When a Marquis Chooses a Bride (3 page)

“Merton.” Louisa infused her voice with a note of disgust. “A friend of
yours
I suppose.”

Merton cleared his throat. “I dare say, Fotherby, that the lady is correct. You should have been able to stop the animal before any damage occurred.”

Fotherby turned to Merton, staring at his companion as if betrayed. Merton's masked eyes were unreadable to Dotty, but something in them must have made an impression on Fotherby for he turned to her and bowed slightly.

“Ladies, my deepest apologies for not acting promptly to avoid an unnecessary scene.”

Never one to hold a grudge, Dotty inclined her head, “Your apology is accepted, sir.”

Merton lifted one brow and looked pointedly at Louisa.

“Very well,” she said, in no good humor. “Miss Stern, may I present the Marquis of Merton, a cousin of mine. Merton, Miss Stern, a longtime friend of Lady Charlotte's family.”

Dom bowed and watched with appreciation as Miss Stern gracefully curtseyed. He had not been paying much attention to her encounter with Fotherby, thinking her just another modern termagant, until she stood and faced him. Botticelli could not have painted such perfection. The glossy blue-black curls peeping out from her hat served as a perfect frame for her heart-shaped face. She gazed at Dom with bright moss green eyes. Surreptitiously, he sucked in a breath. He'd seen many beautiful women this Season, including Lady Charlotte, but none came close to equaling Miss Stern.

But
Dotty
, what a horrible name. It must be short for something. He prayed it was short for something. If not, the name would have to change.

Cousin Louisa had not given him an indication of Miss Stern's station, other than that she was a lady. However, a Miss Stern could possibly be the daughter of a viscount. That wouldn't be bad. Anything lower in rank would not do. Unless her bloodlines were superior. If that was the case, he could make an exception. He had the consequence of the marquisate to consider.

Bowing over her hand, Dom grasped her fingers. “It is my greatest pleasure to meet you, Miss Stern. I pray you will allow me to call.”

“Well,” his cousin said in a voice intended to dampen his spirits, “only if you care to come to Stanwood House. Miss Stern is residing with us for the Season.”

He repressed a shudder at the thought of having to face that brood again, especially Theodora, Worthington's youngest sister. He kept a smile pasted on his face. “Perhaps I shall.”

The animosity between the two families was such that Worthington had told Dom in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome to court any ladies under his guardianship. Of course, at the time, only Ladies Charlotte and Louisa were at issue. He wondered if that prohibition applied to Miss Stern as well.

After the ladies said their adieus and continued on their way, Fotherby turned to Dom. “How could you make me out to be an object of sport? That Miss Stern had no right to say what she did. Pert is what she was, and I didn't like it.”

Dom took out his quizzing glass and leveled it on his friend. “I did it in an attempt to save you from continuing to look like a fool. Really, Fotherby, it was a
puppy
. A rather small one at that.”

Fotherby stared down at his boot.

The mangled tassel hung damply against the moderate shine of the boot. Why Fotherby kept a valet who could not get a decent finish on his boots, Dom didn't know.

“Yes, well.” Fotherby frowned. “I suppose you're right. I just don't like dogs.”

“Not liking dogs”—Dom barely repressed his disdain—“is akin to treason. It is un-English. Everyone has them. How else would we hunt?”

Fotherby remained silent for several moments before turning the subject. “Yes, of course you are correct. Silly of me really. Do you intend to dine at White's this evening?”

“Where else? Shall I look forward to seeing you there?”

“Yes, wouldn't miss it. Half past eight?”

Dom inclined his head. “I shall see you then.”

A short while later he took his leave, making his way back to his hotel. However, upon entering and ordering tea to be sent to his rooms, Dom was informed he no longer had a chamber. “I beg your pardon?” He looked down his nose at the clerk. “I believe I would have remembered if I had given up my rooms.”

The man bowed and handed him a note. “My lord, I was told to give you this.”

He opened it and immediately recognized his mother's hand. She was in London and expected him to relocate to Merton House. She had planned to spend the Season at home; what could have brought her to Town? “Thank you.”

