Page 9 of The Duke's Impetuous Darling
“A roast beef,” said Marjorie because she loved it.
“A herd of cattle,” Bee said and her sisters agreed.
“Charades, sleigh rides,” crooned Del.
“Cards,” added Marjorie.
"That's the spirit!” Aunt Gertrude ordered. "Do you good. A choice of proper gentlemen."
Bee couldn't blame her aunt for wanting them all settled in the acceptable bonds of matrimony. But one couldn't marry just anyone.
Marjorie smiled, mischievous as a dark angel, her purple eyes aglow. "I haven't ever had a beau. I wouldn’t know how to entertain one."
Bee pursed her lips. Marjorie hadn't ever uttered one word about wanting a husband.Why was that?
"I will be happy to help you, Aunt," Marjorie volunteered.
Of course, Marjorie would like to assist their aunt to hostess a grand party. Why not? Since their father had died and left the sisters penniless, Marjoriewelcomed any chance to work her magic on any so foolish as to cut a deck of cards with her.
It was up to Bee to show all three of them some good sense. But how? Even if she wrote to Griffith in Paris and explained the best reason to stop this party, he'd not be able to respond quickly enough to nip this idea in the bud. "Honestly, Aunt. You are ambitious with this project."
"Darling, I'd welcome the company. So would your sisters. Am I right, girls?"
Marjorie agreed.
Delphine too.
"Oh, Bee, you don't have to dance," said Marjorie, consoling her by reaching over to squeeze her hand. Bee had confided her fears about Alastair's loss.
"Yes, you do," chimed in their aunt. "It's only proper. We've no definite news of young Alastair and when Griff arrives, we can ask him what he's done to find him. So you must dance, Bee."
Bee shook her head. Without a home or funds as they had been since their father's demise, they'd accepted their aunt's invitation to come to Marsden Hall to live. Their aunt and her step-son, Griffith, gave them money but the sisters smarted at the charity. Marjorie had taken to improving her talents in the art of cards. Delphine hoped one day to earn a salary for her teaching at the orphanage. While Bee had been promised a bounty by the Customs for identifying the smuggler Blue Hawker, they hadn't caught him yet. Even if and when they did, the bounty would not support a family of three for more than a year. She needed more.
"Now, now." Aunt Gertrude inclined her head toward Bee, a sweet look of appeal on her lips. "To meet the eligible men of society is necessary."
"There are so damn few left," said Del. At their aunt's gasp of reproof, she added, "Sorry.Veryfew left."
Bee wanted Alastair, only Alastair. Had done all her life. He'd never known. She'd never intimated. Before her father's downfall, she'd been courted by many a man. But she'd never felt her heart throb for anyone, save Alastair. She'd refused every offer and some had been quite grand.
But without him, not knowing what had happened to him, she was bereft. Without dowry or reputation, she didn't look for any other suitors, either. He, a second son of a viscount, had gone to the Army to support himself. His pay, just as he'd told her in May, was meager. If he'd come home, if he'd been promoted, he might have earned a bit from his title—and asked for her hand. But why would a well-decorated Army captain wish to marry a woman whose family was so thoroughly dishonored?
Yet all that was moot. Alastair had not come home. Now it was time she face facts.
Aunt Gertrude thought it helpful to host a house party, even necessary to put Bee and her sisters out into society again. They could not remain here for the rest of their lives upon their aunt's and her step-son’s dole. Besides, Marjorie and Del might each find a man they could love. Bee would be remiss if she refused her aunt's kind efforts at their rehabilitation.
So if Del wanted to flirt and Majorie wanted to waltz—or cheat, Bee would not dissuade them. She might not be able to be gay, but she'd smile and dance and support this party. Yet for her own future, her own self-respect, Bee had to consider other ways to live. Sad to say, only a few were open to her.
Chapter 2
December 5, 1815
Hotel Charost
Rue de Faubourg St. Honoré
Paris, France
“This way, sir." The young subaltern led Alastair Demerest up the flight of stairs with a disdain that told him he didn't believe he was a captain and his superior. True, Alastair's threadbare uniform did not inspire confidence. Yet, the man would soon learn he was wrong to doubt his need to speak withColonel Lord Marsden.Still, the young man sought to cow him by bounding up the marble steps. Alastair struggled to keep up. Winded, he paused a moment and rested his good arm upon the marble banister. His gaze took in the glory of the abode that was now the official residence of the Occupying Troops of His Britannic Majesty's forces in France and headquarters for the Allied Commander-in-Chief, the Duke of Wellington.
