Chapter Nineteen
In his study later that evening, Angus sat in his favoured high-backed leather chair, brooding over a single malt, his eyes trained on the flames dancing in the fire.
Already unsettled after his morning in the park with Miss Mason, he’d since received a letter from Lord Mason containing the terms of the marriage, none of which appeared unreasonable.
She could come with no dowry for all he cared.
Yet, coupled with their conversation earlier…
and Mason’s unexpected remarks about his father, it served as a chilling reminder of what he was about to do.
Of course, the man’s name was mentioned from time to time, and normally stirred little more than irritation. But now, on the brink of marriage, his father, Charles Westland — the man he most wished to forget — loomed ominously from the darkest corners of his mind, troubling him deeply.
Reaching for the decanter, Angus turned slightly — and jolted upright. “Hell’s teeth, Valentine!” he spluttered, “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” asked Southerby mildly.
“Sneak up on me like that! How long have you been sitting there?”
“I’ve just arrived,” Southerby replied with a nonchalant shrug. “No sneaking was involved.”
“Right,” grunted Angus, but held up the decanter in question.
“Yes, a large one if I may.”
“I didn’t think you were due back for several days?”
“Mm… Well, your hasty departure expedited my return.”
Angus narrowed his eyes. “How so?”
“How so?” echoed Southerby with an empathetic smile. “Because it is unlike you to leave without a word of farewell, and my friend, I was of a mind that you might be wrestling with your demons. Perhaps, even, having second thoughts.”
“Second thoughts!” Angus barked a laugh, though it held no humour.
Handing him the glass, he sighed. “I’m having nothing but second thoughts, my friend.
And to make matters worse, the girl… um, Miss Mason…
is… is quite…” He broke off, shaking his head as though to rid an unwanted thought, and turned back to the fireplace.
Southerby offered no response, merely took a sip of his drink.
Standing, staring down at the glowing embers, Angus sighed deeply again. “I cannot do it, Valentine,” he said sadly. “I simply cannot marry that girl.”
Looking up sharply, Southerby’s brow lifted. “Oh?”
“We need to find her another husband. It seems Mason knew my father, so he’ll understand it is in his daughter’s best interest to be married to anyone other than me. So….”
“Find her another husband?”
“Mm. A suitable match. She’ll make a pleasant enough wife — just not mine.”
“Let me see. A suitable match?” pondered Southerby as his eyes focused on the crystal tumbler in his hand before he slowly nodded and looked up again. “Two candidates come to mind. Whom do you wish to approach first — Pottington or Oswald?”
Angus instantly spun around and glared at his friend.
Southerby merely raised a questioning eyebrow.
“What kind of monster do you think I am?” asked Angus indignantly. “I may not want to marry her, but I most certainly do not wish to see her married to either of those wretches.”
“Yet, you’re happy to jilt the poor girl… less than a week after you compromised her in a secret garden and announced your engagement?”
“I didn’t comp… ” Angus cut himself off and wearily drained his drink, then strode to his desk and picked up the terms of marriage. “I don’t have a choice, do I? If I don’t marry the poor girl, she’ll be ruined. Cast out of society. Shunned by her friends.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Southerby quietly. “And by association, so too will her three sisters, and I doubt Mason will come out of it unscathed.”
Angus exhaled heavily and plucked a quill from the desk, dipping it in the ink pot. With a deep sigh of defeat, he moved to sign his name, yet the tip hovered above the parchment.
Watching with interest, Southerby elegantly rose from his chair and sauntered across to pour himself another drink.
“I understand your trepidation, my friend. Taking on the responsibility for another, making her your wife. After what happened, it must be incredibly unnerving. But you have no emotional ties with Miss Mason, do you? You are not in love, are you?”
Angus’s head jerked up, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “I barely know the girl!”
“And once you are married, you intend to live apart?”
“You know I do.”
“Then it’s but a temporary inconvenience,” Southerby mused.
“A few weeks of discomfort while you convince society of your love match. And to think, once married, you will no longer be one of the most sought-after prizes on the marriage mart. No more ambitious mamas thrusting their daughters in your direction. No more simpering debutantes swooning at your frown.”
Angus grumbled something unintelligible, then begrudgingly signed his name at the bottom of the parchment.
A wisp of a smile played at the corner of Southerby’s lips as he returned to his seat. “And… Humber will be here in a few days to assist, though Duke and his new entourage will take a little longer as they are coming via Yorkshire.”
“Assist?” murmured Angus as he replenished his own drink and sank into his chair.
