earldom!’ she said, replacing her teacup in its saucer with a decided click.
Richard felt his jaw sag. The earldom? That was a bit much to swallow. With two brothers originally between himself and the blasted earldom, he’d never expected to inherit. Or wanted to. Especially not since it would mean the deaths of his brothers. Abandoning the tepid cup of syrupy tea, he limped over to the decanters and poured himself a glass of brandy. He ignored Almeria’s obvious disapproval. A little early, but with Almeria in this frame of mind he needed more fortification than a cup of tea would provide, if he were not to deal her a resounding set-down.
Reseating himself, he sipped the brandy, and said mildly, ‘Almeria, Frederick’s death was a stroke of misfortune.’ He resisted the temptation to emphasise mis. ‘You can hardly fear the same sort of accident happening to Max! Besides, he is married. And Verity is on the point of giving birth to their first child. How the devil can it be my duty to marry?’
‘It might be a girl,’ said Almeria hopefully. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t put it past that … that hussy to present him with a score of daughters!’
‘Verity,’ said Richard between clenched teeth, ‘is not a hussy.’
Almeria had the grace to look slightly abashed. ‘Oh, very well, but even so, Richard—there is no guarantee there will be an heir!’
No, there was no guarantee. Indeed, given his twin’s current state of terror over his adored countess’s perfectly normal pregnancy, it was entirely possible that he’d already sworn an oath of eternal celibacy. Not that one should dismiss the risks. Childbirth was childbirth. Risky. But still …
As if reading his thoughts, Almeria continued. ‘And childbirth—why, you never know what might happen!’ she said hopefully. ‘Really, Richard! You are being most unreasonable about this.’
Forbearance crashed into smoking ruin. He nearly spat out the brandy. ‘Max is my twin, ma’am,’ he grated. ‘I have a considerable affection for both him and Verity. You can hardly expect me to be reasonable about a suggestion that I ought to be counting on her death in childbed!’
He noted Almeria’s flush with grim satisfaction.
She recovered and rattled in again. ‘But, Richard—’
He flung up a hand. ‘Enough, ma’am! I’ve every intention of marrying.’
She blinked. ‘But who? There were several eligible girls out this year, and they are, each and every one, snapped up, while you sat in Kent!’ She counted the eligibles off on her dainty fingertips. ‘Lady Sarah Wilding, Miss Creighton, the Scantlebury chit—’ Her lip curled slightly. ‘Trade, to be sure, but one hundred thousand! I suppose one can make allowances.’ She glared at Richard. ‘All betrothed! So whom do you have in mind?’
‘How in Hades should I know?’ he answered with forced calm. Trust Almeria to take him literally! ‘All I can tell you is that I am not on the catch for an heiress!’ Then, with fell intent to end the conversation once and for all, ‘Besides, you know Max. He’ll probably give Verity a dozen strapping sons in his image.’ He watched, fascinated, as Almeria’s colour rose. Judging by the peculiar sounds emanating from her, it was entirely possible that she was actually choking. His baser self stirred. ‘I mean, it didn’t take him long this time. They’ll barely have been married nine months.’
She favoured him with a look that would have felled a dragon and said, ‘I do not consider this a suitable topic of conversation. And if you had the slightest regard for one who has only your well-being in mind—’ She halted mid-flight and drew a deep breath. ‘Well, that is neither here nor there. Now tell me, you arrived yesterday; where are you staying?’
At the sudden change of tack, the back of his neck developed a most unpleasant prickling sensation.
‘With Braybrook, just for the moment,’ he said. ‘I mean to be up for a few weeks though, so I’ll probably take lodgings.’ No need to tell Almeria that in addition to the small estate he had bought the previous year, he was in the process of purchasing a small town house—she was likely to go into convulsions when she did find out. Bloomsbury was not on her list of eligible addresses for a gentleman.
‘And you mean to take part in the Season?’ She sounded as though she held out little hope in this direction.
‘Actually, yes,’ he confessed.
She blinked. ‘Really? Well, then—you must stay here.’
Richard stiffened. ‘Here?’
‘But of course!’ she said. ‘Lodgings!’ She shuddered in distaste. ‘Quite ineligible. Of course you must stay here!’
He thought about it. He preferred lodgings. Much safer. He knew the signs. Almeria was up to something. Something that involved him.
Oh, for God’s sake! As if he couldn’t dodge yet another of Almeria’s matchmaking attempts! Even if it was compounded by his own intent to seek a bride this year. Besides which, staying with Almeria, he might be able to give her thoughts about Max and Verity a happier turn. If she could see that he really didn’t mind, had never considered the earldom his, then perhaps she would become reconciled to the match. Spending a few weeks at Arnsworth House would be a small price to pay for healing the breach in the family.
Taking a deep breath, he said with a tolerable assumption of pleasure, ‘That is really very kind of you, Almeria, if I won’t be in your way.’
She waved that aside. ‘Of course not, Richard. Shall you be in for dinner this evening?’
Richard shook his head. ‘No. I’m promised to Braybrook for the evening. I’ll stroll back to Brook Street shortly and have my man bring my things over, if that’s convenient.’
Lady Arnsworth looked like a cat drowning in cream. ‘Perfectly. Myles will give you a latch key.’
Suspicions redoubled, Richard simply nodded. ‘Thank you.’
She waved his thanks aside. ‘Oh, nonsense, Richard. And you must not be thinking that I will for ever be expecting you to dance attendance. You may not have realised, but I will be chaperoning Dorothea Winslow this season.’
Richard stared. ‘Chaperoning Thea? But … didn’t she—surely she must have married years ago?’
Almeria’s eyes opened wide. ‘Dorothea marry? Dear me, no. Such a sad story … I dare say you will recall she was betrothed to one of Chasewater’s younger sons?’
Richard remembered that only too well. At not quite seventeen, Thea Winslow had been betrothed to the Honourable Nigel Lallerton, third son of the late Earl of Chasewater. As a gentleman set for a career in Parliament, naturally he required a well-dowered bride. Thea had been it.
But Lallerton had died in a shooting accident.
‘I assumed she’d recovered from her disappointment and married,’ he said. He had been abroad himself for some years after that and had heard nothing more.
Almeria’s metaphorical whiskers positively dripped cream. ‘Sadly, no, Richard. Such affecting loyalty! Naturally one sympathises with her, but, goodness! It must be several years since poor Nigel Lallerton died.’
Richard
