Reg held up the gossip sheet, waving the cursed thing in the air.
Hunt took it out of his friend’s hand, his eyes scanning the blasted article.
“Dearest Readers,”Hunt began reading, his voice full of disgust, “Welcome to March. I’m back! As the snow thaws and the weather begins to warm, all of Society’s elite make the arduous journey to London for the start of the Season. Now that our January and February rakes have met their forever matches, it is time to turn our gazes to our scoundrel for March. It is a well-deserved title, if I do say so myself.”
Hunt stopped reading, unable to read the account of his life. “Damn it all to hell!” He tossed the sheet up in the air, following it as it landed between his and Reg’s feet.
“It could be worse,” Reg said, shrugging his shoulders, his dark brown eyes peering at Hunt. “At least she highlighted your better qualities.”
“Better qualities? She objectified me like I was a fucking light skirt!” Hunt shouted, raising his hands. “Not only that, but she also went on and on about my family, detailing personal matters.”
“Everyone in England is aware of your family history. It is not a secret your father was a bastard to you, your mother, and H-Helen.” Reg’s voice staggered at Hunt’s sister’s name, a fact that Hunt ignored since the man was his closest friend.
“It doesn’t matter that it’s not a secret. To have it announced as if it were not a painful experience for my mother is cruel, even for this Belle person.” He huffed out in exasperation.
It was one thing to attack him. Bringing his sweet, kind mother into this debacle made Hunt furious.
“Your mother is one of the strongest women I know. She can handle anything.” Reg folded his long arms over his chest. “What are you really upset about?”
“I’m upset about the damn target on my back for every chit of marrying age and their eager mamas.” Hunt pointed out the window.
Hunt couldn’t believe it. He’d seen what thisRake Reviewarticle had done to its previous victims. Targeting them, releasing all of Society on them until the gentlemen had no choice but to marry. Poor fools, they’d easily fallen into the spider’s trap, but that would not be the case for him.
No, he’d seen firsthand the cruel indifference of marriage. How a seemingly lovely spouse—according to his mother—could suddenly turn their back on you and their own children.
His father never wanted an heir. Why would he, when he had his precious nephew to inherit it all? After Hunt and Helen were born, their bastard of a father abandoned their mother, professing to all who would listen that she had deceived him into believing she was barren. It was absurd, of course. It was not his mother’s fault that she never conceived a child with her first husband. Nor was it his or Helen’s fault that they were born, but the man who’d fathered them had blamed them all the same.
There was no point in marriage. Why bind yourself to another person when you couldn’t depend on them to honor their marriage vows?
No, it was better to let the whole fucking earldom crumble around him, rather than to further his father’s line by marrying.It would be a sweet bit of revenge on his father, who only ever cared about his precious earldom.
“I for one,” Reg began, jolting Hunt out of his own head, “would embrace it.”
“Embrace it? Are you mad?” Hunt tilted his head at his friend, raising an eyebrow.
It was an old habit of his, from when he was a child and he and his sister would make funny faces at each other to pass the time. They both had exceptional eyebrow-manipulating skills to prove it.
“Yes, embrace it! Bed a debutante or five. This is a golden opportunity for you, my friend—for us.” Reg waved a finger between them.
“I’m not deflowering a debutante,” Hunt said, not believing his suggestion.
Hunt was a great many things because of his father’s disdain, but he did not take advantage of an innocent.
Perhaps if he hadn’t had his mother and his sister beating decency into him, he could easily have been the person his father, the Ton, and this Belle believed him to be, but he did have some scruples.
“Most debutantes aren’t innocent. It’s 1822, Hunt. They’re women of the future. They just pretend to marry some poor nob who doesn’t know the difference between a virgin and a whore.”
Hunt laughed at his friend’s words, thankful for the day they’d met as children. He was a lonely boy, until he’d met Reg. All of Society labeled him a bastard, but there was no proof. There were no lovers in his mother’s wake, one thing his father could never deny. Both Hunt and Helen were in possession of the Wakefield sparkling green eyes, a shocking trait to be sure, but even more beautiful on Hunt and his sister with their rich chestnut skin.
“You do realize we’re both considered nobs,” he said, as a sharp knock rang through the carriage.
They’d arrived at Reg’s humble accommodations for the Season. No matter how much Hunt and his mother insisted, his friend refused to stay at March House. Reg had no fortune, no mother or siblings. He was alone, but he’d always have Hunt.
“You’re not a nob,” Reg said, picking up the discarded gossip sheet. “You’re magnificent.” He threw the gossip sheet at Hunt, who caught it between deft fingers. His friend opened the carriage door, laughing hysterically.
Hunt had thought that being named the Earl of March was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but he was wrong. Being christened the Magnificent Earl was undeniably horrific.
“Get out of my carriage, you bloody sod!” Hunt flung the back of his hand at his closest friend as the carriage door opened.
