Loving Lord Egleton: A Regency Romance (Regency Matchmakers Book 3)

by Laura Beers

  “That is terrible of you to say,” Hannah exclaimed. “She may have a larger than normal head size, but the rest of her is entirely proportional.”

  Reaching for a file on the table, Kate opened it and suggested, “I was thinking more along the lines of Lady Emma Brooksbank or Miss Deborah Sanders, both of whom are accomplished women.”

  “Those could work, as well,” Hannah reluctantly admitted.

  Martin bobbed his head. “I’m not opposed to either of those ladies, but I would prefer to start with Lady Emma. I am friends with her brother, Lord Charles, and have seen her on a few occasions.”

  Hannah was displeased by his enthusiastic response, and she attempted to keep a frown off her lips. It didn’t matter to her who he wed. He had no interest in pursuing her and never would. So why did her heart ache at the thought of him being with someone else?

  Kate’s voice broke through her musings. “Did you hear me, Hannah?”

  “Pardon?” she asked, bringing her gaze back up.

  An understanding smile came to her sister’s lips. “I see you were woolgathering.”

  “I was,” she admitted.

  Martin chuckled. “Is finding me a bride that boring?”

  “It isn’t,” she replied.

  Kate closed the file and placed it down in front of her. “As I was saying, Lady Emma will most likely be in attendance at Lady Bowers’ ball tomorrow evening. We shall make the introduction to Martin at that time.”

  “That is a splendid idea,” Hannah agreed, clasping her hands in her lap.

  Martin smiled at them. “I cannot thank both of you enough for your assistance on this most urgent matter.”

  “You don’t have to keep thanking us,” Kate replied. “We are happy to help.” She turned her attention towards her sister. “Aren’t we, Hannah?”

  Hannah brought a smile to her lips and hoped her words sounded convincing enough. “That is what friends are for.”

  Martin watched her with a curious expression before he rose. “If you will excuse me, I would like to speak to Edward before I depart.”

  “Of course,” Kate said, rising. “Would you like me to escort you to the study?”

  “That would be wonderful,” Martin replied.

  After they departed, Hannah leaned back against the settee and let out a loud, unladylike huff. Why had she agreed to this madness in the first place? She was trying to marry off the man she’d loved since she was a child.

  Hannah stared up at the ceiling. Somehow, she needed to get her heart disengaged from Martin, and quickly. She couldn’t keep going on as she had.

  Martin sat at his desk and attempted to work, but his mind kept returning to Hannah. It shouldn’t bother him that she was interested in matrimony, but, frankly, he found it rather disconcerting, and he couldn’t fathom why.

  Hannah was a beautiful young woman, and he had no doubt that men would be lining up to court her. But she was still an innocent, in so many ways. He felt an overwhelming need to protect her from the rakes and fortune hunters who would try to take advantage of her.

  Not that Hannah would be willing to let him help her, because for some peculiar reason she seemed to be at odds with him. He wasn’t quite sure why that was, either, but her emotions were not easily hidden on her face. She had always been more reserved around him, but lately she had been standing her ground more often. He smiled at that thought. He found he preferred this side of Hannah.

  His father’s voice broke through his musings. “Why are you smiling like a blasted fool?” he asked gruffly from the doorway.

  “Nothing that would concern you,” Martin replied as he wiped the smile off his face.

  His father stepped further into the room. “I’ve just come from the House of Lords and have heard some distressing news.”

  “Which is?”

  “Apparently, my son has employed a matchmaker to help him find a bride this Season.”

  Martin leaned back in his chair. “That is true.”

  “Are you mad, son?” his father asked as he stopped in front of the desk.

  “I assure you that I am perfectly sane.”

  His father shook his head. “What will Lady Isabella think upon hearing the news that you have sought out a matchmaker rather than offer for her at once?”

  “It is not my concern.”

  “This scheme of yours will not work, and you will be wed to Lady Isabella at the end of the month.”

  Martin frowned. “It’s not a scheme,” he assured his father. “You agreed that I had a month to find my own bride.”

  “Do you truly expect to find a bride in such a short time?”

  “I do.”

  His father harrumphed. “You are a blasted fool, then.”

  “I prefer the term optimistic,” Martin joked.

  “Women of our station only care about security, not love,” his father argued. “They will put aside their feelings to marry for titles and positions.”

  “Not every woman is like that.”

  “No?” his father huffed. “Then you have been deceived.”

  Martin rose from his chair and walked over to the drink cart. “I am not the first person to employ a matchmaker, you know.”

  “Yes, I am fully aware of Lady Berkshire and her meddling sisters.”

  “They do not meddle.” He picked up the decanter and poured two drinks. “They have arranged advantageous marriages for many of their clients.”

  “I believe they saved the best marriages for themselves,” his father remarked dryly.

  “Pardon?”

  His father walked over and picked up one of the glasses. “One married a duke and the other a marquess.”

