Will I find it as easy? Angelica wondered.
“Whether you do or you don’t become the countess, your son will be the next earl,” George stated.
Angelica straightened, now fully understanding just how important her role would be in such a union.
When she caught George regarding her, as if he was expecting more questions, she obliged him. “Oxford or Cambridge?” At his advanced age, the knight would have already 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.” He furrowed a brow. “But I suspect Cambridge, since that’s where he was apparently living before moving to London.”
Angelica remembered how she missed George when he attended Oxford. She had been attending finishing school at a seminary for one of those years, and then begged her father to allow her to attend Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School in London just so she could continue to live at Worthington House in Mayfair.
Of course the Earl of Torrington agreed—he gave her everything she wanted and more.
The only daughter of an earl at the finishing school, Angelica enjoyed the company of other young women her age without having to live within the strict confines of a school run by nuns. And since she attended at the same time as a viscount’s daughter and a baron’s daughter, their protection was supplied by a burly bodyguard who stood watch whilst they attended classes. Then he escorted them to their waiting carriages when classes ended each day.
Oh, how she missed those days!
The daughter of a viscount was now betrothed to an earl’s son, and the baron’s daughter was married to a wealthy tradesman—one of Angelica and George’s cousins, in fact—and was already expecting her second child!
“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-hand 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.
George furrowed a brow, obviously offended. “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 with a nod. “But not to the degree Father has. Or did.” He stared at her a moment. “There are times I wish we weren’t cousins to the Grandby brood,” he added, referring to the ten children of Gregory and Christiana Grandby. “Or I would have you marrying Thomas.”
Angelica considered her cousin Thomas for a moment, understanding why George would say such a thing. At three-and-thirty, Thomas was most like his father in terms of his business sense. He would no doubt carry on managing Gregory’s investments and take on clients of his own, which meant he could afford to keep a wife in the very best of houses, clothes, and company. He already owned one of the largest estate homes west of London. “He will be a catch for any woman,” Angelica agreed with a nod. “And he is handsome.”
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 let out a giggle.
“His hair is not nearly so light as mine,” George argued, but he glanced away when a flush colored his face bright red. “You think me handsome?” he asked in a whisper.
Continuing her giggling, Angelica finally allowed a long sigh. “It matters not what I think, but rather what Lady Anne thinks, I expect,” she countered.
His eyes rounding, George regarded his sister with alarm. “Anne Wellingham? Trenton’s daughter? Whatever has you thinking—?”
“I saw how you looked at her the last time we were in Hyde Park. Do not deny it. And if you don’t make a move to court her soon, you will lose her to some rich tradesman in Wolverhampton. Or Alistair Comber’s oldest. Or the heir to the Everly earldom.”
For a moment, hope filled George Grandby’s chest. And then reason returned to squelch the sensation. “Nonsense,” he replied, his manner rather surly. “She’s probably been betrothed since the day she was born.” His stern expression slowly softened, as if he were reconsidering his words.
He remembered that day in Hyde Park. When he and Angelica were on horseback, and Lady Anne was riding with her older brother, Gabe, in a curricle led by a pair of gray horses.
George had never been caught staring at a curly blonde young lady before—there were so many in the Beau Monde—but there was something about Lady Anne’s cornflower blue eyes and quick smile that had him doing so.
There had also been that sudden tightening in his loins, the crackling air around them, a flash of lightning, and the boom of thunder above that suggested he had best get his mount moving more quickly lest he get soaked by the storm that threatened. And yet, he had remained in place, as if Ares’ hooves had been rooted into the road.
“She’s the daughter of an earl. Cousin to our cousins,” Angelica reminded him, remembering how the blue-eyed, curly-blonde-haired young lady had captured her brother’s eye that day in the park. “She isn’t betrothed to anyone, but she is finally making her come-out this Season.”
Angelica was sure she had felt a change in the air around them that day in the park, a sort of charged atmosphere that had her hair lifting from their roots in an attempt to escape the elaborate coiffure Mary had created earlier that morning. She had expected fireworks to appear in the sky above them at any moment. Angels to begin singing.
Instead, a bolt of lightning flashed and thunder rolled over the park, suggesting the angels were playing ninepin and wouldn’t be singing anytime soon. The impending shower had most scattering to their respective homes. A moment later, and the downpour had everyone else heading for home as fast as possible.
Her own eyes widened. “She is probably back in London by now. She wrote last week that they were returning so she could be fitted for a presentation gown.” Her face screwed up in mock pain. “Poor thing has to go before the queen in January,” she murmured, remembering her own presentation for Queen Adelaide.
