Chapter 3
“Welcome, welcome! I am so happy to see you all.” Lady Fairvale beamed as she addressed the men, and the way her eyes lit up suggested this might be the best day of her life.
“But my happiness is nothing compared to what many of you will be feeling by the time this evening draws to a close. Presumptuous of me? Maybe. And yet, I think that once you see the bevy of young ladies in attendance, you will each agree. Why, so confident am I that I do not doubt most of you will find me later and thank me personally.” She tittered.
“Perhaps a gift, if you are feeling generous.”
There was light laughter from the two dozen men who stood around Lady Fairvale, and Marcus took note of some who elbowed each other and winked in agreement.
How many here are searching for a bride… or dare I say, love? Most, I am sure, are here for a singular reason: convenience. Their own, hoping that their wallets do what their lack of charm cannot.
“We shall be starting in a moment, I promise you,” Lady Fairvale continued.
“Once the young ladies arrive and ready themselves. At that point, you will be directed inside for the viewing. Do not fear!” She raised her voice.
“You will each be afforded ample time to view the wares…” She laughed, as did many of the men.
“… and see for yourself the prizes that they are before such discussions of courtship are expected. However, before we do any of that, shall I tell you what is expected of you all?” She looked pointedly at the men. “The ground rules, as it is.”
Marcus had arrived less than five minutes ago and already he was regretting it. The only thing that kept him from fleeing were thoughts of James, both father and baby, knowing deep down that this was the right thing.
The Fairvale Estate was a typically lavish grounds on which sat a magnificent manor built mostly from marble and painted brick.
The front driveway was paved by stone and opened wide at the entrance to the manor.
There was a large fountain planted in the center, and it was here that the men gathered and that Lady Fairvale addressed them.
Of the two dozen men, Marcus recognized most. Not that he wanted anything to do with them. Where they crowded around Lady Fairvale, he stood toward the back, still debating if this was worth the effort.
“I repeat, nothing is expected tonight,” Lady Fairvale explained.
“All this is, is a chance for you fine gentlemen to see for yourselves which fine ladies of the ton are available this Season for courtship. Think of it as an advance viewing…” She laughed to herself and shook her head.
“No different to ducking your head into the kitchen so that you might see what is being served for supper before being expected to eat.”
As the men stood on the driveway, a slow trickle of carriages slowly pulled toward the front door. From these carriages, the women of tonight could be seen being escorted inside. They did their best to be hidden, but such a thing was nearly impossible.
Of course, as each woman climbed from their carriage, the men about grinned and winked at one another. A few even pointed and tried to catch their eye.
“First, we shall have the viewing,” Lady Fairvale said.
“Once that is done with, you will be free to wander and engage in conversation. If you like what you see and hear, each lady’s father is in attendance, and he will be expecting you to seek him out for further confirmation.
That is the entire idea!” Her voice pitched high.
“Where balls and galas are a good place to meet future brides, it can be so difficult to know who is available and who is not. Here, I am happy to inform you, not only is every woman available, but she is interested and willing.”
Out the corner of his eye, Marcus saw Lord Barrington, the Viscount of Wembley, approaching him.
Marcus withheld the urge to groan, as he hated the man.
Not only was he full of himself, but he was rude and uncouth and thought the world revolved around his every whim.
From the long nose to the flat chin to the large ears, he was a repellent character.
Unfortunately, he did not know it… or worse, he did know it, and he simply did not care.
“Your Grace, I did not expect to see you here,” Lord Barrington said quietly, sure to keep his voice down as Lady Fairvale was still speaking.
“And yet I am not surprised in the least to see you.”
Lord Barrington chuckled. “Guilty. When I heard of this little affair, I knew I’d be a fool to resist. What man would snub a chance such as this?”
“Most, I would hope.”
“And yet here you stand.” Lord Barrington raised a questioning eyebrow at him.
Marcus said nothing, looking ahead, praying Lord Barrington would move on. Where he was not ashamed of his circumstance concerning the baby, it was not something he sought to advertise. Especially not to the likes of Lord Barrington.
“We are all men here,” Lord Barrington said with a wicked smile. “And frankly, I hope this sets a precedent for the future. The Lord knows the courtship process can be a headache at the best of times, especially when we all want the same thing.”
