Chapter 2
· · ·
To Garret’s surprise, Papa, Mama, and even Mariah laughed at him and his brothers the next morning when Liam presented the idea at breakfast. Liam scowled, but Garret, feeling particularly offended as it had been his idea to begin with, set his fork down with a clatter.
“And what, pray tell, is so amusing about one of us marrying an heiress? You were willing to sell Mariah to the highest bidder. Why shouldn’t one of us turn the tables and marry a woman of means? ”
“It’s an excellent idea,” Papa said, his eyes shining and his cheeks rosy. As much as Garret didn’t like that he was laughing at his idea, he liked seeing his father looking happy again. “But which one of you will actually see it through?”
The brothers talked over one another to argue they would be the one to marry first until Garret tapped his spoon on his teacup to quiet everyone. “I have secured an invitation to the Belgrave ball tonight. I should have an heiress in my sights by this time tomorrow.”
“In your sights?” Mariah furrowed her brow. “You are speaking of a woman, not a warship.”
Garret waved a hand. “Give me ten days to court her, and I will be leg-shackled by the end of the Season.”
Papa cleared his throat and looked dubious. Mama sighed.
Garret cocked his head at his parents. This was not the reception he’d expected. Why were they not celebrating? Where was the champagne, the toasts? After all, he’d just offered the solution to all their problems. He spread his arms. “No congratulations? No applause?”
Mama cleared her throat. “Well, my dear, it is a very good idea.”
“It’s not an idea,” Garret argued. “I’ve given you the solution to our problems.”
“Yes, but you would actually have to marry the woman for it to succeed.”
“Obviously.” Garret glanced at his brothers, who, except for Daire, seemed as confused as he. Daire wasn’t even listening. He’d taken a small notebook and pencil from his coat and scribbled something on the paper.
The countess looked at her husband. “Your father and I have been trying to persuade you to marry for years, Garret. Both you and Liam.”
“I said I wouldn’t ask any of my sons to marry until at least the age of five and twenty,” Papa said. “But you passed that five years ago and Liam seven.”
“Is that why you keep introducing me to debutantes?” Daire asked their mother. “Every time I’m in your company, you bring me some new chit—er, lady—to meet.”
“We hoped one of you might find an acceptable bride out of the lovely young ladies we have introduced,” Mama said.
“But not even one of you has so much as looked at a lady of good breeding twice. The last ball we attended”—she pointed at Garret, who shrank back slightly—“you practically ran away from me when I tried to introduce you to Lady Callista Stanhope.”
“Who is an heiress, by the way,” Papa said.
“So you see why we might be skeptical at the proclamation you boys are making this morning,” Mama said.
Garret’s collar tightened about his neck.
He swallowed but resisted the urge to slip a finger inside to tug it away from his throat.
He had walked right into this discussion.
How had he forgotten that his mother had plagued him for years about marrying?
Daire had only just turned five and twenty, and Killian was six and twenty.
They hadn’t been their mother’s targets for very long.
But he and Liam should have seen this coming.
Garret’s reasoning for not marrying sooner had been that procuring the next countess and an heir was Liam’s job.
He didn’t need to marry right away or ever, if he didn’t wish to.
But now he wondered if perhaps his parents had tried to avoid the financial situation becoming as dire as it had by subtly coaxing their sons to marry.
After all, his mother hadn’t been throwing ladies from poor families at him.
“Everything has changed now,” Liam said.
“Exactly,” Garret agreed. “I’m quite willing and eager to sacrifice myself on the altar of marriage.”
Mama raised a brow. “You make it sound so appealing.”
“I shall think of Castle Glenister and do my duty,” he said. “Mama, perhaps you might assist by making me a list of potential targ—er, ladies.”
“I would, dear, but you have already rejected every single heiress to whom you’ve been introduced.”
“That’s impossible,” Garret said. “I cannot think of a single heiress I have rejected.”
“Lady Callista,” his mother said, holding up a finger.
“I didn’t really meet her,” Garret argued. “I fled too quickly.”
“I met her,” Liam said. “She is quite horse mad. She went on and on about forelocks for over a quarter of an hour.”
