The Mad Lord's Daughter (11 page)
“Yes, indeed. Brewster is a bit of a horseface, isn’t he?”
Laura narrowed her eyes but did not take her brother’s obvious bait. “My point is, big brother, if Avonleigh is coming, you don’t have a chance with the girl.”
Charles laughed. “Avonleigh is nearly as opposed to marriage as our John here.”
“Are you saying you are not?” Laura asked, clearly surprised.
Charles shrugged, and something about that shrug put John on alert. Could it be that Charles was actually contemplating marriage? Even though he’d invited his friend for the express purpose of meeting Melissa, he found this realization somewhat disturbing.
“Let’s simply say that I’m not as opposed as I was a year ago. I’ll be thirty next year. Practically middle-aged. Before you know it, I’ll be too old to attract someone other than widows or spinsters.”
“I daresay your money would attract just about anyone,” John said dryly.
“Is that why you’re opposed to marriage?” Laura asked.
“I’m not at all opposed to marriage. I’m simply waiting for a match that will be mutually beneficial.”
“How romantic of you. You’re not still harboring the belief that love doesn’t exist? I thought that was simply juvenile angst.”
A footman entered carrying a tray of tea and small pastries. He set it down quietly on a table, stopping conversation for the moment. John was relieved he wouldn’t have to again lecture someone on the subject of love. He’d learned it was impossible to convince someone under the delusion of love that the emotion did not exist.
“Shall I pour?” Laura asked.
“I was planning to break out my brandy, but tea will do for now,” John said, and watched with strange contentment as Laura went about the ritual of pouring and serving the tea.
The same footman appeared moments later. “Sir, Lord Avonleigh and Lady Spencer have arrived.”
“I don’t recall asking for sisters,” John murmured good-naturedly.
John noted that Laura pressed her lips together in displeasure. The two women did not get on well, as Laura was a buoyant spirit who often ignored society’s rules, and Lady Spencer was a bit of a stickler. While not entirely unpleasant, she was a girl who understood her place in society—and everyone else’s, as well. The daughter and sister of a marquess, Lady Spencer had debuted two years ago and had rejected three suits, because she was holding out for something better than a mere mister or baron.
“No doubt Lady Spencer is well aware that you did not plan properly for this little party of yours. Three men and one single woman is simply not the thing, you know,” Laura said with the slightest mockery. “Now we are even. Three men. Three women. And you do know that Lady Spencer is madly in love with you.”
John gave her a withering look. “She may join the line of ladies in ‘love’ with me,” he said dryly. Laura rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“She would be the perfect match for you, my lord. You are both wealthy. Both sticklers. Both boring beyond bearing.”
John chuckled. “I take exception to that last. I am not boring.”
Laura smiled and conceded that point. “No, sir, you are not boring. And I do not believe she would suit at all. She would suck the joy out of you, then stomp on it with those heels of hers.”
“My, my. I didn’t know your animosity went quite that deep.”
Laura let out a sigh. “I’m being rather ill-tempered, and I apologize. I will try to be pleasant as long as possible.”
“Thank you,” John said with a bow, then stood as the pair entered the drawing room.
Lord Avonleigh and Lady Juliana Spencer were the epitome of English aristocracy. Avonleigh was a tall, imposing man, who appeared far older than his years. He’d inherited his title two years earlier at age twenty-five, and it seemed to everyone who knew him that holding the title had aged him. Avonleigh now stood at the fringes of the large group of young men who’d invaded London several years earlier, looking for entertainments that mostly included women, drink, and gambling. Most had since taken a more serious bent, but Avonleigh had embraced his title with a fierceness that was both unexpected and curious. He had been the prankster among them, but now took life entirely too seriously. John had hopes that something—or someone—would snap Avonleigh out of his tedious duty and perhaps bring a smile to the chap’s face.
