Page 60 of A Symphony for the Earl

He raised the whip and the bay pair trotted briskly away.

Chapter Twenty

Lord Richard Has Some Explaining to Do

Richard entered White’s and handed his gloves to the attendant, who greeted him deferentially. The parlors were lightly populated, and he recognized most of the gentlemen. It was still early, just after midnight, and the gaming room was packed.

He spotted Denys engaged at a card table with four others. His friend’s dark hair fell over his forehead as he surveyed the board, deep in concentration. Denys rarely looked disheveled, but his muslin cravat was loosened about his neck and his dark coat was unbuttoned. He must have come straight from the musicale.

A guttering candelabra on the card table and the dimming wall scones indicated the game had been running for some time. Judging from the meager pile of chips at his friend’s elbow, luck was not on his side. Richard knew Denys to be a good card player, steady and careful. But sometimes, it took bravado to win the day.

That was the case tonight at Lady Drummond-Burrell’s party. Any hesitation on his part would have spelled disaster. He was reasonably sure that Clementine and Martha Sefton knew exactly what had transpired in the conservatory, but neither would dare dispute his explanation.

Denys caught his eye from across the room and he raised his glass, then signaled the dealer for another card. Richard was not in the mood for gaming and decided to sit for a while.

He greeted friends perfunctorily on the way to the front parlor. It was empty, save for two unknown men deep in conversation by the fireplace. He located an overstuffed chair by the club’s legendary bay window.

Just last month—admittedly in his cups—Richard had bet one hundred pounds that the next young woman of marriageable age who passed would wear plumes in her hat. No less than twenty men had taken the wager, and he won a tidy sum.

He sank into the plush cushions and ordered a whiskey and water from the hovering waiter. It had been a full day. He spent the morning balancing the finances at Seldon and meeting with his overseer and tenants, then drove to Bath to pick up Octavia, who chattered nonstop, and took her home before attending the musicale. His whirlwind betrothal was the result of sheer carelessness. Or was it? Surely, he knew on some level that his reckless behavior with Fiona would have consequences.

Richard was accustomed to being pursued by women. Some just wanted sex; others hoped a casual dalliance might lead to marriage; but most wanted a ring. He indulged his appetites carefully, avoiding the feverish addictions that had driven several of his acquaintances to ruin. Until now, it hadn’t been difficult—how had Fiona slipped past his defenses?

Marriage was inevitable. No man in his social position could ignore the importance of a wife, and as the only son, it was essential to present an heir. He contemplated the amber liquor in his glass. A marriage of convenience without any emotional entanglements would suit him better, but fate had decreed otherwise. He might as well give in to his desires.

Downing the rest of the whiskey, he set the glass aside. Easter was calling it close, but he had the funds to make it happen.

Denys settled into the chair across from him with a half-empty glass of red wine and rested his polished boots on an overstuffed hassock.

“Well? Are you going to tell me what your extraordinary announcement is really about?”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “Just what it appears. I am to be married.”

“You intended to wed Fiona without any prior word to me? Or to anyone else? You cannot deny that your mother and sister were completely surprised.”

“Do you think so? I suspect my sudden decision to disclose our betrothal at a musicale might account for that.”

“Do not talk fustian to me, Richard. What happened to provoke such an impromptu engagement? I’ll wager that you’re no more in love with Fiona now than you were before leaving for Seldon.”

“Do you purport to know my deepest sentiments? I was not aware I had confided them.”

“Fine, then,” Denys snapped. “If you cannot tell me the truth, at least assure me that Fiona is a willing participant in your scheme. I hate to see you ride roughshod over the girl.”

“Are you saying she doesn’t make an advantageous match?”

“Blister it, Richard, don’t take offense. I’m simply fond of the girl, and I’d like to see her happily married, not just some sexual whim of yours.”

“Then stand up for me at the wedding. You are my closest friend, although I can’t at this moment imagine why.”

Denys sighed. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

“Always.”

“How soon do you intend the ceremony?”

“I’m contemplating Easter Sunday at St. James’s.”

“Good God,” Denys choked. “If you can make that happen, you must be more powerful than I imagined.”