Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

"D rew, I'm so glad you could join us." Lord Beecham rose from his chair and quickly crossed the room, hand extended.

Andrew took the firm grasp and shook his friend's hand. "It's been too long, Henry." He glanced about the room, disappointed when he did not see Lady Annette.

"May I introduce the Viscountess Henney, my betrothed? My dear, this is Viscount Weston."

A petite woman with auburn hair and intelligent brown eyes rose from a chair near the hearth. "I've heard much about you, my lord. I hope your lodgings are comfortable?"

He nodded, not trying to hide his surprise. "You're sure you want to marry this upstart? Has he told you of his university escapades?"

"Don't frighten her away, Drew. It took me years to get the nerve to ask," Beecham said with a chuckle.

"I am curious," asked the viscountess. "You seem younger than Henry, so how did you two become acquainted at Oxford?"

"I met his older brother, Phillip, first," answered Beecham. "Their family lived in Oxford, so by my second year, I often went to stay with them rather than spend so much time at the school. Once Drew turned thirteen, we brought him everywhere with us. We gave him quite another kind of education."

The men chatted and caught up over a glass of brandy while Lady Henney worked on her embroidery, adding a comment here or chuckling at something the men said. Andrew thought she was an attractive woman for her age. She was also practiced at pretending to be demure, but he'd seen the independence in her gaze. The Earl of Beecham wouldn't lean into his doddering years with this female at his side. She would keep him lively. Eventually, the conversation came around to the holiday house party.

"How many guests are coming?" asked Andrew.

"We've invited the neighbors for the ball on New Year's Eve and some of the activities leading up to Twelfth Night. The guests include family members and a short parade of young men." Beecham caught his fiancée's pointed glance. "Er, eligible men looking for a wife."

"Parade? A wife?" Andrew repeated, rubbing his chin, then the reason struck him. "For Lady Annette?"

"Yes, she'll soon be twenty-four," explained Lady Henney. "Henry and I worry if she doesn't marry before us, she'll settle into spinsterhood."

Andrew spit out the last sip of brandy, then choked, his eyes watering. Beecham jumped up to smack his back as the viscountess brought him water. "Are you better?" she asked after he'd gulped it down.

"Quite," he said, wiping at his eyes with a handkerchief. "My apologies, but is this possible spinster the same Lady Annette I met earlier?"

"The same." Beecham poured another brandy for both of them. "She ran into a bit of trouble her first Season, which seemed to linger into the second Season. Nettie gave up after that, came here, and has not been back to London since. It isn't her age that worries us so much as her fear of returning to London."

"Well, she is a bit old for a Season at this point," added Lady Henney.

"She's a beautiful woman. Are you sure she wishes to marry?"

"With all her heart, but only to a man who can accept her as she is?—"

"And won't worry about getting injured should she lose her temper," finished Lady Henney.

"Lose her tem… injured?" Somehow, Andrew felt he'd lost the direction of the conversation.

Lady Henney gave him a short explanation of The Incident, which included a man, a punch bowl, and a broken nose. Then she switched the topic to Beecham's oldest son. He had been pining for a woman who had married his best friend, then was widowed early. "Since he was out nipping at his flask instead of acting the proper chaperon, Lucius feels responsible for his sister's dilemma. He insists if he had been by Nettie's side, the blaggard wouldn't have tried anything. But I believe he's using it as an excuse because he can't have the woman of his heart."

"He's also not married yet," Beecham explained. "It seems he won't enter the parson's trap until his sister does. And you know how important an heir?—"

The room went silent as the earl realized his blunder. They all knew Weston had only a daughter, never remarrying after his wife and newborn son died. But Andrew wasn't here for pity. That had been long ago, and he was quite content with his nephew assuming the title. He decided to fill the uncomfortable pause.

"So, everyone's happiness is pinned on this young woman who must gain a betrothal over Christmastide?" Andrew asked. They both nodded. "Egads, no pressure on Lady Annette, then."

Beecham and Lady Henney looked at each other, at the carpet, then at Andrew.

"Lord Weston," began the viscountess, "Henry says you are the best judge of character he knows. So, we thought you might help us."

Andrew's brows rose. "You want me to choose a husband for your daughter?"

Beecham shook his head, then ran his hand through his fading light-brown hair. "No, no. We thought if she found a suitor she preferred, you might give us your opinion on him. The list has been thoroughly checked in advance, of course. But an investigator cannot tell us if the man is kind or patient or?—"

"If he wants a wife?"

"Oh, we already know that. We invited only men who attended the last two Seasons, are still not betrothed, and are not purse-pinched. Since Nettie has… moved on the edge of society the last few years, we feel a younger son of a titled family might be a nice fit. Someone not worried about the confines of London, you know."

"Ah, settle her in the country with a sedate vicar." Andrew was flabbergasted. The woman he'd met was a delectable creature. Could the young men of London really be put off by one mistake? The ton were fickle nodcocks. "Surely, the, er, incident would have been forgotten by now."

"Most likely, but Nettie has not forgotten. After… well, she didn't finish her first Season. And the second, she was treated horribly. She became a wallflower. It was heartbreaking. She will never put herself in a position to be ridiculed like that again." Lady Henney shook her head. "It would take just one mean-spirited gossipmonger to dredge it up."

"Won't she feel… self-conscious with a roomful of men ogling her?" The word parade had put a comical image in his head, dandies primping themselves and walking in a line before the wealthy earl's daughter.

