If he could bringthatsmile back to her face, all would be well.
And it had been.
For approximately four seconds.
Until she got some idea in her head that they “were going to have a chat”.
Six little words that had been striking fear in the hearts of men since the beginning of time.
She’d ended that tortuous discussion by asking him what he wanted.
As if he knew anymore.
As if he had anygoddamnedidea.
Weston knew that he wanted poached eggs for breakfast instead of boiled.
He knew that he wanted to buy another railroad line to expand his empire.
He knew that he never wanted to bathe in a horse trough ever again.
But as to what he ultimately wanted in love and in life?
He’d thought it was a biddable wife to let him carry out his duties sans interruption.
Now…now he wasn’t so certain.
And that uncertainty throbbed like a splinter burrowed under his nail bed.
“Jenkins,” he said abruptly as they entered the house. The foyer was empty, the quiet clink of glassware and the muted hum of voices revealing that everyone had gathered in the solarium where they were waiting for him to deliver his opening toast. The official start of a house party that had already proven to be more trouble than it was worth…and it was only the first day. “I’ve a task for you. One that I’d like carried out with the utmost discretion.”
“Anything, my lord.”
“I need a complete list of all the eligible bachelors in attendance. Their names and titles along with how much they are worth. If they’ve any debts outstanding, or improprieties attached to their names. I should also like to know any pertinent hobbies.” He paused. “Also, if they are fond of animals. Specifically of the woolly variety.”
“Woolly variety, my lord?” asked Jenkins, appearing mystified.
“Sheep,” he said impatiently. “I need to know if they like sheep.”
“If you don’t mind my saying, that is oddly specific.”
Weston’s jaw tensed. “Can you get the list or not?”
“I should have it for you by the end of the day.”
“Good. Good,” he repeated, and he started to run his hand through his hair before he remembered that he’d set it with wax. Muttering another curse, he excused his valet and took care to compose himself before he set out for the solarium to give his welcome address.
Chapter Sixteen
“You are staring,”Rosemary whispered in Evie’s ear for the third time.
Nearly bobbling her fork, Evie managed to catch the utensil before it dropped into her lap. On a sigh, she set it down beside her plate. She hadn’t been using it anyway; her appetite having vanished as soon as she joined her cousin and the rest of the guests for breakfast and her gaze landed upon Lady Martha Smethwick.
She’d known it was Lady Martha without needing to be told, as Weston’s intended bride was exactly as Evie had pictured her. Slim as a willow, with golden hair and large brown eyes (such an easy color to remember that Evie suspected the earl had been playing her for a fool in the carriage when he’d pretended not to recall their shade), Martha was the epitome of an English Rose. Everything about her, from the graceful way in which she sipped her glass of water to the sound of her voice to the way she cut into her bacon, was perfect.
Shewas perfect.
Of course, Weston would want to marry her.
