Birds of a Feather (7 page)

“She will adjust, just as other ladies have learned to adjust. Marriage in our class is always a matter of convenience, so pay attention to what is important. Wicksfield expects the best title and fortune available.”

Joanna tried to nod, but her head refused to move. “Lord Wicksfield gave me very explicit instructions, my lady. He needs a suitor who can help him obtain the loan he requires, but he also demands that the gentleman suit Harriet. He will not approve the match unless she is content. Almont may prove to be such a man, and it is possible that Ellisham might offer Harriet the support she needs. Or the ideal suitor may not yet have appeared. It is too early to discount anyone.”

Lady Wicksfield frowned, fury boiling behind her eyes. But Joanna held the ultimate authority. She finally sighed.

“Very well. We will discount no one – including Ellisham.” Waving Joanna away, she summoned her maid.

Joanna crawled into bed, but lay awake long into the night, staring at the ceiling. Where had the urge to protect Ellisham come from? He needed no help.

She reviewed their conversation, finally relaxing in relief. While she had enjoyed talking with him, there had been no physical attraction – certainly none of the awareness and gawky awkwardness she had suffered with Lord Sedgewick. It was too bad that Ellisham was not a lady, for their minds were quite alike. He could have made a very good friend.

Lady Wicksfield was going to be a problem. She had no patience for her husband’s plans, which would not restore his fortune for several years. The woman cared for no one but herself, and would gladly sell Harriet if it would benefit her.

Lord Wicksfield must have known that, which explained the unusual power he had placed in a mere companion’s hands.

Help me wield it wisely, she prayed.

The right husband would bring Harriet great happiness. But in the wrong hands, she would suffer. She lacked the confidence to control her own emotional state.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sedge glowered at Husby as the butler admitted him to Glendale House. His mother’s summons had been unwelcome, for he rarely arose before noon. Yet here he was at only half past eleven, presenting himself for what could only be another lecture on setting up his nursery. Hardly unexpected, but why couldn’t she at least have waited until a decent hour?

Yet he hid his frustration when he entered the drawing room.

“Here you are at last,” exclaimed Lady Glendale, setting aside her needlework. “I despaired of seeing you today.”

“You could hardly expect me to be awake, let alone dressed at the ridiculous hour of nine,” he drawled, leaning casually against the mantel.

“If you didn’t play cards until dawn, that would not be a problem.”

He nearly corrected her, for he had gone to Jenny’s after leaving the ball – and devil take that woman for making it necessary; it had required most of the night to get her out of his system – but he caught himself in time. His mother had often used deliberate misstatements to trip her sons into revealing childhood pranks, but he no longer owed her an explanation of his activities.

He deliberately relaxed. “Since I am in no danger of losing my fortune on the turn of a card or toss of a die, how I pass my time is not your concern, madam.” He delivered the set-down in the same icy tone he had used on Jeremy Orville. He was well into his thirty-second year, long past his majority. It was time she recognized that fact.

“Perhaps not, though—” She sighed in obvious frustration when he lifted his quizzing glass. “That is not why I wished to see you. We have finally settled Reggie.”

“Oh?”

“I introduced him to Lady Harriet Selwick last night – her mother attended school with my youngest sister, then managed to snare Wicksfield, who was the catch of that Season. Lady Wicksfield is all that is proper, so we can be sure that Lady Harriet will make a conformable wife. Reggie was so struck by her beauty that he waited for an entire set to speak with her a second time – unfortunately, her dance card was full before we managed the introduction.”

“Waited to speak?” The incredulity was not feigned. Not only was the girl barely out of the schoolroom, but Reggie had long declared that he would remain single. Perhaps his reticence merely sought distance from their mother’s pressure, but infatuation with a chit half his age seemed ridiculous.

“I saw him with my own eyes. He had not anticipated her arrival, so the shock of finding a new angel suddenly in our midst piqued his interest.”

“The blonde with the rosebuds and lace on her gown?” They could not be talking about the same child. She didn’t look a day over fifteen. Reggie wasn’t stupid.

“You noticed her.” Her satisfaction increased his irritation.

“I notice everyone. I would have attributed the gown to Madame Francine if not for the lace.”

