Seven Nights to Forever (36 page)

During prior years, he hadn’t been bothered to make note of the various unmarried men of the ton, but now he had a vested interest in each and every one of them. The last thing he wanted was for Rebecca to be swayed by a handsome face and a pretty title. She deserved a man who would love her, cherish her to the end of her days, as he would have cherished Rose.

What felt like a dull, jagged blade pushed against his chest, demanding entry. He didn’t fight at all as the blade sank deep, knowing the vast emptiness inside would soon swallow the ache.

“Good evening, Mr. Archer,” came a cultured voice from his right.

He turned his head to find Brackley at his shoulder. Pushing from the column at his back, James stood up straight. With short blond hair and broad of shoulder, the man was almost as tall as himself, and therefore James did not need to look down to look him in the eye. “Evening, Lord Brackley.”

“Your sister is a delight. A lovely young woman.”

He tipped his head. “Indeed she is.”

“Would you be available tomorrow morning? I wish to pay a call.”

James had a fair idea why Brackley wished to have a conversation with him in private. Brackley was a pleasant fellow and in possession of an earl’s title, but about as dull as James himself and at almost double Rebecca’s age, he was too old for her. Definitely not someone who could snare her honest interest. Yes, James had noticed she had partnered him at prior functions, but as a respected member of Society, Brackley wasn’t a man she would snub.

The man had clearly misinterpreted her kindness as a sign of interest.

“I’m afraid I cannot honor your request. I am tied up with appointments on the morrow.” The appointments were nothing that couldn’t be rescheduled, but perhaps he wasn’t as numb as he thought if he was willing to postpone Brackley’s disappointment.

A bit of the hope dimmed from Brackley’s kind brown eyes. “Then perhaps the day after.”

“If you must. I’ll be at home Friday until ten in the morning.”

“Thank you.” An abbreviated bow and Brackley turned on his heel.

Letting out a sigh, James passed his gaze over the ballroom. Rebecca was still dancing with that fop. Definitely needed to seek him out later, discourage Adams before he latched too tightly to his sister and put off other suitors. Amelia—her blonde head adorned with a spray of white feathers—was nowhere to be found. A quick check showed Lord Albert was conspicuously absent as well.

There wasn’t even a twinge of annoyance that Amelia had abandoned her chaperone duties, yet again, in favor of her lover. It was expected, and the reason why he remained in easy view of the evening’s proceedings and did not hide himself off in a card room.

He pulled out his pocket watch. At least two more hours before Amelia and Rebecca would want to leave. He settled back against the column, resigned. Hell, resignation defined every minute of his day now. The resignation that came with the complete and utter absence of hope and happiness.

And so was his life now.

REBECCA
turned from the vase of flowers and accepted the teacup from the maid. With a little curtsey, the girl left the drawing room.

It was midafternoon, and fortunately the weather was fair enough to accommodate a carriage ride about Hyde Park. Soon she would need to prepare for the five o’clock drive. Most everyone who held any sort of importance in Society would be out and about, providing ample opportunity to discuss the latest on-dits and perhaps for her to come across a certain gentleman. But first Amelia had wished to review the latest round of invitations.

A stack of pristine white parchment was on the low table in front of the settee on which Amelia sat. Given Rebecca’s father’s goal, he had certainly chosen well when he had selected a wife for James. The woman received invitations to most every affair and was accepted in the highest circles. By being Amelia’s relation by marriage, Rebecca had also been accepted without hesitation, calming her initial worries that her lack of aristocratic blood would pose too great an obstacle to overcome.

She took the chair opposite from Amelia and brought her cup to her lips. But given James himself, her father had not chosen well. The past couple of weeks spent in such close company with Amelia confirmed Rebecca’s belief that her brother and his wife fulfilled only the strictest requirement of a marriage. On paper and in name only, and nothing more. The two had absolutely nothing in common and seemed content to simply go their separate ways. James at his office absorbed by his work, as he was presently, and Amelia absorbed with herself. From what she could tell, they were only in the same room when it was for her benefit. Last night, for instance. Knowing James didn’t much care for ton functions, she had tried to convince him his presence wasn’t required. That it would be quite proper for her to attend with Amelia only. A married family relation was a suitable chaperone. But James had replied that he would serve as her escort all the same.

He really was the dearest of brothers. Willing to subject himself to what he clearly found to be miserable evenings, judging from his dampened mood of late, just for her.

“We shan’t attend the Drakes’ soirée,” Amelia said, taking the invitation from the stack and setting it on her left. She picked up the next one, gave it a quick perusal, and then put it next to the Drakes’ discarded note. “But the Cranbrooks’ supper party should prove a pleasant affair.”

Rebecca nodded, though her agreement wasn’t a requirement. One’s place in Society needed to be maintained, and she knew an important component was in the choice of invitations accepted. Mrs. Drake was a nice woman—Rebecca had made her acquaintance a week ago at an afternoon tea—but Mr. Cranbrook was a brother of an earl.

She continued to nod as Amelia went through the stack, planning their calendar for the next few weeks. More than once her attention strayed to the flowers on the console table, and on each occasion a little surge of happiness tingled through her.