Lady Juliana Spencer, on the other hand, had never been anything but a proper lady. She wore her title like a mantle that protected her from underlings and anyone who was not a member of the ton. She was only nineteen but acted like a dowager. Unfortunately, she wielded power like a dowager as well, a position she seemed to savor quite a lot. John disliked her only because she frowned so heavily upon anyone who stepped even slightly out of the bounds of proper behavior. And John and his friends often did so. John couldn’t help but wonder why Avonleigh would have dragged his sister to the country, but he found out nearly immediately.
“I do hope you do not mind my bringing along Juliana,” Avonleigh said smoothly. “She didn’t want me proposing to anyone she hadn’t yet met.”
Lady Spencer didn’t even hint at a smile. “Since yours is a bachelor home,” she said with a level look at John, “I suspected you would not have thought of having the proper numbers.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Laura put in, cheerful as ever, although John thought he sensed a brittleness in her tone. Lady Spencer simply turned her head slowly to acknowledge Laura’s input. “I didn’t want the poor girl overwhelmed by all three gentlemen at once.”
“Surely, the numbers are wrong now with Miss Norris and I both here. The girl’s chaperone will most certainly be joining us, will she not?” She spoke as if she suspected there was no chaperone.
“Miss Stanhope will certainly not mind if the numbers are off,” John said.
John thought he heard Laura let out a snort of suppressed laughter, and he made a special effort not to smile at Lady Spencer’s ridiculous starchiness.
My God,
he thought,
she is worse than before.
My God,
he thought,
she is worse than before.
Lady Spencer was not an unattractive girl. Quite the opposite, in fact. But it was nearly impossible to warm up to a girl who rarely smiled, and when she did, only because she ought to. John often wondered what had made brother and sister so fiercely serious. At least Avonleigh had escaped for a while and had had a rousing good time before slipping back into his staid, serious life. He realized that Melissa would suffocate with such a man, and he mentally crossed Avonleigh off his list. Melissa could not marry a man who would not delight in her, who would chastise and correct her, and who was related to such a joyless woman as Juliana.
“When do we meet this long lost cousin of yours?” Avonleigh asked. “I have nuptials to plan, you know.”
Laura laughed, but stifled herself quickly at the look Lady Spencer gave her. “My brother has no interest in marriage,” Lady Juliana said, her voice sharp.
“Not so, little sister,” Avonleigh said, and it was clear Lady Spencer did not care to be called “little sister,” for her nostrils pinched. “I must do my duty and have an heir eventually.”
John gave his old friend a curious look. “Are you serious?”
“Why else did you invite us here if not to present us as possible husbands?”
“If you marry, Avonleigh, I’m afraid my days as a bachelor will be numbered. Even my father will begin to take exception to my single state.”
“I know,” Laura said, fully animated again. “We can make a game of it. List all the single women of marriageable age, put their names on a wall, and the three of you can throw darts at them. You shall marry whomever the dart lands on.”
Juliana gasped. “That is preposterous.”
“And we can do the same for you, my lady. But with men, of course,” Laura said, clearly enjoying herself. “It’ll be grand fun.”
John let out a laugh. “Stop teasing her, Laura. You know she has no sense of the absurd.”
“Can we have more than one chance?” Charles asked. “I daresay I wouldn’t want to marry just anyone.”
“Oh, we’d be careful to include only those women you favor.” Laura’s eyes twinkled merrily, and John suspected she was delighting in antagonizing Juliana.
“Fair enough,” Charles said good-naturedly. “Sounds as good a notion for wife-finding as anything else.”
“We can draw for who goes first,” John said, joining in the fun.
“I should go first since I’m the only one of us who is seriously contemplating marriage,” Charles said. “We shall need a paper and pen. And scissors to cut out the squares. You do have darts, do you not?”
“Avonleigh, make them stop,” Lady Spencer said, seeming to be truly upset.
“Do you truly believe even these fellows would allow such a thing?” he said, and gave his agitated sister a gentle smile that seemed at odds with his serious nature. “They are simply having fun with you, Juliana. That is all.”
Her pale cheeks bloomed with two spots of color.
