“I don’t know him all that well, actually. He’s been very kind and he fixes everything in the warehouse that I ask him to. That’s not enough to say I know him.”
Maybe setting Eliza to the task of finding him a wife was a poor outcome here.
“I know. I’ll talk to Lady Balham. She’s notoriously good at finding matches for men. She’s responsible for quite a few successful marriages. A gifted matchmaker.”
“I’m not sure Lord Fortescue would readily admit he’s looking for a wife.”
“Well, the wonderful thing about men is that you don’t have to pay any attention to what they say. They don’t know their own minds half the time. Sometimes, one must simply do what’s best for them.”
Eliza looked uncomfortable, but Octavia quite liked this idea. And not solely for the reason that Lord Fortescue would despise it. He’d thrown the gauntlet, so he could live with the results of it. If she did this right, he might just come to the attention of the most persistent matchmaker in society. Only marriage would get him out of this, unless he picked up and ran. Either way suited Octavia.
Chapter 10
FINN STARTED RECEIVING invitations, stacks of them. But there was only one he was really interested in—Julius Hennington’s. Why, he wasn’t entirely sure. They seemed an interesting group of people. Although, partially he also wanted to be there because Octavia Hennington really didn’t want him to be.
Perhaps it was frivolous, but he found he enjoyed this... spat.
As the sun went down, he took himself off to the club, intent on dining there again. Suppers alone were starting to grate. It had never used to, but he was noticing the stark silence. If he could undo this awareness, he probably would, but he liked company, and he liked to be able to leave it behind when he’d had enough.
“Good evening,” the doorman said as he arrived, and he felt the warmth inside as he walked in. The club did all it could to be comfortable and welcoming, and he was being seduced by its sedate charms. “Welcome,” one of the barmen said as he approached. The room was paneled with wood and the floor covered with oriental rugs.
“A whiskey,” he requested and then took a seat at one of the reading tables.
“Ah, Fortescue,” said a man Finn barely recognized. “Good to see you. I believe my wife sent you an invitation to supper one night.”
Finn barely hid his grimace. “Yes, unfortunately, it seems I’ll be leaving London soon, and can’t accept,” Finn lied. He had no plans, but he was starting to wonder if coming to London had been a mistake. It seemed he was being inundated with requests for his presence, and he didn’t have the energy or inclination to be tolerant. “I’m honored by the invitation, of course.”
“That is a downright shame. Your name is being mentioned in certain circles.”
“Oh?”
“You are one of the most eligible bachelors in the city this year.”
“I’m not sure where that idea comes from.”
“Simply a natural consequence of being unwed.”
A damned nuisance. Being inundated with requests for his time wasn’t something he wanted, or had bargained for. Social engagements were something he wanted to accept at his own pace. Once or twice a week, perhaps—with people he enjoyed engaging with. He sighed, trying to think how he could enforce this. Maybe he should just ignore them and damn the rudeness. It wasn’t as if he’d given any indication he wanted to attend suppers and events with people he barely knew. They weren’t associations he’d encouraged.
“Damned shame,” the man said. At least he had no interest to carry on the discussion now. He’d been sent on his mission, probably by his wife, and now there was nothing else to gain. It showed the man wasn’t particularly interested in the association either.
Grabbing the discarded paper, Finn read for a while and discouraged other approaches. Really, behavior like that shouldn’t be encouraged.
“Fortescue?” a voice said and Finn bent down his paper.
“Howard. I didn’t realize you were a member of this club.” The man sat down and shifted until he was comfortable. They’d known each other at Oxford, and Finn hadn’t seen him since. Time hadn’t been kind to his hairline.
“I don’t come often. How are you? It’s been years.”
“Well. I’ve only recently started coming myself.”
“I understand you’ve inherited your title. I heard something to the like.”
“Yes, my father passed, unfortunately.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It sounds like you had a good relationship.” Howard shifted in his seat again.
“Mostly.” A wedding band graced the man’s finger. “And I think I heard that congratulations are in order for your marriage. Belated.”
“Yes. I married Elizabeth Bartley of the Devon Bartleys. We’re in town for her younger sister. I felt I’d got away scot-free from having to do a season when I married Lizzie, but here we are, designated to go to every ball possible.”
“I’m trying to avoid it myself.”
“Well, when you marry, you marry the whole family, and their problems.” Howard sounded tired. On the surface, he wasn’t a good advertisement for marriage. “You should come to supper one night.”
Finn smiled. As they had been friends, he didn’t feel as justified being rude. “Unfortunately, I am going to be leaving London soon, so I can’t accept any invitations at this point.” This did solidify the fact that he needed to leave for a while. Technically, he was being driven out of town. Hounded, might be a more
