Only one hurdle remained. Dorothea took a deep breath. “Arthur Pengrove proposed to me earlier this evening,” she announced in a breathless rush.
Lord and Lady Dardington shared a cryptic glance before Lady Meredith’s delicately arched brow lifted. “Really?”
“There is no cause for you to look so worried,” Dorothea said with deliberate lightness. “I turned him down. Or rather, I convinced him he was far too young to take on the responsibility of a wife.”
“Thank you,” the marquess said sincerely. “Enduring a meeting with Pengrove would have been torture for me. I’m certain I would have felt as though I was kicking a rabbit when I forbade him to propose.”
Dorothea’s head swiveled in the marquess’s direction. “You would have turned him away?”
“Of course.”
The marquess nodded and returned to his meal, spearing a large piece of rare roast beef on his fork. Dorothea regarded him warily as he chewed his food with obvious relish.
“But what if I wanted to marry Mr. Pengrove?”
Lord Dardington paused, his fork halfway between his mouth and his plate. “Why in the world would you want to spend your life with Arthur Pengrove?”
“I don’t. But if I did, would you prevent it? Can you prevent it?”
“My dear girl, I can do just about anything I please,” the marquess answered in a firm tone. “And I want every gentleman within a ten-mile radius of London to be very aware of that fact.”
Dorothea swallowed her panic. It was daunting to be faced with the reality of how much power the marquess had over her, even though this was only a temporary arrangement. The prospect of having to find a man that met with his approval was unsettling. Most unsettling, indeed.
Lady Meredith must have sensed Dorothea’s distress, for she gave her husband a troubled look. “What Trevor means to say is that we have taken the responsibility for your future happiness very much to heart. We agreed to be your sponsor this Season so you would have the opportunity to meet and mingle with a variety of eligible men.
“Ultimately, however, it is your uncle Fletcher who will make the decision regarding the suitability of your future husband, since he is your blood relative. We only hope that you will at least listen to our advice before making your choice, since we are acquainted with most of these gentlemen and their families.”
“Men can be idiots when it comes to finding a bride,” the marquess said cheerfully. “In my case, it was sheer luck that brought Meredith into my life. I was too blind and pigheaded to at first see she was the very best thing that could have happened to me.”
“Oh, Trevor.”
Lord Dardington ran the tip of his finger lightly over his wife’s bare hand. Dorothea glanced away. There was so much affection and regard in that simple gesture; it made her feel like a voyeur to witness it.
Was this what she wanted for herself? A husband who treated her as an equal, who considered her opinions, who on occasion deferred to her wishes, who obviously adored her?
Or did she want a husband who basically left her on her own? One who was an amiable companion, an elegant escort, a solid provider? It was a question she pondered daily, yet she had not reached a definitive conclusion.
The one thing she did know with certainty was that she would not marry a man whom she did not enjoy kissing. Hence any man she considered a reasonable candidate earned himself an uninhibited kiss from her. It was her final test. Alas, thus far no gentlemen had passed it.
Lord Dardington pulled his attention away from his wife and once again regarded Dorothea. “It hardly takes a genius to see that Arthur Pengrove was not the man for you.”
“He is a man of good character,” Dorothea protested, feeling slightly annoyed that the marquess so clearly saw what she had not—that Arthur was very much the wrong man to be her husband.
“Yes, Pengrove is a fine man,” Lord Dardington agreed. “A kind, affable fellow who would bore you to tears within a month of marriage. And then who knows what could happen? In my experience, an unhappy wife can make for all sorts of mischief.”
Dorothea blushed to the roots of her hair. “Are you calling my honor into question, my lord?”
“No.” He gave a great sigh. “Allow me to share with you the benefits of my age and experience, Dorothea. You are far too naïve and pretty for your own good. As a discontented wife, you would be easy prey for every rake and rogue in society. And believe me, we are in no short supply of them.”
