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‘And you are telling me that my daughter, who you quite rightly say is a woman of character and intelligence, has agreed to marry you?’
A nasty dig, that. This was a man who had fought his way round the Indian sub-Continent and then taught himself how to be a marquess in middle age. He was never going to be a soft touch.
‘I am almost as surprised as you are,’ Lucian agreed, refusing to let Eldonstone rile him.
‘Hah!’ It was a bark of laughter. ‘I trust Sara and she, it seems, trusts you. But if she is wrong you’ll have her brother to deal with and I will be standing right behind him to finish off anything that is left breathing.’
‘As I would expect. You forget, perhaps, that I have a sister. I share your sentiments about men who betray the trust of a lady.’
‘Is that why you refrained from retaliating when Ashe hit you? I was most impressed.’ Eldonstone lifted his brandy glass in an ironic salute.
‘Brawling on my hosts’ doorstep when Clere was merely being protective seemed unlikely to endear me to Sara.’ Lucian returned the salute and took a mouthful of the dark liquid. ‘My compliments to your wine merchant.’
‘Good, isn’t it?’ They sipped in comfortable silence for a while. ‘Doubtless brothers-in-law would enjoy sparring a little.’
‘Oh, yes.’ And there was no need to wait until he was Ashe Herriard’s brother-in-law. Just as soon as they found themselves outside and safely out of sight of the ladies he intended returning that punch with interest. ‘You will want to discuss settlements. I’ll have my secretary assemble some figures for you.’
‘You can discuss that with Sara and she will ask me if she needs advice. I presume I have no need to worry about your ability to keep her in the manner I would wish for her?’
‘None at all.’
‘Then I suggest we take our brandy back to the drawing room and rejoin the other guests. When do you want to announce this?’
‘Tomorrow night before dinner?’ Lucian suggested. Now they just had to get Marguerite’s love life choreographed to climax at the most advantageous moment and all would be well.
They strolled back to the drawing room as the clocks struck eleven. It seemed incredible that so much had happened in so short a time—that his life had turned around so completely.
Sara was with a somewhat subdued Marguerite, talking to her mother and some of the older ladies, and he went to drop a kiss on his sister’s cheek. ‘Staying up late, Puss?’
‘I shall go to bed shortly,’ she said, then adopted a chiding tone. ‘Poor Mr Farnsworth is probably still labouring over all that paperwork you gave him and you are not worried about him.’
‘You are very protective of young Farnsworth,’ Lucian observed with a tolerant smile. ‘I hope you are not flirting with him and distracting him from his work.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of flirting with him,’ Marguerite said indignantly. ‘He is far too serious to take any notice if I did. I admire him greatly,’ she added, verging towards Mrs Siddons at her most tragic.
And you are a loss to the stage, my dear.
He smiled across at Sara and she smiled back, with a little gesture of her head towards her mother. Whispered confidences had been exchanged, he assumed. He met the Marchioness’s beautiful green gaze and was rewarded with a smile, as lovely as her daughter’s, but holding years’ more experience and guile. This was the woman who had taught her daughter to defend herself with a knife and to ride astride and he had asked of Sara that she was at least as conventional a marchioness as her mother.
A month ago all he had asked of life was to have his sister back well and happy and to find a wife of the utmost, highly conventional, suitability. And now… He met Sara’s smile again. And now what could possibly go wrong?
*
‘I would like to see your stables, Clere. Any objections?’ For the first time Lucian found himself alone with Sara’s brother. The ladies of the party, Sara and Marguerite amongst them, were either sketching on the back lawn or admiring the artists. The other men had accompanied the Marquess to see his improvements at the Home Farm and Lucian had taken the opportunity to come across Ashe Herriard on his way to the front door, dressed for riding.
‘None at all. Care to ride?’ The Viscount nodded thanks to the footman who opened the double doors for them and led the way diagonally across the circle of the carriage drive to where a clock tower appeared above a screening shrubbery.
‘I would certainly enjoy some exercise,’ Lucian agreed, truthfully.
‘I gather you are marrying my sister,’ Clere said as they emerged from the shrubbery on to a rather trampled area just outside the arch into the imposing stable block. ‘You had better make her happy,’ he added with a charming smile that entirely failed to hide the threat behind it.
‘Oh, I intend to.’ Lucian smiled back. ‘We don’t know each other very well, do we? I keep my word, I take my duty to look after my family very seriously and I never, ever, forget a debt.’
The right hook was perfect. Solid, powerful, right on the point of Clere’s chin. The bruise on his own chin ached in sympathy. And he had taken the other man totally by surprise.
Ashe Herriard levered himself up on his elbows in the dust and grinned. ‘Point taken. Give me a hand, will you?’
He held out his right hand and Lucian took it, was jerked forward and on to a booted foot that rose to catch him squarely in the stomach. He let himself go with the move, over the top of Clere and into a rolling somersault. Lucian came to his feet and stripped off his coat to find Clere doing the same thing.
