Wishful thinking, he knew. Given the afternoon’s unexpected twists and turns, he would love nothing more than to erase his worries with one of King’s mysterious elixirs.
“I’m afraid it’s only theChateau Margaux. Shall I ring for another bottle?”
Brandon crossed the chamber to the bellpull, his shoes making a squelching sound with each step. “I’ll ring for it.”
He yanked the cord, nettled with himself. Nettled with his friend. Nettled with his grandmother and with Lady Grenfell and with that blasted mutt who had invaded his town house.
King gave the air a pointed sniff. “Something smells like a wet dog in here, Brandon. Perhaps you ought to have your domestics give the rugs a thorough cleaning.”
Brandon lowered his head and tested the air, confirming his suspicion. “I’m afraid it’s me.”
“You?” King’s dark brows snapped together. “Never say you were bathing with a canine, old chap.”
“I was.” He paused, shaking his head as he realized how that sounded. “Rather, I was helping the footmen to bathe a runaway dog named Cat who smelled like a Whitechapel alley and who had hidden himself beneath my bed.”
Hell.He passed a hand along his jaw, realizing that sounded even madder aloud than it had in his head.
“I think you had best start at the beginning of this tale,” King said.
A servant arrived just then, and Brandon requested another bottle ofChateau Margauxfrom his impressive London stores. Once it had arrived, he wasted no time in pouring another glass and beginning to unburden himself.
They were two bottles in when he finished. “So, you see? I’ve no choice but to do my grandmother’s bidding if I wish to keep Wingfield Hall. The stubborn woman has promised me she will forfeit it to a distant country booby cousin if I don’t find a wife and soon.”
“I’m still having the devil’s own time believing you’re a father,” King said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I’m yet growing accustomed to the notion myself,” he said wryly. “Pandy is an intrepid girl. I haven’t an inkling of what to do with a child her age. She terrifies me.”
His friend chuckled. “You must admit the irony—you, the man among us all who has been most vocal in disparaging marriage and children, now have a child and must also secure himself a wife.”
Grimacing, Brandon took a long sip of his wine. “I wish I could find the levity in the circumstances.”
“Is it absolutely necessary that you marry to secure Wingfield Hall?” King asked.
“Grandmother assures me that it is. And you know what we’ve built there with the Society. We cannot simply start anew somewhere else. The improvements we have made to the estate, the servants, the grotto…it’s all too perfect.”
“Can you not reason with your grandmother?”
“Reason and my grandmother do not belong in the same sentence,” he grumbled. “She is the most stubborn woman I know.”
Well, perhaps there was another woman he knew who was equally obstinate, but he wasn’t about to allow the Countess of Grenfell back into his thoughts yet again. He firmly banished her.
“So you truly believe that if you don’t marry, she’ll leave Wingfield Hall to this country cousin of yours,” King said, his tone contemplative.
“I have no doubt. You don’t know her as I do. The woman is as formidable as an army.”
“Blast.” King took another draught of his wine. “Quite the quandary you unexpectedly find yourself in, old chap.”
“I am aware.”
“You really ought to have changed into dry clothes,” King pointed out. “You’re still dripping onto the Axminster.”
He glanced down at his sodden trousers. “A bit late now, isn’t it?”
“There is also the matter of the unfortunate scent,” King said unkindly.
“Go to the devil,” he said without heat.
“You never did explain what Lottie has to do with all this, however,” his friend said.
