Darrington 01 - Marriage Minded Lord

by Sandra Sookoo

  “If you two insist on chattering away like birds, I shall ask Samuel to relocate my meal to a quieter setting.”

  “We hardly sound like birds.” One of his mother’s eyebrows rose toward her hairline. When a lecture from Roberta was in the offing, that eyebrow would rise; the higher, the more irritated she was. “It’s Sunday morning, Felix my darling. What could you possibly be in a snit about this early? Did you not have fun at the musicale last evening?”

  He snorted. Almost noon wasn’t early by any stretch of the imagination. “I’m not in a snit, Mother. As for last night’s entertainment, let’s just say it was all relative and there were a few high moments.” Ever since he’d left the Drummond residence, he couldn’t forget the French woman’s food, the sound of her voice, her verve or daring, even though he’d left with a rather annoyed attitude.

  “Ah, then you’ve found Lady Drummond worthy of your pursuit?”

  “Perhaps.” Felix refused to commit to anything, especially to his mother. He didn’t want to spend time with Olivia overly much, but if he were in her house again, he might catch a glimpse of Miss Delacroix. Never had a woman captured his attention as much as the Frenchwoman, yet continuing down such a path would be sheer folly. His mother would give him a dressing down he wouldn’t soon forget, not to mention that the scandal he’d bring to his family name would be the talk of London—until the next one on someone else’s doorstep. Yet would the greater crime be in building up Olivia’s hopes when the probability of him actually choosing her to wed was almost nil? Botheration. I should have stayed in the country.

  His parent clapped her hands in evident glee. “I do hope you’ll hurry things along.”

  He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t read too much into this, Mother. I refuse to take leave of my common sense merely to wed upon your dictate. I’m not certain Lady Drummond is a good match.”

  “She’s as good as anyone else, and it’s no secret she’s looking for a husband.”

  “Mother.” A note of warning crept into his voice.

  Roberta sniffed. “When have you ever followed one of my suggestions without argument?”

  “Not now, Mother.” Felix sighed. Some days he wondered what it must be like not to have family constantly underfoot, annoying him at every turn, questioning his every decision. “I simply wish to enjoy my paper and meal without the droning of pointless conversation interrupting me.”

  “It’s not pointless.” Roberta selected a slice of ham steak from a tray bearing cold cuts and cheeses then laid the meat on a piece of baguette. In the strong midday light streaming through the windows, her hair gleamed auburn. If it weren’t for the streaks of gray glimmering in the coif, no one would guess she was in her mid-fifties, and with her still-bright hazel eyes, she was very much a vibrant fixture in London. “Your sister and I are discussing the merits of attending the Amherst rout in two weeks. The invitation arrived yesterday, for all three of us. Actually, it mentioned your other siblings as well, but they’ve yet to respond to my summons.”

  Why is that? His chest tightened with stress. Lucky devils they were indeed to stay away. If he wasn’t embroiled in problems here, he’d go fetch them himself. Felix methodically folded his paper as Roberta’s words sank into his consciousness. He laid the paper to the side of his plate and stared at his mother. “The Duke of Amherst? He’s never invited us to anything before.”

  “Of course, dear. As if there is another Amherst of consequence in town at the moment.” Roberta grinned. “The lateness of the invite could mean they’re short on numbers since Parliament and the upcoming holidays are a strain on social commitments, but I’m choosing to ignore that fact. It will be a prime function where Charlotte—or even you—can be seen amongst the Ton and perhaps catch someone’s eye.”

  “Right. For one glorious second I’d thought you wanted your offspring to enjoy themselves while in London.” An image of a dark-haired woman with coffee-colored eyes and a smart mouth sprang into his mind. “However, I think attending Amherst’s party would be in everyone’s best interest.” Something about the enigmatic touch of sadness he’d glimpsed in Miss Delacroix’s eyes urged him to find out more of her secrets—namely the lord who was allegedly her father. “Perhaps if I agree to this rout, you two will leave me alone for the remainder of the Season.” Then he’d have more time to contemplate how else he should wrangle another meeting with the mysterious Frenchwoman.