  “That is just a coincidence.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  “The Blackmore sisters do not have a conniving bone in their bodies,” Martin asserted.

  His father took a sip of his drink. “If you say so, but I am not so easily fooled.”

  “You have known them since they were little children,” Martin pressed, “do you truly believe they are capable of such underhandedness?”

  “There is nothing wrong with what they have done for themselves, especially since they didn’t have parents to help with their advancement in Society.”

  “You are wrong about them.”

  “It matters not,” his father replied. “I am much more concerned about you and your future.”

  “Delightful,” Martin muttered.

  His father frowned. “You will one day become the Marquess of Darby, and you will be expected to take your seat in the House of Lords.”

  “I am well aware of what is expected of me,” Martin said as he tightened his hand on his glass.

  “Are you?”

  “Have I not taken over the managing of the properties and investments to your liking?”

  Waving his hand in front of him, his father remarked, “You haven’t been completely incompetent at that.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Martin took a sip of his drink.

  “I am merely stating that you have a legacy that you must protect.”

  Martin put his glass down on the drink cart. “I am well aware, and it is not something I take lightly.”

  “I should say so.” His father glanced at the door before he lowered his voice. “I have decided that I will arrange a marriage for Marianne.”

  Martin’s brow lifted at the unexpected news. “You cannot be in earnest?” he asked. “She is not even out of mourning.”

  “She is a hellion,” his father countered, “and hasn’t even considered matrimony.”

  “You must give her some time. After all, she is only nineteen.”

  “Your mother was eighteen when she married me.”

  Martin shook his head. “I believe this to be a terrible idea,” he argued. “Marianne will be furious when she discovers that you intend to arrange a marriage for her.”

  “It is in her best interest.”

  “Is it?”


  His father had a puzzled look on his face. “Why do you say that?” he asked. “Marriage brings security. Every woman wishes to have that.”

  “How would you know what she wants?” he questioned. “You’ve hardly spent any time with Marianne since Phoebe died.”

  His father visibly stiffened. “That is terribly unfair of you to say.”

  “I am merely stating the truth.”

  “Phoebe knew her duty,” his father spat out. “Had it not been for the accident, she would have been a countess.”

  “Marianne knows her duty, as well.”

  His father huffed. “I think not,” he replied. “She would rather be riding her horse around our country estate than attend a social event.”

  “Father—”

  He was cut off. “I tire of this conversation.” His father gulped down the rest of his drink and placed his glass on a table. “I have already made my decision.”

  “Will you not at least discuss it with Marianne?”

  “What good would that do?”

  Martin walked over to the window and looked out at the well-maintained gardens. “You are making a mistake in doing this.”

  “Duly noted.” His father walked over to the door and stopped. “I want you to know that I take no pleasure in arranging a marriage for Marianne, but I do not wish her to carry on as she has been.”

  “Marianne will fight you on this.”

  “Maybe at first, but I do believe she will see the merits behind it.”

  Martin turned to meet his father’s gaze. “And if you are wrong?”

  His father tugged down on his ivory waistcoat. “I am rarely wrong, on anything,” he declared before exiting the study.

  With a shake of his head, Martin sat down at his desk. He might at least attempt to get some work done.

  He had just opened the ledger when he heard his sister’s voice from the doorway. “Why would Father be so cold and unfeeling as to arrange a marriage for me?”

  Martin glanced up and saw Marianne step into the room. “You heard that?”

  “I may have been eavesdropping,” she replied, unabashed.

  “I should have known,” he said. “You have done so since you were a little girl.”

  Marianne came to a stop next to the desk. “I hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but I overheard Father saying my name.” She pressed her lips into a tight line. “I refuse to marry a man of Father’s choosing.”

  “I do not fault you for that,” he replied. “It might be best if you let your feelings be known on the matter.”

  “That won’t make a difference; not when he has set his mind to something.”

  “Don’t fret,” he encouraged. “I will speak to him again. Perhaps next time he will be more reasonable.”

  Marianne didn’t look convinced. “Father has only ever considered me a burden. I believe it gives him great joy to marry me off and finally be rid of me.”

  “That isn’t true,” he argued.

  “He has hardly given me any notice since Phoebe died.”

  Martin leaned back in his chair. “Father changed that day,” he said. “He took her death hard, and I’m afraid he has yet to recover.”

  “That is hardly an excuse for the way he has treated me,” she argued. “I was just a child when Phoebe died, and I lost both of them that day.”

  “You still have me.”

  “Thank heavens for that,” she replied. “I don’t think I could abide living in this home without you.”

  “I have no doubt you would do so splendidly.”

  Marianne smiled. “You give me entirely too much credit, dear brother.”

  A knock came at the door and Moreland stepped into the study. “Miss Blackmore is here to see you, milady.”

  “Thank you,” Marianne replied. “Will you show her to the drawing room and inform her that I will be there shortly?”

  Moreland tipped his head before departing.

