by Ava Stone
Greg looked out once more across the sea of people filling the Astwicks’ ballroom and frowned. “Do have a talk with your wife, Tris. I don’t want to be dragged from event to event like this for the next few months. How you can endure such torture is beyond me.”
“Phoebe enjoys it, and I love making her happy.”
“Well, I don’t enjoy it,” Greg grumbled, not that anyone cared about making him happy.
Tristan shrugged as though silently confirming that information meant very little to him. “You promised one season, Greg. She’s bound and determined not to waste any time where you’re concerned.”
At that, Greg scoffed. Loudly. “To what end? In finding me a bride?” He shook his head. “I’m resigned to the fact that Russell will inherit someday. There’s no need for me to marry and fill my nursery.” And there wasn’t. Russell and his heirs would take Rufford Hall at some point, and that was that. Though Tristan would make a better steward, there was nothing to be done about birth order.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Tristan said softly, his concerned green eyes level on Greg.
“I came to London for Cordie, not to find a wife. So do call off yours, my dear little brother.”
A bemused smile lit Tristan’s lips. “Humor her. It makes her happy.”
God forbid Phoebe Avery be unhappy. Greg scowled in response. If he wasn’t so fond of his sister-in-law, he’d tell her to go hang. Tristan too, for that matter.
A hiccup sounded from the threshold, and Greg looked toward the sound. A very pretty girl with dark-as-night ringlets framing her face stared up at the man beside her, a look of mortification across her countenance. Greg couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Hmm,” Tristan muttered. “Haven’t seen him a million years.”
Greg had never seen the fellow, not that he knew of anyway. “The dolt is foxed.” Because he very clearly was, with glassy eyes and a flushed face, and he appeared even more uneasy on his feet than Phoebe generally was. Perhaps the Astwicks’ would be more enjoyable if Greg were foxed. It was something to consider for next time.
“That does not surprise me,” his brother replied. “Drank all the way through Eton as though brandy was water.”
“Who is he?”
“Gillingham.” Tristan scratched his chin. “Keeps worse company than Russell. Can’t imagine why he would show up here. Hardly his usual haunt.”
Well, that was simple to understand. He was obviously there for the raven-haired beauty on his arm. Greg glanced back toward the pair. She was stunning. Her dark hair, her silvery eyes, and he couldn’t help but wonder who she was….which was completely foolish. What the devil was wrong with Greg? As he shook that thought from his mind, Gillingham teetered just so as though he was about to lose a bout with gravity.
Oh, good God.
Just as the fellow started to tumble forward, Greg pushed past Tristan and caught the drunken lord about the waist before he fell flat on his face.
“Elliott!” The beautiful girl gasped. Then she turned her pretty grey eyes on Greg and smiled slightly, and he felt it somewhere in his soul. “Thank you, sir. I—”
“Not at all.” Greg shook his head. Up close she was even more beautiful. How the devil was that possible?
Gilligham made some sort of sound and Greg turned his attention back to the soused fellow. But he seemed to have his footing now, which was a good sign.
“You all right?” Greg asked as he took a step backward, making certain the man could stand on his own.
But the fellow wasn’t all right. His face suddenly took on a greenish pallor right before he cast up his accounts all over Greg’s Hessians.
Goodness! Bella wished she could disappear, evaporate into the ether or have the ground swallow her whole. It didn’t matter, she’d take either option. How could Elliott have done such a thing? How could he have retched across some stranger’s boots in the middle of Lady Astwick’s ballroom? She had fourteen days to find a husband, but after tonight she wouldn’t be able to show her face in Town.
“Oh, sir!” Her hand fluttered to her lips. “I am so terribly sorry.” She didn’t know what else she could possibly say.
The gentleman’s green gaze lifted from his stained boots to stare directly at Bella. The fury on his face sent her heart racing. Oh goodness! What was she to do?
“Come with me, my lord,” Lady Astwick said a half-second later, her Scottish brogue lilting in the air. “We’ll get ye all cleaned up.”
