His Heart's Delight (2 page)

“So he, and you, expect me to search the
marriage mart for some foolish twit willing to play brood mare in
exchange for money and having her son inherit a title?”

James nodded. “Better you than me.”

“And if I refuse? Will he disown me? There
certainly is precedent for that in this family.”

“If he does not, then I will.” James held his
gaze, his eyes flat and hard.

“And you truly agree with him on this?”
Morgan watched his brother, trying to decide if this was a bluff or
if he was serious.

“It is my wish as much as his,” James said
with a solemn nod.

“To the devil with both of you! My plans do
not include marriage this Season.”

“Then tomorrow you will be turned out of the
town house. Have your man pack your things. The door will be locked
to you as soon as my order reaches London.”

“The way Father did with Mariel when she
married Charles?” Morgan shook his head. “There is no need to
repeat history to prove you’re Father’s son.”

James remained silent and Morgan began to
feel desperate. Being turned out of the town house was not a
problem. The height of the Season was weeks away. He could find
rooms elsewhere. It was his property in Wales. The tenants there
were depending on him. “Damn, James, this is ridiculous. Can you
see Rhys as marquis? That’s what will happen if I am disinherited
and you refuse to marry.”

James nodded. “The estates would go to ruin.
All our brother cares for is the night sky and whether the
Astronomer Royal will grant him a meeting. I’m willing to take the
risk that I will outlive him.”

“More than ten years separate the two of you.
And Rhys has lived an exemplary life.” Morgan saluted his brother
with his brandy glass. “Despite our efforts, Rhys lives for his
studies.”

Without comment, James crossed the room. He
was at the door before he spoke again. “Morgan, the Braedons have
never yet shirked their responsibilities. This is a chance to prove
yourself. Easter is early this year and the Season will be long
enough. Go back to London and find a bride and bring her back here
before the New Year.” James’s smile was tinged with pleading as
much as humor. “Do at least that much for me. Why else do you think
I let you win tonight?”

The door closed firmly behind him before
Morgan could respond. Curses, varied, colorful, and obscene, filled
the air and stopped as abruptly. Why exercise his considerable
ability if no one sat close enough to appreciate it?

He tossed off the last of his brandy and
considered throwing the glass across the room. He closed his eyes
instead and fought for self-control, then put the glass down very,
very carefully. Pouring the rest of James’s brandy into it, Morgan
began to pace the room, trying to find a way out of this coil.

Was this one time when risking it all might
not mean a win? Just last Thursday he’d sent all his holiday
winnings to his bailiff in Wales. He needed to improve the property
his mother had left him if it was ever to turn a profit and give
him the independence he sought. One more winning season like the
last one and he would be free of absurd demands like the one James
had made tonight.

A summer of good weather and rain, in
addition to the money he was sending for improvements, and the land
would be as productive as any in the Glamorgan. He’d promised his
tenants that the future would be brighter and their loyalty had
been encouraging. He would not fail them now.

Wales was where his true responsibility lay.
Not in a lonely pile of stone that tainted everyone who lived in
it.

Morgan stretched out completely, concluding
that the brandy made the sofa marginally comfortable. He put his
hands behind his head and began to consider other ways to play the
cards that had been dealt him.

“T
his is perfect!”
Christiana Lambert’s first London ball vibrated with excitement.
She clapped her gloved hands, as if to dispel the excess of delight
that turned her carefully practiced, blasé smile into a grin.

Glowing words had worn thin with use during
her few days in London. Christiana found everything about Town
remarkable, wonderful, and thrilling.

Joanna Lambert smiled weakly. Christiana knew
the adjectives her sister would choose shared a closer connection
to “intimidating.”

She patted Joanna’s arm. “That set was
lovely, was it not?”

Standing straighter, Joanna nodded and truly
smiled this time. “You are right, Christy. The first dance is over
and I did not disgrace myself.”

