Katie MacAlister: Noble Intentions

Charlotte frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gilly. The earl is not a monster; at least, not to look at. He is quite handsome if you like large, brooding men, which I most definitely do. When they’re earls, of course. And perhaps viscounts. But nothing lower than a viscount, you understand.” She forestalled Gillian’s questions by turning toward the doors. “Come stand with me and we will watch to see if the rumor is true.”

“Which rumor — that the earl killed his wife or that he is looking for a new one?”

“The latter. I will know soon enough if he is — men cannot keep a thing like that secret for very long.”

“Mmm, no, I imagine not. If their intentions are not clear in the speculative gazes they impart on every marriageable female who can still draw breath, it’s in the way they check the bride-to-be’s teeth and make sure her movement is sound.”

Charlotte tried to stifle a giggle. “Mama says I am not to listen to a thing you say, that you are incorrigible and a bad influence.”

Gillian laughed with her cousin as they entered the ballroom arm-in-arm. “It’s a good thing she doesn’t know I’ve learned it all from you, my dear Char. Now, after we view this rogue of the first water, tell me who has caught your fancy. As I told Aunt Honoria, I’m determined you will end your Season with a stunning match, but I cannot help you become deliriously happy if you do not tell me who your intended victim is.”

“Oh, that’s simple,” Charlotte replied with a beatific expression of innocence that was spoiled only by a perfectly wicked smile. “Everyone knows rakes make the best husbands. I shall simply pick out the worst of the bunch — one riddled with vices, bad habits, and a reputation that will make Mama swoon and Papa rail — then I shall reform him.”

“That seems like a terrible amount of work to go to just to find a suitable husband.”

“Not really.” Charlotte whipped open her fan and adopted a coy look. “After all, you know what they say.”

“No, what do they say?”

“Necessity is the mother of intention.”

Gillian stopped. “Invention, Charlotte.”

“What?”

“Necessity is the mother of invention.”

Charlotte stared at her for a moment, then rapped her cousin on the wrist with her fan. “Don’t be ridiculous, where would I come up with an invention? Intentions I have a-plenty, and that’s quite enough for me, thank you. Now let’s go find this delicious rake of an earl. If he’s as bad as Mama says, he might just suit.”

Gillian laughed at her cousin as the pair resumed their course across the brightly lit ballroom. Three men standing nearby turned at the sound of their merriment and considered the pretty picture in contrast the pair made.

“What have we here?” The shortest man, stylishly dressed in salmon satin breeches and an embroidered ivory waistcoat, lifted his quizzing glass and gazed at the two women. “Ah, it’s the Collins chit. Who’s the Long Meg with her?”

The tallest member of the group lifted a dark eyebrow at the question. “I haven’t the slightest idea, Tolly. You’re the expert on members of Society. You tell us who she is.”

Sir Hugh Tolliver toyed with his quizzing glass. “You’d know, too, if you came to town more often, Weston. ’Struth, you haven’t even come for Parliament for the past five years! It ain’t healthy to bury yourself in the country like that, my friend. A man of your consequence should be in town, taking your rightful place in society. You owe it to your title and your family to do so.”

The Black Earl gave the young man a tolerant look. Tolly had always been a bit of a romantic, nattering on about chivalry and the rights of the nobility for as long as the earl had known him.

“You sound like my mother, Tolly,” he said with as much gentleness as he could muster, then turned his gaze back to consider the two women. “I’m here now, that will have to suffice.”

Sir Hugh flushed at the set-down. “But how long do you plan to stay in town? Don’t look at me like I’m a candle short, man, it matters a good deal if I am to smooth your path into society.”

“I’ll stay as long as it takes. And as for smoothing my path — I’ve told you, Tolly, I don’t give a damn what the ton thinks of me. I’m here for one purpose only, and once I’ve achieved my goal, I shall return to Nethercote.”

“Ask St. Clair who the Amazon is, Tolly. He’s tight with Collins and is sure to know.” The third member of the group, who had also been watching the two women make their way to the opposite side of the room, nodded toward a door leading to the card room. Sir Hugh obligingly turned to find his quarry but was stopped by a soft voice.

“Get me an introduction.”

Sir Hugh stared at his saturnine friend in surprise, the flush slowly fading from his face. “You’re serious then, Weston? You’re looking to get leg-shackled again? I would have thought after Elizabeth…”

The words dried in his mouth as Lord Weston gazed at him with a look he did not care to investigate further. “Er…yes. Which one?”

“Which what?” Weston drawled in a bored voice that made Sir Hugh even more nervous. His palms began to sweat. Weston was at his most dangerous when he appeared bored.

“Which chit did you want the introduction to?”

Weston sent an uninterested glance to where the pair had joined a flock of young women. “The redhead.”

“She’s a bit long in the tooth, don’t you think? On the shelf, and all that.” Sir Hugh regretted his comments the second they left his lips. One didn’t inquire into the reasons behind Weston’s actions. Although his gray eyes might be hooded by apparent disinterest, Sir Hugh knew how quickly they could turn frigid. His hands immediately stopped sweating and turned to blocks of ice.

“Tolly,” the third man warned, taking on his accustomed role of peacemaker, “just get the introductions. Weston has my curiosity up now as well — the Amazon is damned pretty, even if she is a head taller than you.”

Flushing again at the comment, Sir Hugh nodded curtly at the marquis and scurried off to garner the necessary information.

“Don’t tell me you’re shopping for a wife as well, Harry?”

Grimacing at the thought, Lord Rosse adjusted his spectacles and took another look down the line of this year’s crop of debutantes. “Lord, no. But you never know what lovely bit might be agreeable to carte blanche .”

“You’re looking in the wrong spot, old friend. Allow me to direct you away from the virgins. The widows and bored wives are kept on the other side of the room.”

Rosse ignored the gentle ribbing and continued his perusal. “If you hadn’t told me yourself you intended to wed again, I wouldn’t have believed it. I suppose you’re doing it for Nick’s sake?”

Weston took two glasses of whiskey off the tray of a passing footman and handed one to his friend. “My son is part of the reason, my nursery another. It’s time I fill it.”

“Damned shame you didn’t marry Nick’s mother.”

The gray in Weston’s eyes turned to icy silver, but Rosse wasn’t daunted by the waves of almost palpable hostility that emanated from the man next to him; they’d been through too much together not to speak their minds in private.

“If you recall,” Weston said softly as he directed his gaze back toward the Amazon, “I was already married at the time.”

“Ah, yes. The lovely Elizabeth.”

Weston’s gut tightened, as it did every time her name was mentioned, his lips thinning into a cruel parody of a smile as he fought down waves of bitterness and deep pain. It never failed to surprise him that he could feel such pain; for the last five years it was the only emotion that breached the icy numbness that was his constant companion. The lovely Elizabeth. By God, he would make sure his second wife was nothing like that cold, heartless bitch.