“What is your opinion of Lord Caldwell?” Amelia asked, as the Dixons’ note joined the stack of denied invitations.

She looked back to Amelia. “He has a pleasing countenance.”

“I couldn’t help but notice he asked you to dance at the Williamsons’ affair. That is the third time he has partnered you. I do believe the interest is there. It but needs a bit of encouragement.”

“Perhaps,” Rebecca evaded. Caldwell was a handsome fellow. Sleek and refined, clearly a creature of Society. He also had a title and a passable fortune. Such a man should rise to the top, command her attention. Her father would certainly be nothing but pleased if she managed to become the Marchioness of Caldwell. But there was a strong possibility Lord Caldwell possessed a potential flaw she could not overlook.

“Perhaps?” A little scowl rippled across Amelia’s face. “Do you doubt his interest?”

“No, but it is rumored he has a mistress. One he’s quite fond of.” She set down her empty teacup and crossed to the console table, wanting to touch the flowers yet again, to feel the velvet soft petals beneath her fingertips. “I know it’s foolish, most married men keep mistresses, even James, but I’d rather not choose a husband who already has set that precedent.”

“James does not have a mistress.”

“Well, I’m not certain he would classify her as such, but she was with him when he recently went on holiday to the country,” she said, adjusting the riot of red pansies in the vase.
He
sent her flowers, and not just any flowers, but her favorite variety.

It had been days ago when they had been standing near the refreshment table adorned with a couple of small sprays of pansies that she had casually mentioned her preference for them. Days ago, and he had remembered.

She couldn’t help but smile. Lord Brackley . . .
Robert
—her lips silently formed the name—was a wonderful man. He preferred Town over the country, enjoyed the theatre, and most importantly, adored her. He was an earl, very well respected and in possession of a decent fortune, and to her knowledge, he was not in possession of a mistress nor did he seem the type to indulge in one. She had only been acquainted with him for three weeks, yet she knew in her bones he would make a very good husband.

In a way, Brackley reminded her a bit of James and not only in his appearance. He was tall with a substantial frame that brought to mind the grooms in her father’s stable, just like James. But the similarities were more in their characters. Restrained, gentle, caring, and indulgent. He clearly needed someone to love.

And tomorrow he was going to speak to James. Had told her as much last night after he had danced with her a second time.

The little tingle of happiness flared throughout her body. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that James would have no cause to refuse Lord Brackley. By tomorrow afternoon she could be well on her way to becoming Lady Brackley.

It took more than a bit of effort to tamp down the grin, but she finally succeeded enough so she could turn from the flowers. She glanced to the low table before Amelia that now held only two stacks—the accepted and the discarded. “Have we finished with the invitations? If so, I should return to my bedchamber to change into something more appropriate for a drive about the park.”

Rising from the settee, Amelia took the discarded stack and then flicked them into the hearth with a snap of her wrist. The flames flared then settled back to an even burn. “I shall meet you in the entrance hall.”

Rebecca left the drawing room and went upstairs to her bedchamber, as she mentally ticked through her wardrobe. The deep green carriage dress perhaps? Lord Brackley had worn a green waistcoat the last time she’d seen him at the park, so she knew he didn’t dislike the color. And the fit of the dress accentuated her figure.

Yes, the green dress would do quite nicely. As she passed a footman in the corridor, she requested that her maid join her in her bedchamber. If she was lucky, she would see Lord Brackley in just over an hour and be able to thank him personally for the beautiful flowers. And as she entered her bedchamber, she let the grin loose to spread across her mouth.

“MAY
I take your bag, Mr. Archer?” his butler asked as James walked through the front door of his town house.

“No, thank you, Markus. I can see to it myself.”

He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. The women wouldn’t look to leave for at least an hour. Rather than go straight to his bedchamber, he went to his study and shut the door. It wouldn’t take him long to change, and he preferred to limit the time he was subjected to evening attire. Crisp, stiff cravats were never comfortable.

He had just settled behind his desk when a knock sounded on the door. At James’s call, the door opened, revealing Hiller, one of the footmen.

“Good evening, Mr. Archer. Mrs. Archer and Miss Rebecca just finished supper. If you would like, I will alert the kitchen and have a place set at the table. My apologies for the short wait. We did not expect you so early else a place would be waiting for you.”

“No need to look so concerned, Hiller. I take it the ladies have elected to stay at home this evening?” He had thought Rebecca had mentioned a supper party during the carriage ride home last night, but she must have been referring to another evening.

Hiller nodded. “Mrs. Archer has retired to her bedchamber and Miss Rebecca to the yellow sitting room.”

If he had known Amelia had not accepted any invitations for the evening then he would have stayed at his office. Perhaps he should just return there? The thought was tempting indeed. He never did like being at the town house. If he expended the effort and simply kept abreast of his wife’s social calendar, then he would have known he needn’t leave his office early this evening. But that would include a discussion with Amelia. More than one actually, since calendars were apt to change at a moment’s notice.

He glanced to the pile of papers on his desk. He had brought his bag home with him on the off chance the ladies had planned a late departure. Best to have something to occupy him while he waited—being left with nothing but his thoughts meant his mind would find a path to Rose, and that was definitely something he needed to avoid.