Chapter 4
SILAS COULD NOT find either of his brothers at the moment, and that was unfortunate.
Not part of the plan.
Worst of all, it left him exposed.
As though raised by bloodhounds trained for the hunt, young ladies and their ambitious mamas flocked toward any lone man they could find, particularly if rumors swirled about his being eligible.
And as he had made the grave error of entering with his two brothers, there would be no mistaking his identity or status in the matrimonial regard.
No one could know that he had succeeded in making himself his uncle’s heir to Sinclair House, or that his uncle was rapidly approaching his deathbed after three years of care.
So how could he possibly be an enviable prospect for marriage when no one knew how he would make a living or provide for the family they were imagining?
Nonsensical, the lot of them.
The lot of this, actually.
But it was the sort of event he had to endure, and so he would.
Until he caught sight of Caro, he had to be just another guest at this ball.
The Sheffords were immaculate hosts, the décor never wavering in its elegance and detail from year to year, but they also could not limit their guest list. They wanted to be liked and admired, and they did not want to turn anyone away.
Which meant that anyone in the vicinity of Shefford Park, with any sort of connection to the Shefford family, even in the most distant way, could find themselves welcomed to the annual harvest ball.
But what it actually meant was the ballroom was crowded beyond belief, and only dancing would grant a body any sort of space or room to breathe.
Or, alternatively, escaping to the outdoors.
If he remembered correctly, there was a lovely garden just off the ballroom, and one could enjoy plenty of space out there.
A quiet peace with hints of the music of the ballroom dancing in the air as though the ball were not limited to physical bodies, a fresh fragrance from the plants surrounding the space, and enough distance to retain sense and self and the ability to breathe.
Breathing was highly underrated in social occasions.
Also, there was something to be said for the way that certain guests began to smell once they exerted themselves in a physical manner, such as dancing. And when trapped in close proximity with them, such a stench began to permeate everything, including one’s own thoughts.
Silas was not there yet for this particular evening, but he could certainly see it coming soon enough.
And if these young ladies and their mothers, nice though they were, did not give him some breathing room, he would seek out one of those individuals that he knew would reek in a matter of hours. That would be preferable to being surrounded by these predators.
“Mr. Darby, it is a delight to have you back in our area,” one of the young ladies purred, standing too close to him for comfort. “It is far too long since we have seen you.”
“Yes,” another agreed in a soft hum. “Three years, is it not?”
“And to have your brother back as well,” a third brought up. “Is there a reason for the two of you to have returned? A change in family situation?”
“Or priorities, perhaps?” the first suggested with hope.
Silas cleared his throat, even as it seemed a vice began to clench there. “A convenient coincidence that we are both here at this time, I can assure you,” he managed to say, his voice controlled and low.
No one believed him; that much was evident.
He had never been charming, and it was clear that he would not be taken seriously either. There was simply no winning whatever war this was, which was even more exhausting than he’d already planned on this evening being.
“You must want a wife, Mr. Darby,” one of the mamas nearby asked.
“Must I?” he murmured aloud, not bothering to hide an almost snide edge to the words.
Tittering laughter followed. “Of course! Every man of sense with prospects and being of a marriageable age must.”
“And you have been away so long,” one of the younger ladies pointed out. “Surely you would only return for a wife.”
Were they really so inept in imagining motivations for men in general? Or were they simply so desperate that they were projecting their own aims onto him?
The game was so tedious, but he felt a surge of pettiness rising within him. It would not do him any good, but it would not hurt his plans either.
“I will confess,” Silas said roughly, sighing for effect the way he imagined Samuel might when imparting a secret, “that I have come back for a reason, though I cannot say why my brother has.”
The group around him fell silent, blessedly.
Silas thought of how Bas might smile when he was feeling particularly raffish and tried to mimic it. “I seek a very particular individual to be my wife, and I will not waste my time with any other woman pretending otherwise.”
Soft gasps sounded from the gathering around him, and that was more than enough for Silas to be done with all of this. He offered a clipped nod and strode away from the gathering. He had no idea where he was going, but he would go literally anywhere else.
Let them have word spread around that Silas Darby was seeking a wife, and a very particular wife.
If the rumor mills here ran as efficiently as they had always done, the rumors would reach Caro’s ears sooner rather than later.
And she would know that there was only one woman who could possibly fit that role.
Wait, she wouldn’t know that at all, because he had never told her.
Which was the entire problem.
But still, she would know that he was here, and then he could talk to her.
“Was that really necessary, brother?”
Silas groaned at hearing Samuel’s naturally bemused tone in his general vicinity, having hoped his utmost to have escaped any ridiculousness in his leaving the mass of predators.
His younger brother was all ridiculousness, which many people, particularly young ladies, tended to enjoy. His brothers found it maddening, their sister found it irrelevant, and their parents ignored it entirely.
But it did tend to make Samuel Darby the most likable of the brothers, at least where first impressions were concerned.
It also meant he was rarely serious, and important conversations were few and far between with him. Only when he was in a very somber mood and had spent enough time with either of his brooding brothers to take stock of their behaviors.
This was not one of those times.
Silas plucked up a pre-poured glass of punch from a small table nearby before moving out of the way, his brother following like a puppy.
“Silas . . .” Samuel drawled in an almost sing-song manner.
“Not listening,” Silas grunted as he sipped the tepid punch.
