“Very well. Go home. I’ll come speak to your father this afternoon.”
He’d kept his word. They married quietly at the keep with only her parents and his few servants attending. Her father settled a dowry on her that she applied toward renovating the spaces in the keep she frequented, and she never entered the village again. Before long, Lachlan was born. Because she didn’t leave the castle, the date of his birth had not become known in the village, nor was it questioned. She’d kept her word, too. The Marquess got a faithful wife and also a son of his own, and their years together had been tolerable if not everything of which she’d once dreamed.
“Mother?” Caught up in memories, Eloise hadn’t heard her youngest son enter the room. “You look like you’re a hundred miles away.”
She smiled. “Just woolgathering, Lewis,” she said, and presented her cheek for his kiss.
Short in stature and already balding in his early twenties, Lewiston Kimball so resembled his father it was astonishing. The differences between the brothers had eventually been noted and whispered in the village, but the family had held its secrets close, and when Andrew Kimball died the year before in a hunting accident, Lachlan had assumed the title without challenge. Lewiston, who had been with the old marquess when a boar charged and forced him over a cliff, casting him to his death in a deep ravine, had not seemed to completely recover from the incident, in any case. He began to suffer from periods of depression, sometimes disappearing into his chamber for days at a time, which seemed to remove any question of suitability.
Besides, everyone agreed, Lachlan just
looked
as though he should be the marquess.
Five
London, 1815
Ah
, Thorne.” The Marquess of Roth smiled with genuine pleasure and stood, extending a hand to his good friend. “What brings you here? You’re typically nowhere near London during husband-hunting time.”
Sebastian chuckled at Gareth’s description of the glittering social whirl that was the London Season, shook his hand and pulled out a chair. “I’m meeting Asheburton, who will be staying in my town house for a while. He intended to purchase one of his own, but I offered mine, since I so seldom use it.”
“Ashe is coming to Town for the Season?” Gareth raised a brow. “That can only mean one thing.”
Sebastian looked decidedly grim. “Exactly. I’ve done all I can to dissuade him.”
Gareth laughed softly. “Well, you won’t find help from this quarter. Marriage, after a bit of a rough start, is treating me just fine.” He reached for a deck of cards on the green baize-covered table and began shuffling them. “Hunt and Jon should be joining us shortly. They’re dropping their wives at my place for the afternoon. The Ackerly twins have just arrived for their debut, and there is, apparently, a great deal of planning to be done. Gowns and such, I’m told.”
The duke grimaced. “No wonder you’re here instead of
there.” He looked up and smiled. “White’s is an excellent haven.”
The Marquess of Asheburton appeared, walking up to the table with Trevor Caldwell and Jonathon Lloyd, the Earls of Huntwick and Seth. The men exchanged greetings and then sat down, oblivious to the stares of the club’s other patrons. It wasn’t often one could find such a powerful and influential group gathered around a single table.
A footman arrived with drinks, served them and then disappeared, allowing the five men to get down to the serious business of trying to relieve one another of bits of their rather considerable fortunes.
After thirty minutes of solid play, Gareth pushed back his chair, stretched out his legs, and reached for his glass of port. “Thorne tells me you’re looking for a wife, Ashe.”
Lachlan raised a brow. “Indeed. One hopes the market is favorable.”
Trevor grinned. “You make it sound like a business transaction. As if one were proposing a limited partnership in, say, a shipping venture, or purchasing a new property.” The men all chuckled.
Lachlan smiled. “But isn’t that precisely why one marries?”
His perspective, they knew, was the prevailing one. Most
ton
marriages were either arranged to increase the fortunes of one or both families, or they took place simply to add a new title to the family tree. Love, for the most part, was reserved for those below their social circle. Even extramarital affairs, commonplace in their set, were seldom about emotion.
Gareth shook his head. “Not if you marry an Ackerly.”
Trevor just nodded.
Sebastian gave his cousin a level look. Sighing, he said,
“If you insist on ignoring my advice to eschew marriage altogether, at least be reasonable enough to avoid the mistakes Roth and Hunt have made.” Both men laughed, taking the statement without rancor. The group had all gone through the rather tumultuous courtships and weddings of Grace and Faith Ackerly together, so there was little arguing with the comment.
