Page 6 of Marry in Scarlet
“Comfortable?” The ice in his voice took Hart by surprise.
Sinc was oblivious. “Yes, no pretense about her at all. Says exactly what she thinks, so a fellow knows exactly where he stands. Not on the hunt for a husband. Makes no secret of it. Plans never to marry. Wants to live in thecountry and raise horses and dogs—well, can’t argue with that, can you?”
Hart could, actually. “So she’s an eccentric.”
Sinc shook his head. “Wouldn’t go that far. She’s marriage shy, that’s all. According to m’sister, who knows her family quite well, her father abandoned her and her mother when she was a baby. Mother died, Lady George left to grow up alone and in poverty. Disgraceful business—daughter of an earl and she didn’t even know it! Left to starve in a cottage.” He drained his glass and held it out for a refill. “Didn’t even know she had any living family until Ashendon discovered her and brought her to London and launched her along with his half sisters.”
“Very affecting tale,” Hart said dryly. He didn’t believe a word of it.
“It is, it is.” Sinc nodded. “No wonder the gel’s wary of the bit and bridle. Still, it makes a pleasant change to dance with a pretty young thing and know she’s not secretly plotting how to hook you.”
Hart shifted impatiently. “Don’t be naive, Sinc, of course she is. Her tactics are a little more subtle than usual, that’s all.”
“So speaks the eternal cynic. Well, if she’s so keen to hook a husband, why has she knocked back half a dozen fellows that I know of?”
Hart frowned. “Half a dozen?”
“At least. There’s Porter, Yeovil, Trent”—he counted them off on his fingers—“Towsett, Belmore and who else? Oh, yes, Morcombe—and they’re just the ones I know of.”
“Towsett?You mean the earl of?” They’d been to school with Towsett. The dullest boy he’d ever met had grown into the most pompous man.
Sinc nodded. “The same. He’s mad for her by all account. Won’t take no for an answer. Been refused several times, but determined to wear the girl down.” He chuckled. “It’s the joke of the clubs—such a stuffed shirt full of self-consequence, utterly desperate for such a lively, unconventional filly.”
Hart swirled his wine thoughtfully. Towsett was a morethan eligible match for any girl in the ton: titled, wealthy and... solid—if you liked that kind of thing.
“My money’s on Lady George.”
Hart looked up sharply. “You’rebettingon her?”
Sinc grinned. “Lord, yes, the odds are irresistible. Most of them are backing Towsett—well, you have to admit he’s very eligible. All the matchmaking mamas are in hot pursuit—any one of their daughters would snap him up in a heartbeat—but he won’t look at anyone except Lady George. But the others don’t know her like I do. She’s not like those other girls—she’s an original. Prefers her independence.”
“So you hope.”
Sinc grinned and raised his glass. “Oh, I’ll win, all right. She doesn’t want a bar of him—of marriage at all—and there’s the joke, you see. Hardly anyone believes her, least of all Towsett. He can’t imagine anyone turning him down, let alone a girl like Lady George.”
Hart shrugged. “There’s your answer then—she’s aiming higher.” For a dukedom, apparently.
“Cynic. Well, time will prove which of us is correct. Now, tomorrow night—what do you think about dropping into the opera? Dine at the club beforehand, of course.”
Hart raised a brow. “Theopera?” It was the last place he would have imagined Sinc. “Whatever for?”
“Monty has his eye on one of the dancers, and the little minx has been leading him a right merry dance. She hinted that she’d give him her answer tomorrow night, so a few of us are going along with him in case the poor fellow needs consolation. Monty’s mama has a box. So, are you coming or not? Should be quite entertaining—not the caterwauling, of course, but watching Monty trying to corral the little filly.”
Hart shrugged. “I’ll dine with you at the club, but that’s all.” He was not fond of the opera, and was indifferent to Monty’s success or otherwise with the opera dancer. He knew it would be a purely financial transaction—if Monty offered the girl enough, she’d accept his attentions; if not she’d be looking for another protector.
Opera dancers and young ladies of the ton—in hisexperience they were all the same under the skin. It all depended on the offer.
***
George’s horse, Sultan, picked his way fastidiously through the crowded London streets, superbly disdainful of all the activity—the dogs, the urchins, the barrows, carts and carriages. Oh, he didn’t like them—George could tell by the way his ears went back and swiveled and the way he tensed up from time to time, but months in London had taught Sultan that at the end of these tediously unpleasant streets lay a glorious run.
It was too late in the day to ride again in Hyde Park, unless one wanted to walk placidly along, bowing to acquaintances, and every now and then to break out wildly with a staid trot for five minutes. Neither of them, nor Finn for that matter, would enjoy that, so they were making for the wide-open spaces of Hampstead Heath. Of course it took much longer to get there, but it was worth it, and Emm had said she had the afternoon free.
And freedom was what George craved.
She rode ahead, Finn trotting along at her side, magnificently indifferent to the yapping street curs. Kirk followed close behind. His eyes were watchful, on the lookout for trouble, but his expression was dour as usual. He’d made this excursion with her many times before and generally enjoyed himself—though it was hard to tell with Kirk—but today he radiated grim disapproval.
It had started when she’d met him in the stable yard, mounted and ready. He usually fetched the horses and brought them to the house, and he’d taken one look at her and frowned.
