to be disturbed' or
 
'Let anyone in at your own peril'."
 

"Do not wish to be disturbed?" Charles raked his hand through his slightly long, blonde yet graying hair. "Do you expect me to wait around all day while your man finds out if you're home when I know damned well you are?"

The duke gave a low chuckle and watched his friend drop himself uninvited into the chair across from him. It was true that Charles never waited for anything, especially something as tedious as being announced, though decorum and manners dictated it be so.

"I'll have a word with Craigs. Now, shouldn't you still be at home, listening to Lady Blackburn scold you for coming home in the wee hours?" Julian asked. "You really overdid it at White's last night. I haven't seen you drink that much since we celebrated old Barnby's marriage, and that was twenty-five years ago or more. We really must stop celebrating his birthdays — they always end in a week of misery to my head."

"I don't know whether you realize it, but you're the one that looks the very devil, and it's already past noon." said Charles. "It was certainly you who was foxed last night, but we have not the time for this. Why aren't you more distressed? I feel positively ill at what we've done."

"Blackburn, stop acting like an old scold," Julian interrupted with a scowl, perplexed and annoyed at his friend's alarm. "If I wanted someone to nag me to death, I would have remarried long ago. Tell me what this is about."

Charles stood from his chair, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. "You dog, you don't remember," he said, as he begun to pace the floor. "You don't remember, and Maddie is extremely angry — with the both of us I might add, not only me. She's had Edward and me up since before the breakfast hour coming up with a plan to mend this ... this chaos! And you know she's right, it's the only plan that makes any sense. Our children must marry and quickly. Should we start the banns this Sunday? Or wait 'til the house party? That may be better," Charles muttered to himself.

"Banns?" Julian asked in a shamefully high-pitched voice before swallowing hard. "Charles, I have come to think of your penchant for babbling as an endearing quality over the years, but you usually make sense. I haven't the slightest idea of what you are referring to. Sit down, be quiet, and let me think."

Julian held Charles' defiant gaze as he looked his friend straight in the eye. When he broke, he picked up the glass before him and downed the drink in one swift gulp, feeling dread creep upon him instead of relief from the soda tonic.

He hurriedly tried to recall the night before. There was brandy, talks of dowries, brandy, discussions of grandchildren, and again, the cursed brandy. He remembered his friends cheering and congratulating them, shaking their hands and passing around more celebratory drinks as they all talked of a wedding.

Oh hell
, thought the duke, his dark eyes widening and snapping to Charles' blue.
 

"Cottoned on, have you?" Charles asked flatly, miffed at being ordered into the chair, a chair he was standing next to and most assuredly not sitting in.

Julian groaned and laid his head back upon his desk with a hard crack, not even minding the dull throb as it intensified. It seemed — in their unfortunately drunken state the night before — the duke and the earl discussed a betrothal between their children. No, discussed was too mild.
Announced.

They announced a marriage between their households to God and anyone else who would listen.

"It cannot be that dreadful," he said, looking up at Charles, hoping against hope his memory served him ill. "Who will have remembered? We were all jug-bitten. Furthermore, not one of our friends care for such news, so will they even remember?"

Charles glared. "Of course they don't care, but that is not the problem here, Julian, their wives do and you can rest assured that they will remember once they hear. Besides, more than just our room was privy to our drunken antics. The entire club heard."

Julian snorted. "How would you know? You could not possibly —"

Charles removed his gloves one at a time, throwing them down on Julian's desk with a slap before sitting. "I know, dear friend, because my wife came into my bedchamber this morning and boxed me about the ears whilst I was still sleeping — a terrible way to wake, mind you — and told me that whilst she'd been out that morning she was congratulated by no fewer than three people asking when the happy occasion was to be held and which of our children were to be married. My wife, being the clever woman she is, escaped without confirming any of the story, only conveying an announcement would be made soon. She
instantaneously
knew we'd done something foolish and came home to confront me. I confessed to the whole damned thing."

Julian hung his head and blinked. "This is what young Hamilton was talking about. Why he thought Fleur was betrothed. Good God, you're right. It must be all over London." Julian thought back to his encounter with the boy. His repeated questions on if Fleur was betrothed and to whom. "Charles, no one knows which one of your sons is supposedly marrying one of my daughters? Now that I think about it, Hamilton seemed to be unsure. The boy was almost hysterical."

"Hamilton? He was here? I assume you refused him."

Julian nodded, his mouth a grim line as he wondered what they were to do. Two sons and two daughters, none of whom were attached, though two must form a rushed betrothal.

Julian could not believe his own idiocy. He'd spent years --
years
– shooing away men he deemed inappropriate for his daughters — men he knew they did not love — and in one reckless move he sealed one of their fates to be matched in a loveless pairing.

He closed his eyes and knew within himself that wasn't altogether true. At one time Fleur did love one of the earl's sons, he was sure of it, but that had been many years ago, when she was but a girl.

The earl had two children, the eldest being Edward Woolf, Viscount Ravenbrook. A very good catch and at the age of thirty, he would make a fine husband for either of his daughters as Charles' heir. He was, by all accounts, Julian's preferred choice in both situation and temperament, but unfortunately, the earl did have one other son.

Evander Woolf, a standoffish and stubborn man with a name that suited none other so well as he. He was six and twenty, also of good marrying age, but in the duke's eyes he was quite ... unsuitable. Yes, definitely unsuitable. The man was practically a recluse since the days they would visit Blackburn Hall, and Julian had heard he speculated wildly in new, and quite frankly, dangerous and unsound investments.
 

Evander – Evan, as they called him – had been Fleur's playmate as a child. Many summers had they spent at Blackburn Hall only to return again for Christmas, especially after the passing of his own beloved wife. His daughters retreated into the arms of Lady Blackburn in their grief, and Charles was there to comfort and distract him during his own time of sorrow. It was almost as if they never left, only returning home to see to Norfield's needs during the spring and fall.

He knew during their time together Fleur and Evan had formed an attachment to one another, but he found out too late just how deep it ran. Not until he and Charles pushed the boy by trying to match Fleur with his elder brother did he discover the depth of their feelings. Evan reacted by leaving Blackburn Hall, fleeing back to university, breaking Fleur's heart in one cruel move after a vicious quarrel Julian wished he had never witnessed. She was but sixteen when they parted, and they had not met each other since.
 

She had cried for days, been melancholy for months, and when she finally emerged from her rooms he had sworn to himself he'd not return to Blackburn Hall. He would not put his daughter in the middle of those memories, not when he had fled Norfield for so many years to forget his own.
 

For a moment Julian became unnerved, angry that Charles and Madeleine may try to pair Fleur and Evan, to right past wrongs. He could not find it within himself to forgive the boy, not for his cruel words, or for his leaving not only Fleur, but all of them. He calmed when he recalled that Charles said Maddie had spoken to him and Edward this morning, nothing about Evan.

Julian breathed a sigh of relief. "What did Maddie say?"

"She said we were both old fools and —"

"Not that. I can imagine what she would have said on that subject, but what does she think we should do? How are we to address this?"

"A marriage between the families. We cannot recant, not when it was us doing the announcing. Anything else would be a scandal of the first order, and the
ton
would shout with mirth and drag both your girls through speculation and gossip. They would be merciless."