  Marianne returned her gaze to meet his. “Perhaps I shall ask Hannah to find me a suitor and run off to Gretna Green.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  She blew out a puff of air. “You’re right, of course,” she replied. “Even I’m not that brazen.”

  “It will all work out for the best.”

  “At least Father gave you a month to find your own bride,” she said. “I doubt he would be as considerate to me.”

  “We still have time to persuade Father, since you are still in mourning and an engagement at this time would be entirely inappropriate.”

  “I hope you are right about that.”

  He gave her an encouraging smile. “You must trust me on this.”

  “I do,” she replied.

  “I am pleased to hear it,” he said. “Now, go enjoy your time with Hannah.”

  As he watched Marianne walk out of the study, he sighed. He hoped his father would be much more agreeable the next time he spoke to him on this subject.

  5

  Hannah had just donned her straw hat when Marianne walked into the room and promptly closed the door behind her.

  “Guess what I just overheard?” Marianne asked, spinning back around.

  “I could hardly suppose.”

  Marianne dropped down onto a camelback settee. “My father intends to marry me off,” she revealed.

  Hannah gasped as she brought her hand up to her mouth. “That is terrible news.”

  “I agree.”

  “Did he say why?”

  Marianne frowned. “He believes me to be a hellion.”

  “I see,” Hannah muttered. “I’m afraid he isn’t entirely wrong.”

  “I may be a little eccentric, but I do know my place,” Marianne smiled ruefully, “most of the time.”

  Hannah sat across from her. “What do you intend to do?”

  Marianne bit her lower lip. “I was hoping you could find a suitor for me instead.”

  “You are still in mourning, though.”

  “Half-mourning,” Marianne corrected.

  “Kate would never agree to this,” Hannah said.

  Marianne sighed. “I would imagine so,” she replied, “but I refuse to be a part of an arranged marriage.”

  “Your father can’t force you to marry,” Hannah pressed. “There are laws against that.”

  “I know, but he could disinherit me.”

  “There are worse things.”

  Marianne leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling. “I could always run off and join the circus.”

  “Do be serious.”

  “I am,” Marianne argued. “I can perform horse tricks.”

  “You are a lady and should never go anywhere near a circus.”

  Marianne brought her gaze back to meet Hannah’s. “Don’t you ever tire of being proper?”

  “I do not,” Hannah replied.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t,” Marianne said with a smile. “You have always done everything that has been expected of you.”

  “That isn’t true.”

  “No?” Marianne questioned. “Name one thing you have done that one might consider improper.”

  “Why would I do anything that would risk my reputation?”

  “Because it is fun.”

  “Then I propose you are having the wrong type of fun.”

  Marianne laughed. “Is there any other kind?”

  Hannah shook her head. “I must question again why we are friends,” she said good-naturedly.

  “It is simple,” Marianne replied. “You would be dreadfully bored without me.”

  “I suppose that is true.”

  A knock came at the door.

  “Enter,” Marianne ordered.

  The door was opened, and a maid stepped into the room with a tray in her hands. “Moreland thought that you might enjoy some tea.”

  “That was most thoughtful of him,” Marianne acknowledged.

  The maid placed the tray on the table. “Would you care for me to pour, milady?”

  Maria
nne straightened in her seat. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “As you wish,” the maid said before she departed from the room.

  As Marianne reached for the teapot, Hannah announced, “I have decided it is time for me to marry.”

  Marianne’s hand stilled as she stared at her in disbelief. “Truly?”

  “I am twenty years old and both of my sisters have already entered into advantageous marriages,” Hannah went on to explain.

  “That may be true, but are you ready to tie yourself to someone for the remainder of your days?”

  “I am.”

  A silence came over them as Marianne poured two cups of tea. She set the teapot down, picked up a teacup and saucer, and extended it towards Hannah.

  Hannah accepted the offering and took a sip before lowering it to her lap. “I know what you are thinking—”

  Marianne cut her off. “Hardly.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Glancing over at the open door, Marianne lowered her voice. “Is it a grand coincidence that my brother asked for your help to find a bride, and then you decide it’s time to get married?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Marianne gave her a knowing look. “I would be blind if I didn’t notice that you hold my brother in high regard,” she said. “It has been that way since we were children.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Only to me.”

  Hannah pursed her lips together. “It matters not, because your brother has only ever considered me a friend.”

  “How do you know that for certain?”

  “Because he asked for my help to find him a bride,” Hannah pointed out.

  Marianne took a sip of her tea. “Perhaps it is a way for him to get closer to you,” she suggested.

  “I think not,” Hannah said. “It is time for me to accept that Martin will never view me as anything other than a friend.”

  “He is wrong in doing so.”

  Hannah smiled. “Thank you for that, but I must move on. I have spent entirely too much time dwelling on him.”

  “Your heart needs time to heal.”

  “No, I need to forget about him by finding a suitor,” Hannah argued. “That is the only way I can move past him.”

  “I disagree.”