AllFreeNovel
Share Us
At least, should Thaddeus ever successfully find her, she would have her brother’s support in rebuffing him.
With that story aired between them, it was Sebastian’s turn to startle her. He chuffed her under the chin and said, “There is another matter…I will be marrying Theodosia.”
She gaped. “My Theodosia?” The woman who, at Seb’s behest, had turned Perdie out of her lady’s club. So many emotions swept through her that she almost missed the sardonic raise of Sebastian’s brow.
“She belongs to you?”
It was her. Lady Theo. A woman Perdie had come to admire. And she was marrying Perdie’s brother.
Perhaps that meant that Perdie wouldn’t have to lose the support of her friends, after all. “Sebastian! I cannot credit it.” She couldn’t stop smiling at the news. “Theo and I are to be sisters! Does that mean it will be acceptable for me to return to the club?”
She had never wanted anything so much in her life. “Let me assure you that I will not be a biddable and meek sister. I am a part of 48 Berkeley Square, and I believe you will have to lock me in to keep me away from it. And I will also escape that. I am very resourceful.”
Sebastian smiled. He was freer with his smiles now, she noted. Another happy change in her absence. “The choice will be yours.”
Perdie collapsed in the chaise longue with a happy sigh.
“And Perdie?”
“Yes?”
“I am proud of you,” he said gruffly.
She stared at him in astonishment, tears coming to her eyes. “What for?”
“For everything. The courage it must have taken for you to come back…and also the courage to leave.”
Perdie had never heard sweeter words in all her life, and once more, she rushed into his arms and hugged him with all her might.
* * *
“My dear,are you listening to me? Thaddeus, do attend.”
Thaddeus almost didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at him from the bay windows of his new townhouse in Grosvenor Square. Gone were the workaday clothes that had become like a second skin to him while on his journey. In their place were the neatly tailored vestments of an earl—embroidered waistcoat, breeches, jacket. His cravat twined around his neck like it was trying to choke him. He looked down at the amber liquid in the tumbler he held and took a swig. Good Scottish whisky burned on the way down the warmth chasing away some of the chill in his bones. Beyond his reflection, London stretched, throwing pinpricks of light from streetlamps into this lonely corner of Mayfair.
He turned away from the window to face his aunt. The past few days had been filled with paperwork and meeting solicitors and the Prince Regent and his mother—Queen Charlotte. Thaddeus rubbed the back of his neck. Today had been long, meeting with a few stewards, and he could even still hear the droning, nasal voice of his uncle’s solicitor.
He had been confirmed before parliament, and Thaddeus was now officially the 11th Earl of Sherburn. Thaddeus wished he felt the part, but the title fitted him like his father’s jacket when he was a lad, hanging loose from his shoulders and awaiting the day he grew into it.
His aunt perched on the end of the settee, her nimble fingers picking away at some embroidery of flowers. The vivid colors washed out the dove grey of her half-mourning clothes. She was everything he was not—petite, rounded, pale, with the flaxen hair of an English beauty not yet gone to seed. She held herself with perfect poise, not even seeming to pay attention to the hoop while she laid stitch after neat stitch. Her eyes were fixed to him more than half the time.
He forced a smile. Out of habit, he reached out to run his fingers through his hair, only to recall that Lionel had pulled it back into a respectable queue. He swallowed the rest of the whiskey instead.
“It’s been a long day, Aunt Beatrice. Would you care to repeat yourself?”
Her mouth pursed as she finished stitching the edges of a leaf before setting aside the embroidery. Somehow, when she threaded her fingers together on her empty lap, it seemed more threat than an idle gesture.
Despite appearances, his aunt had a spine of steel. He suspected that she and Perdie would get along famously.
And why are you still thinking of Perdie?
He didn’t want to ask that question, not even to himself. To ask it was to admit that Perdie had burrowed deep under his skin. She’d settled somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. And didn’t he sound like a lovelorn fool just thinking about it?
“I asked if you had any requirements for a bride.”
He choked on the dregs of his whisky glass. “A bride?”
For a moment, Aunt Beatrice smiled. Then she tucked her amusement away the same as she had her hands. “Yes, Thaddeus. A bride. The season is in full swing, and if you don’t look now, it will be a missed opportunity. This year’s debutantes are much lauded. I have my eye on a couple—”
