Ah.Colin forced a weak smile. “Worry not, brother. No marriage proposals are on the horizon.”
A small crowd had gathered in Anne’s room, and Ashton gently ushered them out. “Alice, we’ll all step outside while you get Anne into some dry clothes, then I’d like to examine her more fully.”
As Colin stepped outside, Ellie stepped in front of him. “You saved her, Papa.” Still clutching the puppy in her arms, Ellie stared at him, and his chest swelled with happiness at the pride shining in his daughter’s eyes.
He’d been so distant. Wrapped in his own guilt and grief for far too long. He made a vow. He would be a more present father to his daughters.
In his own room, Colin washed off the remaining lake residue and, with Fitz’s capable assistance, redressed in dry clothing.
The man chattered about Colin’s gallantry and how the whole of Burwood’s staff was abuzz with the news. “You are quite the hero, my lord.”
Colin doubted Miss Weatherby would describe him as such. Once recovered, she might very well accuse him of sending her into the lake to begin with.
But the whole event had sent Colin’s mind reeling back to his girls. And he reconsidered his words to Burwood. He would find them a mother.
Tradition dictated he needed a bride from a titled family. Lady Miranda—sensible, poised, and demonstrating good judgment—might serve perfectly as his viscountess.
True, there was no spark of passion, not that his first marriage fared better. But wasn’t that the point of aristocratic marriages? No wild passions would muddle rational thought. They could grow in affection for each other as he and Margery had. Calm and orderly,that’s what he and the girls needed. Not a whirlwind of trouble who drove him to distraction.
He would see about arranging more time with Lady Miranda especially around the girls. Surely, she would be a better role model than the elfin menace.
Fitz continued his prattling as he finished knotting Colin’s neckcloth. He chuckled, sending a warning flare up Colin’s spine, and patted him on the chest. “They say Miss Weatherby is bound and determined to catch a husband by hook or crook and will do so here at Hartridge House.”
“Well, rest assured, it won’t be me.”
The girls may need a mother, but Anne Weatherby, the Nymph of Nuisance, would not fill the position.
CHAPTER 9
Dried and redressed, Anne stretched out on a chaise longue on the terrace. Miranda and Honoria flanked her, and, from a chair opposite, even Charlotte watched her pensively. “Goodness. Will you all stop hovering? I’m fine.” Her throat burned, and her voice sounded raspy as she coughed out the words.
Face grim, Burwood stood behind Honoria at attention. Anne could envision him dressed in his officer’s uniform from his military days.
Only Simon Beckham lightened the mood. “Blast, but I’m sorry I missed it. It must have been a sight. Were you really knocked in by a puppy?”
Charlotte turned to her husband. “Simon, really. This is no laughing matter.” However, a smile ghosted across Charlotte’s typically stern countenance.
“Well, you look none the worse for wear,” Andrew said. “And Harry assures us you only lost consciousness momentarily.”
“Thank goodness Lord Manning was there and acted so quickly.” Alice shook her head. “And to think just moments before he was here on the terrace with the rest of us.”
“It was your talk of suttee that drove him away, Alice,” Andrew said.
“Oh, Alice, you didn’t?” As much as Lord Grump annoyed Anne, she understood why he might have been offended.
“I will apologize, but I’m also glad he did leave to save you, dearest. Perhaps my faux pas will be forgiven.”
As everyone joined forces to reassure Alice, Anne’s mind drifted to how Lord Manning must have felt listening to tales of wives throwing themselves on funeral pyres at the deaths of their husbands.
She stifled a snort of laughter. He was probably relieved the practice didn’t apply to husbands of deceased wives. Although...
“We should all give Lord Manning a wide berth, I suspect,” Mr. Grey said. “I would imagine being around all these happily married couples is difficult.”
Anne blinked. For a former naval man who also ran a gambling establishment, Mr. Grey was quite sensitive.
Perhaps . . .
Before she could finish the thought, Lord Grump strolled out onto the terrace. He halted several feet from her, and his gaze shifted around the rest of the group before landing squarely on her. “Am I intruding?”