  Charlotte, who sat beside him, turned and gazed upon him with a dancing blue gaze. “Do you mean it? You’ll accompany Mother and me?”

  “Absolutely.” He adored his sister. From the roots of her dark red hair to the soles of her dainty feet, there wasn’t another female he held in such high esteem except his little sister, of course. Any woman he eventually agreed to leg shackle would need to pass inspection with Charlotte. “And may I say, perhaps you should wear that emerald satin or the light blue, silver-shot silk. It will set off your hair quite nicely and bring out your eyes.”

  “What a delight you are today.” Charlotte grinned. “Some say the Darrington blue eyes are my best feature.”

  “That may be true, but your hair is quite magnificent as is your fiery temper and your penchant for meddling in other people’s affairs of the heart.” He wanted to gag that he’d stooped so low as to discuss fashions and give his sibling obvious compliments. “Do you, ah, know who else is on the guest list for the Amherst affair?”

  “I have no idea,” Charlotte admitted. “Perhaps Mother does.”

  “I do not, but I could inquire if a specific lady is at the heart of your question.” His mother clucked across the table. “And may I say, this change in attitude on your part is suspect.” She cut a boiled egg into slices. Her hawk-like gaze bore into him. “What are you after? It’s not like you to willingly wish to squire either of us about, let alone encourage your sister to attend a specific function.”

  Felix fought off the warmth roiling over him. He took his time filling his plate with food, choosing instead to let his parent suffer in silence for a bit longer. Finally, he said, “I’ve decided to give some thought to your needs, Mother. Of course you want grandchildren, and me sitting around here when not in Parliament won’t accomplish that goal.” He glanced between his relatives as his mind spun with a devilish idea. “I shall ask Lady Drummond to accompany me—unless she’s already received her own invitation. Should she want to bring her companion along, I won’t begrudge the woman a night out.” If they didn’t have an invite, perhaps he’d find a way to make certain one arrived at the Drummond residence. At least then he’d be guaranteed to see Miss Delacroix again. Now, who did he know in Amherst’s camp who could help?

  Roberta set her fork onto her plate with a sharp clatter. “Who is her companion? Have you met her?”

  Tread carefully. His mother was like a dog with a bone if she sniffed gossip in the wind. Felix nodded. “I have.” As if he had all the time in the world, he cut pieces from a chunk of cheese. “At the musicale yesterday, Lady Drummond had unfortunate luck. A trifle fell into her lap and ruined her gown. When she retired abovestairs to attend to the mess, I happened to meet her genteel companion, a Miss Clarice Delacroix if I remember correctly.” Just uttering her name sent tendrils of heat spiraling up his spine. He rather enjoyed it.

  “The name is not familiar to me.” Roberta resumed picking at her food. “She must be a poor relation of some sort if she lives between classes in a companion role.”

  Was it his imagination or did his mother breathe a quick sigh of relief? He narrowed his eyes. Why shouldn’t he try and spend time with the woman if it would make him happy? He deserved to finally do something for himself. “I have it on good authority she’s not remotely related to the Drummond family.” Should he hint at her titled French bloodlines?

  “Ah, then she must be someone’s desperate castoff. After all, who but a woman down on her luck would choose to be a companion to Olivia Drummond?”

  A stab of annoyance sliced
through his gut. He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps now was not the time to talk her up to his mother. “Shall I not further Olivia’s acquaintance then?”

  “Good heavens, Felix. The woman has money. For that I can overlook her penchant for questionable dealings.”

  What sort of trouble had Olivia gotten into and why hadn’t he heard about it?

  “Please, Mother. You know I don’t adhere to rumors.”

  “There is talk about a shopkeeper on Bond Street.”

  Bother. “Oh please. A woman of Lady Drummond’s standing wouldn’t really conduct a dalliance with a shopkeeper.”

  “Unless that lady doesn’t give two braces for her reputation.” Charlotte dabbed at her mouth with a linen napkin. “I know of Miss Delacroix. I’ve seen her accompanying Lady Drummond about town on a few occasions.”

  “Oh?” Though he tried to infuse a note of boredom into his voice, Felix’s heartbeat raced. He was anxious to know what Charlotte thought of her. How often did Miss Delacroix leave the house, and when she did, was she alone or always in Olivia’s presence? If he walked around Mayfair, would he be able to accidentally run into her?

