The Pursuit Of Marriage (9 page)

“I wouldn’t be if I were you. Like any good sister when faced with an unwed brother, I suspect she will soon turn her attention to matchmaking.”

“Why would you suspect that?”

Marcus shrugged. “Comments she makes that have become more frequent lately. About how happy we are and how alone you appear to be.”

“Good God. First my mother, now your wife.” Reggie drew a deep swallow of the brandy for fortification against the machinations of the women of his world. All of whom, at the moment, seemed to have but one goal in mind.

“What about your mother?” Concern sounded in Marcus’s voice. “She hasn’t taken a turn for the worse, has she?”

“No, but I certainly wouldn’t put it past her.” Reggie shook his head. “I’m not certain, mind you, but I suspect this whole business of I’m-dying-refurbish-my-house-with-the-help-of-Miss-Effington is for the sole purpose of throwing the eligible Miss Effington and myself together.”

“Or your mother could really be dying.” Marcus sipped his brandy thoughtfully.

“I tell you, Marcus, every instinct I have tells me this is a plot. My mother and your mother are close friends. Your mother maneuvered the circumstances of your marriage, and quite successfully, I might add. With you as a sterling example, why on earth would you think my mother wouldn’t do exactly the same thing?”

“Point taken. Still.” Marcus raised his glass in a salute. “She could be dying.”

Reggie scoffed. “She’s never been ill a day in her life. And one rarely goes from perfect health on a Tuesday to one’s deathbed on Wednesday without a physician able to find any cause whatsoever. I would wager a great deal she’ll recover immediately upon my betrothal.”

“To Miss Effington?”

“To anyone. I’m not entirely sure how she hit upon the idea of Miss Effington rather than some other young woman, but Miss Effington did mention her own mother commenting on my mother’s health.”

“Sounds very much like a conspiracy to me.”

“Doesn’t it, though,” Reggie said darkly. “As much as I would like to marry, I do not intend to allow my mother to select my bride for me.”

Marcus cleared his throat.

“It doesn’t always work out as well as it did for you.” Reggie raised his glass to his friend. “You, old man, are the lucky exception.”

Marcus laughed. “I am indeed lucky.” He studied his friend for a moment. “So, are you determined then not to be caught in this alleged plot?”

“Absolutely.” Reggie swirled the brandy in his glass. “Probably.” He shrugged and met his friend’s gaze. “I don’t know.”

“That is a problem.”

“No, it’s not.” Reggie struggled for the right words. “As much as I disagree with Miss Effington in that I think we would suit rather well, I absolutely refuse to lose my heart to a woman who will not return my affection. I meant it when I said I would not tread that path again.

“Miss Effington has told me in no uncertain terms that she is not interested in me. I will not set myself up for disaster yet again.” He drew a deep breath. “Besides, there is something about the woman, I can’t explain exactly what, some sort of odd feeling deep in the pit of my stomach, that tells me loving and losing this particular woman would be far more devastating than anything I’ve ever known.” He met his friend’s gaze. “I would be a fool to pursue anything beyond friendship with Miss Effington.”

“I see.” Marcus studied him in a noncommittal manner that was most unnerving.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Marcus shook his head. “Not one word.”

“You want to, though. I can see it in your eyes.” Reggie leaned forward. “You can barely contain yourself. Come now, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Very well.” Marcus reached for the brandy decanter, as always conveniently placed on a side table, and refilled his glass. “You are no fool, Reggie, as you already recognize the danger this woman presents. I too would hate to see you fall back into old habits. However,” he reached forward to top off his friend’s glass, his voice deceptively casual, “I have always thought that it is almost impossible to truly recognize danger until it is bearing down upon you. Until it is, as it were, too late.”

Reggie stared for a long moment, then slowly shook his head. “Not this time, Marcus, I will not permit it.” He paused, then blew a resigned breath. “While I am certain that you are mistaken, and I am confident in my ability to be the master of my own fate, there’s something else that has occurred to me that will no doubt strengthen your belief in your infallibility.”

“I do enjoy it when that happens,” Marcus grinned.

Reggie braced himself. “Don’t you think this house refurbishing venture of hers—”

“Business is what it is.”

“Yes, of course, this business, then, is a bit odd for a woman to take on?”

“Odd?” Marcus snorted. “Odd is an understatement and precisely why her brother referred to her as eccentric.”

“Setting that aside, do you think she is doing this because she wants to or,” he met his friend’s gaze directly, “because she has to?”

“Effingtons are notorious for doing precisely what they please, and she would not be the first woman in that family to dabble in enterprises, even businesses, best left to men. I daresay this particular Miss Effington would not do anything she did not wish to do.”

“I don’t mean that exactly,” Reggie said slowly. “I was just wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Is it possible her family could be facing financial difficulties?”

“The Effingtons?” Marcus laughed. “They’re one of the wealthiest families in the country.”

“As an entire family, perhaps, but I’m wondering if her father, Lord William, might not be—”

“That’s absurd.”

“Her brother did beg off paying me the wager I won.”

“Even so.” Marcus shook his head. “Reggie, you are jumping to unfounded conclusions.”

“They’re not in the least bit unfounded,” Reggie said staunchly. “Why else would a young woman of good family put herself in a position—”

“Bloody hell, I can’t believe it!” Marcus leaned forward and stared at his friend. “You’re doing it again!”

“Doing what again?” Reggie forced an innocent note to his voice. Marcus leapt to his feet and stared at his friend. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Reggie sipped his brandy. “Notice what?”

Marcus groaned. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Reggie said coolly.

“Hah!” Marcus snorted. “Very well then. Allow me to explain.”

