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Chapter 2

CHAPTER2

Andrew had barely managed to step into the palatial home when he, most unfortunately, once again found himself cornered by desperate mamas with their marriageable daughters in tow.

The soirées at Lady Arlington’s had always been mostly private affairs with a select guest list, and the lady of the house prided herself on the matter that the pale green invitations she often sent out at the beginning of every Season were much coveted by the members of the ton.

Particularly Society mamas with unmarried daughters.

Andrew smiled back at Lady Covington and her daughter, Miss Burnett, when he felt the familiar sensation of the hairs at the nape of his neck stand up. He cast a subtle glance to the right and nearly cursed under his breath when he saw his mother looking on at the scene with some interest. He politely excused himself from the company of the ladies and walked over to the decorative pillars that Lady Arlington had had installed for that soirée’s particular Grecian theme.

“You look like you are not enjoying the night at all, Trowbridge,” a voice remarked in amusement. “Are the… diversions not to your taste?”

He turned around and found the Duke of Barrington striding towards him with Selina on his arm, giving her husband a look of disapproval. The contrite expression on his best friend’s face was now proving far more amusing than any diversion Lady Arlington—and her fake Grecian decor—could throw at him.

“William, you know that might sound offensive if someone were to hear you,” Selina chided.

“I apologize, Sunbeam,” the Duke replied with great affection.

Andrew doubted his best friend could apologize with the same sincerity to the rest of the world, though.

Selina turned towards her brother with a wide smile. “But, truly, Andrew, it is rather unusual to find you in your lonesome at these things.”

“You mean that your dear brother is usually surrounded by a flock of ladies.”

Selina shot her husband another reproachful look to which he only replied with a soft smile.

“I did notice Mother is in attendance,” she noted. “After Father died, she… has not exactly been overly fond of these things.”

“You know how Mother is.” Andrew just grinned at her. “She cannot stand having to go out in public in mourning clothes.”

“Andrew! That is not very nice!”

But it was not exactly a falsehood. It was no secret that the Dowager Marchioness of Trowbridge was known for dressing in the latest fashion, and for the first few months since her husband passed away, she made black look quite fashionable amongst the ton. However, it soon wore her out to dress in the same color for each and every affair, so she chose to keep away from her usual activities.

Now, it seemed that something had inspired her to come out of her seclusion from their country estate.

“Fortunately, Father knew her rather well and has left her an enviable allowance for the rest of her life,” Andrew quipped.

“I do not know if you should be so happy about that,” William told him dryly. “If there is one thing that dowagers like to amuse themselves with, it is planning the nuptials of their yet unwed children. Seeing as your sister is married to me—” he grinned with unabashed pride at that fact“—then that leaves only you to entertain your poor mother in her widowed state.”

“Heaven forbid!” Andrew shuddered. He looked across the room and saw his mother happily conversing with Lady Wentworth.

A subtle feeling of foreboding came over him.

What else could two Society matrons with unmarried children be talking about?

He was willing to bet that it would not be gossip or the latest fashion.

William clapped his shoulder, and the almost jovial smile on his normally stoic face seemed quite sinister to him. “I wish you well, old friend.”

“Bugger off, Barrington.”

The Duke only laughed while Selina shook her head at their antics.

From across the room, the Dowager Marchioness was already talking to Lady Powell, the wife of the Earl of Powell. Andrew’s heart sank when he realized that Lady Powell still had two unmarried daughters—and one of them was Julia Lewis.

* * *

Andrew perused the numerous documents spread out on his desk with a look of distaste. He could not fathom how his father managed to keep all of his estates in working order without going mad.

But then again, Father rarely spent time outside of his study. And when he did, he was usually in one factory or another, attending to his businesses…

Andrew might admire his father to some degree, but he had no such desire to live his life the way his sire had.

A sharp knock on his door broke through the haze of his thoughts, and he looked up crossly to find his mother standing in the doorway of his study.

Today, the Dowager Marchioness was dressed in a fashionable gown of a muted gray-purple hue. A brilliant row of amethysts was draped across her neck.

His mother might still be considered to be in mourning clothes, but she did not seem to look very mournful at all. In fact, she did seem rather… cheerful today.

“Is something amiss?” he asked her.

“Dear me, no!” she trilled, sailing into the study as if she owned the place. “Does something have to go awry for a mother to visit her dear son?”

“Mother.” Andrew fought hard to keep his tone even. “You rarely come by to see me. Or Selina for that matter.”

“Well, I just went by Barrington Estate last week, and your sister seems to be doing rather well for herself.”

“Because she married a duke?”

“Because she is married, Andrew.” His mother sighed dramatically. “Whereas you are woefully not.”

I can’t believe William was right!

His esteemed mother had indeed caught on to that strange affliction of Society matrons—one that pushed them to marry off their children in the smallest amount of time possible.

“You might have had the time to dither on when your dear father was alive, but now that you are the Marquess of Trowbridge, you must make marriage your priority,” the Dowager Marchioness continued. “The Walford line is at your mercy, and if you choose to waste your time charming young women you have no intention of marrying, well… what is the point of sampling a banquet without eating it?”

“Mother, that is a rather preposterous statement to make.”

