Page 3 of In Compromise with the Earl
Leo, a priest in the Anglican Order was two years younger than Oswald’s eight-and-twenty and had this calm, serene air about him. He stood and smiled. “Ah, here is my cousin. Risen from the dead, I see.”
“Hardly,” Oswald stuck out a hand and shook his cousin’s. “I wasn’t aware you’re in town.”
“The Diocese afforded me a new apartment in London because I’m being transferred and will join the church at St. Bride’s.”
“Ah, good for you,” Oswald nodded as he took his seat, and poured out a large cup of coffee. “I suppose that means I will be seeing you much more, then.”
Swallowing a mouthful, Oswald felt the rich, bitter brew spread artificial warmth through his chest. “Wonderful.”
Then, his mother and Leo shared a look that caused suspicion to bloom in Oswald’s chest. He gently set the cup down and flicked a gaze between the two before he asked, “What are you two planning?”
Leo lifted his hand in surrender. “Not I, Cousin. I only came to give Aunt a listening ear to her idea.”
“What idea?” Oswald felt an ominous sinking feeling drag his stomach down to his feet.
His mother gave him a warm, sympathetic look that always made Oswald’s heart lurch. He hated that look, absolutely despised it, but he could not say a word about it. It was her right to pity him knowing—as all of London did—what his wife had done to him. But he had hoped that after a year, that look would have vanished; sadly he was wrong.
“Oswald, I know you are still hurting, and it is plain that you spend your nights in solitude, but I think that is only harming you more,” his mother said pleadingly. “I think it’s time for you to find a demure woman, marry and have an heir.”
“Mother—” Oswald groaned.
“I know it will be difficult, but you must try,” she said. “Sooner or later, you will do it, but it will be much harder if you wait.”
“She is right, Cousin,” Leo spoke up in that quiet, steady,priestlytone that grated on Oswald’s nerves. “The more you shrink from life, the harder it will be to integrate with it later on.”
Looking between the two, Oswald found that he was outnumbered. He could object and tell them that he did not need any help, but he felt it hard to reject his mother. She had allowed him months to mourn and had never objected to his life.
How hard would it be to oblige her for this once?
Oswald was hiding from the world, and he knew it. Unable to keep his bluster up, he rubbed his forehead. “And how do you propose I do this?”
“You agreed to attend Lady PandoraRavenswood’s soiree a few weeks ago,” his mother reminded him. “The ball is tonight. But you must make an impression. Lady Ravenswood only takes twelve men and twelve women to her country Estate for the matchmaking.”
“Ah, the indomitable Matchmaker of London,” Oswald said dryly. “I hear she is a force to be reckoned with.”
“It seems so,” Henrietta smiled kindly. “Which is why I think she is your best option to find a fitting match.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll attend, but no promises.”
His answer made his mother frown a little, but she managed to smile anyway. “It’s a start, that’s all I want.”
With a curt nod, Oswald poured himself another cup. “Will you be coming with me tonight, Leo?”
His cousin’s lips stretched into a good-natured grin, “I’m not suited for being a society lady’s husband,” he said. “I think its best if I marry a humble country miss who knows how to cook hare stew and knows the cure for infant colic.”
“Suit yourself,” Oswald said, while filling his plate with coddled eggs and slivers of ham. Thinking about Claire’s barefaced adultery his heart chilled. “Maybe that’s best, God forbid you end up with a wife like mine.”
An uncomfortable lull dropped over them, and Oswald looked up to see the mirroring uneasiness on both his mother and his cousin’s face. He lifted a brow. “I’m sorry. Was that uncomfortable?”
* * *
The Ravenswood townhome in Grosvenor Square looked fairly new, as far as the other stately London homes went. Tall columns of cream-colored marble rose up to gilded Corinthian capitals where they met the painted roof. Oswald stepped out onto the marble steps and headed to meet the livered footman at the door.
After showing his invitation, he was directed to the parlor where the guests would mingle before going to the main ballroom. Cream-and-gold gilt wallpaper matched the tiered chandeliers above and Oswald noted members of some of London’s most titled families were there.
If they were all there to find fitting mates, he might not measure up enough to be chosen.Then again, which lady in her right mind would choose me? I’m the cuckold of London—a laughingstock.
Already, he could feel gazes skirting up the side of his neck and tried not to turn around and glare at those who were staring. If they were all there for the same thing, who were they to judge?
