The door opened and a small, but formidable figure entered the room. Both gentlemen stood as Tom’s grandmother, the dowager viscountess, swept into the room. She was a wisp of a woman, but Tom learned she had a backbone of steel and a dogged determination to see her grandson married.
“Why on earth are you here, my boy?” she said, crossing the room and inspecting him with an eye that made him feel he was back in the army. “You look like the devil. You will not get yourself married looking like you’re something the cat might have dragged in from the garden.”
“Good morning, Grandmother,” he said, bowing deeply. Despite being the source of his current worry, he’d found himself enamored with the elderly woman. She had a wit sharper than many he’d met in his life, and despite her rougher edges, had a softness underneath that showed in the interest she took in sharing stories about his father and grandfather.
“How is the bride hunt going?” she asked as they all seated themselves. “Surely there must be a few ladies who have struck your fancy. And you do have your grandfather’s good looks.”
Tom couldn’t help but smile at the comparison.
“Society is so small that a new entry onto the marriage mart must be making the rounds,” his father added. “Though I have upset the natural order of things, bringing you back into society.”
Tom pursed his lips, trying to consider his answer. He hadn’t told anyone about his involvement with the Lyon’s Den. If his arrival in society had been something of a minor scandal, any marriage resulting from a contract there would create a much larger one.
“I have made the acquaintance of a Miss Mariah Morehouse.”
His grandmother brightened at the declaration. “Lord Chomley’s daughter?”
“The very same.”
“And?”
“She comes from a reputable family, as you’ve requested,” he said.
“I know you must think us horribly overbearing,” his father replied. “But that was the stipulation in your grandfather’s will, and despite the fact I am viscount, I cannot change it.”
“This is to help set him up well in society,” his grandmother said, straightening as she came to the defense of her departed husband. “Your grandfather wanted to ensure that the line was in good standing.”
“I believe Miss Morehouse will suit very well,” Tom replied. “She seems to be a woman of good sense, capable of good conversation, and though she prefers the country to town, I think she would serve the family well as viscountess.”
“Have you made an offer for her?” his grandmother asked. “Need I remind you, your birthday is not far away.”
Tom needed no such reminder. After overhearing Miss Morehouse discuss a walk in the park this afternoon, he’d decided he would brave the crowds to provide himself anopportunity to talk with her as privately as a gentleman could without risking a lady’s reputation.
“I hope to see her this afternoon in Hyde Park,” he said. “If all goes well, I will visit her father at the end of the week.”
If all goes well…if he made it through tonight’s game, and if, in the end, she chose him over the other two remaining gentlemen. But they didn’t need to know that.
Still, his conviction must have satisfied his grandmother. “Excellent, my boy. I’m glad to hear it.” She rose and gave him a warm smile, before turning to the viscount. “I am to visit Lady Whitcomb’s this afternoon, but if you need any advice as to wedding plans, I am most happy to discuss this with Caroline,” she added, referring to Tom’s stepmother, the Viscountess Worthington.
Both men rose, Tom smiling inwardly at the absolute satisfaction on his grandmother’s face. He couldn’t care less about wedding plans as long as the deed was done, but if someone was going to be happy about this, it might as well be her.
After the dowager viscountess left, they resumed their seats. The viscount leaned forward in his chair, a line of concern on his brow.
“You seem terribly settled on the idea,” he said. “Surely there has been no one else who has caught your eye?”
Tom stilled. Though the headache powder had done the work, his temples threatened to throb again.
Of course there had been someone else who’d caught his eye, and several other body parts as well. But not his heart. She’d already claimed that once, and that particular organ had not recovered.
“Not at present,” Tom said, attempting nonchalance. “And I’m certain Miss Morehouse will suit.”
His father nodded slowly, and Tom had the sense that he was struggling to keep his thoughts to himself.
“I have spoken with your stepmother,” he said at last, “and we would like to throw a ball.”
Now his temples started to throb in earnest. He’d been to a couple of these affairs, and the crush of people, as well as the curiosity of onlookers, had made them less than pleasurable.
“I’m not certain that is necessary,” he said.
