Chapter Ten

Mrs. Bellingham fretted on the drive home, grumbling about noblemen’s manners with regard to Ormond leaving early. Although, she grudgingly had to admit that, overall, the evening had been a great success.

“And Ormond will call tomorrow, mark my words,” Mrs. Bellingham said with the absolutism that was a hallmark of her personality. “Lady Strand said his fortune is so vast, it defies speculation. His mother was an heiress and he was her sole heir. That is the way of the aristocracy, you know,” she went on in her same doctrinaire way. “Wealthy families make certain their money doesn’t go astray.”

“I understand Ormond’s father has considerable wealth as well,” Claire pointed out.

“That may be, but nothing like his mother’s. Lady Strand said when Annabella FitzClarence made her bow, she was not only the most beautiful girl of the season, but the richest.”

“It doesn’t matter whether the man you love is the richest or not,” Harriet said with a little sniff. “Everyone knows, money doesn’t buy happiness.”

Harriet’s comments were so shockingly contradictory to her previous views on the merits of love and money, that Claire and her aunt stared at her as if she’d sprouted another head.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Claire said, finding her tongue first. “There are any number of wealthy marriages that are unhappy I’m sure.” Ormond’s family came to mind.

“Ormond’s mother ran away from her husband. And they were both rich. So you see,” Harriet declared as if she’d not only read Claire’s mind, but delivered irrefutable evidence that marriage without love was oppressive.

“My dear late husband always used to say that you can love a rich man as well as a poor one. He was quite right,” Mrs. Bellingham declared, undeterred by Harriet’s assertion. “And since Ormond is interested in you, my dear, the question of wealth is irrelevant, is it not?”

“I may find that I prefer another man,” Harriet muttered.

“Nonsense, you don’t know any other men,” Mrs. Bellingham returned, sharply.

Claire gave her sister a warning look.

Harriet wrinkled her nose, but judiciously curtailed the remark she was about to make. Then with a toss of her blond curls, she slumped down in her seat and sulked for the remainder of the drive.

Once they were home, Claire intended to speak with Harriet in private. But her aunt insisted Claire help her undress and ready herself for bed, rather than wake her maid. By the time Claire had completed her duties, Harriet was fast asleep.

She’d have to speak with her sister tomorrow. There was something about Harriet’s objection to their aunt’s sponsorship of Ormond that was perplexing. Prior to the rout tonight, Harriet had been unshakable in her resolve to become the next Viscountess Ormond.

And now?

What had changed?

As for the man intent on making that change, he was in the reading room at Brooks putting pen to paper, enumerating various tasks to be accomplished tomorrow‑a bottle of cognac at hand to facilitate his labors.

He’d left orders to be notified when Seego arrived and he’d look up from time to time, as though impatient. When, at last, he saw the boy walk in, he immediately waved him over.

“I have been looking for you, sir,” the marquis said with a mannered bow on reaching Ormond’s side. “You were not at your usual locales.”

“We have been at cross‑purposes, then. I have been here waiting for you. Sit down,” Ormond offered, indicating a chair opposite him with a nod of his head, pleased that they were apparently of one mind. “Cognac or something else?”

“Actually, I don’t drink much,” Alastair said, sitting down across from Ormond.

“Coffee? Tea?” He should have known. The youngster was so fresh‑faced and unspoiled. “A lemon punch perhaps?”

“No, nothing. The thing is,” Seego said, nervously running his fingers through his pale hair, “I’ve come to ask something of you.”

Ormond pushed away his pen and paper and sat back in his chair. “Ask away.”

“I understand you have been calling on Miss Harriet Russell.”

“I have.”

“Then my question is‑” the marquis swallowed hard‑“exactly what might your intentions be with regard to Miss Harriet? If I might be so bold as to ask,” he quickly added, turning bright red under Ormond’s studied gaze.

“Rest easy, my boy. I have no intentions at all. As you know, I am accused of inconstancy in my relationships with women and that is an accurate assessment.”

“Sir, how dare you use Miss Harriet in such a cavalier fashion!”

The youth had gone from unease to indignation with such lightning speed, that Ormond spoke in his most soothing voice‑wishing above all things to avoid being called out by the silly boy. “You misunderstand. My friendship with Miss Harriet was of the most casual nature. What I meant to say is that I have no claim on her affections.”

An instant smile reversed Seego’s former frenzy. “That’s exactly what she said,” the boy blurted out. “Her damned crotchety old aunt’s interference notwithstanding. Not that Miss Harriet spoke in such strong terms, sir,” he quickly amended.

“Naturally. I understand. Do I detect a certain interest on your part in Miss Harriet?” Ormond inquired, blandly.

“Indeed. I love her with all my heart,” Seego pronounced with sweeping conviction.

“On such short acquaintance? What might your parents say of such a sudden attachment?” Ormond debated bringing up the subject, but if obstacles were at hand, it was better to be forewarned.

“Oh, they, too, will love her instantly,” the marquis enthused. “She is the most beautiful woman in all the world,” he added with an adoring sigh. “And ever so sweet as well. We talked and talked tonight and discovered that in all things we agree.”

“Admirable,” Ormond murmured. He didn’t realize Harriet could actually carry on a conversation, having experienced only her tiresome banter. But then, his interest in Harriet had not been of a conversational nature. “I wish you all the best, Seego. If I may be of any assistance in your courtship, you need but ask.”

“Actually,” the marquis replied, leaning forward as he spoke, “if you don’t mind, I do have a question or two. In contrast to you, I am relatively inexperienced with women so I was wondering…”

For a lengthy interval, the men discussed a number of issues having to do with women‑what they liked and didn’t like, how best to please them, what gifts were most likely to gain their affection, in particular what a young woman like Harriet would find attractive in a man.

When at last, the marquis rose from his chair, he said with a great deal of feeling, “You have been exceedingly gracious, Ormond. Thank you for your advice.”

“I’m pleased to be of help, my boy. How old are you?” Ormond asked on the spur of the moment.

“Twenty‑two, sir.”

Good God, he felt old. Had he ever been as innocent as Seego? The sad truth was‑no. And now, at thirty, it seemed as if he’d already lived a dozen lifetimes. “I wish you happiness,” Ormond said, envying the boy his artless joy in living.

“And you too, sir,” Seego replied as he took his leave.

Not likely that, Ormond thought, as he watched the boy jauntily stride away. Too much had transpired in his life for him to ever recapture that same youthful zest for living. Or perhaps it was only that he was too familiar with melancholy to begin again, his demons too numerous to defeat.

Oppressive memory was a constant in his life. It kept him awake at night, gave rise to his excesses, made him the man he was.

Reaching for the cognac bottle, he poured his glass full once again in an effort to numb his afflictions. As he lifted the glass to his mouth, he suddenly saw Claire’s smiling face in his mind’s eye and he couldn’t help but smile back. With what ease her image cured his black mood. How simple it was to forget when she reminded him of more pleasant pastimes. How intriguing it was to think about seeing her tomorrow.

Setting the glass down untouched, he picked up his pen and returned to his list‑making.

Before long he was humming under his breath.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 576