Widowed.
There was that word again. Even without the recency of her loss, Henry knew he would have had to say no. There was only room for one ghost to haunt this marriage and he knew he had already filled that quota.
“There’s the Viscount of St Vincent,” Henry interrupted the two, eager to move on from the conversation of widows and widowers. He’d only just opened his response but scanned it quickly as he spoke. “He writes that he has one daughter eligible for marriage. A Lady Josephine St Vincent. Unless, of course, you have something that makes her less eligible, dearest Lisbet?”
A part of him wanted her to say yes.
He could feel it, the gnawing feeling in the back of his throat as he looked over at Lisbet, waiting for her timely objection. The Lady Josephine would have had numerous affairs, or perhaps she was simply too cruel. Anything.
But Lisbet only turned her head to the side, seeming to think it over as a small smile touched the edges of her lips.
“Lady Josephine? Dear heart, isn’t she the one always seen with the baker’s daughter?”
Simon’s brows drew together at his wife’s question, his coffee cup resting against his lips for a moment before he finally nodded. “Oh, yes. Beautiful girl. Not very social, I’m afraid.”
The last bit was clearly for Henry, but he was already pulling a fresh sheet of parchment and pen out to begin penning his response.
He could care less if the girl was social. Social meant having to attend more public appearances. Social meant hosting and carving time out. It was of the very least concern to him so long as she could conduct herself in public when she was required to be in it. And if the happy expression on Lisbet’s face was anything to go by, he was willing to bet that she could.
“Are you writing to ask about that?” Simon joked, leaning back and grinning over at Henry.
Henry snorted. “I am writing,” he informed him seriously, “to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Dispassionately. Without all the pomp and circumstance he could remember from the previous time he had done such a thing. He simply stated that he thought that Lord St Vincent’s daughter would make an excellent match and that he looked forward to discussing the terms of such a match.
It was a business arrangement. The sooner he got it done and sent it off, the sooner he could be done with it.
“You’re not going to meet her first?” Lisbet demanded, sounding scandalized.
“Or even ask more about her beyond what two sentences you’ve heard?” Simon echoed, his laughter trailing off into what was starting to sound like genuine worry.
Henry shrugged.
“Lisbet smiled,” he explained evenly. It was a good enough recommendation of character for him. Clearly, she thought the girl would make a good match. “Don’t look at me likethat. You’ve opposed every girl brought up who might be even somewhat eligible previous to her for one reason or another.”
“Or six,” Simon interjected cheekily.
“This is the first one that you have seemed pleased at the thought of. You know these girls better than I. You know their reputations. If hers was enough to elicit a smile, then I trust your judgement.” And he looked forward to being done sorting through such things and hearing so much about people he cared so very little for. But he was smart enough not to utter that part out loud.
“It’s just so sudden,” Lisbet hedged, shooting a worried look at Simon.
Henry could see her imploring her husband with her eyes to intervene, but Simon took one look at Henry and wisely said nothing.
“I would like it if you would come dine with me the day after next, both of you. If it eases your mind at all, I have every intention of inviting her and her family to join us.” Wherein he would meet the girl just like Lisbet was wanting. Granted, he knew she meant to meet her before he suggested the betrothal, but he wasn’t about to touch that one either.
“Surely you could hold off–”
“Lisbet,” Simon interrupted softly, smiling at his wife. “Let Henry handle this how he sees fit.”
Lisbet frowned, looking between the two men with pinched lips. Only after a moment she nodded, sighing heavily as she waved her hand as if to give her permission.
Henry smiled, silent still. He wanted to be done with this. The talking and the arrangements. It would be easier once they moved past all the formalities and the wedding was done.
“Harbuttle!”
The old butler appeared from around the doorway before Henry had even finished calling his name, his sharp eyes taking in the trio as he entered. “You called?”
“Yes,” Henry muttered, already sitting forward to finish penning and signing the letter to the viscount as he spoke. “I need you to ensure this gets sent out today if you can. And also, I need you to let Mrs Tarburry and the other servants know that I will be hosting a small dinner party in two days’ time.”