The gentleman cast one more scathing glance in Elliott’s direction before allowing Lady Astwick to lead him from the ballroom.
“All right.” An army lieutenant heaved a sigh. “This way, Gillingham. Time to head home.” He grasped Elliott by the shoulder, careful not to get directly in front of Bella’s foxed brother.
“Avery?” Elliott asked, not a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “Where did you come from?”
“Been here all night.” He nodded to Bella. “Excuse us, Miss. I’d better pour the baron back into his coach and send him on his way before anything else unfortunate happens.”
“Thank you, sir.” Bella couldn’t agree more. “But he’s my brother,” she admitted softly. “I’ll get him to our coach.”
A sympathetic expression settled on the lieutenant’s face, but Bella didn’t have time to ponder the meaning of the look. People were already gaping at them. “I doubt very much you can carry him on your own.” He gestured toward the corridor with a tilt of his head. “I’ll help you.”
Thank heavens for the kind lieutenant. Bella wasn’t certain how she would have moved Elliott without the man’s aid. And she wasn’t certain how she was going to manage the next fortnight on her own either. Clearly, her brother was not the ally she’d hoped for.
The lieutenant, however, didn’t seem to need Bella’s assistance in the least. He draped Elliott’s arm around his shoulder and practically dragged her brother from the ballroom with ease. Bella trailed after the duo, down a corridor.
Suddenly, a door to a parlor opened, and Lady Felicity Pierce’s blonde head poked out from around the corner. Goodness! What was Lissy up to now? If Bella wasn’t so preoccupied with her own troubles, she would have asked her friend that very question; but as it was, Lissy was just who Bella needed to talk to. If anyone could help her find a husband within the next fortnight, it was Lissy Pierce. Possibly. Hopefully.
Relieved, Bella heaved a sigh and smiled at her friend. “I’m so glad to see you!”
Lissy returned her smile, though it seemed slightly feigned. “Well, I’m glad to see you too.”
“I’m just leaving,” Bella admitted, glancing after her brother and the lieutenant’s departing forms. “Gillingham has made a scene, unfortunately. Would you be able to go for a walk in the park tomorrow? I desperately need your council.”
“Of course,” Lissy replied, though her eyes strayed back toward the ballroom as though she was looking for someone or afraid she might see someone, rather.
Bella didn’t want to distract her and she needed to follow after her brother anyway. “I’ll send you a note then, in the morning,”
“Perfect.” Lissy nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter 3
Greg needed to be off to Tattersalls in the hopes that a decent stud and a handful of mares might catch his eye today as he’d been fairly unlucky so far with that endeavor, but first he needed to speak with his sister. After all, if anyone could help him with his Phoebe problem, it was her. And he most definitely had a Phoebe problem.
The Clayworth butler admitted him into the house, and after inquiring about his sister’s whereabouts, Greg made his way directly to the nursery, where he discovered his sister Cordelia, the Countess of Clayworth, sitting on the floor with her son playing with a little wooden horse. “I remember when you were that small,” he said to her. “Though I think he may have you beat in temperament.”
Cordie glanced up and grinned at him, then her green eyes twinkled just so
as she returned her attention to her son. “He is beyond precious, isn’t he?” she said as she rose from her spot on the floor. She smiled, tossed back her dark tresses and held out her toddler toward Greg. “Would you like to hold your temperate nephew?”
Greg eyed the golden-haired boy suspiciously. He wasn’t at all certain what to do with a creature so tiny. He probably would have been an abysmal father if Marina and their daughter had lived. But he shook that sentiment away. The last thing his sister needed was his maudlin thoughts. “I’ve had more than my share of titled lords tossing up their accounts upon me, and this one looks a little untrustworthy, to be honest.”
“Poor Julian! Did you hear what your uncle said about you?” Cordie giggled, hugging her son to her. The child grabbed a lock of Cordie’s dark hair in his pudgy fingers as she said to Greg, “But I understand your apprehension. Tristan did mention something about your boots at the Astwicks’ last night. Some Gilling-something-or-other. I’m not familiar with the name.”
