She took out a fresh sheet of paper, dipped her pen into the inkwell once again and began to write.
Vacancy: One titled and funded lady looking for an eligible lord in need of a wife.Meet in Hyde Park by the entrance to the rose gardens at noon on Tuesday, the 11th of April, 1837.
She stared down at the sheet, reading her words several times.Succinct and to the point.She dusted the letter and carefully folded the parchment, addressing it toThe Times.Including one quid, she sealed the letter and rose to ring the bell.
The argument behind her continued, but she largely ignored the raucous noise.Her mother was more than capable of outwitting Eugene.
As she handed the letter to the butler, Priscilla added a silent prayer that a suitable gentleman answered her call.
* * *
Wyatt Highland, ninth Viscount Ware, rose from bed just as the clock in the hall struck noon.
While most lords slept late, his reasons for still being abed were far more…interesting…than spending his evenings drinking or gaming or both.
He stretched aching muscles, moving gingerly to test each.When he was certain they’d all support his weight, he rubbed a hand through his dark hair before he grazed his middle finger along the tender skin that split his cheek in two, the flesh still itchy even after two years of healing.
Not that it bothered him that much.Rubbing the skin had become a reflex, a habit that reminded of him why he did the things he did.
Moving to the bell cord, he stepped over his pile of black breeches and a black linen shirt that he’d stripped off before collapsing in bed the night before.
He stretched again, working out a knot in his back before he rang the bell and started for the bath of water already waiting for him.A gift from Ralph, who brought the bath in every day just before noon.
The hot water had become his morning savior, helping him recover from his activities the night before.He sank into the water with a groan of satisfaction, noting several new bruises along his midsection.
Ralph would have something to say on the topic of his bodily damage for certain.He didn’t find Wyatt’s nightly wanderings fitting for a man of Wyatt’s station or something along those lines.Ralph was likely right.
He was also a nosy overprotective biddy.
Ralph maintained that a man with a viscountcy and no heir, not even a wife to provide one, and turning thirty in a matter of weeks, ought to be out in the evening wife-hunting rather than fighting petty criminals.But Wyatt had little appetite for the marriage mart and a great deal of vitriol where thieves were concerned, so he continued to ignore his valet.
A former boxer, he’d been Wyatt’s trainer, friend, and lifelong companion.And his only confidante when it came to his nightly activities.Nearly everyone else on his staff assumed he went out every evening for far more gentlemanly pursuits.
Which is why, although Ralph was a wretched valet, his position was beyond secure, and the man harangued him at every opportunity.
The door opened just as Wyatt began to soap himself, scrubbing off the dirt and dinge from the night before.
“I see you made it home another night.”Ralph stopped at the edge of the tub.“Though you look worse than ever.”
Wyatt glanced up at him with a frown.Tall and thickly muscled, Ralph’s dark hair often stood out at odd angles as it did this morning.His entire appearance completely at odds with his position in Wyatt’s house.“Your charm is immeasurable.”
“So is your carelessness.”Ralph stretched out in the chair next to the fire, reaching for Wyatt’s morning paper.
Wyatt snorted.“You’re helping me dress.”
“Too sore to do it yourself?”
He glared, but his words held no actual irritation.“No.It’s what I pay you to do.”He and Ralph bickered.It’s what they did.He didn’t actually care if Ralph tied a decent cravat though he likely could use some help pulling on his jacket.
In answer, Ralph lifted the paper back over his face, ignoring Wyatt entirely.
Finishing his bath, he rose from the tub, and sloshed his way across the floor to grab a large cloth to dry himself.He gingerly rubbed his legs and midsection, working the stiffness from his shoulders.
“Have you made your point yet?”Wyatt asked as he tried and failed to reach down to his feet.“I could use some bloody help.”
Ralph didn’t even bother to lower the paper.“In a moment.I’m reading.”
Wyatt straightened, stopping to stare.Even for Ralph, he was being cantankerous.“Really?I can barely dry myself and you can’t?—”
