Amanda Quick: Rendezvous

"It defeats me why all of London is suddenly concerned with my marital prospects."

"Because of the way you are going about the business of selecting a wife, of course. Everyone's heard about your list. I told you, there are bets all over town on it."

"Yes, you told me." Harry studied his wine. "What, precisely, was the wager in Pompeia's betting book?"

"Ten pounds that you would ask for the Angel's hand by the end of the month."

"As a matter of fact, I intend to ask for Miss Ballinger's hand this very afternoon."

"Damnation, man," Peter was clearly appalled. "Not Claudia. I know you have the impression she would make you a very proper sort of countess, but a lady who wears wings and a halo is not really what you want. You need a different sort of female altogether. And the Angel needs a different sort of man. Do not be a fool, Harry."

Harry raised his brows. "Have you ever known me to play the fool?"

Peter's eyes narrowed. Then he grinned slowly. "No, my lord, I have not. So that's the way of it, eh? Excellent. Excellent . You will not be sorry."

"I am not so certain of that," Harry said ruefully.

"Let me put it this way. At least you will not be bored. You will propose to Augusta this afternoon, then, eh?"

"Good God, no. I do not intend to propose to Augusta at all. This afternoon I am going to ask her uncle for his permission to wed his niece."

Peter looked momentarily blank. "But what about Augusta? Surely you will have to ask her personally first? She is four-and-twenty, Graystone, not a schoolroom miss."

"We both agreed I am not a fool, Sheldrake. I am not about to put an important decision such as this in the hands of the Northumberland side of the Ballinger family."

Peter continued to appear blank for a moment longer and then comprehension set in. He roared with laughter. "I understand completely. Good luck to you, man. Now then, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall make a quick trip to a couple of my own clubs. I wish to place a few wagers in the betting books. Nothing like having a bit of secret intelligence, is there?"

"No," Harry agreed, thinking of how many times his life and the lives of others had depended on such intelligence. Unlike his restless friend, he was very glad those days were behind him.

At three o'clock that afternoon, Harry was shown into the library of Sir Thomas Ballinger.

Sir Thomas was still a vigorous man. A lifetime of devotion to the classics had not softened his sturdy, broad-shouldered frame. His once-blond hair was silvered now and quite thin on top. His well-trimmed whiskers were gray. He had on a pair of spectacles which he removed as he glanced up to see his visitor. He beamed at the sight of Harry coming toward him.

"Graystone. Good to see you. Have a seat. I have been meaning to call on you. I have come across a most intriguing translation of a French work on Caesar which I think you will enjoy."

Harry smiled and took one of the chairs on the other side of the fire. "I am certain I shall find it fascinating. But we shall have to discuss it some other time. I have come upon another sort of errand today, Sir Thomas."

"Is that so?" Sir Thomas eyed him with indulgent attention as he poured two glasses of brandy. "And what would that be, sir?"

Harry took the brandy and sat back in his chair. He studied his host for a long moment. "You and I, sir, are rather old-fashioned in some respects. Or so I have been told."

"There is much to be said for the old ways, if you ask me. Here's to ancient Greeks and amusing Romans." Sir Thomas raised his glass in a toast.

"To ancient Greeks and amusing Romans." Harry obediently took a swallow of the brandy and set the glass down. "I have come to ask for Miss Ballinger's hand in marriage, Sir Thomas."

Sir Thomas's thick brows rose. A thoughtful expression appeared in his eyes. "I see. And does she know you are making this request?"

"No, sir. I have not yet discussed the matter with her. As I said, I am old-fashioned in many respects. I wanted your approval before I proceeded further."

"But of course, my lord. Quite right. Rest assured I am delighted to grant my approval to the match. Claudia is an intelligent, serious-minded young female, if I do say so myself. Very well mannered. Takes after her mother, you know. Even attempting to write a book, just as my wife did. My wife wrote books designed for young ladies in the schoolroom, you know. Quite successful at it, I'm pleased to say."

"I am aware of Lady Ballinger's excellent educational works, Sir Thomas. They are in my own daughter's schoolroom. However—"

"Yes, I feel certain Claudia will make you an admirable countess and I shall be most gratified to have you in the family."

"Thank you, Sir Thomas, but it was not Claudia's hand I intended to request, delightful though your daughter is."

Sir Thomas stared at him. "Not Claudia, my lord? Surely you don't mean… you can't mean—"

"I have every intention of marrying Augusta if she will have me."

" Augusta ?" Sir Thomas's eyes widened. He gulped his brandy and promptly choked on it. His face turned a deep, dark shade of crimson as he coughed and sputtered and flailed about with his hand. He appeared torn between stunned amazement and laughter.

Harry calmly rose from his chair and went over to pound his host between the shoulder blades. "I know what you mean, Sir Thomas. It is a somewhat unnerving notion, is it not? I myself had a similar reaction when I first contemplated it. But now I have grown quite accustomed to the idea."

" Augusta?"

"Yes, Sir Thomas, Augusta. You are going to give me your permission, are you not?"

"Certainly, sir," Sir Thomas said immediately. "God knows she won't get a better offer, not at her age."

"Precisely," Harry agreed. "Now, then, it occurs to me that as we are dealing with Augusta rather than Claudia, we must assume her response to an offer of marriage might be somewhat, shall we say, unpredictable."

"Damned unpredictable." Sir Thomas looked glum. "Unpredictability runs in the Northumberland side of the family, Graystone. Most unfortunate trait, but there you have it."

"I understand. Given that lamentable characteristic, perhaps it would be more efficient if we simply made this entire event a fait accompli for Augusta. It might be easier on her if we take the decision out of her hands, if you see what I mean."

Sir Thomas gave Harry a shrewd glance from beneath his thick brows. "Are you by any chance suggesting I fire the notices off to the papers before you ask my niece for her hand?"

Harry nodded. "As I said, Sir Thomas. It will be more efficient if Augusta is not called upon to actually make a decision."

"Bloody clever," said Sir Thomas, clearly awed. "Brilliant notion, Graystone. Absolutely brilliant."

"Thank you. But I have a hunch this is only the beginning, Sir Thomas. Something tells me that staying one step ahead of Augusta is going to take a great deal of cleverness and an even greater amount of fortitude."

"You sent the notices off to the papers? Uncle Thomas, I do not believe it. This is a disaster. 'Tis obvious a terrible mistake has been made."

Still reeling from the stunning blow of her uncle's offhanded announcement that he had accepted an offer of marriage on her behalf, Augusta paced the library. She was ablaze with a furious energy and she scowled fiercely as she tried to think her way clear of the dreadful situation.

She had just come in from an afternoon ride in the park and was still wearing a dashing new ruby-colored riding habit trimmed in gold braid à la militaire . The matching confection of a hat with its perky red feather was still perched on her hair and she was still wearing her gray leather boots. A servant had told her that Sir Thomas had a message for her and she had breezed straight into the library.