steepled beneath his chin. His gaze was on the small fire crackling on the gray marble hearth in front of them and for a moment Talcott thought that he had not heard him. But a second later Julian murmured, “I know. And I will admit that another marriage was something that I had not thought to undertake—even if it meant that my bloody cousin Charles would inherit the title and all that goes with it, and which he would promptly gamble away.”
Talcott grinned. “Well! I am happy to see that at least your opinion of him has not changed. The way you were going on about the wisdom of this marriage, I next expected you to start singing his praises.”
“Hardly. But if you think about it, this marriage may be a very good thing. I do need an heir and a hostess of my own—I have estates that need a woman’s hand and I have no inclination to oversee the running of my various households. Diana does well enough, but she is still a young woman, a beautiful one, and she could—in fact it is my most ardent desire—remarry, and then where would I be? Having my own wife would solve that problem before it arises.”
When Talcott would have interrupted him, he raised a hand and added, “I know what you are going to say next: if I am set upon marriage, why not select a bride from a more recent crop of eligible damsels? Why choose a female not in the first blush of youth?” He rubbed his chin. “Quite honestly, the thought of shackling myself to any one of the flighty bits of muslin that are currently trotted out at Almack’s makes me view with delight the notion of joining a monastery.” Julian shook his head. “No. I’ve considered the situation from all angles and Miss Anslowe is the perfect candidate for me—perhaps the only candidate. Consider it, Adrian! She is young enough to give me a nursery full of offspring and yet old enough to know the ways of the world. She will not bedevil me by demanding that I dance attendance on her—or saddle me with someone else’s brat. Her family’s name and respectability are without parallel—and don’t forget, she is an heiress. The more I consider it, the more convinced I am that marriage with her is wise.”
“My ears must deceive me—surely this is not the same man who has been declaring for years that marriage is the worst fate to befall man?”
Julian grinned. “There will be compensations, you know—when she produces an heir, Charles will be blocked from inheriting and, remember, my wife will have to deal with Diana and all of her fits and starts. At least I shall be free of that.”
“A poor reason to saddle yourself with a woman who has been considered on the shelf for years.” Talcott looked morose. “And don’t forget, there are those rumors about her.”
Julian sent him a hooded glance. “What rumors?” he asked in a tone that made Talcott uneasy.
“Uh, well, you know that years ago she was engaged to Bethune?” At Julian’s nod, he said, “It is common knowledge that she suffered an accident that left her crippled…But the reason Bethune was able to escape the engagement without being branded a blackguard is that there was talk that she was not, um, quite right in the head.”
Julian pictured Nell as he had first seen her, dirty and bedraggled. She had not been, he would admit, a reassuring sight, but what he remembered most of that moment was the intelligence gleaming in those wary, sea green eyes. He smiled to himself, finding the memory endearing. But one thing had been clear in an instant: this was no madwoman. Not even, he thought, half-mad.
“You do realize,” Julian asked softly, “that you are talking about the woman that I am to marry?”
Talcott swallowed, his precisely arranged cravat feeling as if it was choking him. He recognized the deceptive mildness of Julian’s tone. Past experience had taught him that a prudent man treaded carefully when that particular note entered his friend’s voice—either that or take the consequences…which were never pleasant.
Talcott cleared his throat. “Now, don’t come the ugly with me—I am only repeating what has been said.”
“Do not…not if you wish to remain my friend. I would suggest also, that for their own good, you promptly disabuse anyone else of that notion.”
“Oh, of course. Absolutely.”
Julian smiled at him, that warm, utterly charming smile that always disarmed its object. “I know you will. And I know that you will wish me happy.”
“Naturally. Wouldn’t do otherwise.” Talcott fidgeted in his chair. “Thing is, Julian, it comes as a shock. Bound to be talk.”
Julian rose to his feet and, picking up the poker, prodded the fire. “People have been talking and gossiping about me for years—what is one more round?”
Talcott sighed. “I know, but this time it is different. It ain’t just that you are getting married, it is to whom you are getting married. And the suddenness of it is certain to cause a flurry amongst the old tabbies.”
“And why should I care about that?”
“You might not…but what of your lady?”
Julian paused. He could stand the nonsense, but with an unsettling feeling of protectiveness, he was aware that he did not want the ton sinking their collective claws into Nell. “What do you suggest? I am going to marry her. And it will be on next Wednesday.”
Talcott cleared his throat again. “Perhaps, if we were to, uh, put forth some sort of explanation?” He sent Julian a glance, trying to gauge his mood. Feeling his way, he said, “Lady Humphries will, of course, be busy spreading the news about how she found you and the Anslowes at the abandoned toll keeper’s cottage.” Talcott paused, making certain that he had Julian’s full attention—and that the earl was not on the verge of calling him out. The expression on Julian’s face was encouraging, so Talcott plunged on, “Knowing Lady Humphries, she will give out the worst reading of the situation. You need a, uh, clarification of the tale to dilute her tale—something that would satisfy, or at least divert, the more determined gossips.”
“You have something in mind?” Julian asked with a quirk of his brow.
Settling back in the chair, Talcott considered the matter. Having concluded that, for whatever reasons, Julian was determined to marry Miss Anslowe, he threw himself into the fray. Now what, he wondered, would be a reason for Julian to have kept his courtship—if there had been a courtship, and he seriously doubted it—wrapped in such secrecy? A smile slid across his face as an idea occurred to him. “I suppose,” he said, “that the most obvious reason for you to have kept your, er, growing passion for Miss Anslowe a secret is because you did not wish to distress Lady Wyndham by thrusting a stranger into the household.”
Julian put away the poker and, amusement gleaming in his eyes, he said, “Yes, that sounds plausible. Diana enjoys being the Countess Wyndham—she will not be happy to claim the title dowager, not at her age.”
“Er, yes. So that explains why you kept it a secret—you wanted Lady Diana to become used to the idea.”
Julian nodded. “But why,” he asked, the gleam in his eyes more pronounced, “did I decide to spring this, uh, growing passion, I believed you called it, on her now?”
Enjoying himself now, Talcott smiled. “Why, my dear fellow, after your unfortunate carriage accident, which left you in such close proximity with the alluring Miss Anslowe, you simply could not contain your passion any longer. You had to speak and the consequences be damned!”
Julian guffawed. “Of course. It will do all the old tabbies good to think of me snarled in the throes of love. They will look upon
