Anna Campbell: A Scoundrel By Moonlight

Neither adjective befitted a future prime minister.

His mother looked troubled. “She’s safely married now, and you and Sedgemoor united to approve the match.”

Much against Leath’s inclination, he’d offered the runaways what countenance he could. He and Sedgemoor had even patched up their feud, at least in public. They were never likely to be friends, but Leath no longer itched to punch His Grace’s supercilious nose.

Whatever measures both families had taken, they couldn’t contain the scandal. Especially as it followed so closely on the heels of his uncle’s disgrace. Even worse, Sophie had jilted Lord Desborough, one of England’s most powerful men, and as a result his lordship had shifted from Leath’s greatest ally to his implacable foe. “My political career still hangs in the balance, Mamma.”

He turned to see her raising a frail hand to her lips. “James, I’m sorry.”

Damn it. His chagrin got the better of him. Upsetting his mother was the last thing he wanted. He wasn’t himself this morning. And he knew who to blame. A housemaid! He had bats in his belfry.

“At the moment, the party powerbrokers consider me more hindrance than asset. I’m to retire to my estates, keep my head down and my nose clean, and reappear once the world has had time to forget the gossip.”

“That’s unfair. None of this is your fault. Your uncle was an out-and-out rogue. Your father banned him from the house after he got that poor girl into trouble.”

Leath had been a boy when his uncle had raped a maid. “Perhaps Uncle Neville’s crimes aren’t my responsibility, but Sophie was,” he said heavily.

“At least she’s happy.”

Her voice indicated that Sophie’s happiness hardly counted, compared to the damage she’d done to her brother’s career. His mother had married the late marquess, expecting to be a political hostess and eventually wife to the prime minister. After a carriage accident crippled his father in his forties, her hopes had focused on her then twenty-year-old son. For the final eight years of his father’s life and the four since, Leath had devoted himself to fulfilling his parents’ political dreams. He’d loved his father dearly. The possibility of failure now when the prize hovered so close made him grind his teeth in frustration.

“Your exile isn’t all bad.” His mother had clearly decided to take the news stoically.

“Isn’t it?” he said gloomily, wandering to the dressing table and picking up a delicate Meissen shepherdess. The simpering expression mocked his pretensions to taking on his brilliant father’s mantle.

“I’ll see more of you.”

He sighed and replaced the figurine. “Yes, and my tenants will be pleased I’m home.”

“There’s no substitute for the lord of the manor.”

“Perhaps not,” Leath said shortly. “But I can’t angle for influence in London and be here at the same time.”

“No,” Lady Leath said without offense. “But a period of reflection won’t go astray. It’s time you thought about a bride.”

Startled, he bumped the crowded dressing table, setting the china figures and glass bottles rattling. “What?”

His mother regarded him patiently. “Don’t pretend it’s an outlandish suggestion, James. You need an heir. Right now, you need more than an heir; you need allies. If this mess hasn’t taught you that a man can’t stand alone in politics, nothing will.”

“With the stink surrounding the family name, who would have me?”

“Don’t be a fool. You’re the Marquess of Leath. Anyone with a scrap of acumen knows that you’ll return stronger than ever.”

“So nice that my private requirements count in this decision,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

His mother didn’t smile. “You’re not an amorous shepherd in a poem, James, free to bestow his heart and hand where he likes. Fairbrothers marry for advantage, not because they fancy a pretty pair of blue eyes.”

“You loved my father.”

Her face softened. “I did. But even if I didn’t, I’d have married him.”

Leath struggled to contain his surprise. And disappointment. He’d always thought his parents had married because they were soul mates. Yet it seemed that they’d married for the same cold-blooded reasons as most other aristocrats.

“My wife and I will enjoy a mutual regard.” He must marry to continue the line—and a woman from an influential family was the obvious choice. While he mightn’t pant after neck-or-nothing passion, nor could he be completely pragmatic about his choice. He was a man before he was a politician, however ambitious he might be.

This time his mother smiled. “Of course, that would be ideal.”

Ideal but not essential, he noted. His mother continued, “What about Marianne Seaton? She behaved perfectly when Sedgemoor got entangled with that dreadful Thorne woman. You might balk at Camden Rothermere’s leavings, but her father would make a valuable friend.”

Poor Lady Marianne, jilted when the Duke of Sedgemoor fell in love with the notorious daughter of a scandalous family. A love match that had only caused trouble. Just as Sophie’s love match had. Still some hitherto unsuspected part of Leath’s soul revolted at the idea of marrying without affection.

“Mamma, I can choose my own bride,” he protested, even as he pictured lovely, sedate Marianne Seaton in the Fairbrother sapphires. They’d match her eyes. Which seemed a dashed stupid reason for proposing to a chit.

“What about Desborough’s sister? An engagement would heal the rift between you. Honestly, I could box Sophie’s ears for ruining that match.”

A chill slithered down Leath’s spine. “Lady Jane is forty-five if she’s a day, not to mention a dedicated spinster.”

His mother sighed. “Pity she’s too old to bear children.” She paused and Leath hoped the discussion was over. A hope quickly shattered. “If only Lydia Rothermere hadn’t married that penniless libertine. She was a marvelous hostess, and a Rothermere match would silence talk of a feud.”

“God made a mistake when he created you female, Mamma,” he said drily. “You’d make a capital prime minister.”

She laughed and dismissed his comment with a wave, although it was true. “I’m a mere woman, James.”

He smiled, hoping that she’d stopped listing possible marchionesses. “And clever as a fox.”

“You flatter me, darling.” Briefly he saw the beautiful girl who nearly forty years ago had captivated the brilliant marquess with the glittering political future. Fate had played his parents some cruel cards.

“Not at all.” He sank into one of the frail chairs near the blazing hearth. The chair creaked beneath his weight. He was a large man and the furnishings in his mother’s apartments were decidedly dainty. “Let me establish my credentials as a respectable landholder before we plot my walk down the aisle.”

“You’ve always been a solid, reliable, thoughtful gentleman. People will eventually remember that. You’ll be back in London before you know it.”

He smiled, while his vanity bucked at the description. What a dull dog he sounded. “Ever the optimist, Mamma.”

“I have every faith in you.”

Sometimes he wished she didn’t. Each step of his life, he’d carried the weight of his father’s unfulfilled promise and of his invalid mother’s hopes. No wonder he’d never kicked over the traces like his less burdened colleagues.

Now he faced a solid, reliable marriage. The prospect was depressing. “I thought to find you all cast down with your own company,” he said. “You’re in better spirits than I expected.”

“I was lonely at first. There’s no denying it.”

“So what’s happened?”

She looked almost mischievous. “Aha, I must reveal my secret.”