“And what is that, exactly?”
“Hopefully, something full bodied and pliable,” Lord Barrington joked, which had Marcus curling his lip in distaste. “Barring that, I suppose a nice smile will suffice. A woman who knows her place. That she has agreed to this suggests that she does. Why else would she be here.”
Marcus said nothing. Rather, he looked ahead, hoping that his disinterest might see Lord Barrington walk away.
As he looked ahead, he took note of the final carriage pulling toward the front door.
Since arriving, over a dozen such carriages had stopped to release the young lady within, and Marcus expected this one to be no different.
Indeed, the door swung open and he saw the vague outline of yet another lady of the ton.
Only this time, Marcus found his attention suddenly taken by this particular lady.
Maybe it was his attempt to ignore Lord Barrington?
Maybe it was his boredom, his self-repulsion, and he acceptance that this was happening and nothing would change it?
Or maybe, most likely, it was the fact that she was one of the most resplendent women he had ever seen.
It was her bright red hair that he noticed first, paired with green eyes that were a tad too large for her oval shaped face. Her skin was milky white. Her gown shimmered emerald to match her eyes. That was what caught his attention. What held it was her demeanor.
She stood tall as she stepped onto the driveway. There was a sense of pride about her. Also, as she caught sight of the men, he saw a sneer reach her full lips, a rolling of her eyes, and a shaking of her head.
She has no more desire to be here than I do, and she is not afraid to show it.
Marcus found himself staring, unable to look away. His stomach twisted into knots for reasons he could not fully explain…
“… it almost feels like exploitation, doesn’t it,” Lord Barrington continued with an amused chuckle. “I will just have to try not to enjoy myself.”
The mystery red head vanished inside and Marcus, coming back into himself, turned on Lord Barrington.
“Exploitation?” He spoke coldly. “I do not intend on exploiting anyone.”
Lord Barrington blinked. “I… well, obviously, I did not mean it like that.”
“And how did you mean it? Other than how it sounded. Where you might be happy to bully some poor young woman into marrying you, Lord Barrington, I will not be a party to such things. This entire affair…” He shook his head with distaste. “It is beneath all of us.”
It was just then that Lady Fairvale singled for the men to follow her inside. Marcus, done with Lord Barrington, and wanting to get this over with so he could go home, stepped around the slimy lord and walked ahead.
I will show my face, make it look as if I am interested and engaged, and then leave. That ought to satisfy my sister, at least, and hopefully dull some of the guilt that I feel.
Tonight would be a short, dull affair. Of that, Marcus had no doubt.
* * *
“Lady Whitcombe,” a valet hissed at Lucy. “It is your time, my lady. Quickly now.”
There was a small part of Lucy that had hoped she had been forgotten.
Having spent the last fifteen minutes hiding away in a spare bedroom, she had dared to believe that with all the excitement happening just outside the door, that she might be able to leave tonight without being involved in this farce.
Alas, it was not to be.
The valet stood by the doorway, beckoning her to walk through. His eyes were wide, and he looked panicked because she was taking her time. Beyond the door, Lucy heard her name being spoken, and she sighed, took a deep breath, and committed to what she knew that she had no choice in.
As she made for the doorway, she dared a final glance at her outfit in the full-bodied mirror. Dressed in green, her red hair worn in tight ringlets, make-up applied sparsely so that her eyes were the center of all things, she looked stunning.
I wish that I did not. Perhaps I should have worn a potato sack, for that would make this a whole lot simpler.
Through the doorway, Lucy walked. Down the short hallway. A moment later she found herself at the top of the staircase, which opened and spread into the foyer below.
Standing in the foyer, eyes gawking, smiles wicked and hungry, were two dozen lords. They looked on her as one, the whispers began, while a few of them elbowed one another and pointed at themselves as if to claim the first right.
“The Honorable Lucy Whitcombe,” Lady Fairvale announced, “daughter of Lord Whitcombe, the Viscount of Southport. At the tender age of twenty and two, she is ripe for the plucking. And where I do not need to say as much, as you each have eyes, the word beautiful falls agonizingly short in describing her.”