Stephanie Laurens - A Lady of Expectations and Other Stories - A Lady Of Expectations / The Secrets of a Courtesan / How to Woo a Spinster

Stubbornly, Harry shook his head again. He drained his glass and placed it on a nearby table. “I haven’t let it be known I’m in the market for a wife, for the simple reason that I’m not.” He stood, stretching his long, lean frame. Then he grinned. “Besides, I like living dangerously.”

Jack returned the grin with a smile.

“Anyway, I’m promised at Belvoir tomorrow. Gerald’s there— I’ll tip him the wink over our desire for silence on the subject of our communal fortune. So you can proffer my regrets to her ladyship with a clear conscience.” Harry’s grin broadened. “Don’t forget to do so, incidentally. You might recall she was an old friend of our late lamented aunt and can be a positive dragon—she’ll doubtless be in town for the Season, and I’d rather not find myself facing her fire.”

With a nod to Percy, Harry made for the door, dropping a hand on Jack’s shoulder in passing. “I should inspect Prince’s fetlock—see if that poultice has done any good. I’ll be off early tomorrow, so I’ll wish you good hunting.” With a commiserating grin, he left.

As the door closed behind his brother, Jack’s gaze returned to Lady Asfordby’s invitation. With a sigh, he put it in his pocket, then took a long sip of his brandy.

“So, are we going?” Percy asked around a yawn.

Grimly, Jack nodded. “We’re going.”

While Percy went up to bed and the house settled to slumber around him, Jack remained in his chair by the fire, blue eyes intent on the flames. He was still there when, an hour later, Harry re-entered the room.

“What? Still here?”

Jack sipped his brandy. “As you see.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then crossed to the sideboard. “Musing on the delights of matrimony?”

Head back, Jack let his eyes track his brother’s movements. “On the inevitability of matrimony, if you really want to know.”

Sinking onto the chaise, Harry lifted a brow. “Doesn’t have to be you, you know.”

Jack’s eyes opened wide. “Is that an offer—the ultimate sacrifice?”

Harry grinned. “I was thinking of Gerald.”

“Ah.” Jack let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. “I have to admit I’ve thought of him, too. But it won’t do.”

“Why not?”

“He’ll never marry in time for the pater.”

Harry grimaced but made no answer. Like Jack, he was aware of their sire’s wish to see his line continue unbroken, as it had for generations past. It was the one last nagging worry clouding a mind otherwise prepared for death.

“But it’s not only that,” Jack admitted, his gaze distant. “If I’m to manage the Hall as it should be managed, I’ll need a chatelaine—someone to take on the role Lenore filled. Not the business side, but all the rest of it. All the duties of a well-bred wife.” His lips twisted wryly. “Since Lenore left, I’ve learned to appreciate her talents as never before. But the reins are in my hands now, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get my team running in good order.”

Harry grinned. “Your fervour has raised a good few brows. I don’t think anyone expected such a transformation—profligate rakehell to responsible landowner in a matter of months.”

Jack grunted. “You’d have changed, too, if the responsibility had fallen to you. But there’s no question about it, I need a wife. One like Lenore.”

“There aren’t many like Lenore.”

“Don’t I know it.” Jack let his disgruntlement show. “I’m seriously wondering if what I seek exists—a gentlewoman with charm and grace, efficient and firm enough to manage the reins.”

“Blond, well-endowed and of sunny disposition?”

Jack shot his brother an irritated glance. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt, given the rest of her duties.”

Harry chuckled. “No likely prospects in sight?”

“Nary a one.” Jack’s disgust was back. “After a year of looking, I can truthfully inform you that not one candidate made me look twice. They’re all so alike—young, sweet and innocent—and quite helpless. I need a woman with backbone and all I can find are clinging vines.”

Silence filled the room as they both considered his words.

“Sure Lenore can’t help?” Harry eventually asked.

Jack shook his head. “Eversleigh, damn his hide, was emphatic. His duchess will not be gracing the ton’s ballrooms this Season. Instead,” Jack continued, his eyes gently twinkling, “she’ll be at home at Eversleigh, tending to her firstborn and his father, while increasing under Jason’s watchful eye. Meanwhile, to use his words, the ton can go hang.”

Harry laughed. “So she’s really indisposed? I thought that business about morning sickness was an excuse Jason drummed up to whisk her out of the crowd.”

Grimacing, Jack shook his head. “All too true, I fear. Which means that, having ploughed through last Season without her aid, while she was busy presenting Eversleigh with his heir, and frittered away the Little Season, too, I’m doomed to struggle on alone through the shoals of the upcoming Season, with a storm lowering on the horizon and no safe harbour in sight.”

“A grim prospect,” Harry acknowledged.

Jack grunted, his mind engrossed once more with marriage. For years, the very word had made him shudder. Now, with the ordeal before him, having spent hours contemplating the state, he was no longer so dismissive, so uninterested. It was his sister’s marriage that had altered his view. Hardly the conventional image, for while Jason had married Lenore for a host of eminently conventional reasons, the depth of their love was apparent to all. The fond light that glowed in Jason’s grey eyes whenever he looked at his wife had assured Jack that all was well with his sister—even more than Lenore’s transparent joy. Any notion that his brother-in-law, ex-rake, for years the bane of the dragons, was anything other than besotted with his wife was simply not sustainable in the face of his rampant protectiveness.

Grimacing at the dying fire, Jack reached for the poker. He was not at all sure he wanted to be held in thrall as Jason, apparently without a qualm, was, yet he was very sure he wanted what his brother-in-law had found. A woman who loved him. And whom he loved in return.

Harry sighed, then stood and stretched. “Time to go up. You’d best come, too—no sense in not looking your best for Lady Asfordby’s young ladies.”

With a look of pained resignation, Jack rose. As they crossed to the sideboard to set down their glasses, he shook his head. “I’m tempted to foist the whole business back in Lady Luck’s lap. She handed us this fortune—it’s only fair she provide the solution to the problem she’s created.”

“Ah, but Lady Luck is a fickle female.” Harry turned as he opened the door. “Are you sure you want to gamble the rest of your life on her whim?”

Jack’s expression was grim. “I’m already gambling with the rest of my life. This damned business is no different from the turn of a card or the toss of a die.”

“Except that if you don’t like the stake, you can decline to wager.”

“True, but finding the right stake is my problem.”

As they emerged into the dark hall and took possession of the candles left waiting, Jack continued, “My one, particular golden head—it’s the least Lady Luck can do, to find her and send her my way.”

Harry shot him an amused glance. “Tempting Fate, brother mine?”

“Challenging Fate,” Jack replied.

* * *

WITH A SATISFYING SWIRL of her silk skirts, Sophia Winterton completed the last turn of the Roger de Coverley and sank gracefully into a smiling curtsy. About her, the ballroom of Asfordby Grange was full to the seams with a rainbow-hued throng. Perfume wafted on the errant breezes admitted through the main doors propped wide in the middle of the long room. Candlelight flickered, sheening over artful curls and glittering in the jewels displayed by the dowagers lining the wall.