Author: Stephanie Laurens
Category: Historical
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/34274_13
“Look on the bright side. We do therefore know that Charles is indeed Arthur’s son.”
“He may be Arthur’s get, but it’s Almira who has him in hand. Good God—the lad’s been hearing nothing but Almira’s rantings from the moment of his birth. You know how she hates us.”
“She doesn’t hate us.”
“She hates all we are. She’s the most bigoted person I’ve ever met. If you and Arthur go, and Charles inherits as a minor . . .” Martin blew out a breath and looked away. “Let’s just say that neither George nor I sleep all that well o’nights.”
Sebastian looked up, studied his brother’s face. “I didn’t realize . . .” He hesitated, then said, “Neither you nor George need worry.” He grimaced. “Nor Arthur, come to that.”
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Martin frowned. “What . . .?” Then his face cleared; light returned to his eyes. “You’re going to do something about it?”
“Disabuse your mind of the notion that I approve of Almira as the next Duchess of St. Ives.”
Martin’s jaw dropped; his eyes widened. “I don’t believe it. You’re truly serious?”
“I used to believe I had an iron constitution—Almira proved me wrong. I had hoped that motherhood would improve her.” Sebastian shrugged. “It appears I was overly optimistic there, too.”
His mouth still open, Martin looked in the direction in which Helena had gone. “You’re looking for a wife.”
The glance Sebastian shot him could have cut glass. “I would greatly appreciate it if you could refrain from letting such words pass your lips. To anyone.”
Martin stared at him for a moment; then understanding dawned. “Hell’s bells, yes!” His grin returned. He glanced around at the glamorous throng, at the eyes, the smiles that even now were surreptitiously cast their way. “If that little tidbit ever gets out—”
“You’ll be even sorrier than I. Come.” Sebastian started for the door. “There’s a new hell opened in Pall Mall—I’ve an invitation if you’re interested.”
Martin fell in by his side, grinning even more widely than before.
“To my mind, mignonne, you could do much worse than Lord Montacute.”
Helena threw Sebastian a glance as they strolled beneath the trees. She and Marjorie had come to walk among the ton on what seemed likely to be the last fine afternoon of the year. Sebastian had joined them and offered her his arm. They’d left Marjorie chatting with friends to enjoy the Serpentine Walk. Along the way, Sebastian had introduced her to a number of potential husbands.
“I do not believe,” she said, “that I could stomach a gentleman who wears virulent pink coats and compounds the sin by adding pink lace.”
Her gaze swept Sebastian’s dark blue coat with its restrained use of gold at cuffs and pockets. His lace, as always, was pristine white and finely made.
“Besides”—she looked ahead—“there is the matter of his title.”
She felt Sebastian’s gaze touch her face. “He’s a baron.”
“Indeed. But my guardian has stipulated that any man I choose must be of a station at least the equal of mine.”
She glanced at Sebastian—he caught her gaze. “Earl or above.” He sighed, raised his head, looked around. “Mignonne, it would have been helpful if you had told me this before. There are not so many earls or marquesses, let alone dukes, languishing unwed among the ton.”
“There must be some—there are some.”
“But we have other criteria to satisfy, do we not?”
Her criteria weren’t the same as his, but unfortunately, satisfying her criteria would also satisfy his. An acquiescent husband who would allow her to rule their marriage would not raise a fuss should she decide to take a lover. Indeed, who knew? She might. But any lover she took would be of the same ilk—a man who pandered to her wishes rather than expecting her to pander to his.
In other words, not the man walking by her side.
“Let us start with the title first. It will narrow the field.”
“It will indeed.” He considered the knots of people scattered over the lawns as they strolled slowly along. “Will your guardian’s stipulations stretch to viscounts? In most cases they will, after all, eventually be earls.”
“Hmm—it is possible, I suppose. If all other criteria were met.”
“In that case let me introduce you to Viscount Digby. He’s the heir to the Earl of Quantock, who has considerable estates in the west of the country. An estimable man, so I hear.”