Who Will Take This Man?

Father said, “Excellent news. Clearly last night’s dinner party was a success. Knew that Miss Chilton-Grizedale would come up with the goods. Highly intelligent chit, even though the first arrangement she planned sank like a stone. So, who is the young lady you’ve chosen? Must tell you, the betting book at White’s is leaning heavily in favor of Lady Penelope.”

“Actually, it is Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

“What about her?”

“She is the young lady I’ve chosen.”

“She is the lady you’ve chosen to select a suitable bride for you, yes?”

“No. She is the lady I’ve chosen to be my suitable bride.”

A deafening silence permeated the room. Then Catherine rose from her chair. Without a word, she moved around the bed until she stood in front of him. “I have one question,” she said softly, her concern-filled eyes searching his. “Do you love her?”

“Completely.”

Some of the tension drained from her gaze. “Does she love you?”

“That is two questions, Catherine.”

“Indulge me.” Reaching out, she rested her hand against his face. “I want only your happiness, Philip.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, “I would not want you to make the same mistake I did and marry someone who does not care for you.”

A spurt of anger toward Bickley rushed through Philip, and he renewed his vow to have a long talk with his brother-in-law as soon as his own affairs were settled. “Not to worry, Imp,” he whispered in her ear. “She cares for me. She makes me happy. And I’ll make her happy. And we’ll both make you an aunt many times over.”

She favored him with a dazzling smile-a smile that could have been snuffed out if that bastard had gotten his hands on her last night. “Then it would seem that congratulations are in order. I wish you and Miss Chilton- Grizedale much happiness, Philip.”

He chucked her under the chin. “Thank you.”

From the bed, Father cleared his throat. “I must say, Philip, that your announcement caught me quite off guard.” He looked at Catherine. “Will you excuse us for a moment?”

“I’ll be in the drawing room.” After giving Philip’s upper arms a bracing squeeze, she quit the room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

“I’m afraid I do not have time right now for a lengthy discussion, Father. Indeed, there is nothing to discuss, as my mind is made up. I am going to marry Meredith.”

A red flush crept up Father’s face, made all the more pronounced by the stark white bandage. “How can you consider such a thing, Philip? You gave me your word-”

“To marry. And I shall. As soon as the curse is broken.”

His father’s lips thinned into a flat line of disapproval, erasing the fragile unity they’d achieved just moments ago. “She is not of our class, Philip. Good God, the woman is in trade. What do you know of her family? Where does she come from? Who are her parents?” Before Philip could utter a word, Father plowed on, “I may not know her parents’ names, but I know who they are. They are nobody. People of no consequence.”

“It matters not. She may not be a peer’s daughter, but she is perfectly respectable. In addition, she is kind, generous, interesting-as you yourself said-intelligent, and she makes me happy.”

“I’m certain she’s delightful. So take the chit as a mistress. And marry properly.”

Philip clenched his hand to keep his temper in check. “By ‘properly’ you mean to someone who will bring money, prestige, and perhaps holdings to the marriage.”

Father looked relieved. “Precisely.”

“I’m afraid I’m not willing to sacrifice my happiness to further fatten the already rotund family coffers, Father.”

Silence stretched between them for several seconds. “Your years abroad changed you, Philip. I never thought you would dishonor your heritage this way.”

“I find no dishonor in marrying for love rather than fortune. Now, I don’t want to appear abrupt, but I must leave, and I consider this subject closed. I’m sorry you were hurt, and very relieved you are all right.”

“Believe me, this subject is not at all closed.”

“It is entirely and permanently closed. I am getting married, and I’m afraid, Father, that you do not get to cast a vote on my choice for a wife. Although I very much would like your blessing, I intend to have her, with or without it. I shall visit you again as soon as I am able.”

He quickly departed the room, then hurried down the stairs, where he said a quick good-bye to Catherine, and reiterated to Evans his instructions regarding not allowing anyone entry into the house. He then hastily donned his coat and accepted his walking stick from Evans. It was only a few minutes’ walk back to his own townhouse, where he would await Meredith.

God help that bastard if he thought to venture anywhere near Meredith. If you do, you bastard, I suggest you enjoy these next few hours. Because they will be your last.

Sitting on a stone bench situated along her favorite shady path in Hyde Park, Meredith breathed in the cool morning breeze, which lifted the gentle scent of flowers and earth and encouraged birds to twitter. Her gaze fell upon Charlotte, Albert, and Hope, who examined a group of butterflies fluttering near a group of colorful blooms a short distance away.

Tears pooled in Meredith’s eyes at the sight of her friends. Tears of joy, because Charlotte and Albert clearly loved each other deeply, and they were obviously so happy together. And, if she were completely honest with herself, tears of envy, because she wanted that sort of love for herself, and it could never be.

When they’d told her this morning that they planned to marry, she’d been momentarily stunned into silence. Charlotte and Albert? Why, she’d never considered such a thing. Yet, turning the idea over in her mind, she saw how well suited they were. They had much in common, knew and accepted each other’s pasts, and Albert couldn’t love Hope more than if she were his own child. She recalled looks given when the other was not aware and the odd tension she’d occasionally felt between Albert and Charlotte-tension she’d shrugged off as one of them being tired or preoccupied. She had not, even once, considered that they might be preoccupied with each other. Good Lord, what sort of matchmaker was she, failing to see love when it resided directly under her nose?

A humorless laugh escaped her and she blinked back her tears. Obviously she wasn’t a very good matchmaker at all, for a good matchmaker would not be so foolish as to fall in love with the man for whom she was supposed to find a suitable bride.

During the sleepless night, she’d taken a hard, cold, bald-faced look at the facts and had not allowed herself the luxury of hiding behind platitudes and rationalizations or looking the other way.

The disturbing fact was that she had-very unwisely- fallen in love. Bad enough that she should do so, but the fact that she’d fallen in love with a viscount-the heir to an earldom-well, that fell in the category of “unequivocally stupid.”

Philip needed a wife, and after last night, it was clear he planned to overlook their glaring class differences and propose. Her heart lurched, sick with loss and regret. She would have given anything, anything, to be able to accept.

But as she painfully knew, much more than glaring class differences kept her from being a suitable bride for Philip. And although she dreaded doing so, it was time to tell him that even if he broke the curse, she could never be his wife.

She rose, and together with Albert, Charlotte and Hope, they walked back to the gig, which they’d left near the Park Lane entrance, almost directly across from Philip’s townhouse. All she had to do was walk across the street and tell him.

“Are ye certain ye don’t want us to wait?” Albert asked as he helped Hope up onto the gig’s seat.

“No, thank you,” Meredith said, with what she hoped passed for a cheerful smile. “I’m not certain how long my discussion with Lord Greybourne will last.”

“But how will you get home, Aunt Merrie?” Hope asked.

“I’ll ask Lord Greybourne to arrange transportation for me.”