CHAPTER 1
London, England, late May 1833
“Idon’t understand.” Seated across from her eldest brother in his study at their home in Kent, Anne Weatherby held his eyes in a beseeching gaze. Surely, she hadn’t heard him correctly.
Andrew, the head of their family since their dear papa had passed away over ten years ago, shook his head and exhaled a heavy sigh. He sank back against the chair at his desk. “It’s simple, Anne. Now that you’re officially on the shelf, I’m going to actively seek a husband for you.”
At twenty-six, Anne could not deny she was well past the marriageable age for most young ladies. But she didn’tfeelold. Quite the contrary. As to why she hadn’t married, it wasn’t for lack of trying to find a husband. Some people, like Lady Charlotte, commented that Anne was a littletoopersistent.
As if that were possible.
What was wrong with flirting and having fun?
Still, something about Andrew’s announcement set her on edge. She glanced at her sister-in-law Alice, the more reasonable of the two. “He can’t force me to marry anyone I don’t like, can he?”
“Stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” Andrew said.
In the chair next to her, Alice gave Anne’s hand a gentle squeeze, then sent her husband a disapproving look before directing her full attention on Anne. “Of course not, dearest. We want you to be happy. But perhaps with Andrew’s...um...encouragement, the right gentleman will make an offer.”
“Encouragement?” Anne frowned. Unease tickled its way up her spine at whatencouragementmight imply.
“I’m going to increase your dowry to fifteen thousand, Anne.”
Contrary to the belief of her contemporaries, Lady Charlotte in particular, Anne was not a ninnyhammer. “Won’t that attract fortune hunters?”
“Not the way I intend to handle it. They won’t know the precise amount of your dowry until I’ve had ample opportunity to, let’s say, determine their integrity and suitability.”
“You’vedetermined?” Anne was not easily riled, but once again, her brother’s choice of words poked a warning. “You make it sound so businesslike. As if you will be arranging interviews for the position.”
It was Andrew’s turn to cast a beseeching gaze. “A little help here, Alice.”
“It’s not as dreadful as all that, my dear. Andrew has compiled a list of prospects.”
“A list?” As if finding a husband were as simple as going to the market. An inadvertent chuckle escaped with the acknowledgement that most people referred to events during the Season as the Marriage Mart. Similar but certainly not simple.
Andrew hitched a red brow. “You find a list amusing, Sister?”
Waving the question away, Anne asked her own. “And who are these prospects? Are they hiding in the woodwork? Because from my own estimation, Juliana snapped up one of the last decent men three years ago.”
Andrew pulled a parchment from his desk drawer and placed it before him. “Well, there’s um.” He cleared his throat, not meeting her gaze, and the hair on the back of Anne’s neck prickled. “StanleyLudlow. I understand his father has been pressing him to make a match.”
“The man with the nasally voice who looks like a scarecrow?” Anne shivered. She’d danced with him at Juliana and Mr. Pratt’s engagement ball. “He complains abouteverything.”
Andrew’s finger traveled down the paper. “Very well. What about Oscar Fairchild? He’s just returned from an extended stay on the continent after receiving the news of his father’s death. You would be a baroness, Anne. Lady Fairchild.”
“I could have been a duchess,” Anne mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and slumping in her chair.
Apparently, Andrew overheard her comment. “And deprived Burwood of complete happiness with Her Grace? Now, Anne, don’t be petty.”
Petty? Yes, Anne admitted. The Duke of Burwood had only gone through the motions of an attachment due to his guilt over her accident at his house party four years ago. His heart had been committed to Lady Honoria before Anne had ever met him.
Was it wrong to want a title? To be respected? To have status among society? To be taken seriously? Although Andrew was landed gentry and as rich as Croesus, not to mention best of friends with the Duke of Ashton, there were still those in thetonwho turned up their noses at the Weatherbys.
But a simple baroness? Anne considered the possibility. At least a baron was part of the peerage. “What does this Lord Fairchild look like?”
Andrew and Alice exchanged another glance, but it was Alice who responded. “Appearances aren’t everything, my dear. A man with a good heart, who will treat you well?—”
“So he’s hideous? Is that what you’re so careful to avoid saying?”
