An Unsuitable Bride (40 page)

“He’s only met her briefly. We are bidden for dinner tonight. You and Serena will come, too, of course.”

“Oh, wouldn’t miss it for the world. And Serena will be happy to see Clarissa again. I was going to call at Blackwater House later this afternoon, but I’ll send Bart with a note inviting us for dinner.” He took another sip of wine, regarding his brother thoughtfully. “So, where is this paragon of unsuitability at the moment?”

“She’s selling a library of rare books, intent on driving a hard bargain by setting two of the richest bibliophiles in the country at each other’s throats.”

“Intriguing. And where exactly is she doing this?”

“In Berkeley Square, her family’s town house, to be precise.”

Sebastian sat down, stretching his booted feet to the andirons. “All right, Perry. Let’s hear the rest of it. You can’t keep feeding me morsels; I feel like Tantalus.”

“Hear the rest of what? Morsels of what?” Serena came into the room, speaking through a mouthful of hairpins, twisting the thick mass of black hair into a knot at her nape. “Or am I intruding?” She stuck the
pins into the knot in a somewhat haphazard fashion.

“Not in the least,” Perry said. “It will be easier to tell you both at once; then I won’t have to repeat myself.”

Serena took a seat with an air of expectation. “Could I have a glass of wine while I’m listening, please?”

Peregrine poured her a glass and brought it over for her. “If you’re sitting comfortably, I will begin.”

His audience listened to his tale, their faces registering amusement, astonishment, and finally a fair degree of awe. “She sounds like a remarkable woman,” Serena said when he fell silent.

“Oh, she is,” Perry agreed. “But she is also utterly exasperating and as stubborn as can be.”

“That seems an inevitable quality, if you can call it such, with unsuitable brides.” Sebastian chuckled, looking at his wife. “They get themselves into absurd situations and then refuse to be rescued. The knight in shining armor doesn’t appear to figure in their romantic fantasies.”

“If, indeed, we have such fantasies,” Serena retorted. “I think we’re all too pragmatic for such flights of fancy. We have too much to do to make the world work for us.”

“Has she seen the viscount yet?” Seb asked.

“This morning. She dressed in breeches.”

Sebastian gave a shout of laughter. “That was a happy thought. Right up the old man’s alley. Did he salivate?”

“Oh, he licked his lips once or twice, but Alexandra gave him his own back. It was a pleasure to watch.”

Sebastian nodded. “I can imagine. And when’s the happy day?”

Perry sighed. “I have it in mind to go to Doctors’ Commons in the morning and procure a marriage license. We could be married around the corner in the church on Bolton Street as soon as we wish, as I’ve lived in the parish for well over the necessary fifteen days. But I haven’t as yet presented the case for a speedy wedding to Alexandra.”

“Will she object?” Serena asked.

“Probably,” Peregrine said honestly. “But I intend to override those objections.”

“As we’re all meeting her tonight for the first time, maybe Serena and Clarissa could work a little womanly magic,” Sebastian suggested, glancing interrogatively at his wife.

“We’ll see,” Serena said firmly. “I know ’tis vital that the marriage take place quickly, but I’m not dragooning anyone into anything.”

“The old man could slip his mortal coil at any moment,” Sebastian pointed out.

“I understand that. But if Perry can’t persuade her, then I doubt two complete strangers can do so.” Serena set her lips in a way that Sebastian recognized. He shrugged and gave his twin a rueful shake of his head.

“No, Serena’s quite right,” Peregrine said. “I’ll talk with Alexandra tonight.” He glanced at the clock. “ ’Tis almost five-thirty. You should send your note to Clarissa, Seb. I told Alexandra I would fetch her at
six o’clock, so I’ll walk around to Berkeley Square now and bring her back here. We can all share a hackney to Upper Brook Street.”

“In that case, I must dress for dinner.” Serena followed Perry from the parlor. “Are you coming up, Seb? You’re looking sadly travel-worn.”

“On your heels. One must look one’s best on such an occasion.” Sebastian uncurled himself languidly from his chair and went upstairs on the heels of his wife. In their own bedchamber, across the hall from his twin’s, he looked around, smiling at its familiarity. He and Perry had shared the house on Stratton Street for more than six years, since they had first dipped their toes into London’s social scene, but it was time now to set up his own household, particularly in the light of Perry’s news. The house was too small for two married couples, particularly when the wives in question were as strong-willed and independent as he guessed Alexandra was and knew Serena to be.

Peregrine strolled to Berkeley Square and banged the tarnished knocker on the Douglas house. The door was eventually opened a few inches by the ancient retainer, who peered at the visitor through the crack.

“Is Mistress Hathaway at home?” Perry tried to keep the impatience from his voice.

