“You’re right of course. The duke is keen to secure the succession and talks of little else but my finding a duchess.” He sighed deeply, “Mama would be delighted if I made an offer for Lady Cressida Lantham. She’s been pushing me toward Lady Cressida since I returned home from Italy.”
“You could easily scare Aunt Elizabeth off by hinting that you might marry an Italian Contessa.”
“Sad to say, Colin, that I would have married an Italian Contessa. I even proposed marriage, but she refused to have me. I tell you, I was in my cups for days when she turned me down.”
“I can’t believe she turned you down.”
“Turned me down and called me a boy. I believe she has become engaged to an elderly Bourbon prince and good luck to her.”
“Well, I’ll be glad of your company this season,” confided Colin. “You know I dislike going to these events alone although I always enjoy them once I’m there.”
“Well, I doubt very much I’ll last the whole season. I’ll attend a few balls and recitals. I don’t want to upset father while his health is still so fragile. I can attend balls and inspect the young ladies who are seeking a husband, but that doesn’t mean I have to make a match.”
“Quite true, cousin. Now, tonight we attend our first ball, and don’t panic it isn’t at the Almack’s assembly rooms with all those tabbies of thetoneyeing you up. No, it’s a small event, at the home of the Marchioness of Throxley and your neighbor, from Buckinghamshire, the Viscountess of Leighton plans to be there.”
“Now that will be interesting, I’ve never made her acquaintance and we are neighbors.” His thoughts drifted away to the northern boundary of his estate and a forest glade where Leighton property met Hargrove land.
He smiled affectionately at his cousin, whose light brown hair had been trimmed and arranged in something approaching the Corinthian trend in fashion. Marcus suspected it had taken Colin hours to perfect that casual, only just tied in a simple knot look.
He’d lent Colin his valet James Cartwright, to help him gain confidence in London fashion. James had done a good job, as Colin looked every inch the fashionable Corinthian Viscount of Ludlow.
Marcus retreated to his bedchamber, smiling at the excitement on his cousin’s face at the anticipation of flirting with debutantes and searching for a bride.
Now which boots shall I wear … and can I think of an excuse to avoid attending this ball tonight?
“James,” he called. His valet appeared almost instantaneously “My Lord?”
‘Help me out of these boots and then I need to dress for this ball at Throxley House.”
His eyes widened as he noticed his trunk already unpacked and his dressing room full of neatly organized frock coats, linen shirts, cravats and breeches. “You’ve been busy, James. I had no idea I had so many clothes.”
“Most are still in Italy, My Lord. If you choose to remain in town for the season, then we’ll need to call in the tailor. You’re short of breeches and shirts, My Lord.”
“Whatever you think best James. As for this shindig tonight at Throxley, I leave myself in your hands. Unlike Lord Ludlow, I’m not searching for a bride, so something somber and restrained perhaps.”
Marcus generally preferred to dress himself, except when attending a society event, and then he allowed James to choose his clothes.
In no time at all Marcus was dressed in the suave Italian style he preferred. “Almost there, My Lord.” James held up a dark green frock coat and a midnight blue version. “Any preference?”
“Preference? If I could choose, I’d wear my leather coat, the one I bought in Florence, but it won’t do for Throxley. I’ve a mind to choose the green.”All the colors of the forest. Oh, to spend an hour in a woodland glade, discussing literature, while looking into fine, bright eyes.
***
Lanterns shone outside the steps leading up to Throxley Place.
“If this is a small ball, I wonder how many people the Marchioness invites to a grand ball?” commented Colin.
“Lots of young ladies are arriving,” joked Marcus. “Perhaps your true love is arriving in one of those carriages.”
“I know you think this is funny, but I do want to marry.”
“Too much poetry. It’s turned your head to love,” said Marcus, laughing.
“You could do to settle down yourself. You’re hardly young anymore,” retorted Colin.
“Enough. I concede. The point is yours. Shall we fence at the club tomorrow?”
“If I don’t drink too much tonight. I need to be on top form to fence with you, Marcus.”
