Chapter 1
“And thus, the uncatchable Earl of Wileham returns to London!”
Andrew chuckled, took off his hat, and swept into a low bow that had all the other gentlemen grinning.
“Is that truly what I am known as?” he asked, a little dispassionately. “I would have preferred another title.”
Flopping into a chair, he handed his hat to the nearby footman and directed him to bring whisky for them all, just as soon as he could.
“What would you have liked? They also call you ‘wily Wileham’ you know.” Lord Arthington asked, raising an eyebrow in Andrew’s direction. “I think being known as uncatchable makes you a gentleman of particular interest!”
Andrew chuckled and lifted his shoulders.
“Perhaps. I would have preferred to be known as ‘the dastardly rogue’ or something akin to that. I think that makes an excellent impression upon the ton.”
“You mean that many of them would avoid you altogether, shielding their daughters from your grasp.”
Gesturing to Lord Dorchester, Andrew grinned.
“Precisely, old boy, and that is exactly what I want. I do not, at this present moment, enjoy being known as ‘the uncatchable gentleman’ for it means that there are many in society who are quite determined that they will be the one who will be able to break that particular title. Thus, instead of keeping their daughters back from me, they continually push them in my direction. This Season has been most aggravating and, thus, you now find me in London for the winter months in the hope that I will find a little more enjoyment and a little less eagerness from the mothers and daughters who have also returned to London.”
“I see.”
Lord Dorchester did not look particularly convinced, but Andrew merely shrugged, thinking very little of Lord Dorchester’s opinion. An arched eyebrow sent in Lord Arthington’s direction made his friend grin and Andrew settled back into his chair with a sigh.
“It has been much too long since I have sat here in White’s,” he remarked calmly. “Have you been in London for long, Dorchester?”
“Just a sennight.” Lord Dorchester sniffed, clearly still a little put out by Andrew’s remarks regarding the name which society had offered him. “My mother is present also.”
“Oh. I must assume that is not particularly pleasant for you.”
Andrew grinned and after a moment, Lord Dorchester offered a wry smile, his icy demeanor cracking.
“She insisted,” he sighed, closing his eyes, and passing one hand over them for a few moments. “I planned to come to London to take myself from her company, and yet now she is nothing but determined to linger by my side!”
“There is only one solution to that, you know,” Lord Arthington said, quietly. “You must marry.”
Much to Andrew’s surprise, Lord Dorchester did not immediately rise up and state that he certainly would do nothing of the sort! Instead, he sighed again and shook his head, grimacing as he did so.
“It is the only way that I can see also,” he admitted as an uncomfortable prickling ran up Andrew’s spine.
The three of them – himself, Lord Dorchester, and Lord Arthington – had been friends since their time at Eton as boys and, thus far, none of them had shown the slightest interest in matrimony.
Yes, Lord Dorchester had called to take tea with many a young lady, and he had courted a Miss Newforth for a short while, but that had come to an end.
Since that time, he had done nothing to further his connection to any young lady.
Lord Arthington was much too inclined towards the young ladies of the ton and was beginning to garner a reputation for himself as a scoundrel, which meant that very few young ladies would be genuinely interested in his company, and Andrew had simply shown no interest in any young lady whatsoever.
Yes, he had danced and conversed with many, but he had not danced twice with anyone, had never asked to take tea with them, walked with them in the park, or even thought about courtship.
Were things now about to change?
“I hardly think you ought to marry simply so you might put your mother into the Dower House,” he said, as the footman brought a tray, containing measures of whisky in clear, crystal glasses, towards them. “There must be another solution.”
“There is not,” Lord Dorchester answered, a little miserably.
“I have no real desire to marry, as you know. I will admit that my eye has caught upon one or two particular young ladies this last Season, but I fear that, should I choose one to marry, they will turn out to be just as my mother is… and that is something I could not bear.”
Andrew nodded fervently.
“I quite understand. There is a truth in your words – many a young lady hides her true character from the gentlemen she surrounds herself with, so that they do not see her flaws and failures. It is only when marriage comes that they reveal their true nature and thereafter, it is nothing but pain and sorrow.”
A scowl darkened his face and, try as he might, he could not keep the flare of anger from licking up through his heart.
He had seen it with his own parents, for his mother had been a shrew, and nothing but a drain on his father.
It was, to Andrew’s mind, the reason for his father’s loss of joy, of all happiness until, as the years went on, he finally gave in to the shadows and became nothing but dust. Upon his father’s death, Andrew had immediately sent his mother to the Dower House to reside, even though he himself was unwed.
