A Kiss for the Marquess (Wedding Trouble, #5) Read online

“YOU CAN’T MEAN TO SPEND an evening behind this wall,” Jasper said.

  Hugh glowered. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Oh, very well,” Jasper huffed, but his voice was thankfully at a softer tone. “But that dinner is delicious.”

  “Please tell me you haven’t been spending all your time in the kitchen,” Hugh moaned.

  “And why not? You told me to stay hidden.”

  “I meant in your room.”

  “Well, the kitchen provides more opportunities for people to talk. My room is dreadfully dull.”

  “You need a better book,” Hugh said.

  “That’s what you always say.” Jasper scowled. “Most people would say my instinct toward talking is welcome.”

  “Hmph. I suppose you don’t suffer from shyness.”

  “Of course not.” Jasper shivered in mock revulsion.

  “I suggest you visit your room now,” Hugh said. “You can stop at the library on the way.”

  “I’d rather be here,” Jasper said. “I want to see the chits.”

  “I’ll introduce you to them tomorrow.”

  Jasper settled on the bench beside Hugh. “I want to see them in their natural habitat.”

  For the first time Hugh wondered if perhaps he was not acting with utter ethical fortitude. Still, the main thing was to find a wife, and then all of this blasted process could be forgotten.

  Voices sounded, and he peered through the tiny hole. The women entered the room. He’d arranged for his mother to entertain the other mothers in the reception room, so that the women could become comfortable with one another.

  “My, oh my,” Jasper said.

  Hugh grinned. “You like them?”

  “They’re magnificent.”

  “And they’re all suitable prospects,” Hugh said, aware the note of pride in his voice might be excessive, but not caring to dispel it. After all, he’d selected them.

  “You’re a clever man,” Jasper admitted. He turned to him. “Just think how much you might win if you put that toward gambling at Hades’ Lair.”

  “I don’t want to hear about Hades’ Lair,” Hugh said.

  “Well, it has gone downhill after Vernon and McIntyre became reformed men,” Jasper admitted.

  “They married,” Hugh said. “And they seem happy.”

  “Deluded,” Jasper countered.

  Hugh was silent.

  Jasper and he had always had so much in common, but now Jasper didn’t seem to understand that Hugh desired to move his life forward.

  Hugh leaned forward on his seat and focused on the guests.

  Jasper was correct. They were beautiful.

  Well. They were in possession of various degrees of beauty. His eyes were drawn to the woman he’d seen in his dressing room.

  For someone so determined to learn more about him that she’d broken into his room to search for clues with a determination not often found even in magistrates, she seemed to have taken the importance of this event lightly.

  Her hair was tied in a simple bun, and her dress was devoid of flounces and ribbons. Somehow, the dress’s unstylish nature still seemed lovely, even though he would have been certain he’d seen sufficient women in those gowns in prior seasons.

  Green, at least this shade of green, was an unusual choice for an evening gown. Though some women favored the color during winter, as if they desired to match more with the garlands and greenery servants hung from every low beam and far too many of the higher beams, this green lacked the rich splendor of a spruce tree. Similarly, it did not possess the crisp green of grass and the stems of flowers in springtime.

  This green was dull.

  Decidedly dull.

  It also seemed to have an unusual amount of yellow in it, as if the person who’d created the pigment had possessed an instinct to replicate the color of something dying.

  The color didn’t suit her and seemed out of place amongst the cheerful pastel and ivory gowns of the other women.

  Her face appeared rather paler than before, and her harshly pulled back hair could not be described as flattering.

  No, there was absolutely no reason he should be looking at her.

  She held herself elegantly, but most of the women did. The possible exception was the chit beside her, who seemed rather fearful, and darted her eyes in all directions, as if she could not decide which one was more unpleasant.

  The ladies sat down around the table, but his eyes remained drawn to Miss Braunschweig, even though there were seven other women, women who’d showed a far greater intelligence and sense of propriety that had kept them from breaking into his chamber.

  One of those women would be his wife.

  Not her.

  Naturally not.

  Hugh removed paper and a quill from his bag. He then withdrew a pot of ink and lifted off the lid.

  “Already bored?” Jasper asked. “Planning on catching up with your correspondence?”

  “Nonsense,” Hugh said. “I’m going to score them.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m always serious.”

  Jasper frowned and he craned his neck to get a better glance at the scoring sheets.

  “You don’t need to do that,” Hugh said. “I brought one for you too.”

  “Me?”

  “I anticipated your curiosity.”

  “I rather left score sheets behind at Cambridge,” Jasper said.

  “But you see, now you’re the person scoring them.”

  Jasper’s lips spread into a wide smile. “I’m the tutor.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I always thought I would be good at that,” Jasper said.

  Hugh smiled. Jasper wasn’t inclined toward academia, and his interest in knowledge was assuredly finite, but he never seemed to take corrections well.

  “This is going to be amusing.”

  Hugh frowned. “It’s serious work. There’s no task of more consequence than finding a wife. Getting it wrong will lead to a lifetime of regret. A lifetime of dissatisfaction.”

  Jasper raised his hand dismissively. “You’re being far too pessimistic. I know how to have a good time, and trust me, this is a good time.”