“Please do,” Reggie murmured, knowing full well what Marcus was about to say. Reggie had already acknowledged the very same thing to himself.

“Miss Effington has no interest in you—”

“I believe we have established that.”

“And Miss Effington, or rather her family, might possibly be in financial straits.” Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. “Which puts her firmly in the category of a woman in need of assistance. A damsel in distress!” He aimed an accusing finger at his friend. “Exactly the sort of woman you have always lost your heart to and exactly the sort of woman who has always mangled it.”

“Not this time, Marcus,” Reggie said coolly.

Marcus narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why would this time be any different?”

“Because this time, old friend, I am well aware of the situation and well aware of my own weaknesses.”

“Aware or not, once again you have found a woman in need of rescuing and you are charging ahead!”

“Not in the least.” Reggie shook his head firmly. “Miss Effington and I have agreed to be friends, nothing more. As her friend, the least I can do is aid her in her monetary problems. I shall increase the fee for her services, but it shall go no further than that. Indeed, I would do no less for you.”

“You almost deserve each other, you know.” Marcus snorted in disgust and dropped back into his chair.

“The infamous Lord Berkley and the eccentric Miss Effington.”

Reggie laughed. “That does sound like a match made in heaven.”

“Or somewhere considerably lower,” Marcus said under his breath. He fell silent for a moment, then met his friend’s gaze, a distinct gleam in his eye. “I believe I shall rescind my order to Gwen that she abandon any notion of finding a match for you.”

Reggie raised a brow. “You issued an order to your wife? And you have lived to tell about it?”

“We have developed a unique system of dealing with one another. I issue orders. She ignores them. I feel better for having put my foot down and she does exactly as she pleases.” Marcus smiled wryly. “It would be most annoying if we did not care for one another.”

Reggie laughed and pushed aside the twinge of jealousy that struck him at his old friend’s happiness.

“However the topic at hand is not my life but yours. And now that I know all the details, I am convinced your Miss Effington is right.” Sympathy shone in Marcus’s eyes, but his voice was firm. “You and she will not suit.”

“You could be wrong,” Reggie said idly. “She could be wrong.”

“Do you wish her to be?”

“I don’t know. There would be a certain amount of satisfaction to it, but I don’t really seem to know much of anything when it comes to Miss Effington. It is most annoying.” He blew a long breath.

“Nonetheless, you and she are probably right: There is no possibility of a future between the two of us.

“She is not my Miss Effington, Marcus.” The oddest feeling of regret passed through him. “And she never will be.”

Five

Women are charming, delightful creatures who should be savored and enjoyed. But under no circumstances should a rational gentleman attempt to understand one.

C. Effington

“T hese are good,” Lord Berkley murmured, his attention focused on the sketches spread out before him on the long table in the Berkley House library. “Quite good.”

Cassie brushed aside the unexpected rush of pleasure at the compliment. “They’re very rough. Nothing more than initial thoughts on paper, really.”

“No need to be modest, Miss Effington, these are brilliant.” He straightened and studied her with an appreciative eye. “You have a great deal of talent.”

“You’re kind to say so, my lord, but you should know I’m not the least bit modest,” she said firmly, returning her gaze to the sketches. “I am well aware of my own abilities.”

He laughed. “I would be surprised if you weren’t. I daresay any woman doing work such as this for payment as opposed to her own personal satisfaction would have to have a certain amount of confidence if only to survive.”

She glanced at him. “Would you feel similarly if I were a man?”

He hesitated, as if realizing he treaded on dangerous ground. “Yes.”

She raised a brow.

“Well, perhaps not entirely. Surely you do understand, Miss Effington, for a young woman of excellent family, in truth, for any young woman, to do what you do is highly unusual.”

“Of course I understand that.” She shrugged. “The decoration of houses, at least for payment, has long been the domain of men, of architects and the like.”

“And it doesn’t bother you to intrude upon that domain?”

“Not in the least. What bothers me is that women of talent in this world have few acceptable ways to use whatever gifts God has seen fit to grant us outside of our own homes. Yet that is the way of it and I doubt it shall ever change.”

“I see. You are accepting but not content.”

“They are two entirely different things, aren’t they?” She furrowed her brow and considered the idea. “I should be quite content, really. Up till now, I have never known strife or tragedy or need. Indeed, my life to this point has been one of privilege.”

“Still, in spite of that, you have turned your skills to your benefit in what I understand is a quite profitable business.”

“But don’t forget, my lord, I am not like most women. I,” she cast him a rueful smile, “am eccentric.”

“It seems to me eccentric is used to describe anyone or anything who does not meekly fit into the role the world finds acceptable. In your case, Miss Effington, I am beginning to think eccentric is a high compliment.”

“Do feel free to pass on your sentiments to my brothers, although I would wager that they will not agree with you.”

“I should take that bet and allow you to make a tidy profit from it.” Lord Berkley grinned, and again she noted what a pleasant smile he had. Genuine was the word for it. As if he was truly delighted by the world and all he saw in it. It was an intriguing thought. Far too intriguing. Cassie turned her attention back to her drawings. “As I said, these are quite preliminary. There is still more planning to be done and endless decisions to be made before we can bring in painters and paperhangers.”

“Preliminary or not, I like your ideas.”

“Do you?” Her gaze scanned the papers lying on the desk.

While she was pleased with her efforts thus far, she was not at all used to dealing with a gentleman rather than a lady. She wasn’t nearly as familiar with male sensibilities regarding such things as furniture and fabric, and in spite of her avowed confidence in her own abilities, she’d been concerned as to whether he would approve of her designs. Beyond that, the ladies she’d worked with previously were as enamored of her name and family as they were of her taste. She was fairly certain Lord Berkley was not similarly inclined.