Prologue
Bath, England 1819
“Find you a suitable wife?” The Honorable Nash Renfrew’s aunt stared at him through her lorgnette. Maude, Lady Gosforth, enjoyed using her lorgnette. It magnified her gimlet eye horribly and usually made the recipient of the stare squirm.
Nash never squirmed. “If you would be so good, Aunt Maude.”
She sniffed. “From all I’ve heard, you have no difficulty finding women. Even in St. Petersburg.”
Nash didn’t blink an eyelid. How the deuce had she learned of his activities in St. Petersburg when her principal residence was in Bath? But her contacts were legendary. It was why he’d asked for her help.
He said coolly, “It’s not the same.”
His aunt snorted. “No, it’s not. And you also want me to arrange a ball for four weeks’ time? A ball—at the beginning of the season?”
“If it’s not too fatiguing a task, dear Aunt.”
“Fatiguing? Of course it is! I’m too old to give parties anymore!” she said with an attempt to look feeble.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Maude. I didn’t realize. You’re in such blooming looks, you see . . . Never mind, I’ll hire someone—”
“Hiresomeone? You’ll do no such thing. Events organized byhirelings”—she spoke the word with loathing—“cannot be anything but vulgar. I will try, somehow, to find the energy to arrange something—and to find you a suitable gel—but I warn you, Nash, with such short notice and at the beginning of the season with all the invitations already gone out, it will be the paltriest, most insipid affair.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Nash had no fear it would be anything but magnificent. He added casually, “Can I prevail on you to send an invitation to the Czar of Russia’s aunt, the Grand Duchess Anna Petrovna Romanova.”
The lorgnette dropped. “The Czar of Russia’s aunt?”
“She’ll arrive in London a few days before the ball. She knows nobody in London and has requested my assistance. She won’t mind a small affair.” The grand duchess was as gregarious as his aunt and adored a grand fuss.
“A grand duchess?” Aunt Maude sat up, her eyes sparkling with ambition. She achieved a weary sigh. “How you do run me ragged, boy.”
“I know.” He assumed a penitent expression. With a Russian grand duchess, this ball would be the event of the season and his aunt knew it.
Nash had applied for leave to return to England for two reasons: to take possession of an inheritance, and to find a wife. The ambassador, knowing how difficult the elderly grand duchess could be, had granted leave on condition that Nash dance attendance on the old lady in London.
Nash, the ambassador said, had a way with autocratic and difficult old ladies. It came, Nash informed him, from a lifetime of dealing with eccentric and autocratic aunts and great-aunts. One of whom was currently peering beadily at him through her lorgnette.
“So on top of balls and grand duchesses, you expect me to conjure up a wife out of thin air?”
“Not just any wife. The right sort of wife. I wish to make an excellent marriage.”
One well-plucked brow rose. “Naturally, you are a Renfrew, after all. It is what we do. But what, pray, is your definition of an excellent marriage?”
Nash had given the matter a great deal of thought.
Apart from birth, breeding, education, and intelligence, his bride needed to be not just well born, but well connected. She should have some understanding of politics but be dispassionate about “causes.” She should be well trained in the management of large social occasions and have a certain degree of charm. Above all, she should be discreet, refrain from gossip, and be tolerant of other people’s eccentricities.
As for children, he had no need of heirs and no interest in children. If his wife wanted one, he supposed he wouldn’t mind.
“And I suppose you expect this paragon to be beautiful and an heiress, as well,” Aunt Maude said caustically when he finished.
Nash gave her his most brilliant smile. “That would be delightful, best of aunts.”
She softened visibly. “Pshaw! Younger sons!” Then she’d eyed him thoughtfully, with the gimlet look that all her nephews were familiar with. “Not interested in marrying for love, then?”
Nash raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Marry for love?”
“Your brothers did and they’re both very happy.”
