Page 1 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife
Chapter 1
Sweet Little Nothings, Bond Street, London, October 1819
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Give me five shillings,
I’ll woo her for you.
Not among Aphrodite de Smith’s more inspired efforts, Athene couldn’t help thinking as she sat at her desk late on a cold Monday afternoon.Her alter ego would have to do better for Ivor Bilson than that.
She sighed.It was a chore to come up with a convincing rhyme for “Petronella.”“Petronella dressed in yeller?”
Lady Petronella Fitchett was the fashionable beauty du jour, which meant hordes of adoring gentlemen lining up for Athene to pen poetic tributes.It had been easier last season, when the object of feverish male attention had been Frances Killigrew.Although Athene had ended up relying far too much on “Frances” and “dances” for her effects.
Not that it had mattered in the end.Lady Frances had scorned her London suitors and eloped to Italy with her music master.Athene, who knew far too much about the consequences of loving unwisely, hoped that Lady Frances had better fortune than she herself ever had.
None of which unhappy recollections helped her to complete the current list of requests for odes to Lady Petronella.Could Athene get away with rhyming “Fitchett” with “wretched?”
“Why are you smiling?”Sylvie asked from the doorway leading from Athene’s cramped office to the gilded splendors of Sweet Little Nothings, London’s most fashionable bonbon shop.
While Athene’s poetic creations accompanied bouquets and jewelry and even the occasional puppy or kitten, most of her verses were slipped inside the elegant lavender and silver boxes that encased the finest confectionery sold in Mayfair.
Athene studied her friend, who as usual looked spectacular.Despite being in the shop since six this morning and serving customers all day.It was after five now, and Sylvie looked as fresh as a spring daffodil.How did she do that?In comparison, Athene felt like an ink-stained ragamuffin.
“I was struggling for a suitable rhyme for ‘Fitchett.’I’ve given up on ‘Petronella.’What on earth possessed the chit’s parents to saddle her with such a mouthful of a name?”
Sylvie gave a low laugh.“I won’t have you casting aspersions on Lady P.She’s been very good for business.”
“Yours and mine.”Athene had huge respect for Sylvie.They’d first met when they were both young and poor in Vienna ten years ago.Since then, Sylvie had managed to parlay a genius for manipulating sugar into a prosperous enterprise.While Athene had ditched a drunken brute of a lover and found a precarious living through her gift for rhymes.That both she and Sylvie now operated under false names was just one more thing they had in common.
“‘Petronella Cinderella?’”
Athene responded with a huff of amusement.“She’s heiress to half of Lincolnshire.Cinderella she is not.”
“Perhaps if you join me upstairs for a glass of claret, you’ll feel more inspired.”
“Or I’ll forget Lady Petronella altogether, which is what I’d like to do.It’s time for Aphrodite de Smith to finish for the day.”
“Capital idea.Athene Colton-Heath is much better company.You can resume your role as the doyenne of sentimental verse tomorrow.”
“I’m glad you think so highly of my humble talents.”Athene laid down her pen and pushed her chair away from the desk.“If Lady Petronella said yes to a feller, t’would release Aphrodite from her plight-ee.”
Sylvia looked appalled.“Two glasses of claret for you, my girl.You always get silly when you’re tired.”
***
“You have to pay your respects to the reigning beauty, old man.That’s all there is to it.”
Sir Hugo Brinsmead regarded his old school chum, Ivor Bilson, with a frown of bewilderment.“Why?”
They were sitting beside the fire and sharing a brandy in White’s gentlemen’s club in St.James’s.Around them, various blue-blooded males snoozed in comfortable armchairs, prompting Hugo and Ivor to keep their voices to a murmur.
Ivor looked stumped, which wasn’t unusual.Ivor was one of the best-natured chaps in the world, but nobody would ever say that he had any brains.“Why?”
Hugo struggled to contain his impatience.“Yes, why?”
