Let It Be Love

by Victoria Alexander

  “Not want to marry me?” She scoffed. “Don’t be absurd.” She stepped to the closest chair and sank into it in a most unladylike manner, but she didn’t feel especially ladylike at the moment. “Honestly, Oliver, men have desired me for my looks alone. This American creature has the additional incentive of an impressive fortune plus the posthumous approval of my father. I can’t imagine him not wanting to marry me. Especially if he is anything like his father. Short, rotund, with very little hair and a calculating disposition, he eyed me as if I were a brood mare he was considering purchasing. I cannot imagine the son is any better.” She glanced at him. “And do stop staring at me, it is most disconcerting.”

  “You’re just not at all as I remember.” Oliver shook his head. “I always thought you were shy and reserved.”

  “When I was a child, I was, for the most part. One changes with the years, cousin. You have, haven’t you?”

  “Indeed. I scarcely ever climb trees anymore and I can’t remember the last time I played with tin soldiers.” He smiled, then sobered. “If this American does follow you here, what then? He certainly can’t force you to marry him.”

  “Of course he can, in that I will have no choice.” She leapt to her feet and paced the room. “I am very realistic about myself, Oliver.”

  He chuckled. “So I’ve noticed.”

  “My flaws as well as my attributes. And do not be fooled by appearances, I am not nearly as perfect as I look. I have any number of nasty flaws.” She shook her head. “I am a weak person, cousin. I do not relish the idea of poverty and I quite enjoy spending money. We have already agreed that aside from marriage, I have no useful way to make my way in the world. If I have not come up with a way to escape, I shall be compelled to marry Whatshisname, as much to save my sisters as myself, of course.” She glanced at him. “Although they would not do well impoverished either.”

  He snorted. “No doubt.”

  Fiona moved closer to him, took his hands and looked into his eyes. “Will you help me.”

  “Find a husband?” He shook his head. “I thought you didn’t want to marry a man you’ve never met.”

  “I don’t, but if I have to marry, and it appears I do, I would prefer him to be English. I am not averse to selecting a match that would be to my liking. Come, now, cousin.” She widened her eyes and adopted a persuasive tone that had been known to work effectively on any number of gentlemen. “Surely you have friends who are looking for a wife?”

  “Most of my friends are actively avoiding marriage at the moment.”

  “But you could come up with, oh, say, a selection, an assortment, I can choose from?”

  “An assortment?” He laughed. “Like sweets?”

  “With any luck at all, yes. A choice of suitable matches. An array of acceptable candidates.” She forced a slight catch to her throat. “Please, Oliver.”

  “I don’t—”

  “I warn you, I do not intend to give up. Either you help me find an appropriate husband or”—she dropped his hands, stepped back and squared her shoulders—“I shall have to find one myself. And with your father and my father both deceased, you, as the Earl of Norcroft, are the head of the family. Therefore…”

  “Therefore?” he said slowly, with a distinct flash of apprehension in his eye.

  “Therefore, as head of the family, I should think you’d wish to avoid public scandal. I cannot guarantee that my pursuit of an appropriate match will be the least bit discreet.” She folded her arms over her chest. “In fact, I think the best way to begin my quest would be directly and honestly. An advertisement in the Times would serve. Something along the lines of, ‘Attractive heiress seeks suitable match. Candidates must be of good quality and willing to wed immediately.’ ”

  “You wouldn’t.” He stared in horrified disbelief.

  “Oh, but I would.” She shrugged. “I am a desperate woman, Oliver. Desperate women must resort to desperate means.”

  “I said you and your sisters are welcome here.”

  “I said I don’t want to be a poor relation.” She pressed her lips into a firm line. “Well?”

  “Good Lord, you are stubborn. I cannot believe…” He paused and his eyes narrowed. “And single-minded as well.

  “I do know what I want.”

  “And spirit.” A slow smile spread across his face. “You have a great deal of spirit.”

