“I can imagine the uproar you will cause once the ladies of thetonand their marriageable daughters catch their first glimpse of you—though I doubt Lady Belinda will allow anyone else near you.”
“Lady Belinda?”
“Andrew’s betrothed. Your mother didn’t really care for her, but there was no question that she came from one of the finest families in England. A beauty, too. Blond, regal…and quite determined to become Andrew’s bride. Her father, Sebastian Cavendish, the Earl of Stratham, is rumored to have gambled away much of the family wealth but their lineage is impeccable.”
“So no love match for my brother, but a beautiful fortune hunter.”
“Love rarely enters into these arrangements, Alexander, ah, but who can say? Belinda went into mourning after Andrew died and eventually allowed others to court her—my late brother’s only son, Russell, among them. You’ll meet him soon. Yet she spurned her suitors when word spread of Lord Donovan’s inquiry about you. She’s been waiting some time to meet you…quite anxiously, I’ve heard. Perhaps, my dear son, the happy day of your marriage is closer than you think.”
Happy day? As Charles took another shaky sip of brandy, Walker drank, too, emptying his glass with one swallow.
Damnation! His father’s miracle was beginning to look like more of a curse after all.
