Having finally ground to a halt regarding the qualities she felt necessary in the future Countess of Radbourne, Lady Odelia launched into a list of possible candidates. You might start with Lord Hurleys daughter. Good name. And a steady sort. Not one to get up in the boughs over every little thing.
A pained look crossed the dukes face. Aunt Odelia, he remonstrated, the womans horse mad.
Lady Odelia turned a blank look on him. Of course. Shes Hurleys offspring.
But Gideon scarcely rides.
Lady Odelia rolled her eyes. Well, he scarcely needs a wife wholl be forever in his pocket, does he? It isnt as if we are talking about a love match.
Of course. What was I thinking? the duke murmured.
Before Lady Odelia could continue her roster of available girls, the parlor maid once again appeared at the doorway, bobbing a curtsey.
The Earl of Radbourne, my lady, she announced.
Even Lady Odelia fell silent at her words. As the three occupants of the room turned to stare, a man strode past the maid into the room.
Gideon! Lady Odelia exclaimed, looking astonished.
Francesca studied her visitor with interest. She did not know what she had expected the lost heir to look like, but this man was not it. She supposed that she had assumed he would be rather bumbling and ill at ease, an obvious fish out of water.
This man appeared about as ill at ease as a slab of marble. Though less tall than the lean and elegant duke, Lord Radbourne gave the impression of being a larger man. He was powerfully built, with a wide chest and muscular arms. His solid body was packed into a well-cut but plain black suit and mirror-polished boots, and he gave off an aura of wealth and strength.
Yet despite the expensive clothes and his air of confidence, there was some indefinable quality about him that hinted that he was not a gentleman. It was perhaps his thick black hair, worn a trifle longer than was fashionable and carelessly combed back. Or the hard set of his handsome face, tanner than that of most gentlemen. But no, Francesca thought, the difference lay in his eyescold and slightly wary, looking out on the world with the hard readiness that bespoke a life spent on the streets rather than in the lap of luxury.
When he opened his mouth, the impression that he did not belong among the aristocracy was confirmed. His grammar was correct, and only the merest tinge of an East End accent clung to his words, but there was some quality in his speech that would have hinted to any astute listener that he was not to the manor born.
Lady Odelia. Gideon nodded shortly to his great-aunt; then his gaze swept dispassionately across to the duke. Rochford.
Radbourne, Rochford replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips. What an unexpected surprise.
No doubt. Gideons voice was dry. He turned next to Francesca, executing a brief but serviceable bow. My lady.
Francesca rose, holding out her hand to him. My lord. Please, join us.
He nodded to her and walked across the room to take a chair just past where Lady Odelia sat. Well, Aunt, he began in a flat voice. I presume you are once again engaged in arranging my life for me.
Lady Odelias chin went up, and she looked back at Gideon somewhat defiantly. Francesca realized, with some amazement, that the intimidating Lady Pencully was actually a trifle afraid of this man.
I hope to find an appropriate wife for you, Lady Odelia replied. I trust you realize that your position requires it.
He gave her a long look from his bottle-green eyes, then said, I am well aware of what my position requires.
Gideon turned once again to Francesca. His gaze was cool and assessing, and Francesca reflected that his face was as unreadable as Rochfords, but unlike the politely veiled expression the duke turned to the world, the Earl of Radbournes face was like stone.
Now, she thought, he would tell her that he did not require her assistance in finding a wife.
I know that my grandmother and great-aunt are seeking a bride in an attempt to tame me. To make me more presentableI cannot imagine that I will ever be acceptable.
Odelia made a soft noise of protest, but when his gaze flickered her way, she fell silent.
Gideon turned back to Francesca. I, of course, realize that it is a necessity that I marry. I am agreeable to it. Doubtless you will be as able to find a spouse for me as my grandmother and Lady Pencully have been. I do not think you could be less successful at it. I will rely on the dukes assurance that you know what you are doing.
You told Gideon we were coming here? Lady Odelia asked Rochford in some amazement.
It seemed to me only fair, as it involves him, Rochford replied calmly.
Pray proceed, Lady Haughston, in your search for a suitable bride for me, Lord Radbourne went on. However, I feel I should point out that the woman in question will have to meet my approval, not Lady Pencullys. He paused, then added, I prefer, you see, not to be saddled with a fool.
Of course, Francesca replied. I understand.
Very good. Now, if you will excuse me, I must take my leave. He rose to his feet. There are a number of matters regarding the business my family so disapproves of that require my notice.
Of course, my lord. No doubt we will talk again.
He gave her a short nod, and bade goodbye to his cousin and great-aunt. He strode to the door, then turned and looked back at Francesca. Lady Haughstonmay I suggest one woman whom I would like to consider?
Francesca caught Lady Odelias expression of amazement out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her gaze on Gideon, saying only, Of course, my lord. Whom would you suggest?
Lady Irene Wyngate, he replied.
CHAPTER THREE
IRENE WATCHED HER mother as she moved gracefully through the steps of a country dance with her cousin Harville. Sir Harville, whose party this was, was one of the few people with whom Lady Claire felt it was appropriate for a widow such as herself to dance. He was also one of the few people who could always bring a smile to her mothers face.
For those reasons, Irene always looked forward to Lady Spences birthday ball. And since Sir Harville, instead of his penny-pinching wife, arranged the ball, the affair was also beautifully decorated and offered a midnight supper that would tempt even the faintest of appetites.
Such a sweet little dance, Irenes sister-in-law said beside her, glancing about the ballroom with an expression that mingled approval with condescension. Not nearly so grand a ballroom as we have at Wyngate House, but they have done it up very well.
Irene suppressed a sigh. Maura was the mistress of the insult wrapped in a compliment. However, Irene had promised her mother that she would not quarrel with Maura tonight, so she made no comment.
Lady Claire is in good looks tonight, Maura went on. Dont you agree, Humphrey dear?
She turned a sugary smile on her husband, standing on her other side. Humphrey smiled back, pleased at his wifes comment, Yes, she does look lovely. So like you to point that out.
It never ceased to amaze Irene that her brother, so intelligent in so many other ways, never saw through Mauras pretense of sweetness to the sharp claws beneath.
No matter what others may say, I think it is wonderful for her to dance.