They moved together through the crowded room,
looking for their mother, but the sheer number of guests made
locating anyone difficult.

“I cannot believe we are finally here.”
Christiana guided her sister toward the doorway into the receiving
room, all the while looking around, trying to absorb every
detail.

“Oh, Christy, I am so sorry to have lost
Grandpapa as we did, but the year of mourning made it possible for
us to be here together. Last year you would have had to stay
behind, practicing the pianoforte.”

In truth Christiana would not have come to
London last Season even if she could have danced at every ball.
“You would have shone like a gem all on your own, Joanna.”

Her sister looked doubtful, but Christiana
gave her the look-that-would-brook-no-argument and Joanna settled
for a slight shrug. “I am so much happier to have waited and have
you with me, Christy. I know it is selfish of me, for I am sure you
would rather be home preparing for your wedding and the day when
you will be Mrs. Richard Wilton.”

“You are confusing me with a saint, Jo!”
Christiana could only laugh at the thought. “There will be plenty
of time to prepare once Richard and I are formally engaged and the
announcement sent to the papers. And I can dream of him anywhere.
To be honest though, I do feel painfully guilty caught up in all
this excitement when he could be facing the French tomorrow.”

Joanna grew serious too. “You must write in
the journal you are keeping to share with him. He will seem closer
if you do.”

“Joanna, I could make tonight’s entry very
short and lose hardly any sleep. I can sum up this evening in four
words: bright, colorful, gay, and exciting.”

The light came from hundreds of candles,
their flame reflected in the crystals that surrounded them hanging
on four of the most magnificent chandeliers Christiana had ever
seen. They shone with a brilliance that surpassed anything.

“The colors are wonderful, are they not? The
ladies’ gowns. Diaphanous!” She turned to her sister. “Is that not
the perfect word?”

Joanna nodded and then added something as she
gestured to the corner where their mother stood.

Christiana did not hear her words and
followed the gesture instead. For the moment the musicians rested,
but the voices of the hundreds of guests swelled to fill the void.
Outbursts of laughter or cheers from the card room drew everyone’s
attention, and then the momentary silence was eclipsed by even
louder conversation.

Mrs. Lambert stood with several girlhood
friends Christiana recognized, now matrons as stately as she.
How can they look so bored when Joanna and I are so very
excited?
She hoped she never grew so old that such simple
pleasures were beyond her.

Her mother looked to her. “You are promised
to Richard’s brother for the next set?”

Christiana nodded and Mrs. Lambert,
apparently satisfied that her younger daughter was appropriately
engaged, took Joanna aside. Christiana hovered close in case her
sister needed support. Mama could make a funeral out of a wedding
with her endless scolding. And Joanna would lose all the confidence
that first dance had given her.

When Mrs. Lambert asked about her partner,
Joanna replied with a smile and made to point him out. As she
scanned the sea of faces, Joanna gave Christiana a less than
ladylike wink.

Why do I worry?
Christiana thought.
She has been dealing with Mama for two years longer than I, and
made a much better job of it.

She let the conversation float around her.
Anticipation filled the air, and surely tonight she was queen of
that emotion. She had months with a wonderful city to explore and
shops by the hundreds! It was no burden to accompany Joanna to
boost her confidence, to help her secure a match so that her
sister’s happiness would equal her own. Surrounded by the
excitement, she could almost ignore her fear for Richard.

Fear he’d made her promise to forget when
he’d urged her to accompany her sister to Town. His own inclination
did not include visits to London and he’d insisted that he wanted
her to enjoy it now and be content to stay at home once they were
wed. She felt a fresh burst of guilt at the realization that it was
so much easier than she had anticipated.

A woman spoke to her and Christiana turned
her attention back to the group. On closer look, Christiana saw
that they were not all matrons; some were the dowagers,
grandmothers, and maiden ladies old enough to remember when no one
had heard of Napoleon. She moved closer and curtsied as she
recognized the Dowager Duchess of Halston.