  “Yes. I’ve never spoken with her, but she seems a pleasant sort.”

  “She is. Very intelligent.” He picked up his fork, but his hand shook so badly he was forced to set it down again.

  Roberta sniffed. “I’ve heard she possesses a quick temper. She’s reported to be a daughter of a dancer or opera singer or some such questionable business, and French no less.” From the tone in his mother’s voice, one would think being French was a fate worse than death. “It’s best you stay away from that piece.”

  He bristled at the slight. She was not “a piece.” And how did his mother know more about who Miss Delacroix’s mother might be than he did? Blasted gossip. “While I will say I’m not one to champion a cause backed by the French so soon after my own injuries, those roots should have no bearing on Miss Delacroix’s character.” He grabbed his paper and unfolded it. The urge to announce her pedigree grew strong, but he bit the inside of his lip to keep the words from forming.

  “Calm down, my dear.” His mother’s eyebrow went skyward again. “It’s not as if a companion is worthy of your time. You won’t be courting her so the subject is moot. Let’s forget such a murky topic and instead discuss the possibility of throwing you and Olivia Drummond together more often.”

  Felix choked on the tea he just sipped. “I shall handle my own social calendar, thank you Mother, and may I remind you, if I find a woman who interests me, I shall court her as I see fit—even if she’s not acceptable to you or the title.” He ignored Charlotte’s snicker. “Regardless, I’m calling on Lady Drummond later this afternoon.”

  A smile broke out over his mother’s face. “Splendid. A fast courtship would be ideal in your case, Felix. Too long as an eligible parti and people will start wondering why you haven’t married.”

  “They won’t wonder. Men oftentimes wait until later in life to marry. I’m thirty-five, not ancient.”

  “Perhaps it’s not women you fancy, Felix,” his mother went on as if he’d never spoken. “If that’s the way the wind blows, I will love you, of course. It’s what a mother does; though expect your contemporaries to take a rather dim view of that preference.”

  Beside him, Charlotte snorted with unladylike laughter so great she dropped a piece of marmalade-laden toast onto the table cloth.

  “Mother!” Felix shot to his feet. His chair tipped over from his haste. Good Lord, what if the servants overheard the conversation and misconstrued it? “I do not fancy,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “men. I’m completely capable of finding a match—to a woman—on my own, with no help from you, so please, respect my privacy and sensibilities. Honestly, I rather think I have found a woman worthy or my pursuit.” And it wasn’t Olivia. Without another word, he fled the dining room before his mother could think of something equally scandalous to say.

  Devil take his female relatives. But he’d made a decision. He’d endeavor to accidentally run into Miss Delacroix as many times as he could, and in doing so, he’d discover what would make her happy, which would make him happy, and Lord knew he hadn’t been remotely close to that since his mother had summoned him to London. Perhaps it was time to buck tradition and duty after all.

  Two hours later, Felix stood at the front door to Wynesford’s townhouse on St. James Street, waiting for someone to acknowledge him. Finally, the green-painted door swung inward and the impeccable butler, Pomeroy, gave him a cold stare.

  “How may I be of service, Lord Swandon?” The tall, thin man had a way of looking down his hawk-like nose that made Felix seem insignificant.

  “I’d like to visit with Lady Drummond if she’s at home.” Though he could find no fault in the other man’s flawless dark suit or gloved hands, he couldn’t ignore the thought that the butler would rather be somewhere else.

  “I shall inquire. Please come in, sir.”

  “Thank you. Is Wynesford at home today?” Something troubled him about the family but he couldn’t fathom what. Perhaps he should pay more attention to on dits when his mother and sister bandied them about over breakfast. The only contact he had with Lord Wynesford was in Parliament where he did more talking and shaking the hands of others he wished to impress than actually debating law. Even if Felix had been interested in winning Olivia’s affections, he wouldn’t have been able to proceed until he investigated the family further. Good thing he was secretly here to see Miss Delacroix. He stifled the grin that tried to surface.

