Page 9 of Miss Dignified
And who was to say Marcus wasn’t dead? War was a nasty business, particularly for a dreamy boy who’d never killed so much as a pheasant before buying his colors.
“The problem,” Reginald said, getting to his feet, “is the ‘for now’ part. I might be muddling along adequately with Marcus’s power of attorney, but one bad harvest, one boundary dispute with a neighbor, and Tremont will be imperiled.” Wesley had seen that too. “Legal machinations take years to resolve, even without opposition, and by the time some judge hears the case, I might well have joined Marcus in the celestial realm. I owe it to Wesley to resolve the matter if I can.”
Caroline made a lovely picture by the window. “Marcus is not dead.” She spoke quite firmly, for her. “I would feel it if my only son were gone.”
“He never resigned his commission, Caroline, nor is there any record of him arriving in London. You say he’s alive, and yet, where is he?”
“I know not, but if Lydia were here, she would have a half-dozen arguments for why this step on your part is premature.”
Wesley had pointed out the benefit of starting the legal maneuvers in Lydia’s absence, though they were expensive maneuvers. For a young man, Wesley was shrewd.
“Lydia will doubtless ring a peal over my head,” Reginald said, going to the sideboard to pour himself a finger of brandy, despite the early hour. “Wesley knew you would believe I am being hasty. He holds out hope that his cousin was captured by Corsairs or stricken with a loss of memory. I applaud my son’s optimism, but I must be more practical. Care for a brandy? I know this is unwelcome news.”
“No spirits, thank you,” Caroline said, turning from the window. “I’d best write to Lydia of this development. I esteem you greatly, Reginald, but on this matter, we must agree to disagree. Perhaps word of your decision will bring Lydia home.”
The brandy was balm to a parched man’s soul. “Wesley would be pleased to have her back where she belongs. I do believe absence has made the heart grow not fonder—Wesley has always been fond of Lydia—but perhaps more determined.”
Caroline wrinkled her nose. “John did not approve of cousins marrying.”
John was dead. Had been for years. Rest in peace and all that. “We are not the House of Hanover, to intermarry in successive generations, Caroline, and Lydia is not a blushing flower, to attract the notice of every bachelor with a title. Wesley appreciates her, and she likes him.”
This was, oddly enough, the truth. Wesley found Lydia’s eccentricities charming, or charming enough that, to get his hands on her settlements, he’d cheerfully tolerate her outspokenness and lack of grace. Lydia appeared to like Wesley as well, but then, why shouldn’t she?
He was dashing, witty, wellborn, and well liked. If blond good looks, broad shoulders, and bon mots could win a woman’s heart, then Lydia should by rights already be Wesley’s wife. Then too, if Lydia married Wesley, she’d never have to leave the only home she’d known. Somebody had to benefit from those fat settlement funds. Why on earth would the girl complain that the somebody would be her own cousin?
Though Lydia would find fault with the scheme, of a certainty. She was that most vexatious of tribulations, the discontented female.
“Please do not encourage a match between our children, Reginald,” Caroline said, starting for the door. “Wesley will do everything in his power to bring a marriage about if he thinks the notion would make you happy.”
“More to the point, Caroline, I believe marriage to Wesley will makeLydiahappy. You are trying to honor John’s wishes, which I respect, but perhaps you should think of your daughter in this one instance. Then too, if I discourage the match, Wesley will take it into his head that Lydia is his one true love. We’ll have nothing but drama, heartfelt sighs, and tense meals until Wesley talks Lydia into eloping.”
“I will write to my daughter, and I will not support a match between her and Wesley.”
Reginald saluted with his brandy. “We will agree to disagree, then, to use your words. Please give Lydia my love when you write to her.”
Caroline sent him a fulminating look, one that made her resemble her headstrong daughter, and withdrew.
“You can open the door,” Reginald called when her ladyship had been gone a good two minutes. “I think the whole business went rather well.”
Wesley sauntered into the study from the library. The door between the two rooms was a panel, barely distinguishable from its neighbors.
“As do I,” Wesley said, helping himself to a brandy. “Auntie Caroline will be so busy fretting over my marital aspirations that she’ll forget we’re having Marcus declared dead.” He touched his glass to Reginald’s. “I hear wedding bells already.”
“As much as I detest the thought of having Lydia underfoot here again, you cannot marry her unless she deigns to return from Chloe’s. I want you to retrieve your cousin, Wesley. The sooner the better.”
Wesley finished his drink, poured himself another, and considerately topped up Reginald’s as well.
“You don’t understand Lydia at all, Papa. If I want her to come home, then I look in on her on my way to London. I intimate that we’re all doing swimmingly well without her, and Auntie Caroline has begun to ride out with Mr. Roxbury more days than not. Roxbury is a philandering buffoon. Liddie will be back here faster than you can say ‘long live the king.’”
“Then do that,” Reginald replied. “Charm her, lie to her, press your attentions upon her, but do what you have to do such that your suit progresses swiftly.”
Wesley set his empty glass on the mantel. “I have a suit now. Fast work, even for me, though I suppose needs must when the duns are circling. I will write to Liddie and let her know that she’s on my itinerary. I can’t promise you a grandson by this time next year, but—after I drop in on Tommy Hardwick and pay my respects to the fair Miss Renfrew—I will look in on Lydia and suggest we’d make tolerable marital allies.”
Wesley bowed and sauntered out, while Reginald collected the dirty glass from the mantel. As a father, Reginald was delighted that the boy had so much savoir faire, so much self-possession. Viewed objectively, though, Wesley was a bit too calculating, even when contemplating marriage to a cousin he supposedly liked.
Though, honestly, how could anybody like Lady Lydia Glover? The notion was almost amusing.
In Lydia’s opinion, housekeeping had many fine qualities as a source of employment.