“What is there to say about forelocks for so long?” Killian asked.
“She has some theory about a horse’s forelock being an indication of good breeding.”
“Her family does possess one of the finest stables in all of England,” Papa said.
“If I were you, I’d listen to her,” Daire said. “The last stallion the Stanhopes offered at Tattersall’s sold for several thousand.”
“Pounds?” Garret said, practically choking. “On one horse?”
“Now you see why she is an heiress,” Papa said.
Garret blew out a breath. “Fine. I will listen to her drone on about forelocks. Who else?”
“Miss Penelope Grant,” his mother said. “There is that look with which I am so familiar.” She pointed at Garret. “What is wrong with Miss Grant?”
“She blushes and stammers every time anyone speaks to her.”
“She’s shy,” Mama said.
“Painfully shy,” Liam added. “The last time I spoke to her, she began to cry.”
“You probably scared her,” Mariah said. “You give everyone dark looks and brooding stares.”
“I do not,” Liam said, giving her a dark look.
“I don’t give dark looks,” Garret said. “And she won’t speak to me either. I danced with her once, and she blushed so hard that her face was purple by the time the dance finished. I was worried her heart might explode. I don’t see how I could be expected to court Miss Grant.”
Daire stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I should make my way to the bank to withdraw funds that will sustain us until I secure an heiress.”
Garret rolled his eyes.
“And I have business to attend to as well.” Killian followed his brother out.
Garret wished he could accompany the two, but he had to make the most of the Belgrave ball tonight.
He needed a list of potential heiresses.
Everyone was asking to be excused now, and he made a point of trailing his mother into the small parlor she used in the morning to attend to her correspondence.
Unfortunately, Liam had the same idea, and the two men shoved into the parlor, making their mother sigh.
“I suppose you want me to make you lists of eligible heiresses.”
“If you don’t mind, Mama.” Garret smiled.
Liam cleared his throat. “If possible, leave Miss Grant off it.”
“And perhaps Lady Callista might go at the bottom.”
“Or on a second page,” Liam added.
Mama drew out a sheet of parchment. “I fear this is a waste of time, but at this point, we are quite desperate.”
“Don’t worry, Mama. I will fix this,” Liam said. As the eldest and the heir, he frequently made such pronouncements. This time Garret would not allow Liam to save the day—or take possession of the summer house.
“I will fix this, Liam,” he said. “You can go back to whatever you do all day. Mama, might you make me the first list? I have a ball to prepare for and heiresses to charm.”
“And I’m the eldest,” Liam said. “So you may wait your turn.” He stepped in front of Garret, who then shoved in front of him. Liam might behave as though he were a parental figure to the other siblings, but Garret was only two years younger than he and had never obeyed his elder brother’s commands.
“If you boys knock that lamp off the table, I will not write a list for either of you. Wait outside.” She used the imperious tone she’d favored when Liam and Garret had been small and found themselves in frequent tousles. Garret followed Liam out, and they took up posts on either side of the door.
“You couldn’t charm a dog,” Liam muttered.
“Watch and learn,” Garret said, folding his arms across his chest. He’d leave tonight’s ball betrothed. That would show Liam.
· · ·
Tamsin Archer stared up at the ropes supporting the mattress above her and winced as they strained from the vigorous activity.
Her nose itched from the dust under the bed, and she’d had to stifle a sneeze several times.
She wondered if the duchess who slept in this bed ever looked under it.
If she had, the servants would certainly be let go or chastened for their negligence.
She supposed it proved that when one looked under the fancy covers, the rich were not so different from the poor.
The woman on the bed above her let out a moan that Tamsin thought would have been right at home on the stage.
“Oh, yes. Oh, yes, my stallion!” the woman cried as the mattress heaved and rocked.
Tamsin wanted to laugh. She had not often done what the man and woman above her were doing—she did not need a squalling brat to care for in addition to her other problems—but she was no innocent.
She’d kissed boys and then men and let a few of those men do more than kiss her.
Nothing any of them had ever done had made her want to moan or cry out.
She usually ended up pushing them off and wondering why she had bothered.