“Thank you.” Philip sat on the padded seat of a polished wood chair.
He had not been close with his cousin. They had been completely different. When Ludlow married his wife, a woman with whom Philip decidedly did not get on with, the divide between them widened further.
Lady Bursbury poured some tea into an elegant floral teacup in front of Philip.
“It has come to my attention that Ludlow’s wife is not in a delicate way,” he said without preamble.
The countess blinked in surprise. “You’ve only just discovered this information?”
“She wasn’t entirely forthcoming.” Philip struggled to keep the bitterness from his tone. He’d had to bribe one of the servants for the information that had been so difficult to pry from his cousin’s widow. But then, she had always dreamed of becoming a countess. Ludlow’s death had snatched that from her and left her with a modest stipend in direct contrast to the extravagant life to which she had become accustomed.
No pregnancy meant there was no chance of maintaining her lavish lifestyle.
“There are no other heirs in line for the earldom.” Philip lifted the dainty teacup from its saucer, feeling rather ridiculous as he did so. He wasn’t a come-to-tea sort of chap. He especially was not one who relished the idea of drinking from a dainty, flower-embossed teacup.
Lady Bursbury paused mid-stir. “I see.”
“I need an heir.”
“And in order to have an heir…” She straightened and met his gaze. “You must have a wife.”
Philip drank from the effeminate teacup to mask his displeasure. He knew well the sort of young lady who would throw herself in front of an earl—women like Ludlow’s widow, eager for wealth and title.
It was why Philip had not bothered with marriage in all these years. Not when his one attempt had gone so horribly wrong. No, lovers were far easier to placate and held no ties to one’s fortunes.
Lady Bursbury pressed her lips together, but it did little to squelch her burgeoning smile. “You want me to match you with a young lady, don’t you?”
Philip groaned at her swift assessment, and Lady Bursbury tittered with mirth.
“I cannot abide the women eager only to marry me for my title,” he said. “I hoped you might find a woman of more substance.”
Lady Bursbury gave an arrogant little tilt to her head. “I have exactly the woman in mind already.”
Wariness edged through him. Maybe this had been a bad idea.
She beamed at him. “My niece, Lady Cecelia.”
He stilled. Lady Cecelia.
It had been a decade since he’d seen her, having left for university when they were children.
She was easy to recall, though. Beautiful, carefree with a ready smile. She had been more daring than he was in the games they played on the Bursbury estate during house parties, even if she’d been three years his junior.
He smiled at the thought of her.
“Ah, I see you remember her,” Lady Bursbury said. “Though I confess, there is a bit of a complication.”
Philip narrowed his eyes.
Was she ugly now? Her face marred from a bout of the pox or her teeth overcrowded in her mouth? Or perhaps she was in need of a shield from scandal, and an opportune marriage was the ideal solution?
“She came to me recently asking for a match as well,” Lady Bursbury continued. “I’m afraid my niece is…”
She paused, and Philip tensed.
“My niece is overly responsible,” she finally finished, the words carefully spoken as though the matter were incredibly fragile.
“Lady Cecelia,” Philip said incredulously. “Overly responsible?” He nearly laughed out loud. After all, most of their schemes had been her idea. The mud race before church, the mouse set loose at a dinner party, the time the salt had somehow been misplaced with the sugar…
