“Why isn’t it?” he said. “Surely to heaven celebrating the return of the heir to the house of Worthington and news of an impending marriage is worth the trouble, is it not?”
Tom tried to bite back a smile. He’d been blessed with not just one, but two father figures who seemed to actually give a damn about him. He thought of Gabe, who’d run away from his own father and joined the army to escape the never-ending criticism from his own father.
Tom, on the other hand, had run to escape Whetherby.
And both had left Georgie alone, on a crumbling estate with a father who seemed unable to manage the never-ending series of petty disasters that pelted the family.
He pushed down the unexpected tide of regret that brought with it a wave of doubt about his current course. He’d offered to make a life with her once—to take her away from Whetherby. And she’d refused him in the most direct and callous manner possible.
Instead, his father was choosing this moment to celebrate Tom’s future. As a Worthington.
“Of course,” he said. “Now if you excuse me, I shall make myself presentable for my outing this afternoon.”
Chapter Nine
Tom had experiencedthe frantic and bloody chaos of pitched battles when he was in Spain. An afternoon in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour may not have yielded bloodshed, but it was no less chaotic. His peculiar situation had gained him some attention, and he’d felt the weight of whispers and stares from curious onlookers as he navigated his curricle through Kensington Gardens toward the Serpentine. It was not the most relaxing way to spend an afternoon, but he had a wife to secure, and with at least three other potential suitors vying for Miss Morehouse’s attentions, desperate measures had to be taken. If he was successful in tonight’s game, he’d have made his intentions known.
He found the lady walking along the Serpentine with her companion, Miss Howard. There was a gentleman walking with them Tom recognized from the Lyon’s Den. Not willing to waste his valet’s nor his groom’s efforts to get Tom into the matchmaking fray of a brilliant spring afternoon, he charged—or rather rode—to the trio and asked Miss Morehouse if she’d cared to join him for a drive in the park. To his relief, she accepted.
“You are an object of some interest,” she said, as the horses moved at a slow but steady cantor along Rotten Row. “The lostson of a viscount, found leading a section of Wellington’s army in Spain?”
“It does sound remarkable when you say it like that,” he said.
“I’m intrigued how a viscount loses a child,” she said. “Or perhaps I’m more intrigued that he was so intent on finding you.”
“Not as surprised as I was,” he replied.
“Everyone has their secrets,” she said. “I’m glad yours worked to your distinct advantage.”
Almost against his will, an image of Georgie popped up in his mind. Falling in love with Georgie had been his secret. That he thought she’d returned those feelings was a secret he’d damned well kept. The humiliation and hurt of her refusal somehow managed to linger, gripping him like the frigid dampness of January in Cheshire.
He forced his attention back to Miss Morehouse. She was an attractive woman, with an almost analytical manner that, under the circumstances, he found to be a boon.
“May I ask you a question?” he asked.
“You want to know why I’ve hired Mrs. Dove-Lyon to find me a husband.”
“With respect, you are a handsome woman with a keen mind and, I assume, a respectable fortune,” he said. “I am curious what she can provide for you that society cannot?”
She turned to him, her expression earnest. “I have a decent fortune, as you say. But since whomever I marry will unfortunately control it, I must marry a man I can abide.”
“You are not holding out for a love match then?”
She tilted her head, giving him a curious smile. “If I were, I wouldn’t be trying my luck with one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s games,” she replied. “I wish a marriage in name only.”
“You are very certain about what you want,” he said.
“I believe many women are,” she replied. “They are simply not given the freedom to express it, never mind act on it.”
Like a moth drawn to the flicker of candlelight, Tom’s thoughts turned to Georgie. Had she known what she’d wanted? Because years ago she’d expressed herself perfectly well to him. And yet, here she was, trying to escape that very same marriage she’d been so sure she’d wanted all those years ago.
Had she been given the freedom to do as she’d wanted?
“If I could do this without a husband, it would be done,” she continued, dragging Tom’s attention back to the conversation at hand. “But my parents are withholding my funds until I marry. So this is my way of escaping the future they would have for me.”
To escape one.Georgie was escaping too. The edge in her voice as she confessed her situation still clawed at him. But he was not here for Georgie, he reminded himself.
“What about children?” he asked. Marriage to an indifferent but well-connected partner was one thing, but the matter of heirs was not a condition he could sidestep.