Samuel laughed heartily. Too heartily. “You most definitely are listening, or else you would not be responding to me.”
“That would be hearing you, not listening to you,” Silas pointed out as he continued to survey the room. “The precision of word choice is important.”
Samuel scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes, somehow leaning rakishly while standing apart from anything to support him. “The point remains. Your actions were not necessary.”
Silas glanced at his irreverent younger brother with a raised brow. “And how would you know? Have I informed you as to my intentions?”
“No.” Samuel laughed. “You never do.”
“And as long as you have known me,” Silas went on, “have I ever enjoyed an excess of social engagement? Particularly of the superficial kind?”
Samuel did him the credit of not answering immediately, seeming to actually consider the question.
But then the silence became almost mocking.
“Samuel,” Silas growled.
His brother laughed. “All right, all right, I concede that you have never enjoyed the sort of social engagement that you were just subjected to. But stating you intend to claim a wife will only fuel their fervor, and considering I highly doubt you intend for any of them to be the particular woman you spoke of, that was just needless.”
Silas only shrugged. “I wanted them to leave me alone.”
“I don’t think that worked the way you hoped it would,” Samuel drawled, still chuckling. “And to then walk away from them without another word, without a raffish grin or flirtatious wink . . . It was so dramatic, brother, that it hardly seemed like you.”
Heaving a sigh of irritation as well as resignation, Silas turned to look at his brother directly. “Do I look like I care?”
Samuel squinted as he made a show of looking over Silas’s face. “No,” he said slowly, drawing out the N sound as he did so. “No, I do not think you do.”
“Ah, so you are capable of an appropriate response. Perfect.” Silas offered him a very flat smile. “Now, did you have a reason for following me and conversing? I would have thought you the sort to take my place in that madness of matrimonial predators.”
“Oh, they don’t want to marry me,” Samuel insisted with yet another laugh. Was the man inebriated already? It was difficult to say, given his natural exuberance for everything and anything.
Silas raised a brow. “Don’t they?”
Samuel smirked at that. “I have nothing to offer them yet. Which means I am harmless flirtation or hedging of bets that their parents aren’t overly concerned about.”
“Perhaps you should try obtaining something to offer them.” Silas craned his neck slightly, straining against the starch in his cravat and shirt collar. “Did you not decide on the Navy?”
“Decide is a strong word,” Samuel mused.
It was, and strong words, strong opinions, and strong courses of action were not something Samuel Darby engaged in.
Which meant he would likely end up marrying a strong woman who would upend everything he knew about life and the world, and Silas would love to see it.
“Your point, Samuel,” Silas said with some impatience. “In following me and talking to me, specifically.”
Samuel quirked his brows and smiled eagerly. “Look who is on the dance floor at this very moment.” He clamped a hand on Silas’s shoulder and guided his attention to a couple about four or five pairs down the line.
Their brother Bas, and a stunning young lady with hair of gold, porcelain skin, and the prettiest little blush upon her cheeks.
Bas did not dance. Silas could literally count the number of times he had witnessed the occasion, and yet . . .
He was dancing. Happily. Eagerly. He was smiling, and not in the subtle or restrained way.
“What the devil?” Silas breathed.
“Exactly,” Samuel quipped, squeezing his shoulder hard.
They watched for several long minutes, and Silas fully expected to see Bas return to his sullen and brooding persona at some point in the dance. Or to see flashes of irritation or annoyance when his companion was not looking.
Neither of those things took place.
Instead, as the dance finished, Bas took the girl’s hand, brought it to his lips for a kiss, and tucked it into his arm to walk with her about the room, his attention going nowhere else.
Silas turned to Samuel, absolutely flabbergasted and gaping now. “But . . . Samuel, what in the actual devil?”
Samuel all but squealed, practically dancing where he stood. “Don’t you recognize her, Silas?”
He shook his head, honestly lost as to the identity of the creature who had clearly bewitched his brother.
The smile that Samuel gave him was full of mischief and delight. “That was Susannah Brooks.”
Silas could only blink for a moment, then turned back to try to find his elder brother once more, just to see if Samuel might be correct.
Surely he would have recognized little Susannah, his beloved’s favorite sister. The sweetest little creature to ever exist. And Bas had met her at least twice, of that there was no doubt, but never recently, and certainly never as a man saw a woman.
Could she really be his perfect fit? The vision of heaven he wished to cling to for the rest of his life?
It was how Silas felt about Caro, so he knew there was a chance Bas was capable of the same emotions and thoughts, but Susannah?
She was so different from Bas, so gentle and shy, so quietly joyful and peaceful . . .
Silas grinned as he caught sight of the two of them and how at ease and comfortable his brother was.
Susannah Brooks was absolutely what his brother needed, differences or not, and it was clear that Bas had no intention of letting anyone else near her.
That wasn’t what Silas had planned for the evening, but it might have been the best outcome, all things considered. Just in case Caro didn’t . . . she wouldn’t . . .
Just in case.
At least something good came out of the evening.
Silas nodded to himself, smiling, and saw, to his utter delight, the object of all his dreams and thoughts and sense of self being escorted out to the dance floor by Lord Shefford himself, which was an honor.
“Samuel,” Silas murmured as he watched the love of his life take her place, her beauty and light the only thing to have warmed him for the past three years.
“Yes, Silas?”
“Find me an acceptable dance partner. Now.”