Chapter Six
Bear felt as if he was floating above the cobbles on his way back to Fairfield House. He had come clean to Lady Brewood and she had not walked away, as he had feared she might. She had instead invited him to meet her son. It was an honor, of sorts. A gift. It showed she believed in him.
And precious few people had ever put their faith in Benedict Fairfield.
The regard of a beautiful, intelligent woman made Bear hold his head higher as rode into the familiar square.
Usually, the sight of so much residential grandeur made his heart constrict, as if he were not worthy to live at such a prestigious address, with its wide imposing doorways, immaculately swept front steps, and liveried footmen striding purposefully back and forth.
He had never felt welcome at Fairfield House, even as a child, and the first blast of chilly disapproval usually hit him as soon as he entered Grosvenor Square.
But today, the morning sunshine cast a cheerful glow on the white pillars and wrought iron railings.
Even the imperious stare of a governess shepherding her charges across the grass failed to dim his spirits.
Soon he would be far away from here, at a place where the birdsong was sweeter and the air was fresher and he could simply be, without fearing Society’s judgement. And living there with him would be an entrancing young woman with russet curls and eyes as blue as the sea.
Bear hid his smile as he handed his horse to a waiting groom and strode through the back door, along the servants’ corridor and up the back staircase to the quiet and calm of his bedchamber.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped inside.
He had maneuvered through Fairfield House twice that day, without encountering his father, older brother, or sister-in-law, which was something of a triumph.
His younger brother and three sisters, especially Clara, presented less of a challenge.
Not one of them treated Bear with the same abject disapproval and distrust as the more senior family members.
Marigold and Grace drifted from one ball to the next, with little thought for anything save visiting the modiste.
Oscar was a poet, not a very good one in Bear’s opinion.
But his literary leanings kept him largely confirmed to a rosewood writing desk in the library, where Bear rarely strayed.
It was his older brother, Harry, the next Duke of Alton, who was most hostile in his presence.
But Harry had married Bear’s first love, Lydia, a move which certainly had not oiled the wheels of fraternal affection.
Bear paused before the looking glass, noticing the brightness of his eyes and healthy color of his cheeks.
He looked a different man to the poor wretch who had accepted a bare-knuckle boxing wager in the Lyon’s Den just days earlier.
Hope had come into his life and changed it completely.
Hope in the form of a young woman with an entrancing smile.
He removed his top hat and placed it carefully on the dresser.
His hair desperately needed combing as he had escaped that morning before his valet could attend him.
Not that it mattered much. His wiry hair, dark eyebrows, and thick coating of stubble resisted any taming.
However valiant the valet, Bear always had a look of faint dishevelment, so different to Harry’s pale, polished perfection.
Moreover, unlike his dandyish brother, Bear did not enjoy being fussed over.
Although maybe he would enjoy being fussed over by Lady Brewood.
“I say, brother, is that an actual smile on your face?” Clara asked from the doorway.
Bear reprimanded himself for not properly closing the door. But he was simultaneously pleased to see her.
“Come in. And close the door behind you.”
“That all sounds very secretive.” Clara raised her eyebrows but did as he asked.
She was dressed in white silk with a blue sash about her slender waist. Her hair, golden as ripe corn, hung in a plait over her shoulder.
Gazing at them both through the looking glass, Bear reflected for the hundredth time that he bore no resemblance to the rest of his family.
She perched on a corner of his desk chair fixed him with a stare. “What news?”
“That’s exactly it. I have good news that I wish to share.”
“Oh goody.” She clapped her hands together. “Is it about The Towers?”
“How did you know?” He turned toward her incredulously and folded his arms, before deciding it was much too warm for his tailcoat and shrugging it off. He loosened his cravat and pushed up his shirt sleeves, luxuriating in the rush of air about his skin.
Clara’s laugh was like a peal of bells. “What else could it be? I can’t imagine you’re about to announce you’re engaged to be married.
” She smiled broadly at her witticism but then caught Bear’s eye.
Slowly, her gaze widened. “What? You are about to announce your engagement?” Her voice rose to a squeal.
“I hadn’t planned to. You seem to have divined it without any input from me.” Bear scratched at the back of his neck in confusion. He had not intended to break this particular piece of news. Not so soon.
