He would order his secretary to accept a few appropriate invitations. Then search among the ladies for a suitable bride, one past her first Season who was sensible, intelligent, and kind. A perfect companion to share his quiet lifestyle and raise his children. And if he should be blessed to have a son in the coming years, it would be enough.
*
Lord and LadyCampbell’s soiree was a crowded affair. The stimulating company of friends occupied him for an hour before he moved on, intent on viewing the ladies there tonight. Lady Penelope, the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Wallington, had been out for several Seasons. Surprisingly, she hadn’t married. Nor was she engaged. He would certainly have received a wedding invitation. He made his way over to where she sat talking to an older woman and bowed before her.
Her friend discreetly abandoned her seat, and Gene sat beside her. Her high-necked gown was relatively unadorned, her hair drawn back in a bun. A keen horsewoman, she had never shown much interest in embellishing her looks. Although he thought it hardly necessary. She was a handsome woman.
“It’s been an age since I’ve seen you, Your Grace.”
“I’ve been in the country.”
“Of course.” She lowered her eyelashes in unspoken sympathy. “I relish the quiet hours of contemplation while at our country estate. It is a life to be valued, is it not? Reading Pope and Milton, attending church, riding to hounds, the gardens, who could wish for more?”
“Indeed.” Lady Penelope’s quiet, unassuming manner should please him, and yet Gene found he wished for more…for something. He felt a sort of yearning in his chest near his heart. Not that he merely wished to enjoy a woman. He hadn’t denied himself that pleasure in the past. He looked into Lady Penelope’s cool green eyes but saw a pair of warm brown eyes in his mind. A little guilty, he concentrated on what she was saying.
“I don’t care for Wordsworth and the poetry by those termed the Romantics, do you, Your Grace?”
“I do actually. Some of it.”
“Wordsworth has admitted there is very little poetic diction in his works.”
“It is not his aim, certainly.” Gene enjoyedThe Lyrical Balladsbut wasn’t about to get into a discussion about why he did. He suspected Lady Penelope would never be persuaded to his view.
“I rode in Hyde Park this morning, a poor substitute for the country, but meeting friends makes up for it.” He’d met with Shewsbury and Pennington, who chuckled over an incident at Prinny’s dinner at Carlton House the previous Saturday. When Gene returned home from Hyde Park, he was ravenous and ate a hearty breakfast.
“A canter down Rotten Row cannot satisfy me,” Lady Penelope said. “Too many amble along and constantly hold one up. Impossible to raise one’s mount above a trot.” She placed a gloved hand on his sleeve. “While in the country, one may ride for miles and never see a soul.”
When he looked into her eyes, he found satisfaction and an acceptance for a life unchallenged. His fingers itched to loosen his cravat, which had grown too tight. What was he thinking? A man in his position shouldn’t show a preference for an unmarried lady and then dismiss her as unsuitable. However, he guessed society had a fair idea of his character by now and knew him to be a dull dog.
He excused himself and rose, then searched for his host and hostess.
“Your Grace.”
He turned at the bright, bubbly voice. Lady Mellicent, curtsying gracefully in a white, classically styled gown trimmed with gold braid. Absolutely ravishing. Her wonderfully warm, chocolate-brown eyes expressed pleasure at seeing him again.Nonsense.
“Lady Mellicent.” He bowed and averted his eyes from her creamy-skinned decolletage. “How pleasant to see you here.”
“You aren’t leaving?”
“Well, yes, I…”
“But it’s still early. And I have something I wish to ask you.”
“Oh?”
“I value your opinion ofOthello, which I saw at the Royal Theatre last evening.”
“I haven’t seen the play, so I can offer no opinion. It has been well received. Please tell me what you thought of it.”
A footman came with a tray of champagne flutes.
It was Gene’s first glass of champagne in months. The cool bubbly wine slipped pleasantly down his throat while aware of the fetching girl beside him. It was difficult to draw his gaze from her. He grew annoyed with himself. This would not do. “Permit me to ask how old you are, Lady Mellicent?”
“Eighteen, Your Grace,” she said with her tinkling laugh. “Why do you ask?”
“I am close to thirty.”
“Nonsense. You are twenty-nine.”