  She huffed impatiently. “I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

  “You, my dear cousin, would be a challenge for any man.” His smile broadened into a grin.

  “I do like to think so.”

  He studied her silently for a long moment. Fiona held her breath. She hadn’t really intended to threaten to advertise for a husband and wasn’t entirely sure she could do such a thing. Still, she was indeed desperate.

  “Helmsley,” Oliver said abruptly.

  “Who?”

  “The Marquess of Helmsley. Jonathon Effington.”

  “Jonathon Effington?” Her heart skipped a beat. “He is not yet married, then?”

  Oliver laughed. “No, he is definitely not married. But he wishes to be.”

  “Does he?” She forced a light note to her voice. “How…perfect.”

  “Perfect? I daresay Helmsley would be anything but…” He paused and considered her. “Why?”

  She widened her eyes innocently. “Why, what?”

  “Why do you think Helmsley of all people would be perfect? Have you met him?”

  “No, of course not. I’ve never spoken two words to the man,” she said with an offhand wave. “I did see him once, however, before my family left London, oh, what, nine years ago now?” It would be nine years exactly this coming Christmas Eve and the Effington Christmas Ball. “I liked the look of him, that’s all. Unless he’s changed dramatically, he was quite dashing. And if I am to marry anyone with the speed my situation requires, I should just as soon like the looks of the man.”

  Oliver studied her suspiciously. “I’m not certain I believe you.”

  “Oh, but I do like the looks of him.”

  And was there anything about the man that a woman wouldn’t like? Unless her memory had completely failed her, Jonathon Effington was tall with nicely broad shoulders, hair a rich sable in color and he danced as if he was born on a ballroom floor. He had a delicious dimple that appeared when he laughed and eyes that sparkled with mischief. Oh, certainly she had never danced with him or heard his laugh at anything but a distance or gazed into his eyes.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you well know it.”

  “Regardless, you must admit he is a catch even Father would have approved of. He would be a more than suitable match.”

  “And you are not the only lady in London to think so. Helmsley is one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. He will one day be the Duke of Roxborough and he is obscenely wealthy.”

  “I told you he was perfect.” She beamed. “Now all we have to do is convince him that I am perfect for him.”

  “And do you have an idea for that as well?”

  “None whatsoever.” She sighed. “I have had gentlemen attempt to convince me to marry them, but I have never been in the position of trying to entice one to marry me. There is always the possibility of embroiling him in a scandalous situation which would then compel him to marry me, to save my honor and all that.”

  Oliver raised a brow. “You would do that?”

  “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I wouldn’t. Oh, I am certainly desperate enough to do so, but even I have certain standards of behavior. Besides, I should have to live with him for the rest of my days and I would prefer to avoid the resentment that a forced marriage would surely provoke.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m glad you approve, although it would be much easier if I were the type of woman who would force a man into an unwanted marriage. Oliver.” She leaned toward him. “Aren’t you and he friends? Can’t you think of something?”

  “Something that will ma
ke an old friend marry a woman he has never met? That’s a rather formidable challenge.” Oliver grinned. “However, challenge might well be the key.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Helmsley comes from a family of very strong willed women.” He chuckled wryly. “You may trust me on this point. There was a time when I fancied myself in love with his younger sister. At any rate, he was once vehement about what he wished for in a wife. Quiet, reserved, well-behaved, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh, dear,” she murmured.

  “However, in recent years he has come to realize that that particular type of woman would bore him to tears. He wants a woman with intelligence, who knows her own mind. He wishes for a bride who would be more of a”—Oliver grinned—“challenge.”

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever attempted to be a challenge before, but I can certainly try,” she said quickly. “And I definitely know my own mind.”

  “Indeed, a woman who would flee across half of Europe rather than wed the man her father has selected for her would be just the type of woman to pique Helmsley’s interest.”

  “Excellent.”