Her gown wasn’t as hideous as some since she had simply borrowed her mother’s court gown. The gold netting over sky blue satin was perfectly elegant, but then a stomacher and dozens of blue bows and a series of furbelows along the hem had set it back another century. To make matters worse, the neckline had to be heightened considerably. Queen Adelaide had been a bit of a prude and eschewed broad expanses of décolletage—for herself as well as those in her court.
“Lady Anne is probably at Trenton House in Curzon Street right now. I can invite her—”
“Would you do that?” George asked, with perhaps too much enthusiasm.
Angelica blinked, rather shocked to see the quick change in her brother’s demeanor. “Yes, of course,” she whispered. “You should invite Alexander, too, just to provide a solid contrast,” she suggested, her teasing voice hiding the fact that she thought the heir to the Everly earldom might be someone she should be considering as a husband.
Alexander’s mother was a duke’s daughter and half-Greek. Given his father’s dark hair and sapphire eyes, Alexander had no choice but to be incredibly gorgeous. Even if he spent the morning meal espousing the qualities of some rare pla
nt or animal, Angelica thought just staring at him while she ate her coddled eggs and toast would make for a good beginning to any day.
Why, she might even learn something important.
Besides that, all their children would be handsome. And probably clever, too. Which meant she might be the least intelligent member of the household.
Perhaps she shouldn’t consider Alexander.
George shook his head. “I have no intention of giving anyone else any sort of edge when it comes to Lady Anne,” he stated, the words at odds with his earlier assertion that she was probably already betrothed. “But if he is in town, I will invite Alex.”
Angelica blinked. “So... you are quite serious about her,” she accused. She stared at her brother a moment. He hadn’t said a word about the young lady during their six weeks at Torrington Park. “Have you told Father?”
George dipped his head. “I spoke with Mother.”
“Mother?” Angelica straightened in her seat, her gaze darting to the window as she contemplated just how serious her brother must have been about Lady Anne.
“Yes, of course,” he replied, ignoring her look of disbelief. “I know it’s hard to believe, but Father isn’t a godfather to every young lady in the ton,” he argued, a reference to the number of young women Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, had taken on as goddaughters before he and Angelica were born. “And Mother happens to know Lady Anne’s mother.”
Angelica was about to say something else, but her brows furrowed. “She does?”
Until about five years ago, the Countess of Trenton was rarely in London, agreeing to join her husband for only a few weeks each Season in favor of staying at their earldom’s seat near Wolverhampton with their three children.
Sarah Cumberbatch had been a commoner when Gabriel Wellingham married her, but she was never given the cut direct whilst in London.
Had she been, it would have been due to jealousy, for the woman was most adept at managing the same coaching inn where she and the earl had originally met.
The Spread Eagle Inn in Stretton, purchased by the earl when the original owner wished to retire, hosted a steady clientele and was renown for its cleanliness, pot pies, and the number of ales it kept on tap.
There were those in the ton who claimed Gabriel Wellingham, Earl of Trenton, was a better man as a result of his marriage to Sarah. Apparently life with a commoner—and children—had humbled the once proud peacock-of-an-earl.
As for their offspring, Lady Trenton and the earl had an illegitimate son who was even more gorgeous than the Everly heir. Gabe the Younger, the moniker made popular by those in London, would be enjoying an income in excess of ten-thousand pounds a year once he reached his majority in just two years.
With a mother as pretty as the Countess of Trenton, was it any wonder his blond hair and blue eyes made him the epitome of his father at the same age? At least in appearance?
Legitimacy be damned.
Gabe the Younger had a parade of aristocrats’ daughters vying for his hand in marriage, and he was, as one mother described him, “a truly nice young man.”
George was fairly sure Gabe’s agreeable manner was due to his mother and not because of any influence his father might have had over him.
Which is why Lady Anne was so intriguing.
She was... nice. Pleasant. Ever so polite. Not the least bit proud. He knew this because his mother had sung the girl’s praises when he mentioned he was considering Lady Anne for courtship. Anne was beautiful, too, for she possessed those same blue eyes and curly blonde hair her father and Gabe displayed.
Their children would be...
George blinked.
What the hell?
Angelica giggled, which had George giving her a quelling glance. “Wot?” he asked in dismay.
“Your children with Lady Anne,” she replied. “They will all be blonde, blue-eyed cherubs. They’ll look just like the statue of Cupid in Lord Weatherstone’s garden,” she accused. “And they will all be delightful, happy little babes. Not a colicky one in the bunch.” Then she suddenly sobered. “And I’ll be their old, spinster aunt, charged with spoiling them rotten.”
George allowed a guffaw. “You, my sister, shall never be a spinster aunt, and much needs to transpire before you can ever become an aunt,” he reminded her. He took a breath and let it out. “But I do so enjoy the image you have conjured for my children,” he murmured, his mind’s eye displaying a series of beatific cherubs, dimples in their cheeks and knees. “Yours would be the same if you ended up with Gabe as your husband.”
