“‘Like him’? Well, I don’tdislikehim, but that’s not…” She frowned. “Mr. Feather won’t be any happier about this arrangement than I am.” In fact, Erina hoped Mr. Feather would create enough of a fuss to prevent it. Unless his father was as decided to see them married, as hers was. There was no point in arguing with him. She would have to think of a way out of it. But she needed time.
“I had hoped you might take me to Ireland, Papa.”
“‘Ireland’? Why go there?”
She retrieved the letter from the pocket in her skirts. “Cousin Cathleen is in trouble. Before her father died, he lost their home to a neighbor in a card game. Mr. Gormley, a man she mistrusts and is afraid of, has offered her the choice between marriage or being cast out into the street.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, but what on earth can I do about it?” Herfather made a slashing motion with his hand. “I severed my connection with that family years ago.”
Erina stared at him bitterly. She excused herself, and wiping away tears, which resulted more from frustration than sorrow, gathered up the skirts of her green velvet riding habit to climb the stairs. She prayed this marriage would never happen. Perhaps she’d fall ill and hover on the brink of death for a few weeks. After that, her father could hardly…
In her bedchamber, she threw herself onto the faded, floral counterpane of her four-poster bed. With her arm over her eyes, she revisited the scene in the library. It sounded as if the negotiations had already been settled between her father and Sir Ambrose. And without first consulting her! Well, she would never agree. She couldn’t afford to wait and must do something to stop it.
Erina rolled off the bed and reread Cathleen’s letter. The words had not lost their impact. With a huge sigh, she folded the missive and tucked it into a drawer. If she were a man, she could travel to Ireland and rescue Cathleen. Father obviously had no time for the Irish or her mother’s family. But as he wasn’t a coldhearted man, she was sure he would take pity on Cathleen once she sought sanctuary beneath his roof. The question was: how to get her here?
Chapter Two
The morning Jackintended to set out on his journey, his cousin Grant paid him a visit at his rooms in Piccadilly. Jack liked him, always had. If the dukedom were to go to anyone, it should be to Grant. A decent fellow, he would take infinite care of his inheritance. Even as a lad, he had been of a serious mien and considered ancestry to be of great import. He’d make as good and fair a duke as Jack’s father had before him.
Jack admitted Grant to his bedroom while he continued to pack. He deliberated over adding another shirt. Every item needed to be carefully selected, as there was very little room in his portmanteau. “Take a seat, Grant. Can I offer you a drink?”
His tall, fair-haired cousin folded himself into a chair. “No, thank you. I see you mean to go on this journey. I thought it might only be talk. You know, a reaction to that business with my aunt.”
“There is nothing that lot can do or say to upset me. Although they do keep trying.” Jack looked up from folding the shirt. “So, you thought I was all piss and wind.”
Grant sighed. “Let’s just say I hoped you would change your mind. Mr. Simms, the family solicitor, is to read the will this afternoon. You’ll stay for that, surely?”
Jack shook his head. “Whatever it contains will keep until I return.”
“You’re heading north to your estate?”
“In a roundabout fashion. Thought I’d go via Ireland.”
Grant uncrossed his legs and sat up. “‘Ireland’?”
“I’ve never been there.”
“Neither have I. What’s that got to do with it?”
“Nothing, I suppose. Just have a hankering to see it.” He’d been thinking it for a while, after discovering letters of his mother’s in a drawer of his father’s desk.
Grant nodded, light dawning in his gray eyes. “Your mother’s people were Irish.”
“Yes, but I’m a stranger to them. Can’t see they’d want that to change.”
If Grant thought seeing Ireland would cure Jack’s restlessness, he was barking up the wrong tree. It was curiosity that drew him, pure and simple. Jack squeezed his toiletry bag containing soap, toothbrush, and a hairbrush into his portmanteau. He added a slim box holding his razors. Difficult to find those on the road, and since being in the army, he disliked disorder of any kind. In the side flap of the saddle, he’d add the currying brush to keep Arion in the best condition. The horse would enjoy this trip as much as he. The stallion had been a wonderful asset to Jack during the war and appeared to relish the adventure.
He eyed his cousin. “I expect you’ll tour the ballrooms now to select a bride from the current crop of debutantes,” he said with a grin. He knew Grant would prefer to remain closeted in his study with his history books and tomes on heraldry. “Time you married, anyway, at thirty-two.”
Grant didn’t look too eager as he smoothed back his fair hair with both hands. “I’m prepared to do my duty.” He watched with obvious unease as Jack checked his pistol.
“‘Duty’?” Jack chuckled. “If it’s not to be a love match, find a woman you want to bed. One who makes you laugh. You’re going to be together for a long time, God willing.”
He did up his portmanteau and gave it a pat. “Well, I believe if I can’t offer you a drink, I’ll be off.”
Grant’s eyebrows furrowed together. “You’ll stay clear of any trouble, Jack. Or is that a waste of words? Trouble tends to find you.”
Jack laughed and slapped him on the back. “It’s the spice of life, Grant. Along with the ladies. You should venture out and see for yourself.”