They had met briefly earlier in the week when
they had visited the same milliner.

Months ago she thought she might faint if she
met an actual duchess, but how could she be intimidated by a woman
in a years-old gown, whose most frequent word was “Eh?”

“Why ain’t you dancing?”

Christiana smiled and bent close to her. The
old lady’s skin was parchment fine and her scent was of roses and
something else that was old-fashioned but charming. Christiana
spoke above the steady hum of voices. “The musicians have stopped
for the moment, Your Grace.”

The old woman tapped Christiana’s arm with
her fan. “In my day they would not stop until we told them to.”

“It must have been wonderful.”

She nodded with a smile that showed teeth
still white and strong. “Why, I recall when the King—before he had
all those children, you understand—I recall the King and Queen came
to a masquerade that the duke gave—my husband’s father that
is.”

The old duchess spoke on, telling her how the
King had eyes for no one but his wife, though several ladies did
their best to catch his attention. “Everyone knows his constancy to
his wife caused his madness.”

Christiana had never heard that outrageous
suggestion before. She moved closer and steered the conversation
away from the delicate subject of the King’s health and asked her
about the clothes of the day. It was a subject the old lady warmed
to. Of course, one could not compare the somber clothes that men
wore today with the elegant satins and brocades of days past.

“I am forever telling my grandson Morgan that
men must dress in finery. How else are they to attract ladies?”

The musicians moved toward the small stage,
and once again she tapped Christiana’s arm with her fan. “You must
dance. This is not the time or place to speak with an old woman.
Besides, they play so loud that I cannot hear. Call on me tomorrow
and we will talk more.” She left abruptly with a brief word of
farewell.

With a curtsy to the retreating figure,
Christiana turned her attention toward the ballroom, wondering if
Richard’s brother would remember their dance. Peter’s excitement
about the London Season matched hers, though his interests differed
significantly. Christiana knew that if he were settled in the card
room there would be no hope he would remember his promise.

If he was so easily distracted by a game of
cards, then her original plan to rely on him as escort for the
Season was not a good idea. But where else could she find someone
who would be willing to be no more than a friend? Someone not
interested in courtship. Where could she find a man like that when
the whole purpose of the Season was marriage?

She searched the ballroom, looking for Peter,
trying to hide her disappointment. He was not coming; she was
certain of that. She did, however, have the full attention of at
least one gentleman present. He stood with the duchess, who had
stepped back into the room, and was watching Christiana as he
listened. It was a neutral look, but steady and considering. The
kind of expression a man used while he decides if he wants to be
attracted or not.

Christiana smiled at him. She knew it was
unexpected. Most girls her age would turn away, embarrassed at
being the object of such direct observation.
But most girls my
age do not know what I know about men,
she thought.
Most
girls my age have not sent their love to war with a kiss and a
prayer.

Some might call her a flirt, but she was only
trying to help the gentleman decide that yes, indeed, he must
invite her to dance. So she smiled at the nameless male whose
casual gaze did not mask his curiosity.
Perhaps I am
flirting,
she thought,
but it comes easily because it means
so little.

As she watched, a smile transformed his cool,
detached expression into something lazy and sensual. Her own smile
froze as the suggestiveness of his look sent a frisson of wariness
through her. How could a smile convey such intimacy?

Had she been too inviting? Perhaps dancing
with him was not a good idea. More unnerved than she would admit,
Christiana turned her back to him, hoping he would understand the
rejection as clearly as he had understood her blatant
invitation.

She gave the group nearest her full attention
and berated herself with as much reproach as Mama would have. This
was London after all, not the local assemblies.

~ ~ ~

Who is this chit and where has she
been?
Morgan Braedon struggled to recall the name his
grandmother had given him. He’d barely listened when she had
insisted he dance with “the young miss over there.” His mind had
been on the last turn of cards, and the distress on his opponent’s
face. Morgan understood that quickly masked look. The vowels he now
held were worthless.