Page 91 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
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A week later
“My lord, there is a gentleman here to see you.”
Finlay blinked. The room fell silent.
“Who is it, Lockley?” Darington asked, rising to his feet.
“It’s Earl Matthews, Your Grace. He was told Lord Firthwell was here by the staff at Rockhaven House.”
Finlay exchanged a loaded glance with the duke.
“Please ensure a tea tray is delivered to the study. I find everyone is more reasonable after a cup of hot tea.” Alethea’s mouth quirked. “And ensure the whisky decanter on the sideboard is full.”
Lockley bowed in acknowledgment while Darington smiled and shook his head.
Finlay pressed a discreet kiss to Charlotte’s cheek. “I’ll return shortly.”
She nodded, her blue-gray eyes luminous. She sat next to his sister on a small settee, and just moments ago she’d been laughing at Alethea’s teasing remarks to Darington. It was obvious his future bride had become fast friends with his twin. That knowledge only solidified his decision.
Now to see what Earl Matthews thought of it.
“I still haven’t told Charlotte about when you taunted the bull in the south pasture something terrible until he chased you up that oak tree.” His sister directed a gleeful grin at Charlotte. “I had to save him, of course.”
With a roll of his eyes, he followed Lockley out the door. Stepping into Darington’s study, he spotted the earl inspecting the vibrant painting above the hearth.
“St. Lucia, I assume,” he murmured, not bothering to look at him.
“So I am to understand.”
Pacing to the sideboard, Matthews considered the bottles on display. He picked up one and raised his brow. “I imagine Darington won’t mind.”
“Only if you leave the bottle empty.”
Finlay grabbed two tumblers and poured the earl and himself a generous amount. After sitting in the armchairs before the roaring fire, Matthews stared at him over his glass.
“Inverray tells me you’ve selected a bride.”
He swallowed, welcoming the fire that streaked through his veins. “I have.”
“And who is she?”
Setting his glass aside, he folded his hands over his knee. “Her name is Charlotte Taylor. She’s a teacher at Little Windmill House, the foundling home Inverray founded. She’s the widow of Mr. Roderick Townsend, the former undersecretary to the governor of India.”
“Townsend’s son?” Matthews sat up straighter, his gaze keen. “The one who died in India?”
“The one.”
The earl studied the liquid in his glass. “What has become of Miss Eddington? I was under the impression you were going to ask to court her.”
Finlay raised a shoulder. “Miss Eddington is a lovely young woman, but she is not meant to be my bride.”
“So it is a love match, then?” Matthews swung his finger back and forth. “This relationship with Mrs. Taylor.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Why else would you forgo a stellar political match with Miss Eddington, who would no doubt aid you as you climb the ranks of Parliament, for a widow with tenuous connections?” The earl made a sound in the back of his throat. “Love matches are a political curse.”
