Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

“ D id I imagine a knocking at the front door last night?” Lionel’s grandmother, Caroline, asked from across the breakfast table, feigning interest in the morning papers though Lionel had not seen her turn any pages.

Evidently, she had been waiting for the right moment to voice her curiosity.

“At what hour?” Lionel replied casually, taking a bite of his toast.

His younger sister, Rebecca, who sat opposite him, perked up in her chair. She had insisted on coming to London for the Season, though she was not going to debut until next year. And though he had protested that Westyork was a far more engaging place for her to be, there was nothing she could ask for that he would say “no” to. Moreover, Caroline had added her argument to the persuasion, claiming that her old bones could not bear another winter at the country estate.

Lionel was entirely aware that the two women had conspired, but he could not chide them for it. He adored them too much, and adored how close they were—more like mother and daughter than grandmother and granddaughter.

“Late,” Caroline said, peeking over the top of the papers.

Lionel shrugged. “A gentleman came by. He was scolded for the intrusion and then he departed.”

“So, not a friend of yours?” Caroline arched an eyebrow. “I knew this would happen. How much did he ask for? Did he say it was just a loan, and he would pay you back with interest? Goodness, I thought we would at least have a week or two before the vultures began circling. The stench of wealth must be stronger than I suspected.”

Lionel washed his toast down with a mouthful of weak coffee. “He did not ask for any loan, Grandmother. You are much too cynical.” He smiled at her. “Indeed, you will be pleased to know that not a soul recognized me last night. I imagine it would have been different if Edmund had been there, but he is likely to be indisposed for a while.”

“ No one recognized you?” Rebecca looked dismayed. “Goodness, how terrible. How is your pride this morning? Shall I fetch a salve for the bruises?”

Lionel chuckled. “My pride is uninjured, dear sister, though I thank you for your concern. I wanted to be anonymous for a while, to settle back into the ways of society. But I fear I am rustier than I thought, so if you happen to have any oil instead of salve, I shall be very grateful.”

Rebecca giggled, her smile as bright as sunshine. Observing her, Lionel prayed that nothing and no one would ever come along that would take that merry smile off her face.

At the end of the table, Caroline put the newspaper down with a flourish and steepled her fingers, staring directly at her grandson. “If the gentleman did not come to ask for money, and he was not known to you, then what was his purpose in visiting in the middle of the night?”

Taking a longer sip of coffee to delay answering, Lionel wished briefly that he had been firmer with his suggestion that the two ladies stayed at Westyork for the winter. His grandmother was a terrifically light sleeper, yet it had not crossed his mind that she might have heard the night’s interruption until she had mentioned it.

I cannot tell them the whole truth… though perhaps they would find it amusing rather than strange. He considered his options, knowing that if anyone were to find last night’s situation entertaining, it would be the pair of them. Still, he did not want to begin his sudden betrothal by embarrassing his betrothed.

His mind drifted to the way Amelia’s hair had tumbled down in such glossy waves, the color of rich, dark honey, scented so powerfully that he could recall the aroma in an instant. As if it was still in his nose somehow, the memory clinging to his senses.

And those eyes. Like two glittering pools. In truth, he could not quite understand why such a woman had been forced to go to such extremes to barter for a marriage contract. Perhaps, her strangeness had made her undesirable; he did not know, but it certainly could not be anything to do with her beauty.

Caroline harrumphed, reminding him that he had not yet replied.

“The gentleman came to offer the hand of his sister,” he said, deciding on the plot that Amelia had tried her best to perform. “By chance, I had encountered the sister at last night’s ball and found her to be… exactly what I have been looking for.”

He hid a smirk as he recalled Amelia’s own description of herself: quiet, causes no trouble, and knows how to behave. It was all the funnier, considering the circumstances—all of her actions the previous night a contradiction to her rather bland ‘merits.’

“As such, I have accepted,” he concluded, raising his cup as if to toast the occasion.

But the response was not quite as celebratory as he might have hoped, Rebecca unleashing a horrified gasp, while Caroline stared at him like he had taken leave of his senses. It confused him temporarily, for he had made no secret of his purpose in coming to London after two years’ absence—seven, if he included the years he had fought for his country.

“Brother, no!” Rebecca cried, shaking her head vehemently. “You cannot just agree to marry the first lady who is thrown at you. I realize I know little of society, but I hear that the mothers are extraordinarily crafty—what if the lady in question is… thirty? What if you do not like her? What if she is rude or spoiled or… um… does not like the countryside?”

Lionel took a measured breath. “As I said, I happened to encounter the lady in question last night. If she is thirty, then she is a sorceress. If she is rude or spoiled, I saw no indication of it. And if she does not like the countryside, she may reside here in London.” He offered his sister a smile. “Truly, I am content with the situation.”

Though I do not yet know what the situation might be. He had it on his urgent agenda to visit with the Duke of Lisbret just as soon as he finished his breakfast, to iron out the details and any hiccups that might become a problem.

“But… what about love, Brother?” Rebecca’s brow creased. “What about courtship? What about spending time with her, learning what you have in common, learning what she likes and dislikes? Have you even danced with her?”

“I have not,” he replied. “I do not need to dance with her to know that she will be a suitable bride. Indeed, marrying her means far less dancing, which I shall not argue with.”

He had not yet attempted to dance with his temperamental leg and his poor eyesight, and if nothing else, that was a very good reason to choose Amelia. He would not have to attend any more balls if he did not want to, sending her as his envoy. He would never have to potentially embarrass himself on any dance floor at all. It was the perfect solution to several problems, in fact.

“You are a wealthy Earl,” Rebecca pressed. “You do not have to marry for convenience. I beg you, do not be so hasty. Your true love might be out there waiting, and you might never find her because you have settled for this unknown lady.”

Lionel set down his cup. “Love is not for the likes of me, dearest Rebecca. Love is for the likes of you— that is what being wealthy is for, to ensure that you marry whomever you please. It is for the security of both of you. Meanwhile, this marriage will be security enough for me.”

“In what respect?” Caroline finally spoke up, curiosity shining in her keen gaze.

“A gentleman of business will never be taken as seriously if he does not have a wife. Other gentlemen do not trust it, and do not trust such men in their homes. That is why I must marry, and how I shall be secure,” he replied, though that was only part of the story.

Judging by the faint shadow of sorrow that passed across Caroline’s face, she knew it too. In many ways, she knew the truth more keenly than anyone. And perhaps that was why she did not challenge Lionel’s decision but picked up her paper and returned to her reading.

“Bring her to the house before you wed her, so we can all stare at her like she is a circus curio, make her terribly uncomfortable, and drink obscene amounts of tea in silence until the awkwardness abates,” was all she said, from behind the slightly trembling sheets. In the thickness of her voice, Lionel knew she was trying to hold back her sadness.

For there was a curse on the Barnet men, and though Rebecca was still too young and na?ve to think of it as anything but tragic coincidence, Lionel and Caroline knew better: he was not likely to be an exception.