The marquess excused himself and went in search of some dessert for the three of them. Dorothea sat quietly, pondering his words.
“I hope Trevor has not caused you undue anguish,” Lady Meredith said. “This whole marriage business can be rather nerve-racking for a female.”
Dorothea nodded, her spirits lifting at Lady Meredith’s kindness and sympathy. “I had no idea it would be so complicated, so confusing.” She paused, then rushed ahead with her next question before she lost her nerve. “May I ask, were you in love with Lord Dardington when you married?”
Lady Meredith frowned. “Not at first.” She thanked the eager young footman who removed their dirty dinner plates and then turned back to Dorothea. “Is that what you want? To fall in love and then marry?”
Was it what she wanted? Dorothea felt a small shiver move through her. Slowly, she shook her head. “I suppose what I want most from the man I marry is the possibility of falling in love.”
“Well, there are all sorts of marriages that are deemed very successful by society’s standards,” Lady Meredith said. “For the most part, being in love with one’s spouse is considered rather bad form by many of the ton. Either before or during the marriage.”
“Yet both you and your two brothers married for love.”
Lady Meredith laughed. “Yes, the Barrington family is well known for its eccentricities. And I for one am very glad of it.” The older woman’s expression sobered. “I shall give you one piece of advice and ask you to consider it most carefully. Don’t rush yourself, Dorothea. I can bear witness that the old adage, marry in haste, repent at leisure, is unfortunately true.”
“Ladies, I come bearing gifts.” The marquess’s deep voice cut into the conversation. Lord Dardington appeared at their table with two footmen carrying large silver trays in tow. “’Twas too difficult to decide upon a single sweet, so I brought one of everything.”
Both Dorothea and Lady Meredith let out a squeal of delight. With broad smiles they hastily made space on the small table for all the plates. The marquess resumed his seat and within minutes they were all busy tasting and then passing around the dishes, each exclaiming over their favorites and encouraging the others to have a sample.
As Dorothea chewed on a sinfully rich piece of cake, her thoughts turned to Lord Atwood. He had pulled her into a dance this evening without knowing her name. He had called her the future Mrs. Arthur Pengrove. How on earth did he know that Arthur had proposed? Dorothea believed she could say with a fair degree of certainty that the two men were not friends, making it impossible that Arthur would have confided his plans to the marquess.
Dorothea spooned a generous portion of raspberry trifle into her mouth. As the sweetness of the berries burst upon her tongue, she paused for a few seconds to relish the flavor. She took a second bite and decided this was most likely a puzzle that might never have a proper resolution.
Chapter Three
It was a pleasantly warm, cloudless afternoon. Carter rode cautiously through the clogged streets, as fast as the London traffic would allow, all the while thinking he should have brought his carriage. That vehicle most assuredly would have been moving at a snail’s pace as his driver sought to negotiate around the other carriages, carts, riders, and pedestrians.
Carter was in no hurry to reach his destination. Far from it, really. His father would still be in a furious mood, no matter what time he called. The tersely worded message had arrived at Carter’s bachelor rooms at the unfashionably early hour of nine a.m. His anxious
valet had woken him the moment it was delivered, deciding a summons from the duke was sufficient reason to ignore his master’s long-standing order never to disturb him when the bed curtains were drawn tightly shut.
Carter had thrown the unopened letter at his servant’s head, rolled over, and pulled the covers to his chin. But his sleep had been effectively disrupted and he had been unable to restore it. Rousing himself two hours later, he bathed, allowed himself to be shaved and dressed, then ate a hearty meal. Deciding he could put it off no longer, the marquess reluctantly ordered his horse to be brought around.
The sunshine of the day had initially boosted his mood, but those good spirits diminished as he drew closer to his father’s residence. Grimacing, Carter steered his mount around a tipped vegetable cart, secretly hoping his horse would stop to nibble on the greenery strewn about the street. But the animal kept his head lifted proudly in the air, disdaining the bounty beneath his hooves.