It had not been a punishment, but a simple understanding that he could not endure her nagging, ill-tempered ways, which had stolen the life of his father.
“You are thinking of your mother again, are you not?” Lord Arthington took a sip of his brandy. “I will remind you again that not all young ladies are as your mother was.”
“But you have no true experience of that, my dear friend,” Andrew pointed out, a trifle acerbically.
“The ladies that you chase –indeed, the ladies who step into your arms reveal their true selves, certainly. But they are not the sorts of ladies that one might consider courting or even marrying. Is that not so?”
Lord Arthington hesitated before he answered, then acknowledged Andrew’s statement with a nod.
“Yes, I suppose that is true.”
“Then you can understand, I am sure, why I say such things. The ladies who seek to marry, the young ladies who are presented to us as elegant, genteel, and more than respectable do not show their character in all that it is. We do not see their ill-temper, their desire to nag and pick until they get whatever it is they desire. Nor do we see their disdain for us, for they play their part so well before they wed that we are entirely oblivious to it.”
“Some are certainly not as virtuous as they appear,” Lord Arthington answered, with a grin. “I can attest to that.”
“I do not find the words of either of you to be at all helpful,” Lord Dorchester sighed, as Andrew chuckled, his dark mood quickly forgotten.
“I am considering marriage because it is the only way that I can remove my mother from my house. I must keep my true intentions a secret for whichever young lady I settle upon cannot know of it.”
Andrew spread his hands.
“Should you like us to aid you in your search for a suitable young lady? I am sure that Lord Arthington would be able to tell you of those you ought to avoid, at least!” This was said with a wink in Lord Arthington’s direction, but Lord Dorchester only groaned and put his head in his hands.
“I can certainly do so,” Lord Arthington answered, chuckling. “What do you desire as regards your future bride?”
Lord Dorchester lifted his shoulders and let them fall.
“She must be pretty enough to catch my attention, of course.”
“Of course.” Andrew lifted his whisky and took a sip. “What else? Do you wish her to be an excellent conversationalist or someone who is a little quieter?”
“A little quieter, I think.” Lord Dorchester shifted in his chair, seemingly now a little more satisfied with the conversation. “I am not a gentleman inclined to much noise and rambunctiousness and, whilst I enjoy society, I do not want to overindulge, as it were.”
Andrew laughed softly.
“Have no fear, Dorchester, we well understand your desire to stay at home and read a good book, accompanied by a roaring fire and the very best French brandy you can purchase.”
“Such has been the bane of our lives ever since we were old enough to make our way into society!” Lord Arthington added, and the three gentlemen laughed together, though Lord Dorchester lacked enthusiasm.
Seeing that his friend was serious about his decision to find a wife, Andrew chose to be more serious, and wiped the smile from his face.
“I shall support you in whatever way you desire, old friend,” he said honestly. “If you wish to find a wife so that you might remove your mother from your house, then that is precisely what we shall aid you to do. Though I do hope that you will not replace one shrew with another!”
“I shall hope for the same,” Lord Dorchester answered, his own smile still a little wearied. “And you are quite certain that you will remain entirely unwed as yet, Wileham?”
Andrew nodded fervently, a shiver running down his spine at the thought of standing up in church and making promises to a young lady he would be bound to until death.
“I can give you my promise, Dorchester, that I shall continue as I have always done, giving my attention to no one in particular, refusing to take tea, and only standing up to dance upon brief occasion. I shall continue to be known as ‘the uncatchable gentleman’ – despite my aversion to the title – and will return to London in the spring Season, just as unattached as I am at present.”
Lord Arthington lifted one eyebrow.
“And what if a young lady should catch your eye?” he asked, as Andrew snorted. “There are many pretty faces in London at present and, since there will be Christmas balls and mistletoe boughs, there will be much opportunity for some kisses to be taken and embraces to be offered.”
A shrug lifted Andrew’s shoulders.
“If I am offered an embrace and if I am permitted to steal a kiss then I shall do so without hesitation,” he stated, firmly.
“But to do more than that, to let my interest be piqued, my head turned, and my heart yearn for one particular lady is something which I shall never do. I have no interest in marriage, Arthington.” Throwing back the rest of his whisky, he set the glass back on the table with a bang.
“No matter how pretty a young lady may be, no matter how much she attempts to garner my interest, I will be aloof and disinterested. I shall remain unattached and uncatchable for the rest of my days, I am sure.”