Page 38 of An Unwilling Earl
“While I appreciate your concern, I am never marrying again.”
Oliver gave him such a pitying look that Jacob wanted to punch his friend in the face just to wipe it away. But, again, tongues would wag, and he didn’t need that right now.
“Cora would not want you rotting away in that dark townhouse of yours. She would want you to live the rest of your life.”
Jacob snorted. “You’re full of useless wisdom today. You don’t know what Cora would have wanted, and again you are spewing tripe.”
“You’re not thinking objectively.”
“It’s difficult to think objectively when you are talking about my future and being tied to a person I barely know.”
“Many marriages begin in such a way. It’s not unusual.”
“Well, it’s not for me, so you can forget this half-baked idea.”
“Obviously it is not a decision to make lightly or quickly. I advise you to think about it.”
“I would advise you to keep your nose out of it.”
Armbruster shook his head. “Marry Miss Morris, Jacob, and your troubles will go away.”
Chapter Twelve
Jacob walked home through drizzle and dropping temperatures—winter fighting for its place in the face of spring. But his anger kept him warm. Anger at Armbruster for being so ludicrous as to mention such a preposterous thing asmarriage. Panic because Armbruster mentioned marriage and it was not something Jacob had ever thought to do again. Ever. Never, ever.
Except, maybe, when he had kissed Charlotte.
He shook his head. He’d not thought about marrying her then.But I had thought that she is far too respectable to be a mistress. And I admit that I have been lonely as of late.
He had been feeling lonely, as if he were sitting back and watching everyone’s life march on by while his remained stagnant. He’d not seriously thought of finding a wife, mainly because the thought of going out and meeting someone had sounded exhausting.
Was Armbruster right? Would American heiresses really want him? He shivered at the thought. Not that American heiresses were a bad lot. He’d met a few of them, and they were all rather nice, if not a bit outspoken.
He jogged up the steps to his townhouse, suddenly feeling the damp chill and desperately needing a brandy and a warm fire.
But when he entered his home he was arrested by a sight that chilled him more than the cold rain outside. “Mrs. Smith!” he bellowed. He heard scurrying noises, and suddenly Mrs. Smith appeared, looking flustered and wringing her ever-present cloth.
“Yes, my lord?”
He pointed to the pile of white envelopes sitting on the entryway table. “What isthat?”
She put a hand to her heart. “Dear me, but you gave me a fright. I thought you were hurt.”
“Whatisthat?” he repeated.
“I imagine those are invitations. They began arriving this afternoon. There’s a lot of them.”
“Invitations to what?”
“Well, I surely didn’t open them.” She sounded offended.
He handed her his coat and hat without taking his eyes off the offensive envelopes. A pit of vipers would have pleased him more.
“Where is Miss Morris?”
“She was in the study, last I saw.”
“And what did she do today?”
