Colin stopped fussing with the sleeves of his coat and met his valet’s eyes. “Why not? She’s a well-bred, sensible woman. Her brother seems most eager to see her married. He even mentioned a substantial dowry to me. Not that it matters.”
Fitz’s lips pressed together in a line as thin as the blade used to shave Colin’s evening whiskers. “It’s probably nothing.”
“What’s nothing?” Damn, but he hated when his man talked in riddles. “Spit it out. For over a year, you’ve been beating about the bush for me to remarry.”
“There was some talk among the servants?—”
“Let me stop you right there. You know how I feel about gossip, and I will not have you or any other servant besmirch the name of a member of good society.”
“Of course, sir. Very good, sir.” Fitz bowed so many times he looked like a springed toy Colin once had as a boy. At the door, he bowed once more and left Colin in peace.
Colin adjusted his cravat, which in truth wasperfectly tied, then plucked a flower from an arrangement on his dressing table. A smile formed on his lips.
Women loved flowers.
The more he thought about it, the more perfect he found the solution to be. The girls needed a mother, and he still needed an heir.
The very idea of entering the Marriage Mart again, with its endless balls, soirees, garden parties, and vapid conversation with silly young women, set his teeth on edge.
He’d been fortunate with Margery, their families arranging the match during Margery’s first Season. Colin himself had only been twenty-three. Society had christened it the perfect pairing. They courted for a year before marrying, something Margery’s family had insisted upon, and Colin had no objection. He had been in no great hurry, and the engagement freed him from fending off the advances of other hopeful ladies.
Quiet and reserved, yet poised and elegant, Margery proved to be the perfect woman to become his viscountess, and the future Marchioness of Stratford.
No burning passion ignited between them, but over the years a steady and honest affection built on respect and mutual love for their daughters grew. Their marriage was comfortable, like sinking into an overstuffed cushioned chair and reading a good book.
Their union had been better than many in the aristocracy, where husbands stole off to mistresses for excitement and wives took their own lovers after producing the requisite heir and a spare.
Colin had never strayed. He’d been faithful, even through Margery’s illness.
But Honoria’s marriage to Burwood gave Colin pause. What he believed to be a youthful infatuation had blossomed into an enduring love. Witnessing such adoration and devotion had been eye-opening.
Colin had attributed it to the newness of their marriage, much like Victor Pratt and his wife, Juliana. Even he had experienced some of the blush of excitement with Margery at the beginning.
Yet, there were others, married for some years with manychildren, who still exhibited the same intensity of devotion. Ashton and his duchess for one, Lord Montgomery and his bluestocking viscountess another, even Mr. and Mrs. Weatherby exchanged glances sparkling with passion.
Part of Colin wondered what it would be like to be adored so deeply, to love so passionately.
But he didn’tneedpassion. He needed stability for the girls, not some romantic fantasy for himself. As he considered his choices, Lady Miranda appeared perfect.
A woman like Lady Charlotte with her direct and often confrontational manner would certainly frighten the girls, and Colin admired Mr. Beckham for his patience. Although the man certainly appeared besotted with his outspoken wife. Perhaps there was something to be said about opposite temperaments.
On the other end of the spectrum, Anne Weatherby shoved her way to the front of his thoughts. Reluctantly, he admitted his attraction to her, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. Flighty, exuberant, lacking decorum, she was the complete opposite of Margery—and in many respects to himself, or at least the man he presented to the world.
But as the heir to a marquessate, he had to maintain a certain image, and so he had put aside all the boyish notions of adventure and daring, and yes, danger. In other words, he grew up.
And he needed a wife who matched that image. Lady Miranda fell safely in between Lady Charlotte and the Elfin Menace, like a comfortable shoe broken injust enoughbut still new and shiny.
Although closer to his age than a newly presented debutante, Lady Miranda had plenty of childbearing years ahead of her, and Colin intended to get started on that task immediately after he remarried.
It had been too long. In many respects.
Flower in hand, he marched downstairs, intent on finding Lady Miranda.
CHAPTER 10
Excitement from the fencing match died down, and most of the party dispersed back into the house. Honoria, of course, fretted over her brother’s injury, and Burwood delivered a healthy setdown to the footman who had brought the wrong épées.
It appeared Lord Grouch would be no worse for wear other than perhaps sporting a small “battle” scar.
