“Just so, my girl.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marcus Langley, Earl of Stanford, regarded his friend and current houseguest. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Viscount Radler paced the drawing room. “I am trying to explain it to you. Your careful decision-making is all well and good for most things, but not for this.”
“I would imagine that this circumstance above all others would require thorough planning.”
Marcus had determined he was now at a moment in his life when it was time to choose a wife. He had been giving it careful consideration for three years and felt confident in his conclusion.
“Stanford,” Viscount Radler said, “there are times when your analyzing backward and forward is merited. However, how many horses have you lost the chance at because you were still mulling over the purchase? Do you really imagine that the sort of lady you wish to wed will stand round while you think about it for months on end?”
That point did give Marcus pause. Ladies were under such pressure to wed lest they end on the shelf. On the gentleman’s side, if a man were firmly decided to wed, he might make quick work of it lest the lady he preferred be snatched up by another. There was an underlying frenzy to it all that nobody ever spoke of outright.
Despite the frenzy, he could not rush headlong into a partnership that would last the rest of his days. He must hope there were those cautious ladies he might encounter who would be pleased at his careful going forward as they preferred it themselves.
“Furthermore,” Radler went on, “you entirely ignore the power of the heart! A gentleman is meant to be struck by a lady and begin his pursuit, tearing at his hair if he cannot be successful.”
Marcus raised his brows. He had no intention of being struck and tearing at his hair. He had learned well enough to avoid that sort of foolishness.
Of course, Radler did not know the entire story of Marcus’ parents’ marriage. He knew it had been unhappy, but not what had led to it or precisely how bad it had been. His mother and father had been impetuous and had eloped to Gretna Green, though that scandal had been hushed up.
What had they discovered after the first rush of excitement faded? They did not have a thing in common. She wanted one way and he wanted the other, on nearly every subject. By the time Marcus came on the scene, the household was ice cold, unless it was heated up by screaming matches. He was their only issue, as by then they could not stand the sight on one another.
One evening, when he was six, he had been led in for his nightly interview with his parents. If there was one thing they agreed on, it was they were both sticklers for tradition. They had both done nightly interviews with their mother and father and so they carried on with it, though they could barely stand to be in the same room. Night after night, Marcus was led in and asked a series of questions regarding his behavior. He dutifully answered in between their icy glares at one another, and then was led out again.
That night, he gathered his nerve for what he’d been thinking about for months. In a tone cold enough to match his father’s own, he demanded the nursery be moved to the other end of the house. He did not care to be forever woken by their shouting matches. His tutors had explained that shouting was bad form, and he did not wish to hear it.
He’d wondered if his father would throw something at his head over hearing such a pronouncement. However, in their utter embarrassment, they complied. As he looked back on it, he thought it rather surprising that they did not dismiss his tutors either, though he had not thought he might be putting them in danger at the time. He supposed they were too ashamed to act on what must have been their wish. It cannot be comfortable to have one’s bad behavior pointed out by a six-year-old.
In later years, he’d been delighted to go away to school and to stay with Lady Monroe, his great aunt, between terms.
He would not create such a household for his own family. The idea that he might inadvertently do so kept him awake at night.
Radler, seeing he was not getting anywhere with his ideas, let out one of his long and disappointed sighs. “So, you will go to Almack’s and begin your painfully lengthy examination of the ladies of the season?”
Marcus nodded. “You’ll see. It will work out for the best. As for how things will go for you, I cannot fathom.”
“I will look about, I will be struck, and I will tear at my hair until I’ve won her,” Radler said proudly.
Marcus finished his brandy and set it down. Having Radler in the house for the season was likely to be exhausting.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Patience had done everything she could possibly do to drive the season forward. Six months ago, she had convinced her father to bring a modiste from London to the Dales. If Madame LaFray had supposed she would need to design Patience’s dresses for the season, she was disabused of that idea upon arrival.
Patience had studied theJournal des Dames et des Modes,The Ladies Monthly Museum, andAckerman’s Repository,and knew precisely what she wished for. She had ordered fabrics and embellishments, slippers, reticules, gloves, stockings, and bonnets. She presented her sketches, with notes at the bottom as to which fabrics and embellishments went with which. As well, she presented various drawings of outerwear, a riding habit, and a list of incidentals she would require that had recently occurred to her.
The madame had got to work in a series of spare rooms, hiring local seamstresses and sending away for anything needed. Haberdashers had been notified to have packages waiting at Grosvenor Square. Every detail had been seen to.
Madame LaFray had been invited to dine with the family at table, as they were not an over-formal household and she was an exceedingly sophisticated and well-bred lady, but she had only done so once.
Apparently, the duke made her too nervous to try it again. So many people just did not understand her father’s ways. When the duke had been very liberal with his port and claimed he could not wait to see the last of his daughters out of the house and would never allow them back through the doors again, Madame LaFray had been terrified.
Or perhaps she had been terrified when Patience claimed she would chop down the doors with a hatchet to get back inside for Christmas.
Or perhaps she had been terrified when Winsome threw a roll at the duke’s head, just as Grace used to do.