He knew Gabe had at one time had a crush on his sister, although since attending university, he no longer seemed enthralled by her. The recent graduate of Cambridge had instead focused his attentions on Ancient Greek artifacts and was employing his newly-acquired knowledge cataloging Greek acquisitions at the British Museum.
Angelica blinked. “But, Gabe doesn’t have a title. He can never inherit,” she reminded him, wondering why George would even make such a suggestion. Father would never approve a match to someone who wasn’t titled, let alone an illegitimate son.
Would he?
“True,” George agreed. “But in the event our knight is not to your liking, perhaps Gabe the Younger is.”
“I hardly know Gabe Wellingham,” she argued. “Although, we have been introduced,” she added in a quieter voice. That had happened at a ball the year before, when Gabe was between terms at Cambridge. Although they hadn’t danced, she remembered him complimenting her gown. He had been... nice. Far nicer than most of the young bucks, although she had no real reason to expect he would be anything else.
Sometimes bastards grew up with a chip on their shoulder, though. Because the eldest son had been born before his parents were wed meant he wasn’t entitled to a title—or to inherit. As a result, some bastards were bitter. Gabe wasn’t.
A generous inheritance helped to alleviate some of the bitterness, of course, and Gabe would have a much larger allowance in just a couple of years. When his father died, he was due to inherit a princely sum.
No wonder he was nice.
Angelica blinked.
With her dowry and his inheritance, they could be one of the wealthiest couples in all of London!
“The pound signs are reflecting in your eyes,” George accused, a smirk causing a dimple to appear at the base of one cheek.
About to wallop her brother with another fist to his shoulder, Angelica pulled it back when a knock sounded at the door to their compartment.
George slid the pocket door aside and gave a nod to the conductor.
“Tickets, please.”
George pulled four tickets from his top coat pocket and handed them to the portly man. “For us and for our servants in the compartment across the aisle,” he said in a low voice.
The conductor arched a brow and jerked his head in the direction of the opposite compartment. “Newlyweds, I suspect?”
Blinking, George dared a glance back at his sister before he allowed a nod. “Is it that obvious?”
Rolling his eyes, the conductor handed the tickets back to George. “If this train jumps the tracks, we’ll know why,” he replied in a manner so deadpan, it took George a moment to catch the man’s meaning.
When he slid the pocket door closed, George turned to find his sister struggling to keep a straight face.
“Angel!” he scolded.
“I cannot help it,” she whispered as she dabbed at new tears, these due to mirth at hearing the conductor’s comment. She finally let out a loud giggle and fell sideways on the bench.
“It’s not that funny,” George said, although he struggled to keep a grin from lighting face.
Sniffling, Angelica finally returned to sitting up straight and regarded her brother with a wan smile. “It’s funny and endearing and ever so...”
New tears fell, and Angelica allowed an audible sigh. “I am so jealous of my lady’s maid,” she whispered.
George frowned, rather dismaye
d by his sister’s behavior. Angelica wasn’t usually like this. All weepy and easily amused and bothered all at the same time. “I am of the same mind as it applies to my valet,” he agreed somberly. “Which means we really need to find spouses as soon as possible.”
Angelica furrowed a brow as she regarded her twin brother. “Agreed,” she replied. Then she sniffled and said, “Wait. You would marry this young?”
Dipping his head, George considered his options. He could remain unmarried for another six or more years. Sow his wild oats and behave as others his age were wont to do. But he yearned for the sort of relationship his parents had. They were so in love, it was almost enough to make him sick to his stomach.
Now that his valet had married a woman he claimed to love, George had no desire to seek companionship with a mistress or with a prostitute at a brothel. He wanted a woman of his own.
A wife.
A lover.
The distant sound of the train’s whistle had them both glancing out the window. The few buildings that made up the outskirts of northern London passed by their view.
“Do you suppose we should warn your valet?”
George shook his head. “I will not.”
“But... but what if they don’t come out, and end up—?”
“Euston is the last stop on the line,” George reminded her. “Everyone has to get off.”
Angelica inhaled and then allowed a sigh. “Well, let us hope they don’t appear too disheveled when they do,” she replied, suppressing another grin.
Ten minutes later, the four that made up George’s party stepped down from the Midlands train. Although the servants appeared as if they had dressed in a hurry, they both displayed happy countenances and color in their cheeks.
The same could not be said of the twins.
Lost in thought and contemplating the next few weeks in London, the two boarded a hackney, followed by their servants, valises, and trunks, and made the trip to Worthington House in relative silence.
Chapter 5
A Knight Spies a Lady
The Angel of an Astronomer Page 4