Lachlan had been party to only some of the drama surrounding the marriages. “To be quite honest,” he said, “I was hoping—since I haven’t a clue who is and who is not available—to enlist your guidance.”
“My guidance? Typically,” spoke up Sebastian, his voice sardonic, “there’s no difficulty distinguishing the available young ladies. The instant you step foot inside a ballroom, they’ll flock around you like a gaggle of very colorful geese.”
Jonathon Lloyd shook his head at the duke’s jaded viewpoint. “Our wives would likely be of more help in that capacity.” He looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps you might tell us of your requirements and we could see who they know.”
Sebastian snorted. “A list of requirements? He’s not purchasing a horse.”
Lachlan looked thoughtful. “Well, if you think about it, in a way I actually am.” He signaled a footman, who scurried quickly to the table. “A round of drinks for the gentlemen, please, and a pen and paper.”
The man hurried away to retrieve the requested items, and Lachlan glanced around the table. Trevor and Gareth looked amused. Sebastian merely looked bored. Jon frowned. “Surely you’re not planning on making an
actual
list, are you? You’re really going to write it down?”
Lachlan shrugged. “Why not?”
To that, the men had no response. Possible damning evidence aside, this was, when one considered all factors, a
rather sensible approach—much more sensible than the approaches used by Trevor and Gareth.
Jon, whose marriage to Amanda had been arranged before they’d even met, shook his head. “I don’t know that I quite expected an afternoon of cards to culminate in
this
.”
Trevor spoke up. “I, for one, am enjoying it immensely. Tell us, Ashe . . . what qualities do you seek in a wife?”
The footman returned with their drinks. He served everyone, placed the pen and paper at Lachlan’s elbow, bowed, and disappeared.
Lachlan considered. “A woman of strong mind and fortitude.”
Trevor grabbed the writing implements and jotted that down.
“Fortitude?” Gareth tilted his head quizzically.
“You haven’t met Ashe’s mother,” Sebastian said. “Fortitude is a necessity.”
“Someone biddable and sweet,” Lachlan continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life arguing over dinner.”
“Well, that narrows the list of possibilities significantly,” Trevor said. He shook his head at the developing profile and gave a hoot of laughter. “Strong but obedient. Does such a creature exist?”
Lachlan ignored him. “An impeccable and unquestionable lineage. Wealth is not a requirement, but I want no aspersions cast upon my children, nor do I wish there to ever be speculation as to my son’s right to the title.”
The men all fell silent. They were among the only people in the world who knew the truth about Lachlan’s father, and to a man could be counted upon to take that knowledge to their graves. Jon cleared his throat. “Is that all?”
Lachlan nodded and then added, almost as an afterthought, “Someone who wouldn’t mind living in Scotland instead of London. I do not care at all for the social whirl.” He paused. “Any ideas?”
Trevor glanced at Gareth and then Jon. As the married members of the group, they were the most informed about the statuses of the
ton
’s daughters. The list of available candidates was staggeringly small. “Lucinda Harcourt,” he offered in a dubious voice.
Sebastian shook his head. “Her mama has shoved her beneath my nose for the past three Seasons. The poor girl is a complete henwit. Attractive, but no substance whatsoever.”
“Katherine Davis,” suggested Jon.
“Well, she’s certainly intelligent, possesses the required fortitude, and appears biddable and sweet,” said Gareth. His voice shook with suppressed laughter.
“And,” added Trevor, grinning widely, “her lineage is unquestionable.”
Lachlan raised his brows in mute inquiry then glanced at Sebastian.
“She’s everything they say she is, and attractive as well,” his cousin confirmed.
“Then what is so amusing about her?”
“If your goal is to marry in order to beget an heir, you’ll want to consider someone a bit younger. She’s at least forty, and she’s already buried three husbands.”
Lachlan sat back. “I can’t believe that, out of the hundreds of young ladies paraded before Society every season, the four of you can’t come up with anyone except a henwit and a thrice-over widow.”
