“Why not marry Caroline?”
George’s teeth knocked against the glass.
He’d imagined it, of course. Imagined asking her to be his wife, the things she might say. None, at present, seemed especially encouraging. And there was his reputation to think of—Caroline’s dealings were well known across theton. She was not bride material, and she knew it as well as he. Plus, given her age of five-and-thirty, there was a chance she might never produce him an heir, the primary reason his father was requiring him to marry.
Even a few weeks ago, he might have laughed at the idea he would consider an action likely to garner so much disapproval. His ideal wife came from a good family with old money and an ancestral seat that went back generations. She would be demure, pretty, and unobtrusive.
Caroline was none of those things. She was hard-headed, seductive, frequently crude, often radical, and five years his senior. In other words, she was the antithesis of the blushing bride he’d always wanted—and he was alarmingly certain he was falling in love with her.
The worst of it was, he sometimes had a thought that perhaps she might feel the same way. But the frequency with which she brought up his future bride made it certain that she did not expect to be the one he chose.
Quite possibly she did notwantto be his wife.
The thought was humbling.
“It goes against the grain to admit,” he said to his friend, “but she might be the one unattached woman in London who would not have me.”
“Have you asked her?”
“Of course not. Do you take me for a fool?”
Henry appeared to consider this. “On occasion,” he said. “Have you tried wooing her?”
Something else George was decidedly not an expert in. “I took her on a picnic yesterday.”
“She might require a little more persuading.”
“That’s not precisely my realm of experience. How did you prevail upon Louisa to accept?”
“I didn’t,” Henry said. “She made the decision on her own.”
“Unhelpful. Caroline is unlikely to do the same.” She was entirely too independent to even consider relying on him, and he expected she had received more than one proposal in the throes of passion.
Henry linked his fingers and lay them across his chest. “From what I gather, Caroline has no particular desire to marry again. But if she likes you, and if you would offer her security, why would she refuse you?”
“People would talk.”
“Does she care about that sort of thing?”
“Not for her sake,” George allowed. “But she’s mentioned the negative impact of her society on my reputation more than once. And it would be bordering on scandalous to marry her, especially given she’s older than me by five years.”
“Well, if you want my advice, speak to Louisa about how best to win her over,” Henry said. “She’ll know better than anyone.”
The prospect of speaking to sharp-tongued Louisa about his interest in her closest friend was a daunting one, but Henry was probably right. Caroline was withholding something from him. Every time he delved too deeply into her past life, she closed herself off. Out of respect, he had not made enquiries into her family name—he could not have cared if she came from a pig farmer—but perhaps it behoved him to look into her, if he was to pursue her.
Then there was the matter of his father. The sooner he informed the Viscount that he would not be choosing a wife from Forbes’s list, the better. He would be free to pursue the one unmarried woman in all of thetonwhom, he suspected, he had the least chance with.
He was not sure if he had ever wanted anything more.
#
George entered the Pump Room in Bath with somewhat less than his usual good temper. The journey had been long, dusty, and hot, and when he had arrived at his father’s lodgings, it was to the information that his father was not home.
Impatient, barely pausing to write his name in the visitor’s book, he glanced around the large room. The pump was at oneend, the orchestra at the other, and parties moved up and down in crowds, not seeming to mind the crush. George, also, would not have minded the crush if it had not been so damned hot. He didn’t see why more windows could not be open, or why anyone would want to while away their time in such a godforsaken place.
A gap in the crowds allowed him to see his father, carefully seated to one side in his chair and being served a glass of mineral water by a woman in a cap. George strode to join them, and was greeted by the lady’s welcoming smile and his father’s distinctly unwelcoming gaze.
“Well?” his father demanded.