“But I didn’t know—” Clara shook her head. “Who—?”
“Your shock has robbed you of the power of speech,” he observed dryly.
“Well, yes.” She picked up a cufflink and threw it toward him. “Of course it has. I’m practically mute.”
He caught the cufflink reflexively. “Careful. That’s one of my favorites.” He smoothed back his hair with his hands and preened a little in the looking glass. “Why should I not marry? After all, I am the son of a duke. Do young ladies not wish to attract men like me?”
“Of course they do, you idiot. I know several very nice young ladies who would just die for the chance to dance with you. But you never show your face in Society. Who is it? Who has found you despite your enduring reluctance to be found.” Clara drummed her fingers on a clear patch of desk.
“Tell me, Bear. I can’t wait any longer. ”
“I do not believe you are acquainted with her.”
“Bear.” Clara’s squeal of disapproval was so loud that Bear feared it may attract attention from elsewhere in the house.
He shushed her dramatically. “Her name is Lady Brewood.”
Clara screwed up her delicate nose. “You’re right. I’m not acquainted with a Lady Brewood.”
Bear knew a swell of victory. “That’s because she does not like to appear in Society. She is unburdened by family connections. She wishes only to pass a quiet life in the country and is not at all perturbed by the thought of living within the wilderness of The Towers.” He smiled triumphantly.
Clara held up her hand. “There is too much there for me to process. First of all, you say this lady, your future wife, has never appeared in Society.” She frowned.
“I don’t know if that’s true.” Bear began to pace along the oriental rug as he thought it through. “She looks familiar to me, as if I’ve seen her somewhere before. It’s quite likely that we were once at the same Society event.”
Clara’s frown deepened. “Have you not discussed it? How long have you known this woman?”
“We have not discussed it, no.” Bear developed an interest in a scuff on the wooden door of his closet.
“And how long have you been acquainted with Lady Brewood?” Clara’s voice had an edge of steel.
Blast it.
He would have to tell all to his sister. She would worm it out of him eventually, either way.
“Two days.”
He expected a dramatic reaction, but Clara simply sighed. “It is just as I feared.”
He sat down on the bed and faced her. “How so?”
“You have been frequenting the Lyon’s Den. It’s no secret. Harry knows and so does Father. They were openly discussing it at breakfast.”
Bear felt a wave of heat pass through him. “What did they say?”
“That your debts could be called in at any moment and you would find yourself forced to marry some fortune hunter or worse.” Clara shrugged, but her eyes shone with distress.
Bear put his hands on his knees and spoke slowly. “Lady Brewood is not a fortune hunter. On the contrary, she is to supply me with the funds I need to make The Towers livable once again.” He met her shimmering blue gaze. “Is that not what you want, Clara?”
“Oh no.” Clara shook her head and her blonde plait swung like a pendulum. “Don’t make this all about me. She folded her arms. Are your debts really so large? Is there no other way?”
He swallowed hard. His debts had been large, larger than he cared to admit to his favorite sister. But there had been another way. William’s brother Frederick had offered him a way out. But Bear had been too blinded by guilt and willful stubbornness to take it.
Now, he simply didn’t want to.
The realization came to him in a rush. He wanted to marry Lady Brewood.
Even if Bessie Dove-Lyon were not insisting upon it, he would still choose to proceed. In just two days, his future bride had unearthed a path to his heart that had long been lost and overgrown.
“My debts were larger than they should have been,” he admitted. “I allowed the situation to spiral out of control.” He bit down on his lip and met her eye frankly. “But I am not unhappy with the way things have turned out.”
Clara looked doubtful.
Bear shook his head crossly. “Damnation. That’s not what I mean.
I can’t think how to explain it.” He jumped up from the bed and paced over to the window, where he rubbed at his arms as frustration surged through him.
“I have grown to like Lady Brewood.” He avoided looking at his sister.
“I have begun to believe that we might be content together.” His voice wobbled as he made what felt like an audacious claim.
There was a long pause, during which booted footsteps passed on the landing.
“Is that such an admission, brother?” Clara asked gently.
Bear frowned at her in puzzlement.
“You confess your gambling debts but struggle to articulate a well-deserved belief in the possibility of your future happiness?”