Page 33 of King of Rogues
There is nothing to be done, but the prince’s will.
Taking the letter, he broke open the seal. He sighed as he perused the contents of the note.
“He has given me a day and time for the fealty ceremony. Asked that I RSVP as soon as possible with the name of my good lady wife. Says it is for catering purposes only.”
“Right royal little…” muttered Adan.
Screwing the letter tightly in his fist, Monsale pondered his next move. The days were rapidly ticking down. He had little over a week before he was scheduled to kneel before the Prince of Wales.
There was a long minute or two of silence, then Adan cleared his throat. “Have you considered the obvious solution to all this, your grace?” he asked.
Monsale leveled him with a sharp look. It was all he thought of from the second he woke to the time he closed his eyes.
“Yes, I have.”
His father had raised him to never beg. To never give in. The family motto was Nihil necesse est cedere. Nothing must be yielded.
But if he failed to secure the hand of a wife and soon, he might well have to change the family coat of arms.
Lady Naomi Steele was making it all so difficult. The stubborn woman. If she didn’t give in to him soon, Lady Euphemia Marshall might be his only hope.
Could I really marry a stranger?
If it meant keeping his title, and the McNeal family fortune intact, that might be precisely what he had to do.
Chapter Fourteen
Nine Days to go.
* * *
Naomi might well think him blind to love, but even Monsale could see the sweet looks that Lady Euphemia Marshall and Viscount Walsall exchanged whenever they thought no one else was looking. The idea of his prospective future bride already being in love with someone else sent a cold shiver down his spine.
But he was getting desperate. The letter from the Prince of Wales had been clear in its instructions. In nine days, he and his wife had to go on bended knee before the prince and swear their allegiance to the crown. For a man not used to being on his knees, Monsale was beginning to worry that it might become an uncomfortable habit.
He had stupidly thought for a moment, that the kiss he and Naomi had shared in the carriage might have changed things between them, but she steadfastly refused to come to heel.
Bloody hell. What am I going to do?
Another night, and another potential wife to meet. Monsale was down to the last girl on the list, his options rapidly shrinking. And from where he stood, across the other side of the ballroom, watching Lady Euphemia and the viscount, he had the sinking feeling that he may shortly be putting a line through her name too.
He dared not risk another evening with guests in his home. After the hasty departure of the Shadbolt family from Monsale House, and the food which had been left abandoned in the dining room, he was loathed to ask his chef to create another sumptuous meal. The current story from below stairs was that the man had taken to his bed and not stirred since.
At least he had learned some lessons from his previous encounters with the families of prospective brides. Determined not to make the same mistake he had with the Harforde’s, Monsale was keen to seek out Lord and Lady Marshall as soon as he arrived. He wished to make certain of a smooth introduction to their daughter.
“Your grace.”
Monsale turned as Euphemia’s mother, Lady Marshall arrived at his side. She dipped into a curtsy, and he responded with a deep bow. He might well be the more senior noble, but Kitty had been clear in her instructions as to how he should behave when it came to his first meeting with Earl Marshall’s wife. She was not only the daughter of a duke but had European royalty in her blood. While she was a true blueblood, to many people in London high society, he was little more than a jumped-up colonial.
Lady Marshall nodded in the direction of her daughter. “I see Euphemia has already caught your eye. She is a delightful girl. Not a beauty of the classic kind mind you, but she has an enthralling look all of her own. Always stands out in a crowd. Born to be a duchess if I do say so myself.”
His gaze lingered on Lady Euphemia. She had an interesting way about her. A man would likely never tire of such a woman.
But is she the one I should marry? And what about Viscount Walsall, I am not having any starry-eyed lover sniffing around my wife’s skirts.
He had to marry, but it didn’t mean he was about to lower his standards. The woman he made his duchess was going to have to understand the rules of their marriage. Fidelity between him and his wife was non-negotiable.
And what about affection? Are you really going to go through with marrying someone who may just tolerate you? Or who will never freely offer you, her heart?
