“Excellent. A fine choice.”
“There has been no choice yet.”
His father took the brandy from the footman. “No. No, of course not.”
Hart eyed the older man. His father had been handsome in his day. His dark hair was now liberally streaked with silver. His green eyes were a bit dulled, but his physique was still impressive, tall and broad. He hadn’t begun to lose his waistline the way so many of his peers had. The man kept himself fit. He rode his horses often, and his mistresses more often.
His father had been hardened by his marriage. His wife’s infidelities had spawned his own. He’d gone from drinking and complaining, to trying to one-up his wife. But they were discreet. He’d give them that. His parentswere united on one point and one point only. They detested scandal.
“I told you I intend to take a wife, but there is no rush, Father. The Season has barely begun.”
“Yes, of course. I couldn’t agree more. But I’ve been asking around about Lady Eugenia. She’d make a fine choice. Large dowry. Good family. No scandal. She has her share of wealthy, titled suitors. Obviously isn’t after you for those things.”
“Aren’t all women after me for those things? Isn’t that what you’ve always told me?”
“No woman is perfect, Hart. You’ll have to pick one of them eventually.”
“Sarah likes her.”
“There,” Father said in a booming voice. “You see.”
Hart took a healthy swallow of brandy and winced. “Father, may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Hart braced himself. “Other than her lack of dowry, would Meg Timmons beentirelyunsuitable for me?”
His father’s eyes bugged from his skull, and he nearly spit his drink. Hart suspected only decades of breeding kept him from it. “Meg Timmons? Have you lost your wits?”
Hart took another swig of brandy. “She’s beautiful, healthy, from goodton.”
“If you call Baron Tifton goodton,” his father scoffed. “The man is a profligate. He owes money to half of London.”
“You were once thick as thieves with the family. Or do you forget?”
“I haven’t been in years, or doyouforget?” Hisfather’s face turned red with anger. “Meg Timmons is the last girl on earth I’d allow you to marry.”
Father had been deep in his cups when he’d told Hart the real reason he and Meg’s father had a falling-out, but the old man often forgot the things he said when he was deep in his cups. Things he had no business sharing with a teenage boy. Things Hart had never wanted to hear about his mother, his father, and their marriage. All the man had managed to teach his son was how to be wary of all women and how to drink himself to distraction. “I seem to recall you relenting on Sarah’s choice of husband,” Hart pointed out.
His father’s face went redder still and his jaw hardened when he spoke. “I had no choice but to relent and allow Sarah to marry Berkeley. The man ruined her in a church full of people. Besides, while the Marquess of Branford would have been a much more esteemed title to have in the family, Berkeley at least is wealthy and titled, but Iwill not standfor the daughter of my sworn enemy to be a part of this family ever. Do I make myself clear?”
Hart tossed back the rest of his brandy. “Perfectly.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucy Hunt’s magnificent saffron-colored drawing room was crowded with London’s best. Meg glanced around uneasily. Many of the room’s occupants were people who had ignored her for years. Except for the duchess’s friends like Lady Cassandra and Mrs. Upton, the partygoers seemed to eye her with suspicion, as if she were a servant who’d dressed up like a fine lady and pushed her way in. She was wearing a shimmering pink gown that was far too tight in the bodice and convinced her that she looked like a salmon, though Sarah and Lucy assured her she did not. Sarah stood at Meg’s side, stalwart amid the private panic that had Meg’s stomach tied in knots.
“Sir Winford has arrived.” Sarah clasped Meg’s hand and squeezed it. “He looks quite dashing tonight.”
Meg dared a glance up. Sir Winford did indeed look handsome, as he did every night, but it wasn’t Sir Winford who made her heart skip and her pulse race. Hartstood not twenty paces away talking to Lady Eugenia Eubanks, whom Lucy had invited at the last minute.
“Yes.” Meg nodded blindly. “Sir Winford looks quite well.”
“He would make a fine candidate for a husband,” Sarah said for perhaps the dozenth time in the last two days.
“He would indeed,” Meg agreed numbly, trying not to stare at the back of Hart’s dark head and trying not to wonder at what Lady Eugenia had said that made him laugh that way.
“And given your news…,” Sarah continued.