Turning on his heel, he strode back out the door and hurried to his house. It would be nice to have his staff. They knew his routine and the proper deference to show him. As long as nothing was amiss with his mother, her arrival was a welcome surprise.

Chapter Three

Eunice, Marchioness of Merton, paced her elegantly appointed parlor decorated in various shades of blue. Dominic should be home at any time now. She turned to her cousin and companion of many years, Miss Matilda Bradford. “Do you think I was too highhanded in removing Dominic's belongings from the hotel?”

Matilda gave Eunice a quizzical look. “It is not whether
I
think you were managing, but whether
he
thinks it.”

Eunice sat perched on the sofa under a bank of windows overlooking the back garden. “Well, I suppose it does not matter. He is going about this wife business all wrong. When he sent me the list of ladies he was considering, I could have screamed with frustration. Not one of them has the will or desire to stand up to him. They will all nod and simper, happy to be the Marchioness of Merton. Worse, they will assist him in becoming more set in his ways than he already is. A stodgier twenty-seven-year-old man I have never known. His poor papa must be rolling in his grave.”

Matilda pulled a face. “I agree, but it is not entirely Dominic's fault.”

“No, you're right. My brother, Alasdair, never should have been named Dominic's guardian. One could not doubt his sincerity, but he was determined to make Dominic aware of his duty and consequence. The result has been a disaster. Did you know that Worthington's sisters call Dominic “His Marquisship?”

Matilda gave a dry chuckle. “I had heard something to that effect.”

“It is embarrassing to have such animosity in the family.” Eunice stood again. “Now that Louisa is making her come out, it cannot be hidden. I am determined he shall not remain the butt of fun to most of Polite Society. We must find Dominic a young lady who will have enough influence over him to make him rethink his views. We live in modern times. As the Marquis of Merton, he should be leading the way, not hanging behind with the older generation.”

Matilda gave Eunice a dubious look. “How do you propose to do that, pray tell?”

“It is simple. He must fall in love with a woman who will challenge his beliefs.”

“But, Eunice, you know how difficult that will be. Most girls and their parents would give their eyeteeth to marry a marquis. They will agree with everything he says just to be a marchioness.”

Her cousin was right. Trusting that Dominic would accidentally find the right lady was fool's work. “Make a list of the most liberal families in Town and tomorrow we shall begin visits. Dominic always escorts me to my entertainments. He may not like it, but I shall insist we attend those events first. I am determined to find someone suitable.”

“He will, assuredly, not like it.” Matilda went over to the small writing desk. Taking out a sheet of paper she started to write. “However, this will, at least, point us in the right direction.”

An hour later, Eunice called for tea, and Dominic entered the room coming straight to her. Concern coupled with irritation etched his handsome face. “Mama, is everything all right? When did you arrive?”

She laughed and offered her cheek for him to kiss. “Everything is fine. We arrived shortly after noon. I called at your hotel, but you had gone out. Since you always stay at home when I am in Town, I saw no reason not to assist you, by having your belongings brought here.” She raised a questioning brow. “Was I in error?”

Relenting, he smiled at her. “No, not at all. I'm happy to be here.”

She took his hand and led him to a small sofa. “Come, let us be comfortable.”

Dominic gave her a quizzical look. “Why
are
you here, Mama? I thought you'd decided to eschew the Season this year.”

She regarded him, careful to give nothing away. “It seemed as if everyone in the neighborhood was gone, and life became very dull. Matilda and I decided we needed more diversion than the country was going to give us.”

He searched her face for a moment. “Is that the only reason?”

“Of course it is.” She held his gaze and lied. “What other cause could I possibly have?”

“I sent you the list,” he said. “It did cross my mind that you might be taking an interest in the subject of my marriage.”

Eunice gave him a wide-eyed look. “My dear son, that is a matter for you to decide. I would not dream of interfering.”

* * *

After sending a note to Fotherby, canceling his plans to dine at White's, Dom dined with his mother and her companion before taking himself off to his club where he joined a party of his friends.