“Knowing your aversion for social gatherings, you did not think we would abandon you to face society alone, did you?”
Angus’s expression softened. “Aversion? Or my innate ability to offend delicate sensibilities due to my ineptitude at social graces?”
“Discomfort, my friend, not ineptitude. Not all of us were gifted with Humber’s silver tongue and easy charm, but we can certainly take advantage of it. And, our new Duchess is quiet, umm, charismatic, one might say.”
“Oh?”
“Mm, and determined it seems.” Southerby took a slow sip of his drink. “So here I am. Forewarned is forearmed, my dear friend.”
“Forewarned?” questioned Angus as a new unease settled in the pit of his stomach.
“I understand there is a trousseau to acquire, a betrothal ball to hold, and a grand wedding to plan. None of which, I confess, comes under my requisite skill set, but as I say, the Duchess is nothing if not determined. And with our dear Humber encouraging…”
“Bloody hell,” Angus muttered, slumping back in his chair. “It’s going to turn into a flaming circus.”
“Undoubtedly, dear friend, as a show they must have. But have no fear, Humber is the perfect ringmaster. He’ll divert most of the attention, leaving you free to court your… oh,” he paused suddenly, shaking his head, “I near forgot. A small issue… quite pressing.”
Angus turned slowly, regarding him for a long, silent moment.
Southerby’s unusual eyes flashed with cunning as he leaned slightly forward.
“Issue?” murmured Angus.
“Mm, a certain Bill that needs to pass in Parliament.”
For the first time that day, Angus felt his pulse settle back to its familiar, steady rhythm, and a slow smile spread across his face, as shrewd as the glint in his friend’s eyes. “And you need Sir Walter’s vote.”
“Excellent.” Southerby stood, drained the last of his drink and set the glass gently on the table.
“I shall call on him tomorrow,” said Angus, rising too. “Sir Walter may be stubborn, but he is a reasonable man.”
“With you perhaps.”
“Aye, well, it wasn’t my house his daughter was discovered in, wearing nothing but a cloak.”
“Ah, yes, an unfortunate misunderstanding. The poor thing was looking for Humber. She married well, quite quickly after, though, as I recall.”
“To Cecil?” Angus barked a laugh. “The man’s an idjit.”
“Cecil might be lacking up here,” said Southerby, tapping his finger to his temple, “but his coffers are certainly not. And our little Rosie does like to indulge in the finer things in life. A fine match, I think. Cecil has an exceedingly beautiful young wife to parade about London, and Rosie, well… while her husband is away, fully absorbed in his Country pursuits, she is free to indulge as much as she likes. A happy outcome for all, one might say.”
“You?” scoffed Angus. “You were the matchmaker!”
Lord Southerby tutted in mock offence. “Never would I involve myself in the affairs of the heart. Though… a quiet word here, a little murmur there… Well, it is getting late, and you, my friend, should get some rest as you have your work cut out for you.”
“Sir Walter will not be a problem.”
“Walter?” Southerby laughed. “No, no, my friend… I was referring to the correspondence Humber charged me to deliver post haste. It is on your desk, just behind you.”
“What correspondence?” grumbled Angus as he turned and snatched up the letter. His eyes quickly scanned the page — then his mouth fell open. “What the devil!… Is this some sort of a jest!”
Watching his friend’s expression, Southerby coughed in an attempt to smother his laugh.
“Have… have you read this?” boomed Angus, waving the letter in the air. “It’s … it’s a detailed bloody schedule of… of… dinners… balls… bloody musical evenings! He’s even had the audacity to note down the times I’m to pay my daily calls — and the plays I should attend!”
“Oh, what does he recommend? He usually has impeccable taste when it comes to the theatre.”
“Recommend! These are bloody orders! Orders on how to conduct my farcical courtship of Miss Mason — for society’s sake!”
“Orders? Mm, or could we say well-intentioned suggestions? As we both know, our dear friend Humber is something of an expert in the art of wooing.”
“Hmph,” huffed Angus. “That as may be… but, but, every day? Is that really necessary?”
“When one is in love, I understand it is quite normal. And since you are trying to convince society of your love match….”
“Devil take it,” muttered Angus, shaking his head.
“Right then,” chuckled Southerby, walking towards the door with his hand raised in farewell. “I’ll leave you to it. Seems you’re going to be rather busy for the next few weeks, and who knows… You may even start to enjoy yourself.”
“Seriously?” snapped Angus, then cursed under his breath, but his protest was wasted on the departing back of Valentine De Luca, the Earl of Southerby — known to society, and not without reason, as the Earl of Intrigue.