Lord Carew Fernvine, Marquess of Dalhousie, sat at his club, Boodle’s, and scoffed at the missive in his friend’s grasp, who was currently wearing a look of disbelief.
Apparently,someonehad found him the perfect bride.
After most of Carew’s anger had subsided, he realized that it had been a move worthy of checkmate when the anonymous note had been sent to his mother’s residence in London, instead of his bachelor residence. The reason, of course, was that they likely knew his curious mother would demand to know the contents of the mysterious letter, and he would be forced to hand it over.
Naturally, his mother was overjoyed, as at his age of eight and twenty, she considered that it was time he did his duty to the family since his two younger sisters were already wed. And since he had been the head of the house for the past four years since his father’s death, she brought it up at least once every time he visited. Generally, he was forced to succumb to a lengthy inquisition about all the eligible ladies to be found in London. At one point she’d even given him a list of their accomplishments.
Forgive him if he didn’t think ‘adept at watercolors’ was a qualification to be his wife.
“Of all the ladies in London,” Lord Marcus Keane continued. “I cannot believe that anyone might suggest Miss ‘Dull’cenia Hargrove.”
Carew had been under the same impression. In truth, he wondered what might be wrong withhimthat such a mousy wallflower might be suggested as his future companion. It wasn’t as if he was unattractive, at least, the ladies of thetondidn’t seem to find fault with his appearance. From his dark blond hair to his blue eyes and trim physique (thanks to a love of riding), he considered himself something of a catch, even if he didn’t want to be caught.
So, even if his pride had been slightly injured at the thought of being paired with Miss Hargrove, there was a miniscule part of him that wondered why. Surely they didn’t have anything in common, for the bespeckled girl didn’t appear to be a fan of the outdoors. Or much else, for that matter. But, then, he’d never really given her more than a passing glance, like the rest of the gentlemen of his association. Or most of London.
He pinched the bridge of his nose as Marcus continued to sputter his sentiments, as if his companion had been the one affronted. In truth, while he wanted to ignore the summons to the Duke and Duchess of Ross’s house party, he was finding that he was oddly compelled to go. The letter had claimed that the lady had blossomed into an enchanting young woman, but he found it difficult to imagine that being so.
Either way, he had to make a decision.
“—and then to dare to persuade you to attend this ridiculous house party for the sole reason of walking blindly into the parson’s mousetrap. Quite literally, if you ask me, only to—”
“I’m of a mind to attend.”
Marcus halted and looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “You cannot be serious! Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“How could I not? You’ve been rather vocal with your opinions.” Carew rolled his eyes. “I don’t intend to marry the chit, but neither do I wish to cool my heels any longer until the season begins. This will be a nice distraction from the mundane and the Ross house party is said to be legendary when it comes to sport.”
“You say that now,” Marcus muttered. “But if you come back with a burdensome wife attached to your person, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Carew stood. “Your warning is duly noted, but rest assured, it will not be necessary. I shall not be coerced, or trapped, into anything, especially the matrimonial state.”
As he gathered his outerwear and exited the club, Carew allowed the furrow between his brows to deepen, because while he might have appeared confident in front of Marcus, he wasn’t as comfortable with this situation as he would have led his friend to believe.
He was being honest when he said he would attend the house party, mainly out of boredom as he’d suggested, but he would be on his guard the entire time. If Miss Hargrove and her accomplice thought he would be an easy conquest, they would be in for a rude awakening.
Dulcenia had never imaginedthat in fourteen days’ time, she would be transformed from an invisible wallflower into an enchanting debutante, but somehow, Lady Osbourne had done the impossible. Or, at least, as close as one could manage when it came to an awkward girl who generally disappeared into the furnishings of any room. The current girl resembled a young lady who appeared to hold an air of mystery and allure.
Unfortunately, Dulcenia was still the same on the inside, her nerves still fluttering madly in her midsection. However, Lady Osbourne had taught her how to conceal her emotions and turn her apprehension into that of a charming coquette.
As they climbed into the lady’s carriage, Dulcenia kept her chin at an even level to portray confidence and tried to remember everything else that had been drummed into her head—from sitting demurely to the best advantage, to keeping her laughter at a minimum level. Of course, she knew most of the social graces like dancing and comportment, but Lady Osbourne had helped her to polish those skills. With the help of a few new dresses, some cosmetics to brighten her eyes and plump her lips, and a treatment for her hair that had managed to bring a shine to her formally dismal hair, Dulcenia was ready to impress.
At least, that was what Pandora had said. Dulcenia had yet to think a few outward changes would make that much difference, because her personality was still the same. Without Pandora there to coach her when she was making a misstep in conversation, so that she didn’t ramble and embarrass herself, she wasn’t sure she could live up to her current façade.
She clenched her gloved hands in her lap and looked down at her lavender dress. After a moment, she picked at her skirts. She had thought the color rather soothing at first, having always had a fondness for purple, but her father had never cared much for such ‘fripperies,’ so she’d not pressed the subject and had donned the simple dove gray and brown dresses that her spinster aunt had chosen for her. Her aunt certainly wouldn’t have approved of her forgoing a fichu and allowing so much of her décolletage to show, but Lady Osbourne had assured her it wasn’t vulgar, but rather charming for a young lady to show off certain “assets.”
However, that didn’t keep Dulcenia from keeping her shawl firmly around her shoulders to hide those particular… features.
Wishing to keep her mind off her attire, she found herself asking the one question she had wanted to avoid, and yet, the words still slipped out from her mouth. “You said that this party was to find me a husband.” She paused. “What makes you so confident that I will?”
Lady Osbourne glanced at her from across the carriage, her lips curving upward into a sanguine smile. “Because he accepted my invitation to court you.”
Dulcenia blinked. “Pardon?”
“Oh, did I fail to mention that?” The lady waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t look so appalled, my dear. Sometimes even Cupid needs a bit of assistance when it comes to matters of the heart. I have yet to miss a target.”
Dulcenia tilted her head curiously. “I see,” she said slowly. “And am I to know his name?”
For a moment, that shrewd gaze narrowed, but then she announced, “Lord Carew Fernvine, the Marquess of Dalhousie.”