Of course she wasn’t familiar with the name. Cordie kept mostly to herself and her small family these days. However, during the time when she had been a vivacious debutante, she would have never looked twice at a drunkard like Gillingham. A rogue like Haversham, sure; but not an insolvent drunkard. “I’d be happy not to hear it again, myself,” Greg grumbled. Then he shook his head. “The last thing I came to discuss today was that soused dolt.”
Her curiosity obviously piqued, Cordie furrowed her brow and jostled the child in her arms. “What did you come to discuss, then, Greg?”
“Our sister-in-law,” he confessed, hoping she would aide him. He didn’t know who else would help him if she said no. “You have to do something about Phoebe.”
“Phoebe?” Cordie shook her head. “Whatever she’s done, Tristan’s the one you should be talking to.”
“He’s no help at all.” Greg snorted. “But she’d listen to you. She always listens to you.”
His sister’s green Avery eyes seemed to assess him, something Greg found slightly unnerving. “What is she supposed to listen to me about?”
“Apparently she has it in her head that I need a wife and…” Greg sensed his brother-in-law’s judgmental presence behind him and let his words trail off. He could hear Clayworth’s uncharitable thoughts finishing the sentence, however. Preferably a wife of your own this time? Oh, the noble Earl of Clayworth never spoke such words aloud, but Greg could always see them written across the man’s brow, a constant reminder of Greg’s blaring indiscretion with Marina.
He glanced over his shoulder to find his brother-in-law standing just inside the threshold, and the earl looked far from pleased to find Greg standing before him. The feeling, as always, was mutual.
“Avery,” the earl grumbled in greeting.
“Clayworth,” he returned in kind.
Cordie released a sigh. There was no doubt in Greg’s mind that his sister wished he and Clayworth would see eye to eye one day, that they could find a way to tolerate each other’s existence. But that particular ship had sailed long ago, back before Marina had died, and it didn’t seem likely to ever return to port.
“Brendan,” Cordie began, as she brushed past Greg toward her husband. “I thought you’d left already.” Then she pressed a kiss to the earl’s cheek.
Clayworth shook his head. “Astwick cancelled. So I’m all yours this morning, mon minouche.”
“Oh Astwick!” Cordie giggled. “I am sorry we missed their ball last night. Apparently, it was the event of the Season.”
“If that was the event of the Season,” Greg muttered, “I can certainly miss the rest of it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Clayworth cast his dismissive eye in Greg’s direction as though his comment was a slight directed toward his friend Aswtick in some way.
“Some fellow, Gilling-something, retched all over Greg’s boots last night,” Cordie explained.
“Gillingham?” The earl frowned.
“Do you know him?” Cordie asked.
Her husband shook his head. “I know the name. He’s heir apparent to the Chatham dukedom, and he’s got his vowels spread all over Town. Fellow isn’t welcome in half the clubs, last I heard.”
“Well, he certainly isn’t welcome anywhere near me,” Greg returned. “The fellow could barely stand upright last night. He had no business being anywhere near that ballroom.”
“Tris said his poor sister was mortified,” Cordie added, a slight frown on her face.
The image of the raven-haired beauty from the night before flashed in Greg’s mind. “She was his sister?” he asked aloud, before he thought the better of it.
Cordie’s dark brow lifted with curiosity. Even the little cherub in her arms stared at Greg with interest. “I’m sorry. Of whom are we speaking?”
Greg shook his head in response. Damn it all, he shouldn’t have said anything about the girl in front of his sister. Cordie would make something of it, and there was nothing to make out of anything. He’d just assumed Gillingham was courting the pretty brunette, not that he was the girl’s relation. No self-respecting lady would ask her pickled brother to escort her to a ball, after all. “No one.”
“No one?” his sister echoed, not sounding convinced in the least.