Alvanley, a young baron the same age as Dom, strolled up. “Thought we'd see you in the dining room.”

He took the glass of wine a waiter handed him. “No. My mother decided to come to Town. I dined with her.”

“I see.” Alvanley lifted his glass of brandy, and after taking a sip, he asked, “Are you serious about trying to find a wife this Season? I would have thought you've time yet.”

Dom returned the salute. “The men in my family have a habit of dying young. I must ensure the succession.”

“Have you considered Lady Mary Linley?” His friend took a sip of port.

“Lovely girl, but I don't think we would suit.” Dom had considered and rejected Lady Mary. He neither wished nor expected to love his wife. His uncle had been exceedingly clear that strong passion and emotions were to be avoided in a marriage. They led to disaster. Liking and companionship were sufficient in those of rank. Still, he wanted to have some desire for a wife. Though pretty enough, she reminded him strongly of a pond of ice. The surface was hard and the underneath would be just as cold. His thoughts drifted to Miss Stern. She had a great deal of passion, albeit misdirected. Would it translate to the bedchamber?

Alvanley took another drink. “Too bad. Her brother's trying to get rid of her this year.”

“Tired of having his wife play gooseberry? Her portion is large enough,” Dom replied. “He shouldn't have a problem.”

“What about Miss Turley?” his friend asked.

Dom hesitated. “Very lovely, yet I do not care for some of her personality traits. However, I am sure she will be fine for someone else.”

Alvanley frowned. “You're being deuced hard to please for a man who just needs to get a child on the chit. Don't tell me you want a love match?”

Dom raised his quizzing glass. “Of course not. Anything but. However, she must represent the family properly, and I
will
have to bed her.”

He wandered over to the betting book and placed a wager on a curricle race to take place the next day. After which he spent the next couple of hours playing whist. At the end of the evening, even though he had a tidy sum stacked up in front of him, he couldn't say he had enjoyed himself. For some reason, spending evenings at his club was beginning to pall, as were the endless rounds of entertainments required to find a wife.

This year's batch of young ladies was no better than the previous year's. Possibly worse. With the sole exception of Miss Stern, not one of them had caught his attention. Dom had never seen a young lady as lovely as she. Simply beautiful, despite her outburst this morning. Still, he could forgive her that. Many young ladies had a fondness for puppies and did not wish to see them hurt. At least she liked dogs.

Dom regarded Fotherby, sitting at a card table across the room. He was in his cups and excited about something. Not a good combination. The man had all the discretion of a bull. It occurred to Dom he had better ensure his friend didn't mention Miss Stern.

“Merton, Merton, I say,” Fotherby called. “Tell them what happened to my boots today.”

Dom pulled out his snuff box. With a flick of one finger—just as Brummell had shown him—he opened it and took a pinch of snuff, raising it languidly to one nostril. “Fotherby, surely you do not wish me to repeat that you were afraid to stop a puppy from harming your boots. A very small puppy.”

Fotherby's countenance turned a purplish red hue, and he sputtered. “No, the girl, Merton. The girl. She ought not be allowed to accost a gentleman like that. Shows poor breeding.”

Dom linked his arm with Fotherby's, practically dragging his friend out of his chair. “I would be extremely displeased if you were to bandy the lady's name about.”

Huffing a bit, Fotherby sputtered, “What's it matter to you?”

“She is residing with my cousin. As head of the family, it is my responsibility to protect its members.”

After a moment, Fotherby touched a finger to his nose and tapped. “Oh yes, I see. Quiet. Not a word then.”

Dom smiled thinly. “You have my deepest appreciation.”

“I say, Merton, a game of piquet?”

“No, I'm for home. M'mother arrived today.”

Fotherby glanced around as if expecting his mother to appear as well. “Understand. Dreadful thing, mothers. Always in one's business. There's no pleasing them.”

Dom could almost sympathize with Fotherby. His mother was one of the gorgons of the
ton
. Nothing her second-born son did measured up to her expectations. Though to be fair to the lady, she might have reason on her side. He had come into the title and, thus far, Fotherby's main interest seemed to be clothing, brandy, and cards.