Trevor looked apologetic, then brightened. “Your best bet might actually be one of the Ackerly twins.” His green eyes sparkled. “Charity and—”
Lachlan grimaced. “No, thank you. The word ‘biddable’ should never be mentioned in the same sentence with that young lady.” His eyes turned thoughtful. “Amity, though . . .”
Trevor nodded. “If you can stand being around Charity while you court her, I agree that Amity would make you a very suitable wife.” He smiled and glanced at Sebastian to include him. “They’ll both be attending the Corwins’ opening ball with me and Grace this evening, if you’d like to join us.”
“I’ll pass,” said Sebastian, not at all interested in fighting off hordes of desperate debutantes and their even more maneuvering mamas. He pushed back his chair and stood up to leave. “I’m sure I have something suitable for you to wear at the town house,” he told Lachlan, “since you’ve not had time to unpack, and I know better than to leave the decision with that bulldog you call a valet. I’ll meet you there.” He nodded at the rest of the table. “Good day, gentlemen.”
Lachlan watched his cousin go and sighed, resigned to taking the plunge into London’s glittering social pool and praying he wouldn’t end up all wet. Turning back to Trevor, he asked, “What time?”
Six
I
think the simplest thing to do is to order two of everything.”
Charity was standing near the long table, staring in wonder at the brightly colored bolts of rich fabric, but she whirled around in sudden horror. “Heavens, no!” she exclaimed. “Amity’s taste is far different from mine.
So
dull.” She smiled at her twin to soften her words. “I mean, she always looks lovely, but she’s a bit more conservative than I am.”
Faith gave her sister a no-nonsense look from her comfortable seat on the sofa. Dr. Matthew Meadows, a physician and friend of her husband, who had traveled from his home near Gareth and Faith’s country estate, had given her strict orders to stay in bed until her child was born. Her pregnancy had been difficult to this point, and Gareth feared for the health of both his wife and first child.
“Now, Charity,” she reasoned. “Debutantes traditionally dress in demure, conservative colors. After you’ve made your bow and found a husband you’ll be able to dress as you wish.”
Charity’s brow furrowed, the obstinate look her sisters knew well marring her delicate features. “If we both wear the same bland clothing, nobody will be able to tell us apart!”
“She has a valid point,” put in Grace. “And it isn’t like she’ll set Society on its collective ear by wearing brighter hues. After all, I did it.”
Amanda Lloyd, the Countess of Seth and Faith’s sister-in-law,
laughed musically. “You
did
set Society on its ear, Grace.”
The Countess of Huntwick looked entirely unrepentant. “Yes, but not because of my clothing.” She smiled at a sudden memory. “Well, except perhaps that one time I dressed up as Trevor’s male cousin so that I could go play cards . . .” She trailed off as Faith cleared her throat and gave her a dampening look.
“Charity did that, too,” put in Amity with a fond smile. “On dance-lesson day at Madame Capdepon’s Etiquette School.”
Amanda looked impressed. “She’s either braver or more foolish than you, Grace. At least you did it at night, when the odds of being caught were slim.”
Everyone laughed.
“Well, then,” said Charity, giving Faith a triumphant look. “It’s all settled. Brighter colors for me.”
She picked up the book she’d brought along. Although she had very much looked forward to the Season, she hadn’t counted on all the preparation that went into the blasted thing. Gowns, shoes, wraps, hats . . . She’d been posed and stood and measured within an inch of her young life, and she was heartily tired of it. This morning she had been on her way to the garden to read for a bit when Amanda and Grace cornered and herded her into the sitting room for more gown measurements.
“Since Amity and I are the same size, you won’t even need to measure me,” she suggested.
Faith folded her lips and looked as though she intended to say something, but Amity spoke first. “That’s right,” she agreed. “You just go on out and enjoy the sunshine. We’ll choose everything for you. Madame has some truly lovely
laces and ribbons, and I’m positive we can make your colorful gowns quite . . . extraordinary.”
Madame Toulesant nodded with enthusiasm. “We will make Mees Charity sparkle like zee jewel!”
Charity, halfway to the door, stopped in her tracks. Although she favored brighter colors, she also much preferred a plain, simple line to her gowns, utterly eschewing ribbons and other such frippery. Amity knew this. She turned slowly and glared at her twin.