“You are impossible.” She released one of her long-suffering sighs. “But you must rejoice that Reggie is settled at last – and to a girl of impeccable breeding. Now we must see to your future.”

“There is no need. If Reggie is truly settled, then the succession is assured.” Not that he believed for a moment that Reggie was serious. But arguing with her was not in his own interest. “You must be pleased with your success. Now you can return to the Close.”

“How absurd! Reggie cannot shoulder the entire responsibility for the future. What if something happened to him? You know how I feel about your cousin. Allowing the marquessate to fall into the hands of a fribble is intolerable.”

“Then you should do everything in your power to keep it out of my hands, for my reputation is exactly the same.”

“That may be true – though I cannot understand why you insist on prancing about like a silly nodcock; it can only court disdain – but you are nothing like your cousin. We both know you are reasonably intelligent, so direct that intelligence to the future. You must wed, Sedgewick. I believe the Washburn girl would suit you quite well.”

“Do you?” he drawled. “I cannot imagine why.”

“She is lovely.”

“And hasn’t two thoughts to rub together.”

“Then what about Miss Avery? She can conduct an intelligent conversation.”

“Perhaps I should consider her. She has sworn to die a spinster, but she might be willing to accept her own establishment and a sizable allowance if I vowed to leave her alone.”

“You jest.”

“Not at all. She has turned down two dozen offers already, including a duke and two earls. Her brother has given up on her. She must be all of four-and-twenty.”

“So was Elizabeth, but that did not prevent Symington from wedding her.”

“Leave it, Mother. I have no interest in Miss Avery or anyone else.”

“Only because you refuse to consider them. What objection could you have to Miss Heathmark?”

“I cannot distinguish her from my horse.”

Lady Glendale pinched her mouth into a disapproving line. “That was unkind, Sedgewick.”

“This entire subject is unkind. I will not wed until I find a lady I can live with in comfort. No amount of pressure will speed the process.”

“Nonsense. You are merely stubborn, having become so accustomed to opposing my wishes that you no longer look about you. But if you require beauty, then consider Miss Mason.”

“She giggles.”

“Miss Cunningham is more sober.”

“With eight older siblings who relegated her to silence, she never learned to converse.”

“Lady Edith Harwood?”

“Irrevocably selfish.”

“Lady Constance Bowlin?”

“Are you so desperate that you would accept someone smarter than you?” He snapped his mouth closed at her shudder, furious that irritation had loosened his tongue. She was determined to retain her power and position after her husband died – a looming event, for the man’s health was rapidly failing – which explained why she sponsored only the most conformable misses. But she believed her schemes remained secret.

“Miss Delaney?”

“When did you decide that Irish stock might suit? Perhaps I should consider her. I would derive great pleasure from watching you swallow your pride long enough to welcome her into the family.”

“You are correct. She would never do.”

“But not because she is Irish,” he said, raising his quizzing glass. “She will not do because she displays no sense and less style. Now enough of this. I will eventually wed, but in my own time and for my own pleasure.”

“Very well.” The agreement was meaningless, as they both knew. She would never abandon her campaign. “In the meantime, I am holding a dinner party next week and will expect you to attend.”

He caught a flash of cunning in her eye. So this was not the usual confrontation after all. Elizabeth had feared that she would take matters into her own hands. Was she actually willing to compromise him into marriage?

His temper shattered. “That will not be possible.” He headed for the door. “I have business at Meadowbanks that will keep me from town at least that long. Nor will I tolerate further meddling in my affairs. If you persist, I will spend the remainder of the Season in Paris.”

Without waiting for a reply, he left.

Cursing his mother and every other matchmaker in town, he threw himself into his carriage, grateful that the curtains would keep him out of the public eye. He could not hope to carry off his usual sangfroid in this mood.

He had claimed business in the heat of the moment, but leaving town was an excellent idea. By accompanying Randolph to Cumberland, he had missed his usual spring retreat. Housing Elizabeth at Glendale Close until the Season began had been expedient, but Randolph had begged him to stay with her lest Lady Glendale’s hauteur ruin Elizabeth’s sweet character.

