“Well, that went better than I expected.”
Throwing a glare at his friend, he stalked from the room, now furious with the one man he thought he could depend upon.
Collecting his coat and hat, he strode outside to his carriage, tempted to leave before Harewood joined him. Unfortunately, even in his anger, he wouldn’t do so.
When his friend entered the carriage, he barely waited for the door to close before he knocked on the ceiling and they started to move.
“I’m feeling that you either did not think your call was successful or you are irked at me for some reason.” Harewood pulled on the cuffs of his greatcoat to straighten the sleeves, a telltale sign he knew the answer to his own question.
“Irked would be understating the feeling.” Now if he could just figure out why.
“I see no reason why you should be upset with me. I helped you tremendously.” Harewood lifted his brows as if he were truly puzzled.
“Helped me? I’m surprised Lady Amelia didn’t rescind her offer the way you pushed her to agree to start the painting this winter. When did you get so old that it became acceptable to be rude.”
“If I hadn’t pushed her as you so delicately put it, you’d be cooling your heels for another year before the banns were ever posted. Then where would you be? You’re lucky I stepped in. That woman would have put off your marriage until the next century if she could.”
He opened his mouth to rebut Harewood’s accusation, but he had no defense. He had also noticed her reticence and assumption to prolong the inevitable. “Why do you think that is?” The words slipped out before he could take them back.
“That my friend is the question. She’s turned down two men before you, but for some unknown reason has chosen to accept your proposal, only to try to put off anyone knowing about it for as long as possible.” Harewood shook his head. “I fear you have a potential inmate for Bedlam as your betrothed.”
“No, she is not unbalanced. She is very intelligent, but she looks at the world differently than most of us.” In fact, that may very well be the key to his interest in her. No, he must know more. To not would be akin to having a spoon of blancmange and no more, ever.
“I, for one, am sorry I suggested Lady Amelia. Lady Susan would have perhaps been the best first choice after all.”
That Harewood could suggest Lady Susan, a young woman with the personality of a candlestick, was in anyway preferable to Lady Amelia had his anger resurfacing. “You forget the woman I marry will be someone I will live with for the rest of my life.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to like her. Bed her a few times to produce a couple heirs then live your own life.” Harewood’s brows lowered. “Your father has proven that is perfectly acceptable.”
“Yes, perhaps. But he also found an early grave and left my mother a shadow of herself. You know damn well I plan on not following in my father’s salacious footsteps.”
Harewood’s eyes rounded. “I thought you’d given up that childish pledge.”
“That childish pledge was based upon facts that still hold true today.”
“Sometimes I forget how different we are.” Harewood turned his head away to stare at the buildings they passed.
“Yes, and in our differences, we find our strength.” Though his friend didn’t acknowledge his sentiment, they had long held their friendship was based on the fact that what one had as a strength, the other had as a weakness. Could it be like that with a wife, though obviously with different characteristics?
The rest of their ride continued in silence. Outside was another matter as the hawkers cried out their wares as many a coach headed out of the city. Soon they pulled in front of his London home. He bid Harewood farewell, and his coach took the man to his abode.
Andrew walked into the house to find servants running to and fro.
“Oh there you are, Andrew. Did you get your business finished?” His mother handed a maid a shawl and a small bust of Cicero. “Be sure to pack those with my things.”
Since he must keep his betrothal a secret for now, he linked his arm with hers and steered her into the parlor where the housekeeper was overseeing the packing of the writing desk. His mother’s face was flushed, and she appeared out of breath. “Mrs. Ridley, have someone please bring us tea.”
“But I must see to the packing.” His mother looked over her shoulder as the housekeeper bustled out of the room.
He led her to the settee, and holding her hand, he gently guided her to sit. “You know that Mr. Pratt and Mrs. Ridley have done this every year since I was born.”
Her lips puckered. “Yes, but I direct them.”
“I know you do, but right now you need to sit with me and have some tea.” He didn’t like how warm her hand felt. “I wish your attention for a bit.”
Her gaze finally left the servants and focused on him. “I’m sorry. Without your father here, I feel as if there is so much more to do, but there really isn’t, is there? He never was here on packing day. He had too much business to attend to before leaving for Lyonsmere.” She laid her free hand on his face. “You have taken care of everything, stepped into his role beautifully.” Her gaze lost focus. “I remember when your father was your age. I first met him at Almack’s. He commanded everyone’s attention.” She blinked then looked at him. “You will need to marry, you know.” She dropped her hand. “Find a nice lady with a perfect reputation. That’s why your father married me.”
He didn’t mention that he’d been looking for two years, since his father’s health started to fail. “I know. It will be hard to find a wife who is as capable as you.”