Greg heaved a sigh. “No. No one. I’m just surprised the drunkard was escorting his sister. One would think the man, no matter how ungentlemanly, would have his sister’s care in the forefront of his mind.”
“Would one?” Clayworth asked, as though unable to stop the barb from escaping his lips. It was no secret the earl thought Greg should have taken better care of Cordie when she was under his care, and on that…well, on that Greg agreed with the earl wholeheartedly. He hadn’t done his duty as far as his sister was concerned. Discovering the treatment she’d been subjected to at their mother’s hands was something that still haunted him. If he could undo the damage done, he’d do so in a heartbeat.
“Brendan,” Cordie chastised. Though there was no reason for her to do so. On this matter, her husband was completely correct.
Unapologetically, Clayworth nodded to his wife. “I think I’ll retire to my study. If you need me, you’ll know where to find me.” And then he was gone.
“I can never make amends for not being there for you, Cordie. I…well, all I can do is tell you how very sorry I am that I didn’t ensure your safety. I—”
“That’s all in the past.” Cordie reached for Greg’s hand and squeezed it gently, effectively halting his words. “But at some point, I hope you and Brendan can be in the same room without the two of you wanting to tear the other to pieces.”
Greg shook his head. “You’d be better off wishing the night sky would turn to sapphires and drop at your feet.”
His sister laughed. “Well, I’ll have you know, I can wish for a great many things, Gregory Avery. And that is now on my list.”
There were so many people milling about Hyde Park today. It was almost like a hive of energy. Bella glanced out at the sea of people. A governess chased after a little boy who darted in and out of the others out for a stroll. A trio of sisters had their heads tipped together, giggling about something. But it was a couple walking arm in arm who seemed so engrossed with each other they didn’t appear to notice anything else in the world that truly captured Bella’s interest. Their shared look, their expressions of complete devotion tugged at her heart. They were perfect.
Bella glanced back down at her sketchpad and tried very quickly to duplicate the expressions the pair wore. Her almond shaped eyes were wide and there was a particular sparkle in his blue ones.
“My lady,” her maid Mary said quietly. “Lady Felicity’s coach just arrived.”
And just that quickly, the real world came crashing back around Bella. All of her worries and anxieties for her future washed back over her.
Bella glanced toward the Park Lane entrance and spotted her friend stepping from a carriage bearing the Prestwick crest. She blew out an anxious breath, ev
en though she was relieved to see her friend.
Bella closed her sketchpad, handed her supplies to Mary and pushed off the park bench.
Lissy waved her hand in the air, her ever-present smile upon her face. “There you are.”
Bella returned her friend’s gesture. Then she glanced back over her shoulder at her lady’s maid, and she inwardly grimaced. It would be next to impossible to keep Mary from overhearing her conversation with Lissy. Although she’d always considered Mary to be the loyalist of maids, Grandfather did pay the girl’s wages, and Bella hated to make the servant choose between her loyalties.
Feigning a cheerful smile, Bella started toward her friend, who was traveling with a maid of her own. Blast it all! It was one thing to hope Mary wouldn’t tell anything she might overhear today, and quite another to hope the same from a servant who wasn’t even in Bella’s employ.
“It is a rather perfect day for a walk,” Lissy began brightly as they started toward Rotten Row together. “I’m so glad you suggested it.”
“Me too,” Bella replied, glancing slightly behind her to see how close the two maids planned to follow. Closer than she would like, honestly. Not that she could say anything without causing undo attention, so she focused on the path before them and couldn’t help but chew her bottom lip.
She needed Lissy’s council and any help she could offer, but the awfulness of her situation still stung her heart. She would rather not have to repeat anything her Grandfather had said about her to another living soul. She rather wished she’d never heard the words herself.
Within a few moments, they joined the throng strolling the park. Bella glanced from one man to another along the path. Would Lord Peasemore do? What about Lord Haywood? Or maybe handsome Lord Ericht, she certainly wouldn’t hold his Scottishness against him, not if he’d overlook…well, everything about her; odd, as she apparently was.
