“Nonsense.” Mother inspected him up and down through her quizzing glass, then brushed invisible lint from his blue satin sleeve. “I shall find you a bride who can fill the duties of a companion for me, someone who understands her responsibilities to family and Society.”
“Hmm.” Greystone resisted the notion of his future wife suffering under Mother’s domination, as Miss Newfield had. Perhaps after his marriage he should consider settling his parent in a dower residence. The house would be elegant and well staffed, of course, but at some distance from his other homes.
The thought stirred a strong measure of guilt in him. He and his two brothers owed everything to Mother. From the age of six, when his father’s sudden death had vaulted him into the titular headship of the Greystone dynasty, he had followed her every teaching. She had made certain he and his brothers, especially Greystone, were well versed in their duties to king and country. Although they had often loathed her controlling hand, she had restored the family fortune Father had gambled away, making possible a future for each of them. A future she herself designed.
Tonight she had gone to great effort for his birthday, inviting numerous aristocratic families and their marriageable daughters, ordering the best cuisine and hiring a fine orchestra. To match her scarlet gown, she wore the exquisite ruby necklace that had been in his family for some two hundred years. It suited her so well, he decided she must have it even after he married, as a symbol of his gratitude for all she had done for the family.
Although he felt the utmost gratitude toward her, recently he had begun to chafe against her controls. All these years he had observed how she had ruled the family. But how did a husband and father manage his own house? His memories of Father offered no example, only horror and fear. What if he inherited the man’s brutish ways? What if—
“Are you listening to me?” Mother’s sharp elbow cut into his biceps. He stifled a wince and clamped down on a cross retort. “What do you think of Lady Grandly’s eldest gel?” She waved her fan toward the comely Miss Waddington.
“Hmm.” Miss Waddington certainly possessed the appropriate breeding and character, but she stirred no feeling in him at all. Now that he had seriously begun his obligatory marital search, a new longing had started to stir within him. He wanted to experience genuine love, a deep emotion toward his wife, such as both of his brothers felt for their brides. A feeling so strong that it made each of them willing to risk everything to have the woman he loved.
Yet those other, darker thoughts always accompanied that sentiment. What if he had inherited his father’s propensity for cruelty? For evil? For profligate living? With no paternal example how could he truly become the good man he longed to be in the sight of God? Often after a burst of anger over some offense, real or imagined, he pondered whether he was even fit for marriage and fatherhood. Perhaps his brother Richard should continue as his heir. The newly ordained minister possessed an agreeable, temperate disposition and would never knowingly cause harm to anyone. But then such a passive course would mean that Greystone was neglecting his responsibility, something he would never do. He must choose a bride, must beget an heir. If he was fortunate enough to love the lady, then all the better.
Best get on with it.
“Do excuse me, madam. I should see to my guests.” He bowed to Mother.
“Just so.” She waved him toward the wall of young ladies without partners.
Instead Greystone strode toward the door, determined to play a few hands of whist with his brother Edmond. Greystone would seek the newlywed’s advice about choosing a bride.
When had Edmond realized no lady would do for him but Anna Newfield? How had he been certain of his feelings, despite the vast chasm between their social ranks? How had he developed the courage to defy Mother’s control? Perhaps as an officer over His Majesty’s Dragoons in America.
Neither Edmond nor Richard remembered their father, so Greystone doubted they would ever emulate his wicked ways. On the other hand, Greystone’s memories, forged from infancy, often found their way to the forefront of his mind, especially when his own temper threatened to explode like cannon fire. Then he prayed desperately that he might maintain control, unlike those few times in his youth when he had wreaked havoc on innocents. That must never happen again. He must never be like Father.
Pausing in the doorway, he surveyed the card room for the familiar head of dark brown hair. But his eyes stopped instead at the sight of golden curls framing the most exquisite female countenance he had ever gazed upon. Oddly his heart seemed to hiccup in his chest, and he had to remind himself to breathe. Even from a distance of some five and twenty feet, even in the flickering candlelight, he could see the sparkle of her blue eyes and her flawless ivory complexion. A pert little nose sat over full pink lips that were quirked to the side, as though she was concentrating on which card to play. From her sudden smile and decisive play he surmised the young lady could be counted on to betray her hand, a charming trait that revealed a lack of cunning.
But who was she? As host he should have met every guest at the ballroom door. Perhaps she was a latecomer. He did not have to search far to find someone to present him to her. Mother’s good friend Mrs. Parton sat across from the golden lady, and from their traded smiles, he assumed they were acquainted. If Mrs. Parton approved of the young lady, that was good enough for him. He made his way through the maze of populated tables toward his goal. With each step closer to her his pulse quickened.
Four sets of feminine eyes turned in his direction, but Mrs. Parton spoke first.
“Go away, Greystone. My partner and I are about to win this hand, and I forbid you to interrupt, even if it is your birthday.”
Greystone laughed. “And a good evening to you, too, dear lady.” He stopped by her chair and placed a kiss upon her plump cheek. Then he turned his attention to the other ladies. “I do hope you are having a pleasant time, Lady Blakemore, Miss Hart, and...?” He feigned innocent surprise, even as his pulse hammered wildly. “Forgive me, miss. Mrs. Parton, will you present me to this lovely young lady?”
“I will not.” She waved him away. He gave her a charming grin as he had since boyhood, and she harrumphed. “You never did mind well, Greystone.” Exhaling dramatically, she folded her hand of cards and placed them facedown. “Miss Gregory, may I present our host, Lord Greystone. Greystone, this is my new companion, Miss Gregory. She arrived in London just this afternoon.”
“Charmed, Miss Gregory.” To be sure, he was more than charmed. He was enchanted by those calm sapphire eyes. But while he kissed her hand, his mind scrambled and his pulse slowed. So this was Mrs. Parton’s long-awaited companion, and doubtless a penniless lady, if her unadorned, ill-fitting brown dress was any indication. If he chose a bride who was anything less than a baron’s daughter, Mother would be devastated.
“Lord Greystone.” The lady’s bright pink blush charmed him all the more. Every unmarried young lady blushed, but somehow Miss Gregory’s deportment bespoke something deeper than girlish nerves. Curiosity and interest quickly overrode his reservations regarding her status.
“Well, Greystone.” Lady Blakemore stood, as did her companion. “Since you have interrupted our game, Miss Hart and I will take our leave and find the refreshments.” Amid protests to the contrary, the two ladies disappeared from the room.
“Do forgive me. I have spoiled your game.” Greystone did not regret it for a moment. “Did you lose much?” He glanced around for a pile of coins or tokens but found none. Miss Gregory stared at him as if he had three heads.
“Gracious, no.” Mrs. Parton waved a silk fan before her ruddy cheeks. “You know I never gamble. Not even a button. Dreadful habit. Leads to ruin.”
Miss Gregory’s cheeks flamed even brighter, causing Greystone no little concern.
“Again, forgive me. I do not mean to be boorish.” He sat in one of the empty chairs,