Page 44 of Never a Proper Lady
I seek an intelligent, well-read, independent young woman of good breeding. A lady of substance who isn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty, and doesn’t swoon or fly into hysterics when encountering an insect, a bat, or a wild animal. She must be an excellent scribe, capable of making a decent cup of tea, and willing to live in less than luxurious conditions while on expeditions.
Acceptable candidates must be able to swim and ride proficiently and endure lengthy coach travel. The capacity to handle a firearm or a blade is a bonus, as is the ability to sew and cook as needed. Basic nursing skills are desired but not required. The ideal candidate won’t object to traveling for months or perhaps years without returning to England.
~Mrs. Eustasia Peagilly in an advert placed in The Times for a companion
Bollocks.
The last thing Constantine needed was for Martin to become suspicious about the betrothal. His cousin would like nothing better than to see this branch of the Kellinggrave’s immersed in a scandal—no matter how inconsequential.
One would think a man with Martin’s sordid reputation wouldn’t be altogether keen to point a judgmental finger. But wasn’t that the way of people? Eager to point out the speck of sawdust in someone else’s eye while ignoring the plank in their own.
Leopold swiveled to face Martin and gave him a terse nod. “Martin.”
Palpable tension radiated between the cousins, and all the while, the waterfall serenely cascaded into the pond with a soft whoosh, oblivious to the disharmony that had invaded the sanctuary.
Too bad Martin couldn’t have been cut from the guest list. The house party would be more enjoyable for all and safer for the women.
“Ah, the adored heir has returned to his family’s loving embrace at last. Six months is rather neglectful of you, cuz.” Grasping his lapel, Martin cocked his head, a snide half-smile quirking his mouth. “Sowing your wild oats before you’re forced to settle down and take on your ducal responsibilities, eh?”
Malice dripped from every acerbic word.
Already obscenely jealous, Martin’s obsession with the dukedom bordered on unbalanced. Would he never move on and let the matter go?
He hadn’t been cheated or robbed.
No one had conspired to steal his birthright.
Chance, providence, destiny, or perhaps the Lord himself had decreed that Father be born first, and that same divine power had gifted him three sons. An heir and two spares. Uncle Hayward had accepted his lot in life, and if not with graciousness, at least he wasn’t a sulky pout, unlike his son.
Expression inscrutable except for the coldness in the wintery gaze he speared their cousin, Leopold put a few feet between himself and Martin. Probably so he didn’t pummel the obnoxious sod into next month.
“Thankfully, as Father is hearty and hale, I needn’t concern myself with such morose contemplations, need I?” His scrutiny scathing, Leopold rested a hand on his hip. “You really oughtn’t to either, Martin. Bad form and all of that. One might think you wish ill upon the current Duke of Landrith.”
Constantine hid a grin at the deliberate jab.
Martin didn’t deny the accusation, but his hostile glare spoke for him.
He’d very much like Father, Leopold, Cedric, Constantine, and even Uncle Hayward to kick up their toes, clearing an unobstructed pathway for Martin to inherit the duchy.
What caused a person to be inherently vile?
Stilted silence descended upon the garden, as gloomy and unwelcome as a death shroud.
Faith skirted the bench and, offering Leopold a brilliant smile, dipped into a pretty curtsy.
“My lord. I would love to hear about your travels. I’ve always longed to see the world. Lady Edyth tells me you’ve recently visited Egypt. Was it wondrous?”
Faith wanted to travel?
Even with her penchant for becoming queasy in a coach?
Why hadn’t Constantine known that?
Truth be told, he knew scant little about her, particularly her hopes and dreams. But then, when would the subject have come up? And was it really wise to learn more?
No.
Neither had that kiss been prudent, and it must not be repeated.