  “The earl rose early and departed for London Docks, my lord. After that, his schedule is unknown to me. However, you may wait in the front parlor while I obtain news of Lady Drummond.”

  Thus chastised for his not-so-subtle curiosity, Felix followed Pomeroy into the house. After walking through two hallways lined with portraits of Drummonds gone by, he was shown into the front parlor then the butler left. It was amazing how much of the house he didn’t remember from the night before, but then, once he’d seen Clarice, everything else had faded.

  The residence was as ostentatious as its owner, which was unfortunate for the structure would look statelier without the gaudy Greek statues and overblown portraits decorating every space. Everywhere, the Drummonds had chosen to flaunt their wealth in the trappings of their home. Lavish rugs softened footfalls. Tapestries hung on walls. Expensive paintings from Italian masters were focal pieces even in the parlor. He half—expected Olivia to leave her jewelry lying about to tempt guests or perhaps to rub their noses in her wealth.

  He stifled a shudder and chose to pace the length of the room with his hands clasped behind his back. Something was odd, yet if he wanted to remain in Olivia’s good graces in order to be near Miss Delacroix, he’d need to tolerate the tawdry. He wasn’t a foolish man, but he was mindful of the potential for scandal. Once he figured out why the Frenchwoman had captured his interest, he could move forward with his life.

  “Lord Swandon?” Pomeroy had returned. He stood, stiff and unyielding, at the door with his nose in the air. “It would appear Lady Drummond is still abed and not of a mind to see visitors. If you’ll be so good as to leave your card, I will make certain she knows you called.”

  Still abed, at this hour? Felix slipped his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket just to check the time in case he’d made an error. Ten after two in the afternoon. The slow burn of annoyance climbed his throat while he returned the watch to its pocket. “I see.” His carefully laid plans of gaining access to the house for the express purpose of seeing Miss Delacroix crumbled around him. “Thank you, Pomeroy.”

  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “No, I don’t suppose there will be.” He couldn’t very well wait indefinitely in the parlor until Olivia decided she wanted to come down.

  “Pomeroy, Lady Drummond requires a bath… Oh, I apologize. I did not know you were seeing to a visitor.”

  Felix’s pulse pounded as she appeared
at the door. “Good afternoon, Miss Delacroix.” Today, in a dress of moss green muslin and her hair caught back in a loose knot with a shiny brown ribbon, she was every bit as captivating as he found her last night. Getting a glimpse of the slim lines of her neck or the curve of her delectable lips was worth the inconvenience of having his plans go awry. “I had dropped by to call on Lady Drummond.”

  She nodded, turned to Pomeroy, and spoke to him in hushed tones. Then she raised her voice. “Thank you. I will see Lord Swandon out.” Once the butler departed, she focused her full attention to Felix. “I apologize. You’ve caught me by surprise.”

  “How so?” He joined her at the door then all thought flew out of his mind when he peered into her coffee-hued eyes. In the strong afternoon light, flecks of gold swam in the dark depths. What would they look like when she smiled with pure abandon or delight? He didn’t know, but he wanted to give it a go.

  “We didn’t exactly part on friendly terms.” She swept her gaze downward and the dark arc of her lashes lay like half-moons on her cheeks. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  Had she wanted to? His heartbeat accelerated and his palms began to sweat. Felix wiped them on his jacket. “Do you not think a spirited discourse can be enjoyed without hurting the other party’s feelings? I’d like to think we are both evolved enough to do that.” Although, at times, he suspected his colleagues in Parliament were not.

  “I’d like to hope so as well.” She lifted her gaze and a smile curved her lips. “I apologize, also, that Lady Drummond is otherwise busy this afternoon.”

  “In this instance, I find I don’t mind.” He barely concentrated on her words as his attention was taken with studying her face. Her lips were full and a dark mauve hue. What would her mouth feel like beneath his or trailing over his body? A few freckles dotted the bridge of her nose, and there was a small beauty mark on her right temple. The smooth, dusky skin tempted him. His fingers itched to smooth themselves down her arms. His groin tightened. Good God, I’ll soon be three sheets to the wind without any spirits. What a novel feeling. Olivia never inspired such carnal thoughts, and knowing that Clarice did sent his brain reeling.