All too soon he reached the doors of his father’s stately London mansion. It was the largest, and the oldest, residence in the square, a testament to his family’s aristocratic ancestry, position, and wealth. Three reminders Carter did not need at the moment.
The same stoic butler who had never failed to intimidate Carter when he was a boy answered the door a split second after the brass knocker fell.
“Lord Atwood.” The butler bowed respectfully. “May I take your hat and coat?”
Carter could not contain the smile that broke through as he divested himself of his outwear. His father’s servants always managed to seem surprised when he appeared on the doorstep, as if he had journeyed from a great distance instead of from across Town.
Then again, most days he felt as though he lived a world away from this place and all it represented.
“Please inform my father that I have arrived,” he said, brushing away an imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of his blue superfine jacket.
“The duke asks that you await him in his private study,” the butler replied.
Carter nodded, then held up his hand to refuse the footman’s escort. Honestly, sometimes the formality of his father’s home was not to be believed. He had grown up in this house, well, this house and several other estates. He certainly did not require assistance in finding his way to the duke’s private study.
When he arrived, the room was predictably empty. And ominously quiet. Even the ormolu clock on the mantel barely made a sound as it ticked off the minutes. Restless, Carter remained on his feet, resisting the urge to pace.
Yet the longer he waited, the longer he was forced to review the events of last night in his mind. Dancing with Miss Dorothea Ellingham had been a mistake. She was a newly engaged female; he had no right to be flirting with her, no right to enjoy her company so very much; no right to use her as a way to avoid an introduction to the woman his father had expressly said he wanted Carter to meet.
And not dancing with Lady Audrey Parson last night had been an even graver error. It was that action that brought him to the predicament he faced this afternoon.
Finally, the duke entered the study. He spared a brief glance at his son, then perched himself regally on an ornate chair behind an enormous mahogany desk. Carter settled himself against the very uncomfortable straight-back chair opposite that desk.
“I thought to ask you for an explanation for your behavior last night, but have decided it would be a waste of your breath and an even greater waste of my time. There is simply no acceptable excuse.”
Carter strove to elicit an appearance of calm. Yet all the while, his stomach churned and his jaw ached with the effort it took to keep it firmly shut. Arguments with the Duke of Hansborough were seldom won. Especially when the duke was in such a high temper.
“I was humiliated!” the duke roared at his son. “Made to look like a complete ass in front of half the ton. By my own son, no less.”
“It was not my intention to insult you or show any disrespect, sir.”
The duke’s face darkened. “Intention or not, it was the result.”
“True, I was aware that you wanted me to meet Lady Audrey. Yet there was a crush of people at the ball. It was easy to become lost in the crowd,” Carter said.
“You did it deliberately,” the duke accused, his voice dripping in irritation.
It was the truth and they both knew it. Carter had no ready reply, no adequate defense. He turned the conundrum over in his mind and wisely decided it would be foolish to try and talk his way around his father’s ire. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
The duke hesitated and then apparently saw the sincere apology in his son’s face. Nevertheless, a lecture ensued. Carter barely listened. It had all been said before, countless times. He will run out of breath, Carter told himself. Eventually. Carter waited, soundlessly adjusting the angle of his leg, trying to remain as serene as possible.
Finally, the duke paused. The color on his face was no longer a stark, bright red; it had dulled to a healthy-looking glow. “You shall marry by the end of the Season. I have made a list of females I find acceptable, women who will be able to admirably fill the role of future duchess. Certainly there must be at least one among them that will strike your fancy.”
A list. Hell. Carter reluctantly reached for the piece of paper his father held out to him. With effort, he resisted the urge to crumple it and toss it in the unlit fireplace. Instead, he pretended to carefully study it, though his eyes blurred over the names.
“Is there a particular reason why you feel it necessary to play the matchmaker for me, sir? Do you think me incapable of finding a woman on my own?”
