“I am surprised he can afford the fees,” Marcus said. He had felt sorry for Kendrickson at school. The fellow’s clothes were at times verging on threadbare and he never had any money at his disposal. Everybody knew his father was a gambler who shot too high and too often.
Radler shrugged. “He’s found money from somewhere, I suppose. He’s got to, doesn’t he? He needs a wife with funds to pull his estate back from the brink.”
Marcus nodded. He supposed he ought to be grateful. Whatever else his father had been, he’d at least been a competent steward of his inheritance.
“I bet Kendrickson makes his move pretty quick,” Radler said. “He won’t be able to linger too long without funds to keep him. I’ll wager he sizes up the heftiest dowries and moves fast.”
“Wager all you like, I will not take you up on it,” Marcus said drily. “It was wagering that got Kendrickson’s father into debt in the first place. He might also consider that his actions, whatever they may be, will have lifelong consequences. Seeking speedy relief in the present may result in misery in the future.”
“He won’t have the luxury of waiting to be struck, as I do,” Radler said.
Marcus slowly closed his eyes and opened them again. Radler had spoken so many times about being “struck” that he was beginning to worry over what that might mean for the peace of his household. Marcus was not looking forward to finding his houseguest tearing at his hair over being “struck.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Randolph Burtherington, the Earl of Kendricksonknew people said that he was down on his luck. He always thought that a ridiculous phrase, as it implied one was showered with luck to begin and was just momentarily lacking it.
He’d not had a lot of luck. He was an earl—that was lucky. Very lucky. However, it was a title that did not mean much.
He’d been born on an estate that did not generate a vast amount of funds and he’d been sired by an inveterate gambler. The estate had been mortgaged to the hilt to pay his father’s gentlemanly debts.
Now his father was in the ground, leaving his losses behind him. All the wagers he’d lost at White’s or at the races were just distant memories for all involved.
Except Randolph and his mother. They remembered them very well. Those bets were the anchors tied to their ankles, attempting to drown them.
He’d come of age understanding what he needed to do. He needed to wed a lady with a sizable dowry to rescue the estate. It was the only way out. If he did not, the estate would go and after the mortgages were paid off there would be little left. Whatever funds they could leave with would disappear quickly and no new money could be generated without land.
All that would be left was a bullet in his head to avoid being a charity case and living off a relative’s pounds and pence.
Fortunately, he was an earl in good standing, despite his money troubles. The patronesses at Almack’s were sympathetic to his situation, as after all, his situation was hardly unique. Lords had been ruining themselves through gambling since time began. He supposed those ladies would help him along, as nobody wished to encounter a landless lord.
He and his mother had used every tactic available to them to get him to this season. He’d fostered his connections at Eton. In Town, they stayed with an old aunt on Bedford Square. He’d had a tailor tear apart his father’s clothes and put them together again with some notion of fashion. His mother had done the same with a seamstress. He would not pay for a club and the Duchess of Devonshire had very kindly paid the fees for their vouchers and tickets to Almack’s. That particular duchess was known to be overfond of gambling, so perhaps she had a soft spot for his situation.
His mother had sent letters flying in every direction to announce their relocation to Town, thereby generating invitations from her end. Randolph had written casual letters to his old schoolmates that he would be in Town. He and the dowager countess would be invited here and there and they would make themselves pleasant, generating even more invitations.
He must secure a dowry, and he must be extra charming to do it, since all the world knew what he was after. He must convince a lady that while her dowry was pleasant, it was herself he was interested in.
He hardly dared dream he would get so lucky that it would be true. He had not allowed his hopes to run that high. However, he had determined that if he were to wed only for a dowry, he would repay his lady by lifelong courtesy and generosity.
It might be all he had to offer.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Patience had known for months which dress she would wear to her debut at Almack’s. She had sketched it out with Almack’s in mind. Felicity and Grace might dilly-dally and change minds over what to wear, but Patience Nicolet did not.
It was a divine dress of white shot silk with a Pomona green sarsenet overlay embroidered with silver thread. The skirt had a hint of the French cut. Patience felt the silhouette suited her, though she would never admit to the wider world that she was at all favoring anything French.
Mrs. Right had done wonders with her hair, which could at times be an overwhelming amount of hair to manage. Unlike Grace’s hair, which was a very pretty shade of blond, her own was brown. In the sunlight, it had a particular reddish cast to it. She could never decide if she liked it or not. Sometimes she thought it rather pretty, and other times she found it pedestrian.
The carriage rumbled toward King Street. The duke said, “Here we go again. Another rollicking adventure in getting a daughter out of my house.”
Patience tapped his hand with her fan. “Do not be dramatic, Papa. I am not Felicity or Grace, I intend to go into this season with rationality and purpose. I will find the gentleman I prefer and we will move forward with no ridiculous delays.”
The duke laughed and said, “You have not the first idea how much I would like to believe that, my girl. We’ll see, I suppose.”
“Really, you will see. After all, there are not thousands of choices, are there? There is a pool of eligible gentlemen, unmarried and of the right age and station, and I will see which of them I prefer. I am certain to make short work of it.”
Patience did not choose to verbalize the one concern she had. She had no doubt she would settle her opinions quickly, as she always did. But what if she decided on a gentleman and he had not decided on her? What then?
