“Reserved. Are you using softer language because you really want to call her a simpleton? I don’t have time for that. Speak.”
“One of these days, I am going to kick you in the shin, Gerald, I swear.”
“You can try. Miss Bridget.”
“She is, in fact, very reserved. There is something… gloomy about her. She is a beautiful girl, don’t get me wrong, but she seems to be constantly sad.”
“That won’t do.”
“I’d say. You have enough gloom to go around; you don’t need to add to that,” Morgan chuckled.
“I am getting the sense that this whole thing amuses you.”
“I can assure you I find it so outrageous that it has circled all the way to comical.”
“The other girl.”
Morgan drank and looked at his friend, trying one last time to make him reconsider. He was faced with a cold wall of determination.
“The youngest is Miss Arabella. She is…”
“Morgan! Go. On.”
“Miss Arabella is the jewel of the ton.”
Gerald’s impassive expression morphed into a calculating look. His eyes, deep green and unreadable, fixed on Morgan with renewed interest.
“She is a very social girl; everyone in the ton knows her and loves her. She is witty and fearless in expressing her opinions. Yet she remains poised and polite, the heart of each ball, and though she knows every gossip, she manages to be a nice person. In fact, it would be easier and faster to say that she is the exact opposite of you.”
“Interesting.”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me correctly. Arabella Marriott will take one look at you, and she will very politely tell you to get out of her merry way.”
“And why hasn’t thatjewelsecured a husband yet?” Gerald said his gravelly voice dripped sarcasm.
Morgan looked at his friend in a way that made Gerald realize that, despite his protests, the precious Miss Marriott is not that unattainable. Pure resignation reflected on Morgan’s face.
“Neither of the girls has any dowry worth mentioning. Barely any.”
Gerald smiled that wolfish grin that made Morgan huff in irritation. Gerald looked down at the old contract, the signature of the Viscount clear as day, and his smile widened.
“Then the problem was solved,” Gerald said and moved to his armchair, satisfied.
“Whose problems exactly? I have the distinct feeling that Miss Arabella’s problems have just begun. Care to explain to me why you are so desperate to secure a wife?”
Gerald froze for a moment at the question, his jaw tightening. His best friend knew him well. This kind of urgency was uncharacteristic of him. And he had never before expressed any desire to take a bride and produce an heir.
“You know how hard it was to get close to Emrys.”
“Shall I alert the newspapers? You have trouble getting close to anyone.”
“Your insightful comments on my personality are getting tedious.”
“Exactly like said personality.”
Gerald threw a side glance at his friend that could curdle milk.
“Fine, fine,” Morgan conceded. “But I will need slightly more context on how you meeting the Earl and the Countess of Pembleton came to be the one thing that brought poor Miss Marriott in your line of sight.”
