Page 81 of Too Scot to Handle
A castle in Wales sounded a bit lonely to Anwen, but then, anywhere without Colin would be lonely.
“Don’t you want butter on that toast?”
Elizabeth stared at the toast from which she’d just taken a bite. “I forgot butter. Perhaps I’d best go back up to bed and try starting this day over. There are at least four house party invitations in this pile of mail. I’ve considered declining them and signing Aunt’s name to the note.”
“That is desperate talk.” Though Anwen had been desperate to save the House of Urchins. Why shouldn’t Elizabeth be desperate to save her freedom? “Do you suppose Haverford might feel as unwilling to marry as you do?”
Elizabeth took another bite of dry toast. “Dukes must marry. That’s holy writ. He needn’t be faithful or even loyal, but he must marry.”
“Maybe he’d rather not,” Anwen said, appropriating Elizabeth’s toast and slathering butter on it. “Maybe he lurks like a dragon in his castle because he’s not keen on finding a duchess. Maybe Lady Glenys has turned down all offers because she doesn’t want to abandon her brother.”
Elizabeth ignored the toast on her plate and regarded Anwen severely. “Listen to me, sister mine. You will accept Lord Colin’s proposal of marriage, and you will waft away to the Highlands with him on a cloud of connubial bliss. You are not to prolong your engagement or put him off in hopes that Charlotte or I will bring some duke or other up to scratch. Megan is happy, beyond happy, and I want that for you too.”
For a retiring spinster, Elizabeth could be ferociously dear. “Colin and I are agreed that a short engagement will be best.”
Elizabeth picked up the toast. “Like that, is it? Anwen, you little hoyden. I’m proud of you.”
Anwen was proud of herself, but wished her sister might have been just the smallest bit envious.
“Be proud of Lord Colin. He’s not the average London dandy trolling for an heiress.”
“While trolling dandies are about all I can look forward to if I let myself be dragged to these house parties.”
“Say no. Refuse to go. We’re no longer six years old, such that our cousins can scoop us up bodily and deposit us in the nursery when we’re bothersome.”
Elizabeth munched her toast in silence, while Anwen helped herself to eggs and ham from the sideboard. She was in good appetite this morning, and looking forward to sharing happy news with the boys.
While Elizabeth feared falling into the clutches of a Welsh dragon.
“I should return the mail to the library before Aunt rises,” Elizabeth said. “You won’t tell her I was spying?”
“Don’t be daft. I’m on my way to the House of Urchins and you haven’t yet left your bed.”
“You are the best of sisters. I will miss you.” Elizabeth rose, collected the letters, and left the parlor at a near rush. Her toast remained on her plate, so Anwen added jam and finished it in a few bites.
Elizabeth’s situation was troubling—Anwen had rarely seen her eldest sister reduced to tears—but Bethan was the equal of any duke, and whatever else was true about Haverford, no scandal attached to his name. The only fact Anwen could dredge up about Julian St. David, Duke of Haverford, was that—like a dragon—he’d inherited a family tendency to hoard a certain object.
Perhaps Elizabeth had forgotten this about the St. David family. His Grace, like all the dukes of Haverford, was an avid collector of…books.
Chapter Fifteen
According to Colin’s note, the sum that had been turned over to Hitchings in the dead of night had exceeded Anwen’s most ambitious prayers. The Duchess of Quimbey had wagered an antique pair of rings given to her grandmother by the first King George, and a competition of sorts had ensued, involving all manner of small items of jewelry.
“At next year’s event, I think we should try for more duchesses than dukes,” Anwen said. “Her Grace of Quimbey might have started a tradition.”
Lady Rosalyn lifted her skirts as they walked through the orphanage’s garden. The day was chilly and damp, and yet, in Anwen’s heart all was sunshine and roses.
“Her rings were hideous, weren’t they?” Lady Rosalyn replied. “Winthrop said the whole heap of gewgaws was of inferior quality, but there was so much of it Hitchings wasn’t sure where to stow it all. I have that problem with my bonnets and reticules. It’s very vexing.”
“The duchess’s gesture was magnificent,” Anwen replied, and the rings had simply been more ornate than present fashion favored.
“If your charity card party means polite society earns praise for discarding unattractive baubles, I will applaud you as a genius,” Rosalyn said, snatching her skirts away from a thriving border of lavender. “I do wish I hadn’t had quite so much of that delicious punch.”
Her ladyship had lost heavily, and with a gracious unconcern that had earned her many compliments from her opponents.
“I wish we’d thought of a charity card party sooner. Uncle Percival said he’d mention the idea at his club as a quarterly event. The House of Urchins is only one small institution amid many that deserve assistance.”
Rosalyn stopped and stared at the door as if, in the absence of a liveried footman, she wasn’t certain how one opened such a thing.
