Page 2 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“I’m not banishing you forever.” Rolling his eyes, Aidan rubbed his arm. “I swear to send for you as soon as possible.”
Her mouth crooked. She’d hit him harder than he expected.
“And you?” she pressed. “What plans have you for your own happiness?”
He paled, a brief flash of terror washing over his face.
“I have no plans.”
“It seems only fair, dear brother, if I’m subjected to the marriage mart a second time, you must experience it at least once.”
“I’ve been dealing with meddling mamas for the whole of my adult life,” he grumbled, one hand tightening around the barrel of the rifle.
“Are you not tired of being pursued by females?”
“No proper lady wants an Irish husband caring for an addled father, no matter how much property he owns.” Aidan snorted, leveling his gaze on her. There was bitterness in his reply, as if he’d hoped, just once, someone would look past their family lineage and see him.
She understood his pain, she and Patrick having been scorned due to their family connections. Neither of them dealt with the rejections well. Alana left for France, and Patrick for the coast and the solitary life of a lighthouse keeper.
They’d both deserted Aidan.
Guilt flared in her chest. She reached out, laying her hand atop his.
“When I return from America, I will find you a suitable wife.”
Swallowing, his skin was almost translucent. “I have no need of your assistance.”
“I think you do.” She smirked, watching him tug at his collar, squirming like one of the worms Mr. Reid loved to use for fishing. “First, we will find a custodian for Da, then we will find you a wife.”
“What of Patrick? He’s the eldest.”
“Patrick is against marriage.” Alana waved her hand, dismissing the notion.
In truth, Patrick was against all forms of social interaction. The eldest Flannery refused to leave the lighthouse, only returning to Wiltshire once for his mother’s funeral, his demeanor withdrawn and haunted. She’d visited him at the coast on several occasions, staying at a nearby tavern, but she’d never been able to convince her brother to return to his childhood home.
“I am, too,” Aidan grumbled, his mouth folding into a thin line. “You’re the girl. Marriage is expected of you.”
“Iwasmarried. He died.” She hiccupped, swallowing the sob that seemed to hover in her throat whenever she mentioned Sebastian. Twisting away toward the window, she wiped the moisture that gathered on her cheeks.
“Thus, we start over.” He nudged her foot with his boot, drawing her attention back to his face. “And it’s your turn again. I’m certain Patrick will agree with me.”
Alana tapped her gloved fingers together as she studied her brother, her eyes narrowing. He only made this suggestion because he believed her resigned to her station as a widow.
“I have a proposal for you,” she said after several minutes of silence.
“Do continue.” He folded his hands, setting them on top of the rifle, and offered her a patronizing smile.
“After I’ve secured a husband for myself—do not laugh, dear brother, I have turned down several proposals since Sebastian’s death—you will allow me to match you with a suitable woman.”
“What of Patrick? Are you going to leave him to his solitude?”
“Certainly not.” Alana laughed at Aidan’s petulant expression. “However, I will need your support for that particular undertaking, and it would be much easier with your wife’s assistance.” She leaned forward and stretched out her arm. “Do we have an agreement?”
Aidan’s eyes flicked to her hand. “After the heartache you have suffered, the premature death of your husband, the rejection of your previous fiancé—”
“Thomas and I were not well-suited, and fate saw fit to separate us.” Sliding forward on the bench, she jabbed a finger into Aidan’s chest. “And I will not hear you speak one disparaging word about him.”
“Thomas is one of my dearest friends. It is my right to speak ill of him.” Aidan leaned back against the seat, moving out of her reach, and stared at her for a long moment. “Are you certain you want totake on another husband?”
