“You have an heir and three spares, not counting me,” Theo continued. “You don’t need me to add anyone else to the line of succession—it's overcrowded as it is.” And with that, he stood up, signalling his intention to leave.
“It’s not about heirs, Theobald,” his father said, reaching for the brandy decanter again. “Even if you do not want children, any lady whose hand you seek will do so. Children are an inescapable reality of married life, my boy.”
“In that case it’s just as well that I have no wish to marry.”
Sir Peter sighed. “You are being quite selfish, you know,” he said. “We could do with an heiress in the family.” Pouring himself another brandy, he added wearily, “If you’re going to see your mother, make sure you change your clothes first. She won’t be happy if you drag mud into her sitting room. She’s just had it decorated again.”
Theo took his father’s advice. After bathing and dressing in clean clothes, he made his way to his mother’s sitting room. The last time he’d visited, it had all been black and gold, with Egyptian-inspired furnishings and wall hangings. Now all of that had been ripped out and replaced with a headache-inducing mix of duck-egg blue and saffron.
Lady Prudence herself, in a highly ruffled morning gown and intricate cap of lace and ribbons, was half-reclining on a duck-egg blue chaise longue.
“Good day, Mama,” Theo greeted her, dutifully kissing the hand she extended to him. “You are looking very elegant.”
Lady Prudence preened complacently. She was used to compliments, having been a considerable beauty in her youth. To this day, she retained several of the admirers who had vied for her hand after her coming out. Major Harrison-Smyth, who loyally accompanied her to all the social events his father refused to attend, still appeared to be living in hope that Theo’s father would eventually do the decent thing and expire.
“Thank you, darling,” she said sweetly. “I wish I could say the same for you, but you aren’t looking the least bit elegant. You're as handsome as ever, of course, but I do wish you’d make a little more effort with your tailoring. Not that the ladies will care when they see your other attributes.” She reached for the servants’ bell and gave it a tug. “Anyway, what are you doing back in town?”
Theo chuckled. His mother had her faults, but she could be very amusing. “Believe it or not, I’m in town to attend a wedding. Do you know Oliver Fletcher? His father is Sir Joseph Fletcher. I was friends with his cousin Piers at school.”
“Oh yes indeed!” his mother said, her expression sharpening with amused interest. “I’ve heard he’s caught himself a plump little pigeon—or, more likely, was caught by one. Where’s the wedding taking place?”
“St. George’s,” Theo said. “There’s to be a wedding breakfast after—oh, and a grand dinner at the bride’s father’s house the evening before. Father said you were invited, but he declined.”
“Yes,” Lady Prudence said, pouting prettily, “I’m wildly curious to know what it will be like, but everyone seems to have declined, so what's one to do?”
The footman arrived then, and Lady Prudence gave him orders to fetch a tea tray, with “some of those darling little cakes Mrs. Pike knows I like.”
As soon as the door closed again, she turned back to Theo.
“So, why are you going to the wedding?” she asked, arching a brow. “You always refuse to come along to entertainments when I ask you.”
“Yes, well, society entertainments are deadly dull.”
“And weddings are the dullest entertainments of all,” Lady Prudence pointed out drily. “So I ask again: why are you going?”
Theo smiled ruefully. “Piers begged me—and I owe him a favour. You can blame yourself and Father and anyone else who refused the invitation. Apparently, the bride’s father isn’t at all happy about the guest numbers, so Piers and Fletch have been desperately trying to drum up everyone they know to accept.”
Lady Prudence gave a tinkling laugh, looking positively tickled. “Oh, dear. No, I don’t suppose the father of the bride will like that at all. I did hear that he’s the worst sort of parvenu.” She sighed. “Though he is as rich as Croesus. It’s a shame you didn’t meet the girl before the Fletcher boy. She’d have taken one look at you and fallen head over heels.”
Theo laughed and shook his head. “I think her family's more interested in the title Fletch will inherit than his comeliness.”
“Hmmm, probably,” Lady Prudence said, sounding put out. Then she grinned wickedly. “Tell me. How is Sir Joseph coping with all of this? He must be panicking that the bride will pull out at the last minute, and they can’t have that. They need the money quite desperately, I hear.”
Theo could only marvel at her glee, considering how close she and his father seemed to be to a similar fate. Not that you’d guess, looking at the brand-new upholstery and silk wall hangings in this room.
“Piers didn’t say,” he said vaguely.
His mother rolled her eyes. “Gosh, you men are hopeless at gossip, you really are.” After a moment, she added, “Will Lord Sherrington be rallying round too?”
“George Asquith, you mean?”
“Really, Theo,” his mother remonstrated. “He’s the heir to the Duke of Avesbury. You should refer to him by his courtesy title.”
Theo just rolled his eyes. He had little patience for rank, especially when it came to someone who’d been two years below him at school.
“I expect he’ll be there,” Theo said. "He and Fletch practically lived in each other’s pockets at school.”
George hadn’t been one for hanging around with the other boys. He’d spent all his time with Fletch, or alone, reading. For a while, Theo had tried to encourage him to join in more with team games with the other boys and pointed out to him when he was coming across as fussy, or less than masculine. Looking back, he realised his tactless advice had probably been unhelpful, and that his sometimes joking suggestions as to how George might alter his speech and manners had likely come across as criticism. At the time, though, he’d thought he was passing on vital pearls of wisdom.