So he had not visited Meadowbanks in six months. His steward was a capable man, of course, but he needed to check the books. And he needed to relax. Perhaps his hectic spring explained why this Season seemed sadly flat.

Rapping on the roof, he ordered his coachman to Piccadilly. There were stops he must make before he could leave town.

* * * *

Sedge was rounding a bookshelf in Hatchard’s when voices halted him.

“Papa will never give in,” whispered one. “He owes Brumford a fortune, but Brumford will cancel the debt in exchange for my hand.”

Miss Lutterworth, Sedge identified. He had suspected some such scheme, but confirmation raised enough fury to choke him. He despised fathers who sold their daughters – particularly to cruel men like Brumford. Preventing such unions had been a personal crusade for fifteen years, though he rarely worked in the open.

“Then we must elope,” replied Mr. Lastmark. “I know it is scandalous, but waiting until you are of age is hopeless. I haven’t the means to rescue your father myself.”

“I wouldn’t allow you to pay his debts,” she said seriously. “Most are gaming vowels. I’ve always suspected something odd behind them, for Brumford swore I would regret turning him down last year.”

Sedge left them to their planning. Kensington was headed in their direction, so he struck up a conversation to give the pair time to part. Only after Miss Lutterworth rejoined her maid, did he collect his own books and leave.

Half an hour later he was sauntering along Bond Street when a frowning woman erupted from a shop, oblivious to the crowds hurrying by. The resulting collision was inevitable. He caught the victim, preventing a second collision with a passing carriage. The moment she was firmly on her feet, he grabbed the cause of the accident.

“You again!” It was the same bird-witted companion who had cost him last night’s sleep. “Idiot!” He shook her. “If you wish to survive, pay attention to where you are going.” A surge of lust washed over him, increasing his fury. What could he possibly find enticing about this woman? Thank God he was leaving town. He needed time to regain his senses.

“I … you … how did you—” Her face blushed crimson.

He gritted his teeth. “What is the point of wearing spectacles when you never look at anything?” he demanded as more heat pooled in his loins. He dropped his hands lest they do something stupid. Forcing a precarious control over his temper, he donned his most languid expression. “You must be newly arrived. Had you been here any time, you would already be planted in the churchyard.”

“Arrogant fool!” she hissed.

“I really must insist that you bring an escort next time you venture out. We cannot have you endangering your betters. In the meantime, I will escort you home.”

She recoiled. “You will not!”

Her obvious aversion brought his temper back to the boil. “Devil take it, woman. How dare you argue with me? I am only trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection. I am perfectly happy with my own. Now step aside.”

That look of haughty disapproval might have been intimidating if she’d had an ounce of intelligence to back it up – and if her cheeks weren’t blazing like beacons. But he saw little need to explain in words of one syllable that she had misinterpreted his intentions.

Not that you would mind,
whispered a voice in his head.

He jumped. Where had
that
thought come from? Raising his glass, he quizzed her thoroughly, ignoring her sputtered protests. He could recall every curve of the delectable body tucked under that uninspired gown.

She slapped the glass out of his hand. “How dare you pass judgment on someone you don’t even know?”

“I have eyes,” he snapped.

“Eyes are useless without a brain to interpret what they see. Society must be worthless indeed to have elevated so condescending a toad to the pinnacle of power.”

He grabbed her shoulders through a haze of red mist. “How dare you insult your betters?” he demanded, shaking her again – and backing into the victim, who abandoned her grumbled complaints to shout obscenities at him. “Have you wit enough to remember your own name?”

“I’ve more wit than you, thank God. Maybe you can afford to waste your life in pompous posturings and petty prattle, but I must make my own way in the world. Now unhand me before my reputation is sullied by contact with a fool.”

Burning heat climbed his face. What the devil was he doing? Fighting down his temper, he took stock of the situation. Mrs. Stanhope was cursing at the top of her lungs, drawing every eye on Bond Street. His public facade was long gone, and in his fury, he’d pulled the woman close enough that he appeared to be embracing her. Arguing with an imbecile over her mental capacity was ridiculous. Doing so in public was worse. Why had he allowed her ravings to destroy his control – all of his control, he admitted as another wave of lust engulfed him. Never in his life had he appeared so foolish. And it was all her fault.