Font Size:

Olivia appreciated her unyielding enthusiasm, but she could not share it.If you had witnessed your own mother’s heartbreak, Anna, you would not be able to hold so tightly to your candle of hope.She would not say that out loud, though she felt it keenly.

“Well, I cannot take the risk,” she said instead. “I do not know this man, I do not want to know him, and I refuse to indulge even the slightest chance of having a cockroach marriage like that of my parents, even if nine-and-ten sugared almonds are precisely what they appear to be. I am a founding member of our Spinsters Club, and that is how I should like to remain.”

A plan was already beginning to form in her mind, taking inspiration from the words of her dearest friends: she would make this unknown Marquess hate her and reject her, by any means necessary. Even if she could not summon a nest of wasps precisely when she needed to, she would create a sting of her own that would send him running.

Anna pulled a face. “Do not call us that, I beg of you.”

“Darling Anna, that is what others call us,” Leah interjected. “We must embrace it so they cannot use it as a weapon against us.”

Matilda nodded. “Quite right.”

Just then, Phoebe sat poker straight in her chair and her hand shot into the air as if she were in the midst of a lesson with her governess. “I remember where I have heard that name before!” she yelped, blanching. “Of course, the Marquess of Bridfield—why did it not come to me sooner!”

Olivia stared at her friend. “Where have you heard it?”

“Everywhere, all of last seasonandthe season before!” Phoebe spluttered.

Olivia swallowed. “You are certain? In what regard?”

“The veryworstregard. You see, I was making enquiries about suitable gentlemen for my sisters and investigating who to avoid… goodness, I cannot believe I forgot him!” Phoebe replied, softening her voice to a worried whisper. “Why, if I am not mistaken, his name was in the mouths of every gossipmonger just a fortnight ago, at the very beginning of the season. He is… he is…”

“Tell us, or I shall burst!” Leah urged.

Olivia needed. “No matter what it is, I must know. Indeed, if it is terrible, it may yet help me.”

Phoebe took a shaky breath. “My dearest Olivia, he is one of the most notorious rakes in all of England.”

CHAPTERTWO

“Are you going to pursue me through every hallway until I listen to what you have to say, we argue peaceably, and you finally surrender? How many times must we repeat this charade, Aunt?” Evan Thorne, the Marquess of Bridfield, turned sharply on his way to the kitchens, where he had hoped to pilfer some bread and cheese to take with him on his afternoon walk.

Indeed, he turned so quickly that his Aunt Amelia did not realize he had halted until she barreled right into him. She knocked into his chest and stumbled backward, but he caught her before she could fall.

“I was not pursuing you,” she protested, wincing as she rubbed her chin, where she had struck his broad chest. “But we do need to discuss this. I have been asking for weeks if you will sit down with me so we can talk civilly, but you keep making up excuses.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “So, you were chasing me down?”

“You do not have to phrase it so… distastefully,” she grumbled, resting her hands upon her hips. “Nevertheless, now that I have your undivided attention, let us speak of it. This cannot be avoided or postponed any longer, dear nephew.”

Evan chuckled stiffly. “The discussion or the marriage you believe I should bind myself to?”

“Both,” she replied, her dark green eyes—so like his own—hardening as she caught her breath. “Marriage is not only your duty as Marquess, but a way to find happiness in life. Companionship, at the very least, and let me tell you—I would have been lost without the companionship of my sweet Lionel. We would both have been lost without him. You know it is what he would have wanted for you, and what I want for you.”

Evan grimaced, closing his eyes. “You would guilt me with the wishes of a man who is no longer with us, so I cannot verify his hopes for me?”

He still could not put into words how much he missed his Uncle Lionel; a man who had been like a father to him. The sort of father he should have had since birth, instead of the one that fate gave him. In truth, if Lionel had still been living, and had been standing there at his wife’s side in a duo of determination, Evan knew he likely would have given up and accepted whatever they desired for him. Even now, he could not reject his Aunt Amelia outright; he loved her too much for that.

“He told you himself,” Amelia reminded him.

Evan dropped his chin to his chest, remembering his uncle’s last words.“Find someone, my boy. It is a long life, but it will be an empty one if you choose to be alone.”

“I do not know what you want me to say, Aunt,” he insisted with a sigh. “Iwouldmarry in the blink of an eye, but what am I to do when no suitable lady will have me? My reputation precedes me and, often, these young ladies are running before I can even be introduced.”

Amelia tilted her head to one side. “How mysteriously convenient.”

“Mysterious, yes. Convenient, no.” He cleared his throat. “I must have upset someone terribly for them to do this to me, dragging my name through the muck of the scandal sheets. I once thought I might try to investigate and reprimand the culprit, but it proved too difficult. It is likely a disgruntled friend from school or university—you know how such grudges refuse to die.”

Amelia tutted under her breath. “Then, it is fortunate that you have me—a withered old prune with nothing to do but seek a match for her favorite nephew.”