Page 9 of Unending Joy
Rotham snorted, perhaps recalling his own parental edict. “One must count blessings where one can.” He sobered, thenregarded Freddy with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “But, truly, do you have any lady in mind? Have you yet surveyed the new crop?”
Freddy hesitated. His mind flitted to the beautiful Lady Maeve and then for some reason to Joy—his best friend, though why she would appear in his thoughts he did not care to explore. He suspected that path was riddled with more hazards than he could undertake just now. “Well,” he said at last, “there may be a face or two, but no one I have had a chance to properly know. I suppose I need to go into Polite Society more. I went to the ball last night solely for Joy. I will have to attend every devilish music recital and soirée and—heaven help me—make afternoon calls.”
Westwood patted his arm consolingly. “Doing the pretty is a small price to pay for salvation from penury, my friend.”
A footman sidled into the room just then, delivering a tray of refreshments. Freddy seized a glass of brandy and downed the whole. Rotham and Westwood exchanged an amused glance.
“What about your father’s other requirement—about living off the land?” Rotham asked, once the servant had discreetly departed. “He wants you to take charge of an estate?”
Freddy grimaced. “Yes, indeed. My father believes a wife and an estate will bring me to heel in short order.”
Westwood set down his glass, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. “Between you and me, I have known men forced into less palatable circumstances. Managing an estate is not all tedium. You can keep horses and dogs, hunt…and if your wife is lovely and good-tempered, you might find yourself quite content.”
“It is the ‘if’ in that sentence that sets me trembling,” Freddy said in earnest. “Still, I see no alternative. I shall cast my net wide, as you suggest—perhaps fate will throw me a lifeline.”
“Exactly,” Rotham agreed. “Leave no tea undrunk, no garden party unattended. Smile until your jaw aches. Compliment everybonnet in sight—and all the matchmaking mamas will sniff out your intentions before you walk through the door.”
Freddy groaned, though a hint of laughter escaped him despite his gloom. He recalled, not so long ago, when Rotham fought his own forced betrothal tooth and nail. “I suppose I can manage to compliment a bonnet or two—if I must.”
“You always did have an eye for fashion,” Westwood teased as he looked at his perfectly tied neckcloth and exquisite waistcoat. “You are halfway to joining the rest of us in blessed matrimony.”
Freddy tried his best to listen, though his thoughts wandered. Was it really so pressing for him to find a wife? He wasn’t opposed to marriage, but he found the idea unnerving. Adult responsibilities, an estate to manage—he could hardly picture himself as a sober country gentleman, overseeing harvests and tenant disputes. Yet he could not deny that his father’s ultimatum had left him little choice.
At length, Westwood finished recounting which families might be in attendance at each event. He peered at Freddy expectantly, as though waiting for him to select a path forward.
Freddy swallowed another mouthful of brandy, trying to calm the knot of anxiety in his belly. “Very well,” he said at last. “I shall go where you tell me, meet whom you recommend, and attempt to conduct myself with all the charm I can muster. If, in six months’ time, I have failed to find a bride, then at least I will have done my best.”
They chatted on a while longer, adding more amusing strategies for Freddy’s forced courtship: from creating a list of potential heiresses to bribing hostesses for invitations to exclusive gatherings. By the time the conversation drew to a close, Freddy’s shoulders felt no lighter. His friends had found love matches. They couldn’t understand his predicament.
When at last they decided to depart, Freddy stood with them, pushing aside the residual dread that threatened to clamp down again. “Shall we find Montford and see if he can sing the praises of matrimony until I am suitably convinced?” he suggested, half-rueful, half-humorous.
“Unfortunately, we are promised to dine with family.” Rotham and Westwood were now family. “Come, we will give you a ride.”
Westwood, hat back in hand, grinned. “Be warned, once Montford starts talking about your sister’s perfections, you may never hear the end of it.”
Freddy settled into the carriage, a swirl of uneasy excitement dancing in his gut. Six months. Such a finite span, and yet it could change his life irrevocably. He pictured a quiet manor house of his own, a wife who might greet him each morning with a smile—or a scowl, if he chose ill. It was a risk, certainly, but he could not avoid it any longer.
Freddy only half listened, his mind drifting in and out of the conversation. The weight of so many changes pressed upon him, and he could almost feel the turning of fate in the warm breeze that drifted through the open window.
Yet amidst the swirl of apprehension, he clung to the faintest spark of hope. Perhaps, by some stroke of luck, he would meet a lady whom he found intriguing—someone who would laugh at his jokes, be a bruising rider, and not expect him to sit in her pocket. If such a match lay before him, then maybe his father’s ultimatum was more of a push in the right direction than the dreaded sentence it felt like now.
He shook his head at his own wandering thoughts and gave his full attention to his companions. Westwood was describing Lady Ingram’s penchant for elaborate musical entertainments as a place for Freddy to survey options, while Rotham mentionedhow Miss Hargrave—a distant cousin, apparently—was quite clever and pretty, if a bit reserved.
Freddy nodded along, determining to keep an open mind, no matter the introductions. If he was to succeed, he would have to cast aside his usual ambivalence and embrace every opportunity.
Westwood caught Freddy’s eye as they stepped down from the carriage. “Take heart,” he said kindly. “You are not such a lost cause as you think. You are a genial fellow, well-bred and reasonably handsome.” Rotham snorted at that. “A little effort, and you shall have half the Season’s débutantes fluttering their fans at you.”
Freddy chuckled at that. “Reasonably handsome, am I? You flatter me, sir.”
He knew his friends did not truly understand. All of them were married now and happy to be led around on a lead. He needed to discuss this with Joy. She would understand.
CHAPTER 4
Joy was enjoying a rare moment of quiet in the Westwood town house’s garden. On this particular morning, the Dowager Lady Westwood had gone to an exhibition with Patience, Faith, and Lady Maeve. Joy, pleading a headache, had remained behind, savouring the lull that descended on the otherwise bustling household.
As kittens tumbled about her feet, she strolled through the neat rows of box hedges, pausing to admire the early roses that clustered along the wall. Their pastel petals shone under the late spring sun, their fragrance much nicer in its natural habitat than when used as perfume.
Here, in the hush of the garden, she could imagine herself at the family’s country estate, free from the prying eyes of London Society. Her responsibilities as a young lady in her first Season felt far away. Here there was no pressing need to smile and curtsy at the next tedious event or to feign pleasure at yet another prospective suitor whose conversation she could hardly endure.
