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“Lovers,” her mother whispered. “After Mr. Castle died.”
So that was it—Aunt Matilda had been scandalous because she’d been a merry widow. Men were expected, even encouraged, to have their diversions, but Lord help a woman if she decided to pursue diversions of her own.
“Now you see that it’s quite impossible for you to keep the property,” said her mother. “So do come and see these darling slippers. Every detail must be perfect.”
Beatrice followed her mother out of the room, her mind still reeling from the news of the inheritance. Wait until she told Isobel about this; she’d be so excited.
Her mother stopped and placed her hand on Beatrice’s arm. “I’m simply determined that you’ll conquer society this year. Though I’d settle for you conquering one eligible earl.”
Unfortunately for her mother, Beatrice had no intention of conquering anything other than etymological dictionaries.
“Now that you’re a warrant officer, with the blue coat to prove it, it’s your solemn duty to marry, Mr. Wright,” said Mrs. Meade, Tiny’s sister, passing Ford the butter dish.
Ford normally took lodgings in a boardinghouse for sailors while in London, but this time he’d traveled to London with Tiny, and his friend had insisted that he stay with him at his sister’s home.
Ford only had a fortnight in London before his new ship, the HMSBoadicea, arrived in port. Tiny had traveled with Ford to London to pick out a promise ring for his intended, a Miss Eliza Broome.
“He’s only five and twenty,” said Tiny, through a mouthful of sausage.
“He’s not getting any younger,” Mrs. Meade replied. “And what would happen if he were killed in battle?”
“I should think that’d be a reasonnotto marry,” said Ford.
“Don’t you want to leave a son behind to carry on your line?” asked Mrs. Meade.
Her three daughters, ranging in age from thirteen to nineteen, leaned forward, eager to hear his response. He couldn’t keep their names straight. The youngest one was Dinah, and he thought the eldest was Martha. The middle one he couldn’t recall.
“I’m not the marrying kind, Mrs. Meade. I treasure my freedom too much.”
And he never stayed in one place long enough to be tied down.
“All bachelors say that until they find the right girl,” said Mrs. Meade. “Love will find you yet, Mr. Wright, mark my words.”
If Tiny’s sister had her way, love would find him right here in this breakfast room. She’d been pushing her daughters in his path ever since his arrival yesterday.
Ford wasn’t looking for a bride. Finding female companionship was easy enough. He preferred experienced women with healthy appetites for carnal adventuring and no expectations of anything beyond a mutually pleasurable and finite liaison.
He never put down roots anywhere; he stayed adrift.
“Love found you, John, didn’t it?” asked Mrs. Meade.
Tiny, whose real name was John, ducked his shaggy head. “Eliza’s a sweet lamb of a girl.”
Ford had met Eliza and he wouldn’t describe her as sweet or docile, but perhaps Tiny wanted someone to rule his roost. The big lug was clearly besotted.
More fool, him.
“Still no word of Thorndon?” Tiny asked, mercifully changing the subject.
“I visited his solicitor yesterday, and the man practically begged me to send word if I heard anything about the duke’s whereabouts. He’s gone completely missing. Last time anyone saw him was in Naples at the Hotel Royale where he was staying with his new bride. They left there and haven’t been heard from since. Never showed up to board the ship back to London.”
“Strange, that. A duke and his bride going missing,” said Tiny.
“Maybe they’ve been kidnapped,” said Dinah.
“I hope not,” Ford said. “I need to speak to him before I ship out. I’m going to visit his townhouse today to see if the family has any more recent news.”
“You’re going to the Duke of Thorndon’s townhouse in Mayfair?” asked the middle niece, her eyes widening. “You must tell us every detail.”
