Well I'm more than halfway through
Lydia's Penance (whoo-hoo!) and hoping to get it out by the end of this month (definitely the beginning of next month at the latest) so here's a teaser!!!!:
Did debutantes use a collective brain? Isaac
wondered. It didn't seem as though a single one of them could converse
about anything interesting or useful. As if he wanted to know about who
Lady March's latest lover was or discuss which color would be the most
in-fashion next Season. Hell, he didn't know which color was in fashion
this season. The milk-and-water misses all blended together in a pastel
blur; he truly couldn't even remember which was which after talking to
them. They might have different physical attributes, but their
personalities might as well have been copies of each other. Very bland
copies of each other. Any spark of individuality was quickly smothered by
the eagle eye of a debutante's watchful Mama.
And he was supposed to choose one of these
women to be his Duchess?
There might be some intelligence somewhere
among them, although he'd be hard pressed to discern which had any. One
of them, a delightful but far-too-young, young lady had told him to seek out
her elder sister when he tried to engage her in a more intellectual
conversation. She claimed she'd learned everything she knew from the
elder... Feeling almost desperate, Isaac had requested an introduction, but,
alas, the paragon was not to be found.
It was a sad state of affairs when the most
interesting conversationalist he could find was just barely out of the
schoolroom. Isaac had found himself wondering if she were even truly old
enough to debut. While her company was certainly the most enjoyable (even
Arabella didn't seem to dislike her, despite still doing her best to chase the
young miss away, as she had all the others), he couldn't countenance the idea
of marrying one so young. Other men did it, but whenever he looked to his
own sister and thought of her marrying a man with such an age difference, he
shuddered.
Yet he'd told Benedict that he would make his
decision by tomorrow.
Unable to think too much about the rest of his
life, leg-shackled to a chit who only cared for fashion and malicious gossip,
Isaac had a drink.
And then another.
And then another.
"You might want to slow down on those,
old chap, or none of these young ladies will want to be your bride," Benedict
murmured to him, clapping him on the shoulder. No longer hiding in the
ferns, Isaac was still lurking on the side of the room, practically glaring at
everyone who dared approach him. Only his brother and his sister,
accompanied by the irrepressible Countess of Spencer, had dared say a word to
him in the past half hour. As soon as he was drunk enough that the
thought of marriage no longer bothered him, he would quit the evening and
stumble to his room.
Isaac scowled. "It might be the
only way I could stomach any of them as a bride."
"Well at least you're talking sense
now," his sister said, popping up on the other side of him and nearly
making him jump in surprise. When Arabella wanted to, she could be quite
nimble and silent. Too bad she didn't often want to. "I've
been doing my best to meet the offerings, and so far I haven't met one of which
I would approve."
Ah, no wonder Arabella was chasing off the
debs. Isaac rolled his eyes. If his sister seriously thought he was
going to allow her to help him choose a bride... he could just imagine what
kind of wife she would pick for him. Either someone completely submissive
so that she could run roughshod over the poor woman, or someone just like
her. Impetuous and wild, and willing to join her in her escapades.
Absolutely not.
Although, so far he didn't think any of the
women he'd met here would have a chance of keeping Arabella in line, which was
one of his goals for marrying.
"Where's the Countess?" he asked his
sister. The two of them were quite good friends and, as a married woman,
the Countess was supposed to be keeping an eye on Arabella. Arabella's
own chaperone, their rather elderly Great-Aunt Ida, was already in bed.
After a debacle in London when Arabella had helped a friend attempt to elope
with a fortune-hunter, Isaac had written to Aunt Ida, as their only living,
older, female relative, hoping she could recommend someone as a chaperone for
Arabella. To his dismay, she'd come herself. Although as sharp as
ever when she was awake, she was also quite elderly now and became fatigued
rather easily. She insisted that she would soon adjust to the hours they
kept and wouldn't allow him to hire a companion (whom he hoped would also serve
as a chaperone when Aunt Ida was indisposed), saying she only needed her maid
Winnie. Winnie was a widow in her sixties, and unfortunately her station
made her completely unsuited to be a chaperone.
So he was stuck relying on the help of friends
and his brother to control Arabella. Unfortunately at this house party,
the only friend also in residence whom he trusted to keep an eye on Arabella
was the Earl of Spencer. He was quite reliable usually - and as a
reformed rake knew all of the tricks - but his wife could be even more of a
handful than Arabella, and the two of them together could be more trouble than
it was worth. The Countess wasn't any older than his sister and to say
that she had a liberal view of what constituted keeping Arabella out of trouble
was overstating the case.
"She wasn't feeling well," Arabella
said with particular emphasis, far too cheerfully, her dark eyes sparkling.
"Nearly fainted actually. Lord Spencer stepped right in and
swept her off to bed." She sighed happily. "Quite
romantic really. The ton could use more men like him."
Ha. As if Isaac would have allowed the
Earl within ten feet of Arabella before he was married. Not that he'd had
a reputation for seducing innocents, but still, he would not have been
acceptable company. His sister would do better to focus on the young
gentlemen that he did allow to approach her, rather than mooning over the
rogues and rakes that he and Benedict kept far away.
"Is she ah..." Benedict
stumbled slightly, unable to find a genteel way to ask the question.
"With child? No, I don't believe
so," Arabella said, giggling a little as she put her hand over her mouth.
"We ah, may have indulged in too much champagne. And the
punch. The Earl was a bit irate."
Isaac exchanged a look with his brother as
they both realized that Arabella was more than a bit tipsy. She obviously
had a higher tolerance for alcohol than Cynthia did, although that wasn't a
surprise. Both he and Benedict knew that she snuck into the liquor
cabinet at home whenever she wanted to. So far neither of them had
actually caught her at it though.
"Lovely," he said dryly. Then
chuckled a little. If Arabella thought the Earl's actions were romantic,
she might change her tune after talking to Cynthia tomorrow. Isaac was
well aware that quite a few of his married friends spanked their wives, and
Wesley, Earl of Spencer, was among the most vocal about it. Even claimed his
wife often sought out trouble if he let her go for too long without one.
Isaac wasn't sure he believed that... but he wasn't sure he didn't either.
That brought his thoughts right back around to
romance and wives, and his own looming self-imposed deadline, which made his
mood darken immediately. Signaling to one of the footman, he took another
glass of whiskey, downing it, before Benedict shoved him back out onto the
dance floor with yet another twitted miss.
He imbibed more than evening than he had in
months. It was the only thing that made the evening bearable. To
call himself well-lubricated... well... truthfully he was sauced. The
last thing he remembered before stumbling up to bed and passing out was a
pretty grey-eyed thing offering him one last glass. Although he'd always
been able to hold his liquor quite well, that last shot of whiskey set him
spinning almost from the very start.
He woke up to a pounding
headache, a woman's shrill screams, and a soft, warm body tucked in next to
him.
