Their hostess flipped another page. “The rest is minutiae.” She rested the document on the desk. “Take these home and read them again. These will be binding for the rest of your lives. We will reconvene tomorrow at this same time.”
They were dismissed, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood up. As if waiting for just this signal, a knock on the door preceded the entrance of two of her employees, one who led the men out. The other, a woman, waited as Mary stood, her knees still quivering.
“Lady Mary, a moment.”
The woman at the door gave a quick nod and exited, pulling the door closed. Mrs. Dove-Lyon came to her, touched her arm lightly. “Are you frightened?”
Mary hesitated, then nodded. “A bit.” She swallowed. “Terrified, in truth.”
“You still believe this is the right thing to do?”
“I believe I need to be less a burden to my brother and find a place. It is rather apparent thetonwill not make that easy for me. Or even possible. It will help everyone for this to be settled.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon let out a long sigh. “Acquiescence is not always the best foundation for a marriage, but it is a start. But there is one more thing you should know.”
“Which is?”
“I saw your expression. Your surprise. And I know your question. With men of the Beau Monde, with their behavior so modeled on the unrelenting debauchery of the king, how could one man be certain he has no children wandering about the skirts of a former mistress?”
“Indeed.”
“You know I thoroughly investigated all three of the men I offered to you.”
“As you said.”
“I know everything there is to know about them. And in the case of Lord Thaddeus, I know there are no children because he has had no former mistresses. He is still very much in love with a woman he cannot have, who has long been married to another man. Lady Lydia Southworth, a bluestocking, the daughter of a baronet who refused to let them marry. Lord Thaddeus cannot have her, but neither can he forget her. There have been no others, and I doubt there would be, unless he marries. He is a hopeless dreamer who desires something he has been denied his entire life—a devoted family. Preferably with a woman he loves.” She gestured toward the contract on her desk. “He may be practical, as one must be in his position, but there is a hope in him that he still may achieve his greatest wish.”
Mary scowled, not quite following Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s thoughts.
The proprietress smiled. “My dear, Lord Thaddeus is a virgin.”
Wednesday, 26 April 1826
George Brothers’s rooms, Bloomsbury, London
Five in the afternoon
George paged throughthe contract again, pausing on some sections for yet a third time, his lips moving without a sound. Thad watched, trying hard not to leap to his feet and pace, or, at the least, pummel his friend into sharing his thoughts. Instead,he sat in one of the two wingback chairs in front of the fireplace, watching his friend in the other.
Thad had shared the news—and the contract—with his family at luncheon to mixed results, as if none of them took the matter with any seriousness at all. His father glanced at the first page of the contract, then handed it to Thad’s older brother, who had not looked at it at all, merely asking if this meant Thad would be moving out. His mother had smiled and murmured, “At least she is not an actress.” His youngest sister asked if he would still accompany her to the modiste.
When Thad had asked his father if the family solicitor should review the contract, the old man had sniffed. “I see no reason to pay him for something so inconsequential.”
Inconsequential. His son’s marriage to a duke’s sister.
“Perhaps your new father-in-law can find you something beneficial to do with your life.”
Thad had not bothered to explain that there was no father-in-law.
It had all been... unsurprising. Annoying, yes, but no surprise that Thad’s life meant less to them than the small payment due a solicitor. When he had mentioned this to George, his best friend had shrugged. “What did you expect? After all, they paid for your education in hopes you would meet rich friends who would get you out of the house.”
Finally George let out a long sigh and laid the papers on a table near his chair. He stared into the cold, gray fire grate a moment, his eyes narrowed in thought.
Thad looked around the room, fighting his impatience. George’s suite of rooms, rented after he developed an ongoing relationship with an actress from the Haymarket Theater, had become Thad’s second home over the past few years. He appreciated the dark wood and leather décor, the scents of tobacco, rum, whisky, and soap. George had developed thereputation as a carefree rogue, but he despised slovenly natures and had an unwavering preciseness about him when it came to the placement of furniture and items such as the mantel clock and a set of liquor bottles on a table near an escritoire in the far corner of the room.
“George—”
“This is your perfect angel, correct? From yesterday?”
