Louise Gouge - A Suitable Wife

Best get on with it.

“Do excuse me, madam. I should see to my guests.” He bowed to Mother.

“Just so.” She waved him toward the wall of young ladies without partners.

Instead Greystone strode toward the door, determined to play a few hands of whist with his brother Edmond. Greystone would seek the newlywed’s advice about choosing a bride.

When had Edmond realized no lady would do for him but Anna Newfield? How had he been certain of his feelings, despite the vast chasm between their social ranks? How had he developed the courage to defy Mother’s control? Perhaps as an officer over His Majesty’s Dragoons in America.

Neither Edmond nor Richard remembered their father, so Greystone doubted they would ever emulate his wicked ways. On the other hand, Greystone’s memories, forged from infancy, often found their way to the forefront of his mind, especially when his own temper threatened to explode like cannon fire. Then he prayed desperately that he might maintain control, unlike those few times in his youth when he had wreaked havoc on innocents. That must never happen again. He must never be like Father.

Pausing in the doorway, he surveyed the card room for the familiar head of dark brown hair. But his eyes stopped instead at the sight of golden curls framing the most exquisite female countenance he had ever gazed upon. Oddly his heart seemed to hiccup in his chest, and he had to remind himself to breathe. Even from a distance of some five and twenty feet, even in the flickering candlelight, he could see the sparkle of her blue eyes and her flawless ivory complexion. A pert little nose sat over full pink lips that were quirked to the side, as though she was concentrating on which card to play. From her sudden smile and decisive play he surmised the young lady could be counted on to betray her hand, a charming trait that revealed a lack of cunning.

But who was she? As host he should have met every guest at the ballroom door. Perhaps she was a latecomer. He did not have to search far to find someone to present him to her. Mother’s good friend Mrs. Parton sat across from the golden lady, and from their traded smiles, he assumed they were acquainted. If Mrs. Parton approved of the young lady, that was good enough for him. He made his way through the maze of populated tables toward his goal. With each step closer to her his pulse quickened.

Four sets of feminine eyes turned in his direction, but Mrs. Parton spoke first.

“Go away, Greystone. My partner and I are about to win this hand, and I forbid you to interrupt, even if it is your birthday.”

Greystone laughed. “And a good evening to you, too, dear lady.” He stopped by her chair and placed a kiss upon her plump cheek. Then he turned his attention to the other ladies. “I do hope you are having a pleasant time, Lady Blakemore, Miss Hart, and...?” He feigned innocent surprise, even as his pulse hammered wildly. “Forgive me, miss. Mrs. Parton, will you present me to this lovely young lady?”

“I will not.” She waved him away. He gave her a charming grin as he had since boyhood, and she harrumphed. “You never did mind well, Greystone.” Exhaling dramatically, she folded her hand of cards and placed them facedown. “Miss Gregory, may I present our host, Lord Greystone. Greystone, this is my new companion, Miss Gregory. She arrived in London just this afternoon.”

“Charmed, Miss Gregory.” To be sure, he was more than charmed. He was enchanted by those calm sapphire eyes. But while he kissed her hand, his mind scrambled and his pulse slowed. So this was Mrs. Parton’s long-awaited companion, and doubtless a penniless lady, if her unadorned, ill-fitting brown dress was any indication. If he chose a bride who was anything less than a baron’s daughter, Mother would be devastated.

“Lord Greystone.” The lady’s bright pink blush charmed him all the more. Every unmarried young lady blushed, but somehow Miss Gregory’s deportment bespoke something deeper than girlish nerves. Curiosity and interest quickly overrode his reservations regarding her status.

“Well, Greystone.” Lady Blakemore stood, as did her companion. “Since you have interrupted our game, Miss Hart and I will take our leave and find the refreshments.” Amid protests to the contrary, the two ladies disappeared from the room.

“Do forgive me. I have spoiled your game.” Greystone did not regret it for a moment. “Did you lose much?” He glanced around for a pile of coins or tokens but found none. Miss Gregory stared at him as if he had three heads.

“Gracious, no.” Mrs. Parton waved a silk fan before her ruddy cheeks. “You know I never gamble. Not even a button. Dreadful habit. Leads to ruin.”

Miss Gregory’s cheeks flamed even brighter, causing Greystone no little concern.

“Again, forgive me. I do not mean to be boorish.” He sat in one of the empty chairs, knowing full well he was neglecting his other guests. But surely after spoiling their game, he could be excused while he set things to right with these two ladies. Or so he convinced himself. “Tell me, Miss Gregory, where do you reside when not in London? Mrs. Parton has been foretelling your arrival for weeks, but she told us nothing about you.”

“My origins are of no consequence, I assure you, sir.” The young lady lifted her chin. Her eyes glinted, and her lips thinned into a line. So she had a bit of spunk. He liked that. Few young ladies of the gentry spoke so boldly to a peer of his standing.

“Now, my dear.” Mrs. Parton reached across the table and patted her hand. “Greystone is a treasured friend. He can be trusted with your secret.”

The young lady shifted her eyes this way and that, as if she would escape this interview. Greystone began to regret quizzing her, even as his interest in her increased, along with his curiosity and an odd pinch of protectiveness. “If you are in some sort of difficulty, Miss...” He could not imagine a problem Mrs. Parton’s vast wealth could not solve.

Again Miss Gregory lifted her chin, and wounded pride beamed from her elegant countenance. “I am not a mere miss. I am Lady Beatrice Gregory. My brother is Lord Melton. Perhaps you know him?” One perfect blond eyebrow quirked upward to accompany the question, as if she already knew the answer.

Greystone tried to inhale, but like last winter’s nearly fatal illness, this revelation stole his breath.

“Ah. Yes. Of course. I know Melton. He was absent from the House of Lords today. I do hope he is not ill.” He must get away. Must not let her charm him further.

Disappointment clouded Mrs. Parton’s eyes. How well she knew him. How well she was reading him even now. But she of all people understood why he could not associate himself with the sister of a drunken, degenerate gambler.

“If you ladies will excuse me. My other guests—” He rose and offered a weak smile before turning to make his escape.

* * *

“Do forgive Lord Greystone.” Mrs. Parton’s round face creased with disappointment. “He truly must attend to his other guests. It is his birthday, you know.”

“Yes, of course.” Beatrice offered her employer a conciliatory smile, for her late mother had taught her well. No matter what happens, no matter what feelings rage within her, a lady always maintains her dignity. Mama had always exhibited graciousness despite Papa’s neglect, and never had Beatrice felt the need to emulate her more than now. The instant she saw the horror on Lord Greystone’s face—a rapid withdrawal of interest at the mention of her brother’s name—her breeding held strong. With a practiced vise grip on her emotions, she maintained her posture and poise, even offering a smile to the gentleman’s retreating back. But her disappointment was keen, her heart deeply cut. Would all of Society treat her this way?