Much Ado About You
Page 18

“I gather you agree with my parents’ estimation of acceptable activities,” Lucius said. There was an ugly moment of silence, and then Mayne sighed.
“I don’t give a damn what you do with your pennies, Lucius, and you know it as well as I do. And you’ve never given a damn whose bed I frequented either. So why are you suddenly making me feel like the devil’s spawn when all I’ve done is declare an intent to become respectable?”
“At least you’ve both kept your figures,” Rafe said morosely, ignoring the rage that had sliced through the room in the last moments. “My closest friends are a lecher and a merchant, but at least they—”
“A charming threesome, we,” Mayne broke in. “A drunkard, a lecher, and a merchant. The flowers of English society. At least we inherited our sins honestly…from our forefathers.”
“My mother would not thank you for that reminder of my father’s birth,” Lucius said wryly. “She decided long ago that my head for figures must have come from his side of the family.”
“Your mother’s a fool,” Mayne said, but without venom, turning up his glass for the last drops of brandy. “You’re the best of us, even if your father’s inheritance was his face and not a fortune. Ah, well, at least I’m reforming! First marriage, then children, and before you know it, I’ll take up my seat in Lord’s.”
Rafe doubted that. But it was true that Tess could hardly hope for a better match in a worldly sense, which was precisely the sort of things guardians were supposed to pay attention to. “It can’t be a public wedding,” he said. “She’s still in mourning.”
“Strictly special license,” Mayne said. “My uncle’s a bishop, y’know. He can give us the license and do the ceremony, right here. You have a chapel, don’t you?”
“All right, but Tess has to agree. I’m not forcing her into a marriage that’s too hasty to feel comfortable.”
Mayne gave him a faint smile. “That shouldn’t present a problem. God knows I’ve had enough experience making women love me. I’d give it two days at the most. A few compliments and some poetry should do it.” He said it without boastfulness, simply accepting of his own place in the world and his own skills.
Rafe hesitated. “No improprieties until you’re married.” It came out more harshly than he intended.
Mayne looked surprised. “I wouldn’t think of it. She’s to be my wife.”
“I only said it because we haven’t a proper chaperone,” Rafe said, feeling rather embarrassed.
“You know,” Mayne said, “my sister Griselda has been staying at Maidensrow, just a few miles down the road. Why don’t you ask her to play your chaperone? The life of a giddy widow leaves her plenty of time to put your wards through the season, and she’s always been fond of you, Rafe. She’ll give the girls a bit of town bronze, and it would make my wedding less of a nine days’ wonder.”
“If you think she would be agreeable,” Rafe said, “that would be most helpful. Aunt Flora wouldn’t be any good at advising the girls in matters of dress. Since she never married, I’m not sure she’d be the best at that sort of business either.”
“My sister excels in such matters,” Mayne said. “I think it must be a requirement for young widows that they spend most of their time matchmaking while vigorously resisting a return to the state themselves. I shall send a messenger over first thing in the morning. Griselda’s dress sense is only matched by her curiosity, so I would guess that she will join us as early as luncheon tomorrow. Perhaps I shall have all this courting finished by the time she arrives.”
“In that case,” Rafe said, “I wish you luck.”
“I’m off to bed,” Lucius said quietly.
“Can you put off your return to London?” Mayne said, looking up at him. “I’ll like you to stand with me at the wedding. I swear I’ll have the business in hand by a week at the most.”
Lucius hesitated, and then: “Of course.”
Rafe followed Lucius to the door, but, seeing nothing in his shadowed eyes, closed the door behind him.
Chapter 9
The next morning
T ess had never been stupid about men, only surprised by them. It didn’t take her long to discover that the Earl of Mayne had decided to woo her. In fact, she knew the moment she looked up from the breakfast table, where she was buttering a crumpet and wondering when her sisters would appear, and the earl prowled in, bearing all the signs of a man on a quest.
Her first thought, that he must be looking for Annabel, was dispelled by the way he lushly declared himself, “Enchanted—no, enchanté!—to see the exquisite Miss Essex,” making no mention of her sister whatsoever. After that, the only question was whether he wished for her hand—or something else.She finished her bite of crumpet as he swept himself into the chair next to her, looking fearfully elegant all in black with white at his throat. But he was looking at her. And that look—there was no mistaking it.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, giving him a smile calculated to encourage. There was no need to be abrasive until she learned his objective. Lord knows, she had plenty of practice rebuffing horse-mad Scots who thought a penniless viscount’s daughter would trade her respectability for a few fine gowns.
“Miss Essex,” he said. And even if she hadn’t already cottoned to his intentions, the way he rolled the sound of her name—as if he owned her already—would have alerted her.
Of course, there are suitors, and there are suitors. Some come with spots, and some come with earldoms, and one clearly doesn’t reject the latter candidates. Especially if their profiles were Romanesque and more than acceptable, and their chins neither weak nor receding. In short, there were no excuses for lack of courtesy, even if one did find the gentleman rather unsettling. Tess put down her crumpet and prepared to be courted.
Mayne took his cue immediately. “You look even more exquisite in the morning than you did last night,” he told her, picking up her hand. His hair was a perfect tumble of curls; one must suppose that he wished it to look that way.
He seemed to take her silence as all the encouragement necessary. “I trust I don’t offend if I mention what beautiful eyes you have, Miss Essex. They are a truly extraordinary color of blue. One would expect a darker hue, but they are a stronger, clearer shade, the color of lapis lazuli, perhaps.”
Tess was conscious of a strong wish to finish her breakfast. It was not that his compliments were without interest, but they didn’t seem to assuage her hunger. “You are too kind,” she said, extracting her hand and picking up her crumpet again. Now she thought of it, Annabel would not be pleased. Tess had the distinct impression that under her sister’s funning the previous night was a firm decision to marry the earl, who now showed every sign of wishing to marry the eldest Essex sister instead.
The earl glanced at Brinkley, who was busying himself at the side table. “I realize that this is a most unconventional request, since we are unchaperoned—”
Tess’s eyebrows rose involuntarily. Could it be that the earl was going to make his offer here and now? After all, if she didn’t have an excellent memory, she might well have forgotten his name altogether. Which is to say that they had the slimmest of acquaintances.