“I do not understand such jesting,” Lady Spencer said, and lifted her chin.
“Which is why they so delighted in it,” Avonleigh said, calmly, but he’d made his point with the others, who immediately ceased their teasing.
“We apologize, don’t we?” John said, and the others nodded, though John suspected Laura was less than sincere. “Melissa will be down right before dinner. In the meantime, ladies, you may rest in your rooms or walk about the gardens. It is unusually warm today, and I do believe the sun shall make an appearance.”
With that, the small group dispersed until that evening.
Lord Braddock felt strangely out of sorts. Perhaps it was because he was in London while John was home in Flintwood taking on duties that should fall on his shoulders. He trusted John and Miss Stanhope completely to get his niece prepared for the season, but he felt uneasy somehow. It was as if he’d missed some important fact, something critical that he’d forgotten to take care of.
Part of it, he knew, was due to Miss Stanhope and her prickly nature, which seemed so at odds with what he’d seen of her in the past. She’d seemed so serene, almost otherworldly in her calm, which was one of the reasons he’d selected her as Melissa’s chaperone. He’d not expected her to fight him on any front, particularly not when it came to his niece. And his reaction to her smile was rather curious. George was not a man who put too much weight on what he deemed to be the natural physical reaction of a man to an attractive woman. But his physical reaction to Miss Stanhope was bordering on the bizarre. Perhaps it was just as well he was staying in London while she schooled Melissa in proper behavior.
Lord Braddock was far happier in the bustle of London at any rate. When he was rusticating at Flintwood House, he could never fully relax, for there were always so many more productive things he could be doing in Town. He’d just finished a meeting with his solicitor, ensuring that Melissa would be taken care of financially upon his death. His brother, God rest his soul, had left his daughter nearly nothing but debt. That would not happen should Lord Braddock suddenly die.
Braddock was on his way to his townhome not three blocks away when he spied the Duke of Waltham departing a bookstore and was sorely tempted to stop and turn around. Braddock didn’t care for the man, mostly out of solidarity with his brother, who had loathed him for reasons unknown. Braddock had heard rumors of unsavory activities and mistreatment of his female servants, particularly the young ones, and the duke’s rages were nearly legendary. The man at times seemed unhinged. Braddock didn’t know what had happened between the duke and his brother, but it had gone dangerously deep and had nearly led to a physical altercation years and years ago. His brother had always claimed Waltham wanted him dead, but had refused to tell George why.
He had never been a man to put stake in rumors, but Braddock knew there was something off about the duke, something one could not easily pin down. It was almost as if Waltham had a scent that one was unaware of smelling until it made one nauseous.
“Braddock. Good day to you, sir,” Waltham said, sounding overly friendly considering George’s brother had counted him his greatest enemy. “I understand condolences are in order.”
Waltham gave Braddock an appropriately sorrowful look and George got the distinct feeling the duke was being disingenuous. “Thank you. I’m certain the news of my brother’s death saddened you greatly. Good day, sir.”
George was about to move on, glad the encounter was over, when the door to the bookstore opened and a young girl stepped out, smiling broadly at Waltham and holding a book up in front of her. “Oh, Father, thank you. Missy will be ever so jealous when I show her I got the very first copy.”
George was quite certain at that moment that every function in his body, his breath, his heart, his very brain, stopped functioning when he saw that girl. She was lovely, with curling dark hair, a creamy complexion, rosebud lips. And violet eyes. She was, quite shockingly, Melissa’s twin.
George looked from father to daughter, his world slowly crumbling about him. It could not be.
Could not.
Melissa could not be the offspring of this scoundrel. But the facts were, at that moment, nearly undeniable. The duke had those same disturbingly beautiful eyes, the same dark, curling hair. The resemblance was unmistakable.
Could not.
Melissa could not be the offspring of this scoundrel. But the facts were, at that moment, nearly undeniable. The duke had those same disturbingly beautiful eyes, the same dark, curling hair. The resemblance was unmistakable.
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