Page 7 of Everything But the Earl
Fletcher, Baron Fowler, Owen’s dearest friend, said, “He kissed Lady Grace Midwood at the Rutherford Ball and her mother walked in on them. The Midwoods are insisting Owen marry their daughter.”
“Youdidn’t,” said Adele, sounding scandalized. “What would possess you to do that?”
Owen did not know how to answer. He didn’t regret it, as such, although he wasn’t thrilled with his current predicament. So he just said the first thing that popped into his head. “She has very kissable lips.”
Adele frowned at Owen. “Still. She’s a pretty girl. Why do you look like marrying her would be a fate worse than death?”
Just then, Hodges, the Swynford butler, showed in Lark and Anthony, who stumbled into the room as though they’d already had afew drinks. The trouble with being in a private sitting room and not at the club was that Lark and Anthony felt less like they needed to hide the relationship they still had not confessed to Owen. Owen supposed he was just supposed to accept it, although he wasn’t sure he did, quite. Anthony was a bit of a ninny, in point of fact.
Anthony brandished a bottle of whiskey. “From my own store. I found this little distillery in Ireland that makes the smoothest whiskey you’ve ever tasted. Single-malt, aged twelve years. Shall I pour?”
“A double,” said Owen.
“That bad, eh?” said Lark, sitting in a wingback chair.
“I assume you heard what happened?”
Lark offered a wry smile. “Everyone at the Rutherford Ball heard what happened. You compromised little Gracie Midwood.”
Owen sighed. “All right, first of all, she is not little Gracie anymore. Lady Grace is a grown woman. Believe me. Second of all, I…” But Owen didn’t want to go on because he was guilty of what he’d been accused of.
“You kissed her,” Fletcher offered.
“Yes. But that was all.”
“And now her parents are insisting you marry,” said Adele.
“Because in reality,” said Lark, waving his hands around, “she’s betrothed to Beresford, but Beresford has spent the last month doing everything in his power to get out of it.”
Adele stared at Lark. “Come again?”
“It was a childhood betrothal,” said Anthony. “Two men wanting their children to marry and thus join their fortunes. Neither I nor Grace were of consenting age when the agreement was made, and I didn’t believe anyone took it seriously, but Grace has been put through two Seasons without committing to anyone, and I think calling in this chit was a last resort on her parents’ part. And it’spossibleI walked up to the Marquess of Midwood at the ball and heavily implied I was courting someone else and that Grace and I did not suit,so when his wife stumbled upon Owen making a fool of himself, they saw a new opportunity.”
Owen grunted. “That’s about the sum of it.”
Anthony distributed glasses of whiskey and then sat on the arm of the chair Lark occupied. Lark reached up and stroked Anthony’s back while sipping his whiskey and looking at Owen. It was a gesture of affection and one done unconsciously; it was the gesture of a long-time lover.
Owen knew Lark was a good person—Anthony was an open question—but this was still a difficult thing to reconcile. Owen glanced at Adele, who looked unfazed.
But it was not his main concern at the moment, so he shoved it aside. “What Midwood said was, ‘I trust you will do the right thing here.’”
There was a collective groan.
“I think you should marry her,” said Anthony.
Everyone turned and stared at him.
“Hear me out!” Anthony looked at Owen. “I know the lot of you are averse to marriage, the duke and duchess aside, and I count myself among your ranks in that regard, but I believe this particular marriage solves a number of problems.”
“Explain,” said Owen.
“I’ve known Grace most of my life. She really is a charming girl. And that emerald gown she had on at the Rutherford Ball really showed off her coloring, no?”
“Only Beresford would note the color of her gown and not the body beneath it,” said Fletcher.
Adele cleared her throat. “Is this about to be a scandalous conversation? Shall I leave the room?”
“Fletcher will behave himself,” Hugh said, glaring at Fletcher.