"Oh, they aren't all coming at once. They'll be trickling in," exclaimed Lady Henney. "The vicar from the next county will come with his sister tomorrow and stay for two nights. After that, two more gentlemen, who happen to be friends with Lord Page, will arrive and stay a couple of days on their way… somewhere. I've forgotten where Lucius said." She tapped her lips with her forefinger, then shrugged. "And our youngest son William, a barrister, is bringing one of his associates on Christmas Eve."

Andrew realized the irony of the situation, and a deep rumble began in his chest. It turned into full-blown laughter, and he finally caught his breath. His hosts cast him curious glances.

"I apologize. It's nothing to do with Lady Annette. It's just…" He began chuckling again, feeling the heat spread in his cheeks. "I've been thinking of taking a wife now that my daughter is betrothed. So, this conversation?—"

"Is quite timely." Lady Henney's eyes flashed with mischief.

"I only wish you had added a few widows to your list. There might have been a double betrothal for the new year." He threw back the rest of the brandy. "Henry, of course I'll help in any way I can. Your daughter should have no problem enchanting one of these fellows, and I'm happy to give my opinion as to their character."

That should put a barrier between him and the desirable wallflower .

* * *

Annette dressed with care for dinner, checking her reflection for anything amiss. She turned back and forth, letting the bottle-green silk swish and linger around her legs like a purring cat. The delicate tatting, creating a creamy web along the hem and sleeves, was her favorite part of the dress. She smoothed the cream-colored satin ribbon just under her square bodice. A jade pendant hung at her neck with matching bobs dangling below her ears. A simple matching ribbon was entwined in her upswept hair.

"Pinch your cheeks and add some color to your face," instructed her maid, Jenny. "What is the sudden concern for your appearance when the guests don't arrive for another few days?"

Annette shrugged and avoided eye contact with the woman who had been with her since she was fourteen. They had grown up together and, since moving to Suffolk permanently, had become confidantes. Jenny knew of her past, understood why she avoided London, and was a wizard at making Annette laugh.

The maid bent around her mistress, her round face and soft brown eyes appearing in Annette's line of sight. "What are you hiding from me, milady?"

Annette straightened with a sigh and plopped back down in the chair in front of the mirror. "One guest has arrived." She gave the maid a side-glance.

"His lordship's friend, the viscount?"

"M-hm." She wondered why she'd not seen Lord Weston's name on the list. Perhaps he'd not been invited for "the selection" as she'd come to think of it.

An image of the handsome man danced before her. Thick auburn hair with only a touch of gray at the temples and eyes the color of her father's coffee. His smile… Well, it had sent her belly tumbling. He had to be on the far end of his forties, yet his athletic build would indicate a younger man. Was Lord Weston's age the reason he hadn't been included as a possible suitor?

"He's nice to look at, certainly. But do you think he's a bit old for you?" Jenny busied herself with picking up the scattered clothing. "Or not…" she said, peering over her shoulder to see Annette's dreamy expression in the mirror.

"It's not like he's as ancient as Lord Greggson." If Lord Weston was as old as her father, there would be over twenty years difference in their ages. "But you're right, I am hopeful one of the younger men arriving will be agreeable."

"It's a shame it's come to this, miss," tsked Jenny. "You used to love parties and crowds."

Annette's heart twisted a little, and she wondered where that social creature had gone. Buried in the bowels of Almack's. Not that she was dreadfully shy. When with family, speaking with a small group of villagers, or mingling with friends of her father or Alice, she was her usual self. It was the large events, with people her own age who seemed to judge her, that sent her scurrying to the wall, hiding from the stares and whispers. Real or perceived.

"Then again, you've always been more comfortable with older men. Your brothers, your father's friends. A widower might make a nice match for you." Jenny stopped behind her, arms full of clothes, and locked gazes with her mistress. "You deserve to be happy. I've seen you with the little ones, the joy in your eyes. It will come to you, milady. I feel it in my bones."

Annette gave her a grateful smile. "Speaking of happiness, how is your courtship with the stablemaster progressing?"

The maid blushed, her cheeks almost matching the red curls peeking from beneath her cap. "He's a fine man, my Georgie. We're thinking once you're married?—"

"Blast! Must the world stop turning until I find a husband?" She clenched her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut. Deep breath, deep breath. "I didn't mean to sound harsh. It's just that I seem to be the reason no one is moving forward in love. You could remain my lady's maid if you were wed. There is no reason to wait for my betrothal."

"Georgie would prefer I not work once we're married. Wants to start a family right away." The maid blushed again, then grinned. "Besides, I'm in no hurry to leave you or this fine house."

Annette stood and took Jenny's hands in her own. "We will work around the wishes of your future husband. Please, if you are in love, marry him." She thought of losing her mother much too soon, her own future that had seemed so rosy at the beginning of her first Season, and her brother whose heart had been broken the day he'd introduced his beloved to his best friend. "Life is too fleeting. The winds of destiny can change in a breath. Take joy where and when you can find it and never regret your choices."

"Grand advice that you should follow too." Jenny arranged the gossamer shawl about her mistress's shoulders. "Now, go to dinner and enjoy yourself. Consider it a rehearsal for when the rest of the guests arrive."

Her heart stuttered at the thought of the viscount. Annette agreed she needed practice in the art of flirting. Lord Weston would surely be immune to the coquetry of an amateur. Why not indulge in a harmless pastime?