And rather lewd if one dwelt on it too much…

The Dowager Marchioness, however, refused to be deterred.

“You must find a bride,” she huffed. “During this Season if you can manage it.”

“And if I do not?”

Her smile sent chills down his spine. “Oh, I do not suppose you would enjoy it if I took matters into my own hands…”

Heaven forbid such a thing were to occur. He had no doubt his dear mother had extensive connections in the ton—she was rather fond of gossip—but he would not trust her to select a bride for him. He was not some untried youth whose mother must supervise him at every turn.

“Marriage is something that should not be taken lightly,” he warned. “Whatever you intend to do, Mother, I hope you would reconsider—for both our sakes.”

The Dowager Marchioness beamed at him, and Andrew had the distinct feeling that he had fallen into a trap.

“I am very much pleased that you seem to take this seriously,” she told him happily. “Do not fret, dearest. I have taken it upon myself to aid you on this quest.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “And how do you intend to go about that if I might be so bold as to ask?”

“Here.” The Dowager Marchioness fished out a paper from behind her and slid it over to him on his desk. “I have taken it upon myself to compile a list of the most eligible young ladies in London for this Season. And you need not worry,” she added in a confident voice as he looked at the folded paper in shock, “I have taken great care to make sure that they are all quite compatible with you.”

“Mother, this is hardly respectful!” he protested, refusing to accept her thrice damned list.

Did his mother have any idea what the average debutante in London was like? They hardly held a single intellectual thought in their heads. How could she even think he would be compatible with any of them?

“Nonetheless, I urge you to review that list,” the Dowager Marchioness insisted. “I do not know why you’re complaining, truly. You have danced and paid special attention to those young ladies on the list… I took great care to note that fact.”

“So, you have been attending these balls and parties merely to see who I danced with?”

Of course, he would dance with them—it would be the height of rudeness not to. Besides, he was not like William, who took a not-so-secret delight in offending their fragile sensibilities.

Seeing as his mother refused to waver in her stance, Andrew gingerly took the list and perused its contents, his distaste mounting with every name his eyes fell on.

Madeline Wellesley? I had already chanced upon her with Nathaniel Banks in the pavilion of Birmingham Estate…

He crossed that one out—and proceeded to cross out a great deal more. Then, he handed the list back to his mother with a triumphant grin.

She looked at the names he had crossed and frowned. “Whatever is wrong with these women?” she asked.

“Some of them are already courting some gentleman or another.” He shrugged casually. “Unless you want me to face the end of another man’s pistol or saber at dawn, I would refrain from considering any of them.”

His mother visibly paled at his words and nodded in agreement. “Perhaps my list is rather dated…” she trailed off unhappily, but then, her eyes lit up. “But at least half of them are not courting.”

“I… have first-hand experience of their company,” Andrew said scathingly. “And I have no such desire to be in that position again.”

The Dowager Marchioness stared at him in shock and disappointment. “Andrew,” she said tentatively, “you… have not deflowered any young ladies, have you?”

Andrew looked at his mother in shock and then burst out in laughter. “Mother, I swear you come up with the most preposterous things!”

She sighed and gave him a reproachful look. “Well, you cannot blame me for thinking that way—especially with the way you deal with young women. Your reputation as a charmer is well-earned, so I hear.”

“I assure you that I have been careful in my dealings with the impressionable young ladies of the ton,” Andrew said sarcastically. “Especially when I have no desire to tie myself to them for the rest of my life.”

“Well, that is a relief, then.” The Dowager Marchioness looked at the list in her hand and pressed her lips into a tight smile. “There are still five other names on the list.”

Andrew frowned and looked at the list in her hand. He admitted that he had mostly glossed over it as he had no desire to humor his mother’s efforts at finding him a bride. His gaze snagged at the very bottom of the list.

Julia Lewis.

He vividly recalled his mother talking happily to Lady Powell the night before.

So, she thinks that Julia Lewis will make a good wife for me? Absolutely not!

He would not even consider touching the fiery redhead with a ten-foot pole, much less put a ring on her finger.

“I think Miss Ferguson is nice enough,” he told his mother in a grudging tone.

Andrew had met Miss Ferguson before, and she seemed nice enough with a gentle temperament. Also, she did not look like she had but a singular thought between her ears.

“Lovely!” Lady Trowbridge clapped her hands in delight. “I heard that she will be attending Lady Pembroke’s ball tonight. You can ask her to dance and get to know her better.”

Andrew merely nodded and grunted noncommittally. He had no such desire to go to the ball tonight and talk to a young lady for the mere purpose of assessing whether he could be persuaded to marry her.

“I put lovely Julia’s name here, but Lady Powell informed me that Lord Cosby is quite serious in his suit,” his mother added with a soft sigh. “Such a beautiful girl, that one. A shame, really, that you dithered on…”

Julia Lewis is a stunning creature. If one can be persuaded to ignore that horrible temper of hers…

Perhaps Lord Cosby was infatuated enough to overlook that particular character flaw of Julia’s, but Andrew could not imagine the fierce redhead with the straitlaced Viscount—she would drive the poor man to his wits’ end within a week.

Or the Viscount would succeed in controlling her fire. Eventually.

And somehow, the thought of it made Andrew clench his fists in anger although he had not the faintest notion why.

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