Page 3 of Everything But the Earl
A little smile played at Beresford’s lips. “Yes, very fair of you. But I meant it would be unfair to you. You are a beautiful woman in the prime of life. I would not force you into a marriage in which your only role is to play estate manager at my country house. I know we do not spend much time together these days, but when we were children, I always knew you to be friendly and kind. Do you really want to wither away in a country house? No. My conscience would not allow it.”
Grace leaned against the wall. “I loathe the city. It’s loud and dirty and it smells. I long for a country home where there is sunlight and fresh air, where I can walk freely without worrying a carriage will run me over. My family will not permit me to adjourn to the family estate without securing an offer of marriage fromsomeone.”
“And I am sympathetic to that, although the vibrancy of the city is the very thing that appeals to me. I enjoy the noise and the chaos. Alas, I will not marry you. But you may be onto something.” Beresford tapped his finger against his chin. “You see, if you and I married, my mother would start to hope a future marquess was in the offing, and that is pressure I cannot bear. A man of sterner stuff than I perhaps might be willing to enter into such an arrangement, but I cannot.”
“I’m afraid I don’t completely follow what you are saying.”
Beresford frowned. “I forget sometimes that ladies are not so conversant in the ways life is created.”
“No, not that. Although…”
“You see, I would not be able to consummate a marriage to a woman. Well, I probably could, but I do not wish to. Also it would not be fair to Waring.”
“You love him.”
“I care for him a great deal. We have an arrangement. I do not wish to break promises I have made to him. I know that may be difficult to understand—”
“No, I believe I do understand you, Anthony.”
He nodded. “We are at Christian names, then?”
“We were friends as children.” She sighed. “But what are you suggesting? That I enter atonmarriage where we dispense with the creation of heirs quickly and then lead a life separate from my husband?”
“I mean… yes. That seems ideal, no?”
“Would I not be then occupied by the rearing of said heirs?”
“Would you? You could hire nannies and governesses, no? Assuming you found a lord on steady enough financial ground. I barely saw my mother as a child. It is partly why I resent her intrusion in my life so much now.”
“Anthony.” Grace found Anthony’s embellished way of speaking charming but also frustrating. They were talking around the issue, at any rate. Grace understood what he was suggesting—for her to find another man willing to marry her and leave her in the country—although the real issue for Grace was that she had no idea how to do that.
Anthony was looking off at something in the distance and clearly not giving her his direct attention. “Or don’t have children. It’s not my business.”
“In other words, the solution to all my problems is to entrap some poor gentleman into a loveless marriage.”
Beresford grinned. “That’s all. Shouldn’t be too hard. Such marriages are prolific in theton. Maybe you could find a chap who can be found frequently occupying his seat in the House of Lords so that he would be obligated to be in the city often and you can do whatever it is people do in the country.”
The door of the card room down the hall opened and a couple of gentlemen tumbled out. Grace recognized them as Baron Fowler and the Earl of Caernarfon.
Fletcher Basildon, Baron Fowler, looked a little goofy these days, his hair overlong and covering his eyes, his cravats always askew. But Owen Thomas, the Earl of Caernarfon, was certainly handsome. He had dark brown hair, intelligent eyes, and a strong, athletic body. Grace didn’t know him well but had always liked the look of him. He smiled at her and Beresford now.
“How are you gents?” asked Beresford. “Did Rutherford clean you out?”
Caernarfon scoffed. “Hardly.”
“Rutherford has a tell,” Fowler explained. “Scratches his nose when he’s bluffing.”
“Hello, Lady Grace,” said Caernarfon jovially. He dipped his head slightly, so she offered her hand to be kissed. The brush of his lips against her knuckles was barely there, particularly through her gloves, but it was exciting all the same as he peered up at her through his dark eyelashes.
“Hello, my lord.”
“Perhaps you will do me the honor of dancing with me,” he said, a bit of brogue in his Welsh accent. “We promised the Duchess of Swynford we would not spend theentireevening at cards, so we must rejoin the crush.”
“I’d be happy to oblige, my lord,” said Grace.
A wry expression crossed Beresford’s face and he offered Grace a crooked smile before turning to Caernarfon and saying, “I am surprised both of you are here. You have been avoiding the marriage mart, haven’t you?”
Fowler sighed. “My mother has got that look in her eye. She bullied me into it. I blame Swynford.”
