Her mother, Adele Slater Worthington Torrington, had one because of her first husband’s involvement with the early steamships.
Her father’s fortune was because the earldom always did well financially, but also because Milton’s cousin, Gregory, was a master at making money. The man seemed to know exactly which ventures to invest his funds in, or he helped create what he knew should exist.
He also knew which ones to avoid.
Angelica would one day be rich, too, but mostly because she and her twin brother were the only children of Milton and Adele.
Although most of the Torrington family fortune would end up with George, Angelica didn’t begrudge him his right. He was the one who would take over the Torrington earldom, after all. See to the business of running it—he already was, to some extent—and acting for all intents and purposes as if he were already the earl and not just an honorary viscount.
Since the current Countess Torrington had no intention of leaving her husband to go back to London for the Season—despite being married for one-and-twenty years, her parents were still hopelessly and embarrassingly in love—Angelica had agreed she would take on the duties of hostess for her brother while they were in the capital.
Given the Season wasn’t going to start for several months, Angelica had been stunned when George announced just two nights ago—during the dessert course—that they were leaving the Torrington ancestral home near Hexham to spend a few months in the capital before the rest of the aristocracy descended on London.
“But... why?” she had asked, incredulous. They had spent every Christmas Day at Torrington Park for their entire lives.
“I will explain it all on the way,” George replied, uncharacteristically silent for the rest of the meal. Then he and their father had disappeared into the billiards room to enjoy their port and a game or two before bed.
“What is this about?” she had asked her mother.
Adele had replied with a slight shrug. “A surprise of sorts. I wasn’t let in on it, though, but your father has obviously been scheming with your brother.”
“And you let them?”
Dimpling, her mother had leaned forward and said, “Any time those two are together is a good thing.”
Which was true. Angelica had always been her father’s favorite, because he had wanted a daughter before an heir. Having twins meant he got what he wanted and what he needed.
Afraid her husband would ignore George, Adele had seen to providing extra attention to her only son. She often wondered if Milton didn’t know how to behave with a son because his own father hadn’t spent much time with him before he died. Milton had inherited the Torrington earldom when he was but sixteen years old.
Then Adele had leaned over and added, “Especially since they’re working on a surprise.”
Angelica had relaxed at hearing those words, if only because her father’s surprises were always the best.
Angelica had been patient. She hadn’t asked but that one question of her brother since his announcement. But now that nearly every gown, slipper and frippery she owned was packed into trunks and they were on the train to London, she wanted answers.
“What’s this early trip to London all about?”
Chapter 2
A Plan is Revealed
George inhaled slowly. “This will be your last Season before you reach your majority.” The comment was made in a manner suggesting he didn’t agree with his father on the matter of her majority. He thought she should be five-and-twenty while the earl insisted she could lay claim to her fortune when she was but one-and-twenty.
Angelica arched a brow, not liking how his statement made it sound—as if there wouldn’t be any more Seasons after this one. “And?” she prompted.
“You haven’t a single marriage prospect.”
Her mouth dropping open in a most unladylike manner, Angelica was about to wallop him with her reticule. Given everything she had stuffed into it that morning, she was quite sure she could knock him out cold with a single, well-placed swing. “What of it?” she hissed. Her eyes widened when she considered what her father’s surprise might be.
A husband.
She struggled to breathe. “Oh, don’t you dare,” she whispered hoarsely. “I cannot believe you would do this,” she added as a gloved hand went to her chest, as if she might need to hold herself up. She couldn’t believe her father would do this.
George furrowed his brows together. “Angel,” he scolded. “Whatever has you looking as if you’re about to faint? And don’t you dare—”
“I will faint if that’s what it takes to abuse you of the idea of—”
“Angel!” he repeated as he leaned forward. If she fainted, she would require a vinaigrette, and he was quite sure she didn’t have one in her overstuffed reticule. There wouldn’t have been room for it.
He knew her lady’s maid was in the next compartment, sitting across from his valet.
Or perhaps sitting on his valet.
The two had married the week before and were still enjoying the bloom of early matrimonial bliss.
George was sure he felt sparks in the air the night the two had first met. A sort of electric thrum that permeated the air. Will something like that ever happen to me? he wondered as he considered how to calm his panicked sister. For he knew right then that he wanted that same sort of reaction to occur when he spotted his intended for the very first time.
He wanted the sparks. The air charged as if a thunderstorm was about to loose its power. A sort of assurance that the woman who caused such a stir in the air might do the same for him for the rest of his life.
Which is what had happened when he first met Lady Anne. He was sure she was betrothed to someone else, though. Some young buck far luckier than him.
Which is why he had given some consideration to a duke’s daughter. But there was no thrum when he thought of her. No excitement. No sense of desire.
And he wanted to desire his future wife.
The thought had him considering that his sister might want the same. To desire the man she would eventually marry.
Would she desire the man Father had in mind for her?