“I am very aware that you have no difficulty finding women. All sorts of women. All sorts of improper women.” His father’s eyes narrowed. “I have left the task of finding a bride to you for several years and you are no closer to matrimony than you were when you first reached your maturity. You will be thirty years old in a few months. ’Tis time, Carter. Past time.”
The marquess squirmed in his chair. It bothered him greatly to disappoint the duke. Far more than he would have liked to admit. Far more than his father would likely believe. He was tempted to reveal that he had reached the same conclusion and would indeed marry by the end of the Season, but that would be a grave tactical error and encourage even more of the duke’s unwanted interference.
“These sorts of things cannot be rushed, sir. Surely you agree this is a most important decision?”
The duke sighed. “I am not a heartless monster. I understand your reluctance. Truly. But I would be a poor father indeed and an even worse aristocrat if I allowed you to become an idle, thoughtless man, one who will never do anything meaningful or important with his life.”
The comment rankled. He wasn’t all that bad. A bit of idleness, perhaps. A bit of gambling, a bit of drinking, a bit of whoring now and then. There were others, many others, far worse. “Forgive me, sir, but I fail to see how a wife will change anything.”
“A proper wife, a family, will give you purpose, stability,” the duke said.
Carter’s brow lifted. He saw no logic in that argument. Some of the wildest, most hedonistic noblemen he knew were married men.
“Yes, yes, I know,” the duke bristled, as though he read his son’s mind. “There are far too many in society who marry for pedigree or fortune and then dally with others. But that is not our way. The Hansborough dukes are honorable men, faithful to their duty, their country, and their wives.”
Carter leaned forward. “Precisely. Which is why I cannot rush the choice of a bride. I need to somehow discover a woman who values me for more than my title or fortune.”
“Then you must seek her out! She isn’t going to just fall into your lap like a ripe plum, my boy,” the duke insisted.
A ripe plum, indeed. More like a rotten apple. Carter sighed. “With all due respect, sir, I have made an effort with the women you have thrust so unceremoniously at me for the last few years. It has all been for naught.”
�
�Bah, you barely paid them any attention.”
Carter’s lungs strained for air as he struggled to hide his exasperation. “For most of these women, a limited acquaintance was all that was required. Several were mind-numbingly boring, or even worse, outright silly and giddy. A few spoke incessantly, while others sat so still and silent I worried if they were still drawing breath.”
The duke glared at him. “You are exaggerating.”
“Hardly. I am being kind. If the intent of marriage is to continue our illustrious, noble line, then you must allow it is imperative that I marry a woman I can impregnate.”
The duke snorted with disdain. “Don’t be vulgar.”
“I’m being truthful, Father.”
The duke rested his elbows on the top of his desk and covered his face with his hands for a moment. “I understand,” he said quietly, his tone sympathetic. “Far more than you think. I know all too well what it feels like to be obligated to a title, responsible to a birthright, forced to follow the immutable rules of society. If you fight it, you will become an angry, bitter man. If you embrace it, you at least have a hope of finding happiness.”
Carter tried to make allowances. He believed his father did indeed have his best interests at heart. But the duke was too much of an autocrat to completely understand. The need to control everything around him was strong and that included the actions and affairs of his son.
“I have always strived to be honorable, to do justice to our family name,” Carter said grimly. “I do not shirk my duties, sir, yet I want to be allowed to choose the woman with whom I shall spend the rest of my life. Is that so very much to ask?”
The duke stood. He was silent for a long moment and then he smiled charitably at his son. Carter’s intricately tied cravat suddenly felt much too tight.
“You present a compelling argument and I find I must agree. Perhaps I have been a bit too zealous. I’ll own it must be lowering for a man to have his father interfering so obviously.” The duke’s smile widened. “Consult the list. I feel certain there is at least one woman among those delectable females you will be happy to choose as your bride.”
How To Seduce A Sinner Page 4
