“I shall clear my appointments and my dance card for the occasion, Mother!” Evan said, pretending to leap from his chair in his haste to get away. Finally, he came to his mother’s side, kissed her sweetly on the cheek as he’d done as a child, and added in a serious, heartfelt tone, “And when the time does come for me to marry, I have every confidence that you will be a voice of experience and reason who helps me choose the perfect bride.”
As he left his mother to her morning refreshment, Evan pushed back the feeling of irritation that this same topic always inspired. He knew his mother only wanted the best for him, but it was a tiresome subject, one that appeared to be on every person’s mind. He could scarcely move about without someone having cause to mention his marriage prospects, or worse, to push a rather homely niece or neighbor in his path.
“Oh, my Lord Lanercost, fancy seeing you at the party!” some shrill-voiced matron always managed to say, shamelessly tugging the most awkward-looking girl behind her before nudging the hapless thing sharply with an elbow until the creature curtsied and mumbled hello.
Somehow worse than the conniving mothers were the men who were eager to unload their spare daughters to an earl like beef at the butcher shop.
“You there, Lanercost,” some member of the peerage would undoubtedly speak in a low voice on their way to the cribbage table, “you’re not married yet, and I’ve got a respectable dowry of land with a cottage on it put aside for my darling Winifred—”
He’d had enough. His father had only been gone these two years, he was barely out of mourning and attending events again. The ton would surely talk about him if he married so soon after his father’s passing, not that their opinion ever mattered much to him.
And here, the perfect bride would be someone like the young lady I found riding this morning,he thought with wonder.Not only was she fair of face, as though that mattered in the least, but up with sun to go for a ride, stopping along the way to see to her horse’s comfort. Now that is the kind of wife I’ll seek when the time is right!
It was bad enough that his efforts at increasing their holdings in the stables were frowned upon during this time, but if there was one thing his fellow nobles understood, it was that business affairs must continue. He might be permitted to accompany his horses to their races, but apparently, he wasn’t to look as though he was enjoying himself.
Rubbish, he thought angrily.I’m very tired of what opinion others may hold of me. I know who I am, and the man I strive to be. After all, I had an excellent model to follow…
By the time Evan reached his study, he’d managed to put aside his unrest and focus on the tasks that required his attention. The first important race of the season, the Hawthorne Stakes, was in three days. It was to be the first glimpse of his two-year-olds for many in the ton and the breeding gentry. He would need to match the right horse to the right rider, ensure enough victories to maintain his stable’s reputation, and pique the interest of some new buyers.
“My Lord, you have a visitor,” his butler Samuels announced. He stepped forward with a silver tray bearing the guest’s calling card, which Evan took and examined in the sunlight streaming through the window.
“I’m not familiar with this person. Are you?” he asked, looking to Samuels for explanation.
“No, My Lord. But he did insist that it was an urgent matter involving your entrants’ documentation into the Albany Silver Cup races in the summer.”
“Ah yes, the dealer I’ve been corresponding with!” Evan finally answered, remembering the name. “He’s nearly two days’ early, I’d almost forgotten he was due. I’ll see him in the parlor, and please ask Mrs. Darby to prepare a small refreshment in case he’s traveled directly from the port.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Samuels bowed slightly and left to show the newly arrived guest to a more hospitable seat to wait. Evan searched the piles of papers on his father’s desk—his desk, he sharply reminded himself once again—for the letters of introduction that this dealer would need to show his own horses at the event.
When Evan finally left his study and made his way to the parlor, he passed the ancient clock that stood sentry in the hallway at the top of the stairs. He’d loved that clock as a boy, watching whenever the hour was near for the miniscule horses to gallop out of their cubby hole nestled in the clock’s face, race each other across the front, then return to their stalls through the tiny door on the far side of the face. The horses rode on separate tracks made of the thinnest gold strands, so one never knew which horse would win that hour. It had been a gift brought back from his grandfather’s extensive travels to meet the finest breeders in the known world, and it had delighted Evan for years.
Now, it only served to remind him that it was nearly noon and he still had much to accomplish before the day was over. If he failed to tie up all the various loose ends and see to the daily tasks of running this estate, his fortune might very well be at stake.
Chapter 3
Alight rain had begun to fall by the time Marjorie strengthened her resolve enough to follow through with her plan. It had been one thing to dream up a form of escape, but something else altogether to put said plan into motion. After a morning spent weeping in her room over the cruelty of it all, a chance thought entered her brain and refused to leave.
What if she, daughter of the Marquess of Mortham, were to commit an act of deceit so scandalous that the Duke would never consider marrying her?
That thought was quickly replaced by the image of her mother’s disapproving face, and of her sister’s own tear-stained cheeks when her abhorrent behavior was discovered. No, that would never do. It might be a nice diversion to think of such things, but she would never disgrace those who truly loved her.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep the first portion of her plan. After all, if her fate was sealed, there was no reason not to reach for a small measure of pure happiness before she had to follow through with her father’s greedy plans.
Oh, and greed it must be! Otherwise, how could her father have chosen such an unlikely husband for her? What sort of match would the Duke be? More than twice her age, never married, childless… what had other young ladies possibly seen that had led not only them to flee from his offers of marriage, but even their fathers? Or was it possible that Marjorie was the only daughter in the land whose father cared not about any amount of grief a marriage-prison might bring her?
“Sister? Are you well?” Harriet called through the door after rapping her knuckles lightly against the door. Marjorie sat up, startled, a faint burning in her cheeks as though her thoughts may have been spoken out loud.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she answered, wiping at her cheeks and pressing her fingertips to the puffiness around her eyes. “Do come in.”
Harriet opened the door quietly and closed it without a sound. She took a few hesitant steps towards Marjorie’s bed, then threw herself across the room at her sister, the tears already pouring before she even reached her.
“Oh Marjorie! It’s too horrible! I cannot understand it!” Harriet wailed, nestled in her sister’s arms. “How can Father do this? You know it is not what Mother would have wanted, she would have never agreed to such a thing!”
“Shhh, Father will hear you,” Marjorie said softly, smoothing the light tufts of downy, blond hair away from Harriet’s face. “Besides, it won’t be as bad as all that. The Duke seems like a kindly man, even if he is not so pleasing to the eye. And I’m to be a d-d-duchess,” she stammered, unable to keep her voice from trembling. She cleared her throat and sounded strong once again. “Don’t you remember how we’d play queen of the castle as little girls? How we’d throw lavish balls for our glass animals, and cotillions for our dolls? It will be just like that, I’m sure of it.”
“Oh, sister. You don’t have to be strong for me. I know your heart has broken. You’re going to leave me and I shall not see you again, and all so Father can… so he can…”
“What, Harriet? So Father can do what?” Marjorie pressed, her curiosity burning.