There was only one way to find out, but since she hadn’t yet met the man—and neither had he—George was trying to decide how he might arrange an introduction when it became apparent he was about to be walloped by his twin sister’s reticule.
And he knew he would suffer a terrible blow should her aim be spot-on.
Having taken a direct hit from Angelica’s reticule in the past—she could only take so much teasing before she took action—George managed to duck at exactly the right moment.
Angelica’s reticule sailed within inches of his perfectly coifed Brutus-styled hair and hit the wall of the compartment with a resounding ‘thunk’.
“Father only wishes you to meet the man,” George said quickly. “There is absolutely no requirement in place that you accept a...” George ducked as the reticule once again passed within inches of him, this time about to break a nose of which he was rather proud. No bump and no hook meant he might actually remain handsome until he reached his forties. “... A proposal,” he finished at the same moment Angelica let out a growl of frustration.
“Some duke’s whelp, I suppose?” she ground out.
George blinked, shocked at how ornery his sister could sound when given the chance. She would never behave like this in public.
“No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Although he might be distantly related to one.”
He caught the reticule in both hands before it impacted his cheek. Had it hit him, he was sure he would have a shiner. George considered how long he might have had to wait for the bruise to abate before he could make an appearance at White’s. It was that or take up bare-knuckle fighting at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. Then he would have a good excuse for sporting a black eye.
“Really, Angel. There are times I think our father should have named you ‘Kate’,” he murmured under his brea
th, thinking she was acting like the Bard’s perfect shrew.
Then he saw how tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Angel,” he whispered in alarm, setting aside the reticule so he could move to her side of the compartment and gather her into his arms. “You’re taking this far too seriously,” he murmured once Angelica had her cheek resting in the small of his shoulder. “Father merely wanted you to consider this knight—”
“A knight?” Angelica repeated as she lifted her head from his shoulder.
“I know. It was a surprise to me as well, but... Father wants you to be happy. He doesn’t care if you marry beneath your station if it means you end up with a man worthy of you.”
Angelica wiped the tears from one cheek with a gloved hand and sniffled. “Do you know this knight?”
George’s eyes darted toward the window. “I know of him. I haven’t yet met him.”
Angelica blinked, sensing evasion in his answer. “How much do you know?”
Her brother shrugged one shoulder. “Excellent lineage. A well-respected family. Properties in Suffolk.”
Frowning, Angelica straightened. “You make him sound like a contender for the Derby,” she murmured.
“I believe his brother has one of those, too,” George replied. “He had a nag last year that won a couple of the races.”
Angelica punched him in the arm, which had George letting out an ‘ouch’ before he slid sideways on the leather squabs.
“Where is this meeting to take place?” Angelica asked as she dabbed her hanky beneath her eyes.
Deciding he was safe from her reticule—it was still on the seat opposite—George straightened in the squabs and said, “I was thinking of hosting a dinner party at Worthington House. Invite a few of my fellow lords—and him—so that we can ruminate on the upcoming session.”
Angelica furrowed a brow. “With their wives in attendance, surely.”
George held his breath a moment. “Well, we could, except that none of my... well, that is to say, I am not acquainted well enough with those who are old enough to have taken a wife to invite them,” he stammered. “And besides, all the married aristocrats are spending the holiday at their homes in the country.”
Blinking, Angelica dared a glance out the window and decided the sudden dreariness beyond the glass matched her mood just then. It had been snowing when they left Hexham. “Not a single wife? No other person of my sex will be there?” she queried in disbelief.
Crikey. Was this to be her lot in London? Hosting entertainments at her childhood home that would only be attended by men?
Well, she would be the talk of the town. Other hostesses would either display their jealousy with whispered murmurs in Mayfair parlors or beg to know her secret. Having only one brother who wasn’t yet married was the trick, of course.
At that thought, Angelica reconsidered the situation. Would it really be so bad to be the only woman at the table?
A finger snapped in front of her and she gave a start. “What is it?”
George rolled his eyes. “I said you should invite some of your friends. Even out the numbers. It’s what Mother would do.”
“I suppose,” she murmured.
“We make it clear this is just an evening to share a meal and conversation.”
The thought of a dining room full of young, unmarried aristocrats had Angelica reconsidering. “How many gentlemen are you inviting?” she asked.
“Six. Eight at the most,” George replied. He was about to name them off when he noticed how Angelica was staring at him. “What?”
“Is that all?” she asked. “You had me thinking the dining room would be full,” she accused. “Eight gentlemen is reasonable, although I rather doubt I can find eight friends still in London this time of the year. Most have gone home for Christmas and won’t be back in town until the Season starts.”
“We don’t require an even number,” George murmured. “But I would hope you weren’t the only female at the table.”
Angelica allowed a shrug. “How is it you will find eight gentlemen who are still in London?”
George displayed a smirk. “Bachelors, all,” he replied. “I think most have rooms at The Albany or townhouses in Green Street,” he went on, and then added, “Where they prefer to stay over the holiday because the alternative would be to spend it in the company of disagreeable elderly relatives.”