  He rifled through a bag and removed a bottle of brandy.

  “Is that mine?” Hugh asked heatedly.

  “You recognize it?” Jasper gave a bland smile. “It will be a quality you approve of.”

  “Of course, it will be a quality that I approve of,” Hugh snapped. “That’s my brandy.”

  Jasper pulled out two glasses from his coat pocket.

  “Do you always carry alcohol and glasses with you?” Hugh asked.

  “I have quite an undeserved reputation as being thoughtless.” He shrugged. “Normally though, I carry these for sudden romantic purposes.”

  “Sudden romantic purposes?” Hugh widened his eyes.

  Jasper nodded. “You never know where you might find a pretty girl standing alone on a balcony or wandering in a garden. Lost in a maze, poor sweetheart.” Jasper’s gaze took on an odd calf-like quality, as if he were recollecting memories.

  Hugh shifted his legs.

  He’d never been one for romance. He’d never wanted to entwine himself with someone whom he’d had no desire to marry. It didn’t seem reasonable. He wasn’t inexperienced. There were widows, of course. After the Napoleonic Wars ended, the city seemed full of women eager to practice the art of lovemaking that their husbands had neglected to finish teaching them before they’d succumbed to some foreign pistol or sword on a faraway battlefield. Hugh had been happy to entertain them.

  But those dalliances had been short, before true emotions might develop on either side.

  The last thing he wanted was to become besotted by some inappropriate woman and install her in some apartment as his mistress, so that once he was married every time he left his townhouse in London, his wife would worry he wasn’t truly visiting his club or going to Parliament or doing all the important things he would have to do.<
br />
  Starting a marriage with no hope of trust seemed a dreadful prospect.

  No.

  He was going to marry one of these eight women and he was going to be a damned good husband. Perhaps spying was generally held in ill regard, and perhaps he shouldn’t have implied to Miss Braunschweig that he was a valet, but they were small indiscretions that would ensure he found true happiness.

  When the next season started and he attended Parliament, he wouldn’t be searching for a wife, roaming ballrooms and making conversations with elderly chaperones late into the night: he would be studying laws and creating improved ones.

  He just needed to decide on a bride.

  Jasper poured the brandy into the crystal tumblers. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” Hugh said reluctantly, tapping his glass with his friend’s.

  “So, we’re scoring them on beauty, wit, intelligence?”

  “Er–yes. I might as well show you all the scoresheets,” Hugh said, taking them all out.

  “You have many events listed.”

  “Yes.” Hugh gave a pleased smile. “I’ll know them better than I could ever have accomplished through normal courtship during the season.”

  “Personally, I would have thought you would have wanted to begin with actually meeting them.”

  “Their behavior may be different when they don’t know I’m present.”

  He grinned. He’d almost regretted planning it this way.

  It would be entertaining when he saw Miss Braunschweig’s face when she realized who he was. It wasn’t as if she could complain to anyone that he’d led her to believe he was a valet. If she had any intelligence, and from what he saw, she did, despite her inappropriate curiosity and trespassing abilities, she would be silent.

  He was going to adhere to his plan. He’d created it after diligent thought, and he wasn’t going to give up on it now. It was only a wonder more men did not decide on this type of house party.

  But then, most men lacked his intelligence. It had been clear at Rugby, clear at Cambridge, and certainly clear now. It wasn’t their fault, of course. They simply lacked his natural abilities, and they certainly lacked his capacity for study.

  “You’re going to score them on riding?” Jasper sifted through the papers.

  “Naturally,” Hugh said.

  “But why is it important she needs to know how to ride?”

  “We’re talking about a union that will last decades,” Hugh said. “I adore riding. If so, how convenient, how utterly proper if she already shares it.”

  “And that’s why you also have scores for water coloring, piano and–er–crocheting?”

  “Naturally not,” Hugh puffed.

  “It’s fine if you do desire to crotchet,” Jasper said.

  “Those are traditional female pastimes,” Hugh said. “If she can’t do that, after years of practice, how will she ever be able to run a household?”

  Jasper gave him a quizzical stare, and Hugh shivered. He wasn’t accustomed to Jasper being judgmental. It wasn’t the proper order of things.

  The footmen had finished serving the women, and Hugh threw his attention back to the dinner party going on in the other side of the wall.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HUGH OPENED THE LATCH in the wall, so he could best hear them, pressing a finger over his lips so Jasper would understand.

  Jasper nodded.

  But then, Jasper had been visiting his home since they were both in leading straps. He was acquainted with the castle’s various eccentricities. One of the rooms even had a trapdoor in it leading to a dungeon. At least they weren’t there.

  The conversation wasn’t precisely intriguing.

  Knives and forks scraped against the porcelain plates, and Hugh wished he’d eaten before, instead of planned to eat after. His stomach lurched, as if desiring to be closer to the food.

  There wasn’t, in truth, much conversation at all.

  Some guests glanced suspiciously at their new acquaintances.

  This was supposed to be a time for them to bond, to forge friendships, since he couldn’t marry all ten of them, but instead of enjoying themselves, they seemed more inclined to view one another with unease.