Dom retrieved his hat and cane from the doorman then walked down the steps to St. James Street. What had changed that he was suddenly so dissatisfied with his life? Good Lord, he was only seven and twenty. He mentally reviewed the list of prospective wives he had been so optimistic about only a few days ago. All of them were well-looking, some Diamonds of the First Water. But if Lady Mary was cold, Lady Jane was too solicitous. Miss Farnham laughed like a horse, and Miss Turley, hung on his every word, agreeing with whatever he said. Despite what he had said to Alvanley, until Dom had seen Miss Stern, Miss Turley had been at the head of the list. Yet how to approach Miss Stern when she was residing with Worthington, with whom Dom did not particularly get along?

He walked to his home. As expected, the door opened before he reached the top step. He had everything a man could want: a well-run house, wealth, position. He should not be so discontented. Perhaps he'd take another stroll in the Park tomorrow. This time without Fotherby.

* * *

Dinner in the Worthington household had been a raucous affair. Dotty had dined many times with the Carpenters, yet the addition of Matt's four sisters added considerably to the noise level. She could not have enjoyed it better. She had grown up with Charlotte's family and was extremely pleased to see everyone getting along as if they had always lived together.

Dotty was even a little wistful her own sisters and brothers were not here as well, but perhaps in the summer the families could all visit. After dinner, the younger children were sent to the schoolroom and the adults, along with her, Charlotte, and Louisa sat in the spacious drawing room. Heavy sage green velvet curtains were drawn across the windows overlooking the front of the house. The side windows had a view to a narrow garden and a brick wall decorated by rose trellises.

“Dotty,” Matt's stepmother, the Dowager Lady Worthington said, “how did you like your stroll in the Park today?”

“It was very nice, except for my encounter with a certain gentleman. My father had told me about dandies, yet I did not have a good appreciation of what he meant until I saw one today.”

“My dear”—the Dowager Lady Worthington's smooth forehead wrinkled—“you make it sound like something from a freak show. Are you sure you are being kind?”

Louisa glanced at them. “Mama, it was Mr. Fotherby.”

Matt coughed. “Then it must have seemed more like something from the Royal Menagerie.” His eyes danced with mirth. “But, Dotty, you cannot call Fotherby a dandy. That is to be unfair to those who truly are. He is a macaroni.”

She furrowed her brow. “What is the difference?”

“A dandy might be extreme in his shirt points, but he takes care to always be subtle in his costume and is an adherent of Brummell's philosophy that one should do nothing to draw attention to one's dress.”

“Are you a dandy?”

Matt grimaced. “If I must claim a group, it would be the corinthians. We are a more sporting bunch.”

“Do not listen to him, my dear.” Lady Worthington shook her head at Matt. “He'll make fun of any of the macaroni set. You will see a lot of them, though perhaps, none quite so . . . stunning as Lord Fotherby.”

Louisa told them about Dotty saving the puppy then added, “
Merton
was with him.”

“Louisa, remember.” Grace's calm tone held a note of warning. “We have all agreed to treat him with courtesy.”

“He was actually helpful today,” Charlotte reminded Louisa. “When he agreed with Dotty, that is.”

“Yes, I suppose he was,” Louisa grudgingly agreed. “But I shall wager there was some benefit to him.”

The comments that Louisa had made before and during the current conversation sparked Dotty's curiosity. “Louisa, why don't you like him?”

“He's a pompous bore,” Louisa replied roundly. “A few years ago, he came to Worthington Hall and went on and on about how he, as the head of the family, needed to look after us. Matt reminded him that his title has nothing to do with Merton as the title descended through a female ancestor, but he wouldn't give it up. Matt finally told him to leave before he threw Merton out on his ear. Even Theodora remembered it, and she was only three at the time.”

Dotty tried to reconcile that with the short, albeit favorable, impression she'd had of him when he had taken her side. Then remembered the way he had dealt with his friend. “I see. High in the instep?”