“You don’t believe me.”
“I do believe you are happy for her. But who will you take to the opera now?”
Fletcher sighed. His not-so-secret love of opera had been developed over the course of many years of accompanying Louisa, who also loved it. They would talk at length about the music, the costumes, the spectacle. But there was something… unmanly about loving opera, so Fletcher had complained, apparently unconvincingly, to his friends about having to attend so often.
“I imagine I will find someone. Perhaps I should. I seem to have become the last man standing. Maybe it’s time for me to find a potential wife candidate to escort to the opera.”
Hugh chuckled. “You use a tone as if you must now go to the rookeries to contract leprosy. Besides, Lark is still unmarried.”
“He’s married to a bottle these days.”
“Indeed. Quite the spectacle he made of himself tonight.”
“I think I managed to get him outside before he did too much damage.”
Hugh sighed. “I’m worried about him.”
“I know.”
“I think I had not considered all the ways love can wreck a man.”
Fletcher turned to Hugh, who was looking out at the garden. “What do you mean?”
“When I met Adele, I would have moved heaven and Earth to be with her. Luckily, I did not have to. She and our son are the greatest things in my life. But Lark has not been so fortunate, and he had to watch the person he loves marry someone else last year. I thought he would be better by now, that he’d make his peace and move on, but I’m afraid he’s more miserable than ever.”
“Yes.”
“I am perhaps not making a compelling argument for courtship.”
Fletcher laughed ruefully. “I will admit that now that I’ve inherited the title, I feel a bit more pressure to find a wife.” Well, perhaps more accurately, Fletcher’s father’s death had brought home for him that life was finite, that he could not fritter away his best years on frivolity. Fletcher had been content to live a lifeof leisure, until recently. He could not put off making his own family indefinitely.
Hugh nodded. “I was young enough when my father passed that I was perhaps better able to resist that pressure.”
“You and Owen both seem happy. Louisa seems happy. I’d like to find some of that happiness for myself.”
“A worthy endeavor.”
“But it’s not as easy as saying, ‘I’d like a wife now.’”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think if you walked back into that ballroom and started a whisper campaign that the Marquess of Greystone is ready to marry, a line of eligible debutantes would form rather quickly.”
Fletcher groaned. He didn’t want an eligible debutante. He wanted a partner in life, someone with some brains and a sense of humor, someone he could have conversations about literature and, yes, opera with. Someone like Louisa, frankly. But… not Louisa.
“Come back inside,” said Hugh. “Find some beautiful woman to dance with. Drink and be merry.”
Fletcher downed the rest of his whiskey. “Yes, all right.”
* * *
Louisa hadn’t wanted to announce her engagement in so public a setting. That Daniel insisted on it still puzzled her. It seemed gauche to create a spectacle.
The look on Fletcher’s face would be seared into her mind for a very long time.
She was in the center of a crowd of women slowly losing her mind as everyone tittered and congratulated her. Daniel Woodbine, the Duke of Rotherfeld, was one of the most eligiblemen in theton. Handsome, wealthy,andan accomplished scientist. He’d parlayed a hobby of birdwatching into further scientific study and now sat on the board of the Royal Society of Ornithology. He and Louisa had discussed the mechanics of flight at length—the physics of it were fascinating—although Louisa was less interested in the birds themselves. Still, it was an impressive package, everything Louisa wanted in a husband.
She should have been happier.
They’d been courting on and off for almost a year. Sort of. Louisa had spent the summer at her family’s home near Bristol, and Daniel had only found time to visit her once, so she felt like most of the hot months didn’t really count. She was… fond of Daniel, but she didn’t love him. Her mother kept insisting that would come in time. Louisa believed it. After all, Daniel was very nice to look at—an athletic figure, curly blond hair that swept rakishly over his forehead, sparkling blue eyes, and a dazzling smile—but he was also kind and clever, and marriage to him would mean she’d live in luxury for the rest of her life. She didn’t really care about the luxury, but it was nice. Daniel owned a well-appointed townhouse in London, but he also had a sprawling estate in Shropshire, near the Welsh border. Louisa had not actually seen it yet, but Daniel’s sister assured her that it was beautiful.