  Well, he didn’t blame them.

  He would behave similarly in this position.

  He was, after all, quite a prize.

  One woman cleared her throat. “I’ll just say it. This is entirely unconventional.”

  Tittering sounded.

  “Has anyone here actually met Lord Metcalfe?” asked a woman in an ivory dress with a pink sash.

  “I have,” Lady Henrietta said.

  “Oh, he’s your neighbor,” the woman said. “Anyone else?”

  There was silence.

  “What sort of a man do you suppose he is?” a woman with blonde hair mused. She inclined her head upward in a thoughtful gesture that managed to display the precise curve of her ample bosom.

  Jasper grinned beside him and scribbled something on the score sheet. No doubt it was something under the “beauty” column.

  She was appealing, but that wasn’t Hugh’s primary concern.

  If he just wanted a pretty bride, he could march into Almack’s, insist the hostess introduce him to the prettiest woman there, and be wed hastily, conscious he’d managed to marry someone who met the rigorous standards of entry into the favored location of the upper echelon, as well as his personal preferences in beauty.

  That was the sort of thing he was avoiding.

  His parents had been happy and well-suited to each other. He was determined to find a match of similar practicality.

  “I don’t know, Lady Letitia,” a woman said to the blonde-haired woman. “Obviously, he’s an imperfect man.”

  Tittering sounded again, and Hugh shifted his legs.

  They weren’t supposed to be laughing at him. His purported imperfections should not be the source of their friendship. The whole thing was ridiculous.

  He was paying for this splendor. They should be remarking on the tastiness of the vegetables or the subtle yet distinct delights of the sauce.

  Or they could be talking about politics. That would help him know if they had things in common or not.

  It was dashed infuriating that every woman he met seemed to have the exact same opinion on politics as he did. Even though Hugh took great pride in developing his opinions, and even though he was convinced of the absolute veracity of all of them, even the most cursory familiarity with the rules of probability would show the mathematical unlikelihood that every woman he met agreed with him entirely, especially when every man he met seemed determined to disagree.

  “He’s not so dreadful,” Lady Henrietta said in an authoritative voice. Even though they were neighbors, the last time he’d seen Lady Henrietta her fichu had been more for fashion than modesty. “In fact, he’s adorable.”

  Hugh glanced at Jasper. The man was smirking, blast it.

  “You would think that, Lady Henrietta,” Lady Letitita said. “You think every man is adorable.”

  “But that’s not exciting,” another woman said. Her hair was tied up into a magnificent updo, and curls splayed from it in a becoming fashion that made Hugh approve of her lady’s maid. Were they to marry, he would insist her maid come with them.

  She also had an American accent. This must be Miss Stonehutton, one of several untitled ladies he’d invited. He knew the importance of mixing horses when breeding, and he was certain the same rules must apply for human beings.

  Life truly was not as complicated as some people imagined.

  People placed too much importance on chance meetings rather than logic.

  It was a flaw he would never succumb to. Hopefully, his bride would take a similar approach to life. He wondered if there was a way he could test their mathematical prowess.

  He would need to muse over that.

  He’d prefer to marry a woman who could add and subtract with ease and take an analytical approach to looking over the housekeep
ing books than someone who was intimidated by any symbol that wasn’t a letter.

  “I do quite fancy the possibility of being a marchioness,” Miss Stonehutton continued, fluttering her lashes. “Everyone in Boston would be jealous. It would be delightful. Utterly delightful.”

  “Marriage isn’t supposed to be an occasion to make people jealous,” Lady Henrietta said primly. “That would be absurd.”

  “How romantic of you.” Miss Stonehutton fluttered her lashes with greater force. “It must be because you’re English. All that Shelley and Byron and Shakespeare. We Americans are far more sensible. I come from a long line of people who do things.”

  “How are your father’s factories?” Lady Letitia asked.

  “Running efficiently,” Miss Stonehutton said without blushing.

  The other women expressed their wonders that Miss Stonehutton’s father was in trade, and Miss Stonehutton remarked on the potential perils of depending solely on agriculture, given the variabilities of the weather.

  “Marriage is simple,” Miss Stonehutton mused.

  Hugh leaned forward. This was the sort of statement he’d longed to hear. This was why he’d wanted to observe them in private. Now he would know her opinion and see if she approached marriage with a similar logic that he did.

  “The secret to marriage,” Miss Stonehutton said, “is to marry a man with money. Lord Metcalfe has it. In buckets.”

  The women laughed, and when he looked over at Jasper, his lips had also stretched into an inappropriate smile.

  Hugh assumed the woman did not literally mean Hugh stored his money in buckets. That would be entirely inappropriate. He had a vault for that.

  Did Americans store their money in that manner?

  Perhaps that was why they were always searching for more money. No doubt buckets lacked certain vital safety features.

  If he chose Miss Stonehutton, he would have to have a stern conversation with her male family members who lived in the former colonies.

  Because, odd money-keeping practices aside, Miss Stonehutton did seem suitable.

  She knew the importance of logic.

  It was really quite ideal.

  He took his scoring sheet and gave her a 10 for intelligence.

  “You can’t mean that,” Jasper said.