“Right?” she asked, patting the pocket where she kept him.
Her hand encountered air, and her stomach dropped.
No…
Surely she could not have lost Scrunch. If someone else discovered him, there would be hell to pay! They would bring up the cat from the kitchens to find her dear pet and dispose of him. No one would care that he was all the company she had in the world—they did not care about anything she owned, and especially not a mouse.
She had to find him, and quick, before her half-sisters did.
Or worse, the Duke. Ifhewere to find her darling mouse, all would be lost!
CHAPTER THREE
Sebastian Fairmont, the Duke of Ravenscroft, adjusted the pin in his cravat as he stared down the modest facade of the Bennett household. Beside him, the stick of a solicitor he’d brought to accompany him sniffed.
“You cannot delay the inevitable forever, Your Grace,” Mr. Pratt intoned.
Sebastian sighed. “And you are certain I must choose a bride from among these girls?”
“If you wish to access the portion of your inheritance your father locked behind this clause,yes. It must be a daughter from the former Mr. Thomas Bennett. You know your father was particularly close to the man and wished, above all, to someday bind the families.”
Sebastian knew, and it did not improve his mood one jot. If he could have his way, he would have chosen to remain a bachelorforever. Marriage sounded disagreeable, a lifelong contract he could not escape, and its only advantage was granting him access to the fortune he very much needed. Still, he had a plan, despite his father’s and Pratt’s meddling: nothing in the agreement stated he had to remain married to his wife.
“Well then,” he muttered, biting his tongue at all the unpleasant things he could have said. Much as he disliked this beanpole of a man, whose very voice reminded him of dusty schoolbooks he’d spent his education avoiding, this predicament was not entirely his fault. “Ring the bell, and let’s get this over with.”
Mr. Pratt sniffed again, but did as he was bid, and the butler immediately opened the door, welcoming the pair into the house with a jocund smile that made Sebastian feel somewhat queasy. Nothing else about the place eased that initial feeling; the décor could only be described asfussy, and as Mrs. Bennett descended on him doused in headache-inducing perfume, he had an early sense of how the visit would go.
“Your Grace,” she said, sinking into a deep curtsy. “Please, do come this way.” She led the way to the drawing room—also decorated with an inordinate number of frills—and waved a hand at the three young ladies gathered there. “These are my three darling daughters. Miss Isabel, Annabel and Mirabel Bennett.”
All three curtsied. They were, at first glance, not displeasing to the eye, but there was also nothing particularly taking about them. Certainly, he’d had far prettier girls vying for his attention before now.
“Oh, Your Grace,” the eldest said in a nasal voice that grated across his ears. Isabel, he presumed. Any thoughts of her attractiveness went out of his head immediately. “It’ssuchan honor to welcome you to our household. We do hope you’ll enjoy your time here. My, how handsome you are.” She giggled, whipping out a fan with more aggression than grace, and fanning herself.
“Izzy!” the darker-haired sister beside her said sharply. “Lawks, you cannot tell a gentleman to his face that he is handsome.”
“I hardly see why not, Anna, when it is perfectly true.”
The youngest gave him a toothy smile. Of the three, she seemed the least offensive, but even for London, she seemed a trifle young. Barely out of the schoolroom. “Your Grace,” she lilted, and perhaps he was imagining the youthful lisp, but the sound of it made him perilously close to running from the room. “Please excuse my sisters.”
“Youthful exuberance, I assure you,” Mrs. Bennett laughed nervously, casting the girls a look of such fierce rebuke that all three stilled. The eldest flushed like a tomato.
The fire, lit despite the fact it was May and far too hot for such things, began to smoke.
Heavens. He could not endure this a moment longer.
“This… is Mr. Pratt,” he said slowly, gesturing at his solicitor who loomed over them all like a giant spider. “Allow him to keep you company for a few moments, ladies. I require the washroom.” He glanced at a footman who detached himself from the wall with surprising alacrity.
“Of course, Your Grace. This way.”
Patting Pratt on the shoulder with a grim smile, Sebastian left him to deal with the girls’ crass behavior and ill-timed flirtatiousness. To think that his father wished him to shackle himself to one of those girls. Could this have been a punishment from beyond the grave?
No. At the time of his death, his father had not known what kind of man Sebastian had become. His father could have not known enough to be disappointed.
After spending a moment too long in washing his face in the small washroom, as if an extra splash of water might rinse away his predicament—it did not—he raked a hand through his damp hair and stepped back into the corridor, setting his course for the drawing room.
He never made it.
A blur of movement shot past him—no, into him—knocking against his shoulder with enough force to send him stumbling back. Instinct overrode surprise. His hands found purchase, gripping slim shoulders, steadying the wayward figure before him.
