“I’ve been searching for a wife for years now with absolutely no luck whatsoever. Ladies barely seem to know I’m alive. The ones who do, quickly become my friends, with nary a word about marriage.”
“Oh, that doesn’t sound pleasant. Not in the least.” She shook her head and gave him a sympathetic look.
Christian tapped his fingertips along the tabletop. “So, you’ll understand why I’m curious to know the reason you believe being the belle of the Season is horrid.”
She waved a hand in the air. “Oh, it’s quite simple, really. It’s because being the belle of the Season drew the attention of the most eligiblebachelorof the Season.”
“Who is?” Christian took another bite of stew.
“Lord Alistair Branford.”
Christian set down his spoon and scratched his chin. Damn beard was itchy. “Branford? I admit, the man can be a bore, but he’s goodton. What do you find so objectionable about him?”
“You know goodton?” She looked entirely skeptical. “Forgive me,” she rushed to say. “That was rude. I just… it’s just that you…”
“You’re wondering how a man dressed like me and living in the Scottish Highlands knows anything about the ways of the Quality in London?” he asked.
She nodded slowly, a guilty look etched on her fine features.
“You might say I’m loosely connected to the Quality. I’ve been to many a ball in London. Even made an appearance at Almack’s a time or two.”
“You have my sympathy,” Sarah said, making Christian realize that in addition to being able to cook, the young woman had a dry sense of humor. Another surprise from Lady Sarah Highgate.
“Are you of the gentry?” she asked.
“Something like that.” Christian grabbed his spoon again. “But you never said, what is the matter with Branford?”
Sarah uttered a labored sigh. “You’ve clearly never been a young lady suffering his attentions.”
“True.” Christian grinned at her.
“The man is a complete bore. No. He’smorethan a complete bore. He’s constantly talking about himself. It’s his favorite subject: his looks, his clothing, his money, his estates. There’s nothing about himself that he doesn’t find endlessly fascinating.”
Christian took another bite of stew and swallowed. “I take it you don’t share his fascination.”
Sarah folded her hands in front of her on the tabletop. “I do not.”
“So you were forced to suffer the attentions of the Marquess of Branford and that made you run away?” Christian asked.
Sarah’s eyes widened and a look of disgust mixed with a bit of hopelessness crossed her face. “No. I ran away after my father informed me that I was betrothed to the awful man.”
CHAPTER SIX
Christian contemplated the young lady sitting across from him. He’d never considered such aspects of an arranged marriage before. Most of the ladies he knew, like his friends the Duchess of Claringdon, the Countess of Swifdon, and Mrs. Upton, had all chosen their husbands, fallen in love with them, actually. It had to be difficult to be a female forced to marry in accordance with her family’s wishes. It was done all the time, of course. This wasn’t an extraordinary circumstance, but Lady Sarah obviously had chosen to flee rather than obey. At great potential risk to her reputation. He could well imagine how her imperious father would react. The Earl of Highfield was a good man but could be pompous when the occasion arose.
“The worst part is,” she continued, “that everyone keeps informing me how fortunate I am. How lucky to have drawn the eye of the marquess, what a boon it is, et cetera.”
“You don’t feel fortunate?” Christian took another bite of stew.
“I’vetriedto feel fortunate. I have. I truly have. There must be something awfully wrong with me tonotfeel fortunate. But then, one night, I got a funny feeling in my chest. I can’t explain it other than to say that I couldn’t breathe. The room seemed to be closing about me. I felt frightened. I only knew I had to leave.”
“Leave?” Christian narrowed his eyes on her.
“Flee. Get out. Be anywhere but there.”
He watched her carefully. “And you decided to come here?”
“It was the only place I could think of.”
