Candace Camp - The Bridal Quest

“It is not finding a suitable woman. It is finding someone who is willing,” Lady Pencully replied.

Francesca stared. “But surely, with his title and property…”

“Lord Radbourne has not been out much in society. No doubt it has been remarked upon,” Lady Odelia said, fixing Francesca with her penetrating gaze.

“Well, um…” Francesca tried to think of a suitable reply.

The truth was, gossip had been rampant regarding the newly found earl’s absence from Society’s rounds. Though he had turned up several months ago, he had not appeared at any parties this Season. Rumors had run the gamut from his suffering from some hideous deformity to his being a criminal to his being utterly mad.

“Don’t knit your brow over how to tell me,” Lady Odelia went on brusquely. “Believe me, I have heard all the stories. He isn’t crook-backed or stunted or covered in boils. Nor is he stark-staring mad. But the truth is…well, he is…quite common.”

Lady Odelia uttered the words in a hushed voice, as though admitting the darkest of secrets, and she squared her shoulders as she gazed at Francesca, waiting for her retort.

“Aunt Odelia, aren’t you being a trifle hard on the man?” Rochford remonstrated. “I think Radbourne’s done quite well for himself, particularly given the circumstances.”

“Yes, if you are talking about making money,” Lady Odelia sniffed. “He has done a good deal of that.” Clearly her great-nephew’s financial success had not met with her approval.

“Scarcely the mark of a gentleman,” she went on flatly. “The truth is, his past is, well, unsavory. I am not aware of the particulars—and, frankly, I do not care to be.” She turned her fierce gaze on Rochford again, then swung back to Francesca. “He lived among the worst sort of people, far from the influence of his family and peers. The result is that he is lacking in the qualities that make up a gentleman. His speech and manners are quite unrefined, and his education is woefully short.”

“Gideon is very well-read, Aunt.” Rochford came to the man’s defense again, but his great-aunt waved away his words.

“Pshaw!” she exclaimed contemptuously. “I am not talking about books, Sinclair. I am talking about his education in the things that count—he cannot dance, and he has no idea how to make polite conversation. The man can barely sit a horse.” She paused to let that horror sink in. “He is much too familiar with the servants and the tenants, yet he scarcely says a word to his family or even the local gentry. Fortunately, we have managed to get him to stay at the Hall most of the time, but now he insists on returning to London.”

“He does have business here,” the duke pointed out mildly.

“And what if someone we know sees him conducting his…business?” Lady Odelia gave a theatrical shudder at the thought.

“Aunt Odelia, I think there is little for anyone to remark upon on seeing a man going into a bank or meeting with his clerks,” Rochford protested, his voice edging into irritation. “Come now, you will make Lady Haughston think that he should be locked up in the attic.”

“Would that I could lock him away,” Lady Odelia retorted.

The duke’s dark brows drew together, and he took a breath before answering her. It occurred to Francesca that she might soon have a battle between these two right here in her sitting room.

“But, Lady Odelia,” she intervened hastily, “I am afraid I still do not quite see what I have to do with all this. How can I introduce him to anyone if he has no interest in Society?”

“She wants you to help her arrange the poor chap’s life for him,” Rochford responded in a biting tone.

Francesca’s eyebrows sailed upward, and she said coolly, “I beg your pardon.”

“Don’t be difficult, Sinclair,” Lady Odelia admonished. “There is no need to snap at Francesca just because you are annoyed with me.”

Rochford’s mouth tightened, and he flashed a hot glance at Francesca, but he bowed his head in polite acquiescence and said, “Of course. Forgive me, Lady Haughston. I meant you no disrespect.”

“Do not worry,” Francesca murmured in a silky tone. “I have learned not to put overmuch importance on what you say.”

She was rewarded by a sardonic look from beneath his brows, but the duke said nothing more.

“It isn’t that I dislike the boy,” Lady Odelia went on, ignoring their exchange. “He is my great-nephew, after all, and I hope it never will be said that I denigrated any of my own blood—although God knows, Bertrand has tested my limits often enough. However, Gideon is a Lilles, at least in part, and it is scarcely his fault that he does not know how to act. So I put my mind to it and came up with a solution.” She paused and looked at Francesca, then announced, “Gideon must marry. And you are just the woman we need.”

“Oh.” Was the woman suggesting that she herself marry the man, Francesca wondered with horror.

“We must attach him to a thoroughly respectable, quite proper woman. One of unquestionable breeding and taste. It is to be hoped that she will be able to influence him, direct him into better behavior. Smooth some of his rough edges and cover up his flaws. And if she cannot, well, at least she will insure that his children will be suitably well-bred.”

Lady Odelia paused, then went on didactically. “A proper marriage goes far in overcoming the taint of scandal. If a woman of impeccable lineage is willing to ally herself to him, then everyone else will prove more amenable to overlooking his various…problems.”

“Well,” Francesca began carefully, “As I said, I should think you would have no problem finding a suitable candidate. Surely there are a number of women of good name who would be quite happy to marry a man who has both Bankes and Lilles blood flowing through his veins, as well, no doubt, as that of several other prominent families.”

“Of course there are,” Lady Odelia said impatiently. “I’ve brought at least five girls to Radbourne Hall and made introductions. The problem is, in more than half those instances, they or their families cry off once they’ve met him. And the rest of them, Gideon has rejected. Imagine…girls I personally vetted, and he disapproves of them.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Francesca offered lamely.

“The Bennington girl does have a squint,” Rochford pointed out. “Miss Farnley is a goose, and Lady Helen is dull as ditchwater.”

“Well, what does that matter?” Lady Odelia queried. “He doesn’t have to talk to them.”

Rochford’s mouth quirked up on one side, but he said only, “Yes. Well, I suspect he would have to at some point.”

“I suppose I should have expected it of him,” his great-aunt opined, ignoring his remark. “The Lord only knows what sort of woman he would prefer. That is another reason why it is so imperative that we find a proper wife for him, and soon. When I think of who he might bring home if left to his own devices…” She shook her head. “Of course, we cannot force him to marry anyone,” she continued, looking quite annoyed at the thought. “So we decided to turn to you.”

She looked at Francesca.

“Everyone says you have had such success in this area. Well, look at the way you matched up that Woodley girl with your brother—though I cannot think but that you could have found someone with a bit more funds to her name. Still, she seems a very pleasant girl.”

“You want me to help find a wife for Lord Radbourne?” Francesca exclaimed, flooded with relief that Lady Odelia was not trying to persuade Francesca herself to marry the man.

“Of course, girl. What have we been talking about this past half hour?” Odelia retorted. “Really, Francesca, you must pay more attention.”