Page 12 of A Sham Engagement

Now he did laugh. “But you seem to forget that your mother has brought you to London to find you a husband. Did you not think to inform her of your aversion to marriage before you set out, and thus save her some time and expense?”

“Of course I did, but as usual, she took no notice. And my sisters are no help because they are straining at the bit to have a season of their own and find themselves empty-headed young men who they mistakenly think might make them happy.”

“And this is your first ball of the season?”

“It is. I wish it could be my last.”

The germ of an idea began to solidify. “What if we could dispose of the necessity for you to be found a husband?”

Interest flickered in those candid blue eyes—not quite so stony now. “And how would ‘we’ do that? I take it you are offering your assistance?”

“I might be. Let me explain. Sit down in front of the fire again.” He gestured at the two wingbacked chairs.

Much to his surprise, she offered no resistance and sat herself down. This time, instead of perching on the edge, she sat back in her chair, staring at him out of oddly intense eyes. They really were the loveliest shade of blue. If he’d been minded to, he could have lost himself in them all too easily.

He took the other seat. “Do you always stare so?”

A little smile touched her lips. “I’m afraid I do. I don’t like to look someone in the eye. I find it very difficult. Mama taught me to look someone in the mouth instead—so much easier. You will see that what I’m really looking at is your lips. Does it discomfort you?”

He shrugged. “Not now you explain it.”

“So, what is it you were going to suggest? I fear we have only a minute or two left before my parents and yours return.”

He steepled his fingers, something he was wont to do in times of stress. And yes, this was stressful. He needed to tread carefully. “Your parents have brought you to London because they wish you to be married to a rich man, preferably with a title, who will save their family fortunes out of obligation for receiving such a beautiful, but portionless wife. True?”

She nodded. At least she seemed to have got over her initial offended huff when he’d first mentioned her father’s problems. “True.”

“But you don’t wish to marry at all. I have no idea why, and that is your own private matter. However, if you were engaged to someone, they would have to stop looking for a husband for you. Also true?”

Her eyes narrowed. His intimation must be sinking in. She nodded. “True.” She strung the word out as though thoughtful.

He smiled. “My father, and my mother, would like me to marry and provide an heir for the earldom. I’m their only son and they view my profligate ways with distaste. I generally steer clear of Amberley House because I want to avoid them badgering me to find some blue-blooded young woman without a brain in her head to marry. So long as she has good childbearing hips, my mother will be content. Brains do not count with her.”

Elenora’s blue eyes flashed in a rather becoming manner. “Let me tell you right now that I’m not providing you with an heir.”

The thought of making one with her proved a tad distracting. She was very pretty, after all. He shook his head to clear it of that image. “And nor do I want you to. But my father is clearly rather pleased with me tonight for having put you in a compromising position. I know that look on his face. He is pretending anger because he thinks he has me backed into a corner I cannot escape from. Marriage.”

A frown crinkled her brow. “So, are you saying that if we both agree to an engagement, it will be mutually beneficial?”

“Exactly. My parents will be silenced for a while. Yours will cease to push you into the arms of young men who are your intellectual inferiors.” Which was most of the men at present dancing at the ball.

She nodded, and a slow smile crept across her face. “I think that’s an excellent idea. But what do we do when the wedding day comes around? Don’t think for an instant that my mother will want a long engagement. She’ll be so eager to get me up the aisle she’ll be behind us both with a pitchfork. And I suspect your parents might be the same, from what you’ve said.”

“We shall insist on a long engagement, bolstered by the fact that I intend to settle your father’s debts straightaway, as they seem to be of most pressing importance to your family. Once those are settled, I think your parents will be more willing to wait for the actual wedding. When they ask, we’ll say we both want time to get to know one another. And then, a discreet few months from now, by mutual consent we’ll quietly abandon the engagement, having discovered we are incompatible. How does that sound?”

This time she looked into his eyes. “Like an excellent idea. I agree. Although I fear I ought to point out that from the financial point of view, you appear to be going to end up out of pocket.”

He shook his head. “That’s of little matter to me. I have sufficient blunt to cover the debts of many of the men out there on the dance floor. And I feel it will be worth it to have my parents drop the subject of my marriage. At least for a while. It is my mother’s constant complaint when I see her. When she sees you, she will be content.”

Elenora nodded slowly, her lips pressed together. “Very well. I accept your offer. Now we’d better tell our parents it’s all settled, I suppose.”

Chapter Six

The thud of running feet woke Elenora from her sleep. Two people landed with a thud on her bed. She opened her eyes.

Bright winter sunshine was streaming in through the gaps between the heavy brocade curtains of Cousin Petunia’s bedroom, illuminating the excited faces of her two younger sisters. Both of them were already up and dressed, wearing dimity frocks that had once been Elenora’s. Papa, who found it as difficult to resist his daughters as he did his wife, had, in a moment of weakness, given in to the two girls pestering to accompany the husband-hunting party to Aunt Penelope’s house. Although, of course, they were too young to attend any of the balls and soirées Mama had lined up for Elenora.

“You’re awake!” squealed Frances, the younger of the two, a slight fifteen-year-old whose long brown hair hung almost to her waist. Her crowning glory, Papa was wont to say, whenever he emerged from his study and showed any interest in his brood.