eighteen years ago.’
‘I didn’t even know he was married.’
‘He’s not. His wife died a few years before Mother. Don’t you pay attention to anything?’
‘Not things like that, no.’
‘Lance...’
‘Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know I prefer to swim in the shallows.’
‘No, you like to swim out of your depth and not think about it.’
‘What’s the difference?’
Arthur shook his head remonstratively. ‘The difference is that one day you might want to stand up in the water and not be able to. You ought to look under the surface once in a while.’
‘Duly noted. I’ll read the obituaries tomorrow.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘I know, but it’s the best I can do.’ Lance tossed back the last of his brandy and deposited the glass on a passing tray. ‘So what’s she like, your new bride?’
‘Her name’s Violet and she’s not my bride, not yet anyway. I’ve no idea what she looks like, never mind the rest, and nobody else seems to know either. Harper’s kept her locked away in that redbrick mausoleum he calls a house her whole life. So far as I know this is the first time she’s been out in society.’
‘Well, if she’s anything like Harper...’ Lance started to laugh and then stopped himself. ‘Sorry. But at least you know she’ll be obedient. She couldn’t not be, growing up with him. That can’t have been easy.’
‘True,’ Arthur conceded. ‘I’ve never understood how Father could be friends with that old tyrant.’
‘Something to do with money, I expect. She’ll be as rich as Croesus some day. But you know if you’re supposed to be meeting your prospective bride, you ought to take your eyes off Lydia Webster. You’ve been acting like a lovesick puppy all evening.’
‘Is it that obvious?’ Arthur’s cheekbones suffused with colour.
‘Only to me and everyone else in the room.’
‘I can’t help it, Lance. She’s the most exquisite creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m in love.’
‘With Lydia Webster?’ Lance took a second glance across the ballroom to make sure they were talking about the same woman. ‘She’s a flirt and a gold-digger, and a pretty shameless one, too. She’d throw you over the moment she found out about our family finances, or lack of them, I should say. Better take your chances with Miss Harper.’
‘Don’t!’ Arthur’s face displayed a rare flash of temper. ‘Don’t speak of her like that.’
‘I’m only trying to stop you making a mistake.’
‘No, you’re treating me the same way Father does, as if I can’t think for myself. Well, I can and I ought to be allowed to choose my own bride.’
‘You’re right, you should. So tell Father that. Refuse to marry Miss Harper.’
Arthur’s expression turned sullen. ‘I don’t hear you saying no to a woman very often.’
‘I don’t need to. I’m not the heir. No one wants to ensnare the feckless younger brother.’
Not that it stopped them wanting to do other things, he thought cynically... Cordelia Braithwaite for one had been throwing beckoning glances in his direction all evening, ever since her husband had abandoned her for the card room. Not to mention the pretty, and currently partnerless, redhead. Even if he had just promised to behave, some opportunities were too good to miss. As soon as he finished consoling his brother, he’d start taking advantage of them.
‘Only younger by ten minutes.’ Arthur sounded bitter. ‘Sometimes I wish we could just change places. Then you could tell Father for me.’
‘Wouldn’t work, I’m afraid. I’d never be able to look as responsible or intelligent as you. Ten minutes makes all the difference, apparently.’
‘Then maybe you’re right.’ Arthur’s dolorous tone shifted suddenly. ‘Maybe it is time I stood up to him.’
‘That’s the spirit.’
‘I just need to be blunt.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I’ll tell him I have my own plans.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I’ll say... Wait!’ Arthur’s hand shot out and gripped his shoulder. ‘There she is.’
‘Who?’
‘Violet Harper!’
Lance turned casually towards the doorway, though it took him a few moments to actually locate the subject of their conversation. Standing between their two fathers, she was the tiniest, most unusual-looking woman he’d ever seen, nothing at all like he would have expected, an innocent daisy between two bristly thistles. Dressed all in white, she looked more like a fairy-tale creature than a woman, seeming to give off an almost translucent glow in the candlelight. Even her hair was pale, a shade of shimmering, silvery blonde that fell in a perfectly straight line to her waist. It gave her an oddly top-heavy appearance, though the top of her head barely skimmed the shoulders of their father, whose six-foot frame both he and Arthur had inherited. How would one kiss such a woman without getting backache, he wondered, not to mention other things? Not that he’d shirk such a challenge...
‘It could be worse.’ He nudged Arthur none too subtly in the ribs.
‘What, your behaviour?’
‘Very funny. I mean Father’s choice of bride. She looks like a kitten.’ He grinned. ‘I want to pat her on the head.’
‘You marry her, then.’
‘Shall we go and suggest it? I’d like to see Father’s face if we did. Harper’s, too. They’d both have apoplexies on the spot.’
‘Maybe we ought to suggest it, then.’
‘She’s pretty.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Unusual. I like unusual.’
‘You would. Have you ever met a woman you didn’t like?’
Lance shrugged, unabashed. It was true, he wasn’t biased towards any one type of woman. He liked variety—the more of it the better—though there was something particularly intriguing about Miss Harper, something that piqued his interest more than he would have expected. He let his gaze roam over her face and figure appreciatively. Her tiny size and distinctive colouring made her appear strangely ethereal, as if she were in the room and yet apart from it somehow. He couldn’t think of another way to explain it, but the duality only increased her appeal.
The
