Chapter Four #2
Standing next to the proprietor was an amiable looking young woman. She was of average height with light-brown hair, fair skin, and green eyes.
“Miss Morehouse,” he said, touching the brim of his hat.
She returned the gesture with a quick nod. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Worthington.”
While she was pretty enough, and her smile seemed genuine, he felt…nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Which was exactly what he wanted to feel.
“If you will excuse me,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, “I have business to attend to. I will see you both in the private games room, promptly at seven.”
She left, leaving Tom alone with the two ladies.
“Would you ladies like to take a turn about the gardens?” he said, curious to learn more about Miss Morehouse and, if possible, the other two ladies who’d thrown their proverbial hats in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s matchmaking ring.
Given his grandmother’s requirements for a bride, he needed to make a match that would satisfy not only hers, but his own—and that was polite indifference.
While the ladies would ultimately get their choice of husband from amongst the winners of the games, he needed to ensure the right lady chose him.
He offered his arm, which she took, then held out his second for Miss Howard, who demurred, apparently content to sit on a nearby bench and enjoy the afternoon air.
“I do prefer the out of doors,” Miss Morehouse said as they walked along the path. “Especially in the spring.”
“I do as well,” he said. “Indeed, I spent most of my life out of doors as a young lad.”
“You grew up in Cheshire,” she said. “At Whetherby.”
Tom let out a surprised laugh. “You have me at quite the disadvantage.”
“Your story was quite the thing in the society sheets,” she said. “The unknown and quite legitimate heir of the Worthington title? The scribes at Debrett’s are no doubt madly scribbling you into the pages as we speak.”
Of course, he thought. His return to England and subsequent residence with the Worthington family had quickly made the rounds, but his parents had managed the wave of scandal reasonably well.
“I have not read of you,” he said, “though I admit I don’t spend much time reading the society papers. I’ve been too busy studying the family ledgers.”
“Even if you did, I doubt you would see anything of note,” she said. “I spend most of my time at Carleton Abbey.”
“I’ve heard of that, though I can’t recall why?”
“My father is a baron, and he raises thoroughbreds there,” she said. “I love to ride, and the countryside is quite beautiful.”
A good family? This was getting better and better. Was there some secret scandal her family was hiding?
“If I may be so bold,” he asked, “why does the daughter of a baron need the services of Mrs. Dove-Lyon to choose a husband?”
“You may be so bold, if I can be equally direct with a question of my own,” she said, pausing a moment to admire a patch of peonies, their bright pink petals drooping in the afternoon warmth. Pink was Georgie’s favorite color.
“Of course,” he replied. “You want to know why I am here, if I have a title and an inheritance?”
“You are certainly handsome enough, I think, and unless there is some whiff of scandal about you, aside from the notoriety of your birth,” she said, “which society seems to have recovered from.”
“I am here to find a wife my family will approve of,” he answered. “And meeting that requirement will provide an added inheritance to those lands I will receive when it is my time to inherit.”
She regarded him carefully, as if his answer didn’t quite provide the answer she was expecting. However, she did not seem interested in pressing the matter, nodding to herself as if she’d decided on the matter, before she continued.
“I am twenty-seven years old,” she replied, “and fortunate amongst my sex to have a respectable fortune. However, I do not trust the ton for one moment to present a husband who won’t squander it away.
And I prefer a quiet life, away from town and society.
So I am here to find a person I can trust it and myself with. ”
“You are not interested in a love match,” he pressed.
“Not at all,” she replied, her mouth hitching up into a smile. “I have everything I need, except for the requirement of a husband, and indeed, I would not bother with it if my father did not insist upon it.”
They continued walking along, speaking on the subject of horses and their mutual curiosity about the course of the matchmaking games to come.
He returned her to Miss Howard, then bid her good day, and headed back inside.
Along the way, he heard the telltale sound of Georgie’s laughter from somewhere beyond the verge, causing his heart to thrum again just as he’d gotten it under control.
As he walked back into the gaming hell, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the cocoon-like atmosphere, he headed back to the library for that drink.
Right now, having a wife content to be left alone in Essex with her horses, needing nothing from him except a perfunctory child—which would join two families and provide more than enough societal cachet to meet his requirements of his inheritance, was exactly what he needed.
Mariah Morehouse didn’t want to claim his heart—not that he’d ever willingly give it up again. Georgie Hawthorne had seen to that.
As he sat down in one of the rich leather seats with his glass of port, he checked his pocket watch.
If he could endear himself to Miss Morehouse…
have her see him as the right potential husband for her, this would all be worth it.
The cost of the entry fee, this ridiculous charade of a game he’d agreed to play, which very well could involve charades for Christ’s sake, would be nothing at all, especially compared to the humiliation he’d faced that fateful night he’d pledge his heart to Georgiana.
Let the games begin.