Papa came around from behind his desk and took Dotty by her shoulders. “You may join Charlotte for your Season. However, you know my feelings about this. You are still young, and there is no reason you must marry anytime soon.”
She kept her face as serious as her father’s. “I know, Papa.”
He cleared his throat. “If a young man is interested in you, have him apply to Lord Worthington first. He will know best if the gentleman is suitable.”
Dotty nodded. Relief and excitement rushed through her. Yet her father wasn’t done yet. She waited for him to continue.
“With the number of inhabitants already in Worthington’s household, and the dogs, you must promise me not to bring stray animals or people to Stanwood House. They won’t appreciate it.”
“I promise, Papa.”
“Now, I must make sure the coach is ready.”
As soon as her father closed the door, she gave a little shriek and hugged her mother. “Oh, Mama! Thank you so much. I shall never be able to repay you.”
She patted Dotty’s cheek. “Yes, you will, by having fun. Though mind what your father said. With all those children andtwoGreat Danes, the Worthingtons do not need three-legged dogs or half-blind cats, not to mention homeless children.”
“Yes, Mama. I’ll do my best.” Dotty grinned.
Everyone loved Scruffy. The cat was the best mouser they’d ever had, and Benjy was turning into a fine groom. People and animals only needed a chance in life. Nevertheless, her parents had a point. Bringing strays home to Stern Manor was one thing, taking them to someone else’s house quite another matter altogether. Dotty said a quick prayer that she would not meet anyone in need of help.
Chapter Two
Dominic, Marquis of Merton, settled into his apartment at the Pulteney Hotel. His pride still stung at having been ejected from his cousin, Matt Worthington’s, town house. Blowing a cloud was the latest thing. Not that Dom would attempt to smoke in White’s, that was not allowed, but he outranked Worthington and should have been treated as an honored guest, not summarily told to leave. Still, it was probably convenient that Dom did not actually enjoy smoking, as he was sure the Pulteney would not allow it either.
He should have gone on his Grand Tour instead of taking a bolt to Town. But his mother had received a letter informing her of his cousin’s plans to wed, and he decided starting his own nursery would be the most responsible course. After all, the succession would not look after itself, and he had a duty to his family and dependents. Perhaps he would travel after he married.
Not that Dom truly wished to leave England. He liked an ordered life and travel was sure to disrupt the structure with which he was comfortable. He did not wish to visit France at all. Any land where the inhabitants would murder their betters held little interest for him. It all came back to the proper order of things. Life was much better when everyone followed the rules and knew their places.
He reconsidered opening up Merton House for the Season, but there was really no point when his mother was not here as well. Without her to act as his hostess, he would not be able to plan any entertainments other than for his friends. The hotel would suit for the short time he planned to spend in Town. It should not take him that long to find a wife. He was a marquis. Even without his considerable fortune, he would have been a desirableparti.
“Kimbal,” he called to his valet.
“Yes, my lord.”
“I shall be dining at White’s.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Dom scribbled a note to his friend Viscount Fotherby asking if he would like to join Dom for dinner. By the time he was dressed and had donned his hat, Fotherby’s answer affirming the invitation had arrived.
A short while later, just as a light sprinkle turned into a persistent rain, Dom handed his hat and cane to the footman at White’s and found his friend lounging in the room that held the club’s famous betting book. William Alvanley, another of Dom’s friends, was seated next to the window with another man staring intently at the rain.
He turned to Fotherby. “What are they doing?”
“Five thousand quid on which raindrop will reach the bottom of the sill first.”
Despite being close with many of the Prince Regent’s circle, Dom could not abide the excessive wagers his friends made. Alvanley would end up ruining himself and his estates at the rate he was going. “Are you ready to dine, or are you awaiting the outcome?”
“Famished.” Fotherby tossed off his glass of wine. “Thought you weren’t coming to Town this year.”
“My plans changed.” Dom and Fotherby entered the dining room. “I have decided to take a wife.”
“Wife?” Fotherby choked. “Any idea who?”
“Not yet, but I have a list of qualifications. She must be well-bred, not given to fits of temper or strange starts, quiet, biddable, easy to look at—I must get an heir on her after all—know what is expected of a marchioness. And not prone to scandals. You know how my uncle hated them. I think that about covers it.”
“A paragon, in other words.”
