Page 58 of One Waltz with the Viscount

‘We will discuss this in your rooms.’

‘This is not a good time...’

‘Nonsense. You’re hardly dressed for going out. Anyway, I think you will want to hear what I have to say.’

With his heart in his throat, Henry followed his father up the stairs, hoping Sarah had heard the exchange and at the very least closed the door to the bedroom.

His father sat down on the sofa upon which Henry had started to undress Sarah only a few hours earlier. With a flash of panic Henry looked round the room for signs of anything untoward, but thankfully all their discarded clothing had made it to the bedroom.

‘I received a note from Sir William earlier today. He told me he’d encountered you with a young woman he did not think I would approve of.’

‘Of course he did,’ Henry muttered, cursing Sarah’s estranged father.

‘Am I to understand it was the same young woman you were seen with in Hyde Park, and later that I met at the opera house? This poor relative of the Shrewsburys?’

‘Yes. Miss Shepherd.’ A long time ago he had realised it was best to keep his answers short when it came to his father. It gave the old man less to argue with.

Lord Burwell grunted in disapproval. ‘As I’ve already told you, she is hardly the sort of young woman you should be focussing on.’ His father narrowed his eyes. ‘There is nothing romantic between you?’ He didn’t wait for his son to answer before pushing on. ‘In fact, I do not care what there is between you. I came here to tell you I have found you a wife.’

‘What?’ Henry reeled back, stunned.

‘A wife. A suitable young lady. A gem amongst next year’s debutantes. This young lady can trace her ancestry all the way back to the Norman kings.’

‘A wife?’ Henry repeated, not able to take in everything his father was saying.

‘She will be popular of course. Her fortune is incomparable, and she is passable to look at, but her breeding is the main attraction. You can be sure any children you have with her will be of good stock.’

‘You make her sound like a brood mare.’

‘Nonsense. She is much more valuable. You will need to strike quickly, before any of her other potential suitors can get in. Once she’s been presented to the Queen she will be inundated with proposals.’

‘I don’t even know the name of this girl.’

‘Lady Isabelle Stanwell.’

‘Ah,’ he said, understanding why his father was so keen. ‘Daughter of the Duke of Hampton.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘She’s a child.’

‘Not anymore.’ His father was almost cackling with glee at the prospect of the match. ‘She is seventeen, and ripe for the plucking.’

He shuddered at the thought. It had been a year or two since he had last seen lady Isabelle Stanwell, but she still very much seemed like a child on their last meeting. He could never even contemplate marriage to a girl so young.

‘I expect she’ll accept your proposal without much fuss. For all your faults you can be charming, when you want to be.’

‘Father, I am not going to propose to her,’ Henry said resolutely.

His father stilled—an air of contempt came over him. ‘Oh, but you will, boy.’

‘No.’

Lord Burwell gave a humourless smile and shook his head. ‘You forget yourself, and the deal we made.’

‘I wish to renegotiate.’

‘So do I.’ The words sliced through Henry. Suddenly he felt a cold chill, as if he had just caught a glimpse of the devil in his father’s eyes. ‘Did you know your sister is in London?’