“George!” Angelica said in a scolding voice. Her brows suddenly furrowed. “Is that what you think of our parents? That they’re... elderly?”
“They are,” he replied with a shrug. At her look of alarm, he added, “They are a half-generation older than the parents of our contemporaries.”
Angelica knew he spoke the truth. Their mother had been eight-and-thirty when she gave birth to them. “This... knight. Does he have a name?”
“Sir Benjamin. His ancestral home is in Suffolk, and that’s where his older brother lives, but Sir Benjamin has apparently taken up residence in London.”
Angelica mentally reviewed the names she remembered from her dance cards. She didn’t recognize the name. “Why haven’t I met him?”
His eyes darting to one side, George said, “Hasn’t spent time in London.”
Furrowing a brow, she asked, “How did he become a knight?”
“He did something to impress the king, I suppose.”
“How old do you think he is?”
“Five-and-thirty?” he guessed.
“You’re joking. He’s practically old enough to be...” She stopped her complaint, noting how one of George’s brows had arched up. “He was born in this century, at least,” she conceded.
George nodded. “True, and he’s apparently very intelligent. Completely opposite of his father, if what our father said is true.”
“Oh?”
“I cannot put voice to the reason, for I would be subjecting you to inappropriate words and images.”
Her eyes widening before a grin touched the edge of her lips, Angelica guessed, “He was an ass?”
George’s eyes rolled, and he cleared his throat, deciding he couldn’t admonish her for her unladylike comment. “Exactly.”
Edmund, Sixth Earl of Wadsworth, had been far worse than an ass, practically abandoning his family in favor of spending time with his mistresses and allowing his earldom’s funds to be embezzled by his man of business.
“Is his brother?” Angelica asked.
“No. He’s the exact opposite. An earl. Responsible to a fault, except when it comes to the most important duty.”
Frowning, Angelica straightened in the squabs. “He doesn’t attend Parliament?”
George shook his head. “He hasn’t yet produced an heir.”
Blinking, Angelica angled her head to one side. “Then... why does Father want me to meet this man’s brother when the earl is obviously the one in need of a wife?”
Wincing, George said, “Oh, he has a wife. And four daughters.”
Angelica hissed, immediately feeling sorry for the countess. She would no doubt be the one blamed for a nursery lacking heirs. “Have I met the countess?” she asked.
“Doubtful,” her brother said. “She and the four daughters spend the majority of the year in Suffolk. Meanwhile, the earl has managed to somewhat restore his earldom to its former glory, but now he will have to come up with dowries. Given this past spring was the coldest on record, he may have trouble in that regard. At least, for a few years.”
Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Our Father must think he won’t sire an heir, and that the earldom will then go to Sir Benjamin.”
George nodded. “Which means you would probably eventually become a countess.”
Nodding, Angelica regarded her brother a moment, trying to decide if she wanted to be married to a man who might one day inherit an earldom. Her mother had made being a countess look easy, but she’d had years of practice. She was the daughter of a marquess. The sister of a marquess. She had been the wife of a wealthy man prior to her
marriage to an earl. Playing hostess and acting as a helpmate—and bedmate—was easy for Adele Torrington.
Will I find it as easy? Angelica wondered.
When she caught George regarding her, as if he was expecting more questions, she obliged him. “Oxford or Cambridge?” At his age, the knight would have long ago finished his education.
George screwed up his face. “I’ve no idea,” he replied, a look of surprise crossing his face. “I’m obviously too young to have attended school with him, and I neglected to ask Father what he knew of his education.”
“What if during this dinner party I happen to find one of your other friends more appealing than the knight?”
George blinked, not having thought of that possibility. He had assumed Angelica would simply do as Father wished. “Well, I suppose it will all depend on if they find you appealing,” he countered, which also applied to the knight, now that he gave it more thought.
He quickly slid sideways on the seat, but still wasn’t far enough away to avoid her right punch into his upper arm. “Ouch!” he complained, his opposite hand coming up to rub the spot. “Dammit, Angel. Father should have named you after the devil’s daughter,” he complained, not bothering to apologize for his use of the word ‘devil’. Or ‘dammit.’
“Have you already disabused your friends of the idea of marriage to me?” she asked, obviously annoyed.
Obviously offended, George frowned. “I have not,” he replied. “You may find this a surprise, dear Sister, but you are not the center of all that is London, nor my life, for that matter.”
“And yet, you will have your say as to whom I shall marry,” Angelica countered.
“I will,” he agreed. “But not to the degree Father has. Or will.” He allowed a long sigh. “If Cousin Thomas wasn’t our first cousin, I would have you marrying him.”
“Oh. Because he’s rich and handsome?” Angelica asked.
George blinked, letting out a sound of disgust. “I did not need to hear that,” he responded.
“He looks just like you,” she argued, and then she let out a giggle.
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