Dixon shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Apologies, my lord, but I overheard what you said when your butler brought me in here.”
“As if I need a wife,” Matthew murmured, understanding the man’s reference.
He nodded. “Permission to speak freely, my lord?”
For a moment, the earl thought to deny his foreman. How much more bad news could one man take in a day?
“Permission granted,” he finally said on a sigh.
Dixon leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You’ve got no heir, and we all know the last earl left you with his gambling debts.”
“Which is why I haven’t taken on the extra expenses of awife,” Matthew reasoned.
“You could solve two problems by marrying a woman in possession of a sizable marriage portion,” Dixon stated. “Pay all your creditors and start your nursery. You can set aside funds for her and the children after the next good harvest.”
Matthew rolled his eyes, but he knew his foreman’s suggestion was reasonable. He glanced over at the letter he had received from the matchmaker in London. “I suppose I could,” he agreed on a huff. “But what do I have to offer a woman with blunt?”
Dixon’s eyes rounded. “A title, my lord. The Countess of Wingfield.” He waved a hand in the air. “A beautiful house in the country. A place in London. And…you, of course.”
Matthew blinked. “I’m flattered. I think,” he replied, his lips quirking with his first hint of humor. “I’m due in London in January for Parliament. I expect there will be a few entertainments I can attend where a wife might be found.”
In reality, he preferred to spend his spare time in the bookshops, collecting the latest new releases as well as acquiring some older titles to add to his library of novels. Had this year’sharvest gone as planned, he would be spending his winter doing nothing but reading books. Enjoying the escape they provided from the vagaries of everyday life.
Perhaps taking a wife would allow him the time to read more.
“Mayhap you’ll wish to go to London sooner, my lord. The competition for young ladies won’t be so… competitive.”
Matthew furrowed his brows. “I’ll consider it,” he replied, although he didn’t sound convincing even to his ears.
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll see myself out,” Edward said, before he bowed and took his leave of the study.
Finishing the last of the biscuits, Matthew watched his foreman depart. His attention, once again, went to the letter the matchmaker had sent, his brows furrowing when he realized at no point in the missive had Mrs. Dove-Lyon mentioned the exact amount of money she was owed.
Not particularly considerable.
“What the hell does that mean?” he wondered aloud, his attention darting to the door to be sure no one overheard his query. This time.
He wanted to return his attentions to his book.
Chapter Three
No Matchmaker, One Betrothal
October 31, 1816, Buxton House, Mayfair
When the cloudsso prevalent for most of the year didn’t obscure the sun in the late afternoons, Londoners were treated to the most exquisite sunsets. On this day, the west-facing window of Mrs. Eliza Buxton’s bedchamber glowed with an eerie red light, casting the room in a muted version of the color.
“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Eliza said, her gaze on the reflection of her lady’s maid in the looking glass over her dressing table.
“I know I shouldn’t be so curious, but is Mr. Kingston courting you?” Jane asked, the older woman holding out a lock of Eliza’s brunette hair with one hand as she wielded a hot curling iron in the other.
“He hasn’t said as much, but his note would certainly suggest it’s his intention,” she replied, lifting the folded vellum from the dressing table.
Delivered earlier that day by a young caddy, the missive included Kingston’s usual greetings and an invitation to dine with him at Rules Restaurant. If allowed, he would arrive via his town coach at six o’clock and take her to London’s oldest dining establishment for one of their famous dinners featuring game meat. Should she be amenable, he would escort her to the San Pareil Theatre for the season premieres of two plays,The Sportsman and ShepherdandAlasnum and His Cottage Queen.
The sense of excitement she’d felt at reading the invitation had come as a surprise and had provided her with a sense of relief.
For nearly two years, she had lived the quiet and lonely life of a war widow. Although she had her husband’s pension—he had been an officer in the British Army—money was tight. If she didn’t land a new husband this year, she would be forced to let go of servants, or worse, sell Buxton House in favor of letting a much smaller townhouse in a less fashionable neighborhood.