  Jonathon Effington was precisely the kind of man she’d always dreamed of marrying. Indeed, although she had never said it aloud to anyone, had in truth pushed the thought from her mind years ago, Jonathon Effington was the very man she’d always wished to wed, even if he had no idea she existed.

  With Oliver’s help, that was about to change.

  “What do we do now? Will you arrange introductions or…” She drew her brows together. “I do plan to be honest with him, you know. Marriage is permanent and I should not wish to begin such an endeavor with deceit.”

  “Honesty is indeed the best way to proceed.” Oliver nodded. “Everything aboveboard, and all that.”

  “Well, perhaps not everything,” she murmured. The memory of a number of incidents that skated perilously close to scandal came to mind.

  “Not everything?” Oliver’s brow raised.

  “One cannot be a challenge and completely honest,” she said in a lofty manner. “I shouldn’t wish for him to know all my…secrets, as it were. Not that I have any particular secrets,” she added quickly, “although I suppose one could consider—”

  “That’s quite enough.” Oliver shuddered. “I have no desire to know anything more than is absolutely necessary. Simply give me your assurance that your secrets do not include anything that would preclude your being seen as a respectable match—”

  “Oliver!” She cast him an indignant glare. “How could you think such a thing?”

  “My apologies, cousin.” He had the good grace to look chagrined. “We haven’t seen each other for a very long time and, in truth, we do not really know one another at all. You have the manner and appearance of a woman who, well…” He shook his head in a wry manner. “I sincerely doubt that there are many men who would not risk scandal for you.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment.” She grinned, then sobered. “Including Jonathon Effington?”

  “Especially Jonathon Effington. You are precisely what he claims he wants in a wife. I shall be doing him a favor.” He chuckled. “Oh, this should be a great deal of fun.”

  “Fun is the last thing I need, Oliver.” Fiona sighed. “I need a husband.”

  And Jonathon Effington was not merely what she needed, he was exactly what she wanted.

  Chapter Two

  Four days later, at the Effington Christmas Ball…

  “Efficient as always, Henry.”

  Jonathon Effington slanted a glance at the butler, who, as he had done every year at this particular point during the Effington Christmas Ball, had stationed himself beside the Venetian mirror and console table that stood in a discreet alcove in the corridor that led to the Effington House library. And, just as he had every year, he bore a bottle of the house cellar’s finest champagne and two glasses.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Henry said coolly.

  Jonathon bit back a grin. Henry Mansfield was no more than a decade older than Jonathon himself and Jonathon was the lone member of the family to call him by his given name. Aside from that one deviation, long permitted and accepted by both men, Henry’s demeanor was polished and never anything less than perfect. Probably ran in his blood. He was at least the third Mansfield to serve as the Effington House butler, and thereby serve the Duke of Roxborough and family, succeeding to his position several years ago when his uncle, the previous butler and a Mansfield as well, had retired to a cottage in the country.

  Jonathon turned his attention back to his image. He had had an earlier meeting tonight in the library with the man he hoped would soon become his brother-in-law, but the assignation he was on his way to now was entirely different and much more pleasurable. He made a minor adjustment in the fold of his cravat. “What do you say, Henry, will I do?”

  “You are perfection itself, my lord,” Henry drawled.

  Jonathon laughed. Henry was never overtly sarcastic, yet Jonathon knew exactly what the butler’s tone now implied. The two men had known one another most of their lives. Indeed, in their younger years Henry had both assisted Jonathon in his various exploits and, on occasion, provided much-needed rescue.

  “Scarcely perfection, but acceptable, I should think.” Jonathon studied his reflection critically.

  He was not the handsomest among his friends, but he was not unattractive. In truth, he was quite pleased with his appearance. And women certainly didn’t seem to find him at all lacking. Why, they even liked the annoying way his thick brown hair insisted on flopping over his forehead instead of obediently staying put. He flashed a wicked grin at his image. And they did seem to adore his smile and the twinkle in his eye and the lone dimple in his cheek. Gad, he was undeniably a good-looking devil.

  “Passionless, my ass,” he said under his breath.

  Henry’s brow quivered slightly. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

  “Nothing, Henry, just thinking aloud.” Jonathon’s smile faded and he stared at the face in the mirror.

  He would not have admitted it to his friends, but their charge last week as to the lack of passion in his relationships had dwelled in the back of his mind. He’d tried to ignore it, brush it off as the absurd notion that it was, yet it had lingered still like a melody that repeats over and over and can easily drive one mad.

  He did concede, if only to himself, that perhaps they were not entirely wrong, although certainly he had been in love on occasion. Any number of times. It was simply not the kind of love, the kind of grand passion, as it were, that would lead one to behave in a ridiculous manner or to make promises one had no intention of keeping. Upon reflection, he had never led a woman to believe he offered more than he had. If his relations with women were somewhat superficial, well, it had served him and whatever lady was the object of his attentions at the moment nicely. And partings had always been amicable.

  It was not a bad way to live one’s life. Jonathon had no doubt that when the right woman made her appearance the passion his friends claimed he had never experienced would follow.

  Not tonight, however. This evening his annual liaison in the library was with the exquisite Lady Chester. Judith was a petite blond-haired, blue-eyed widow with a delightful and well-earned reputation for savoring the amusements life offered and absolutely no de sire for remarriage. He chuckled to himself. It would not be the first time he and Judith had shared a private evening, nor, he suspected, would it be the last. Still, one never knew what to expect with Judith, and it was Christmas Eve.

  Jonathon accepted the glasses Henry offered in one hand, took the bottle in the other, then started toward the library. He took two steps, then glanced back at the butler and raised a brow. “Well?”

  “Well, what, my lord?” Henry’s impassive expression did not flicker.

  “Advice, Henry, words of wisdom. Your traditional Christmas Eve soliloquy.”

  “I would not term it a soliloquy.” Henry’s voice did not waver, but a d
istinct gleam of amusement shone in his eye.

  “Yet it is as much a tradition as the Effington Christmas Ball itself or the way my mother will find ever larger trees to decorate every year or…” Jonathon’s grin widened and he glanced pointedly down the corridor toward the library.

  “That is indeed a tradition,” Henry said mildly. And who would know better than he?

  When Jonathon had had his first tryst in the library during the Christmas Ball, he had been all of seventeen and Henry was merely a footman. Still, he had managed to procure the necessary wine and glasses and had offered as well a few words of advice on dealings with the fairer sex from the vantage point of an older man’s experience.

  “Very well.” The butler’s clear gaze met Jonathon’s. “Do take care, my lord. Remember that women are fickle creatures and prone to read more into a gentleman’s words and actions than he might intend.” Henry delivered precisely the same words and in precisely the same tone as he did every year. “Do not lose your head. Do resist overly compromising positions, lest an uninvited guest stumble upon”—he cleared his throat—“your assignation.”

  “Thank you, Henry. I am now fully prepared.” Jonathon grinned, again started for the library, then paused. “Henry, have you ever been in love?”

  “In love?” Henry shook his head. “Not yet, my lord, but I have not ruled out the possibility in the future.”

  “Nor have I.”

  For a moment, Henry’s customary aplomb faltered. “Sir, am I to understand Lady Chester—”

  “Good God, no,” Jonathon said quickly. “Not that she’s not a charming woman and I am exceedingly fond of her, but she is no more interested in me beyond this evening than I am in her.”

  “Yet, I cannot recall you ever meeting a lady in the library for a second time.”

  “Yes, well…”

  It was difficult to explain the relationship he had with Judith. Even he wasn’t sure he completely understood it. Through the years they had developed into something more than friends and something less than lovers, although they had certainly shared a bed on more than one occasion. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had invited Judith to join him tonight although they did always have an excellent time together. Perhaps it was simply easier and safer to be in the company of a lady one knew well than play the games one did with a heretofore unknown female.