“Reckon so. She’s ’ad visitors all afternoon, bangin’ at the door, givin’ a man no peace.” Billings
remained holding the door half closed, still peering around it.

“Well, you may admit me,” Peregrine said firmly, pushing the door wider and stepping swiftly past the old man into the dingy hall. “Inform Mistress Hathaway that I am waiting to escort her to dinner.”

Billings sniffed and shuffled off into the back regions. A moment later, a young lad scampered across the hall and up the stairs. He came down within moments and scampered back towards the kitchen without so much as a glance at the visitor.

Perry tapped his cane against his boot. He had to assume that the boy had taken the message to Alexandra. He paced the hall, examining the various pictures on the wall. A few gloomy landscapes and several portraits of severe gentlemen, all of whom were members of the Douglas family. He stopped in front of one and looked closely. It was of Sir Arthur Douglas. He had the air of an unhappy man, preoccupied and disappointed. His curled white wig sat above a very broad forehead. His nose was Alexandra’s, shapely and aquiline; his mouth was thinner, though, and his eyes were green instead of gray. But then Alexandra had her mother’s eyes, as Peregrine had already noticed.

“My father,” Alexandra’s voice said softly from the stairs.

Peregrine turned from the portrait. “Yes, so I see. You have his nose.” He smiled, as always delightfully surprised at the pleasure he found on seeing her after
even a short absence. She was wrapped in a hooded cloak, and he couldn’t see if she’d found yet more discarded treasures in the attic, but that was a pleasure to be anticipated.

“But little else,” she responded, jumping off the last step. “Oh, except for his love of books.”

“Was he also a superb chess player?”

“I learned at the knee of a master,” she conceded, coming over to him. “Are we to go immediately to your brother’s house?”

“Not immediately. We’ll walk back to Stratton Street; ’tis but a step or two, and the evening is not overly chill. There are some people I would like you to meet.”

“Oh?” Her eyes sparked with curiosity. “Who?”

“My twin brother and his wife. They arrived back from the Continent this afternoon.”

“And you have told them about me.” It was statement, not question. She had long since sensed the bond between Perry and his twin and knew he would not have kept his own circumstances a secret.

“Yes. I hope you don’t mind.” He opened the front door.

“No. How should I? In the circumstances, they have a right to know that when and if we wed, I will satisfy your uncle’s stipulations.” She moved past him into the street.

“What do you mean,
if
?” he demanded, closing the door behind him with a bang. “We are agreed, are we not?”

She paused, turning to look at him. “As long as you accept that I have to complete what I started.”

“God help me,” he said roughly, taking her arm. He began to walk swiftly in the direction of Stratton Street.

Alexandra found that she almost had to trot to keep up with his long stride and swift pace. “Oh, please, don’t let’s quarrel, Perry,
please
slow down.”

He moderated his pace somewhat. “So you expect me to stand aside and watch while my wife continues her criminal career?”

“No, you’ll be watching me as your betrothed,” Alexandra pointed out. “We will still be connected, partnered, if you will.”

“Sometimes I would like to shake you until your teeth rattle,” he stated. “But let us not start this evening on a bad footing.” He stopped on the corner of Berkeley Street and Stratton Street and turned her to face him. “In the morning, I intend to go to Doctors’ Commons and procure a marriage license. We can be married in the church on Bolton Street. My brothers will stand as witnesses. Do you agree?”

“When the time comes,” she said. “I understand the need for speed, and I will make all haste to complete provision for Sylvia’s future, and then we may be married.”

“There’s no point having this discussion in the middle of the street,” he stated.

Alexandra sighed and tried once more. “Don’t you understand, Perry? I must do this alone, because otherwise, as my husband, you would be implicated.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he demanded harshly. “Once we are married, I am legally completely responsible for you, your debts, and all your actions.”

“Exactly,” she said with a calm that infuriated him.

“God help me,” he muttered again as they turned onto Stratton Street. At the house, he unlocked the door and ushered her in.

He opened the door to the parlor. It was deserted, but the fire had been made up and the decanters on the sideboard replenished. “Let me take your cloak.”

Alexandra tossed back the hood of her cloak. Her chestnut hair was braided in a double plait at her nape, confined with a tawny gold velvet ribbon. Peregrine reached around and unclasped the cloak at her throat, drawing it away from her. He couldn’t help a smile of appreciation. “Who did these clothes belong to?”

She looked at him. “Can’t you guess?”

He frowned for a moment, then gave a shout of laughter. “They were your mother’s, weren’t they?”

Alex nodded, laughing, relieved that the earlier tension had passed.

“A lady of considerable taste,” he observed.

“Oh, she’s certainly that,” Alex conceded. “They don’t even seem to be that outdated, do they?”

“Barely at all.”

“Well, she was always in the forefront of fashion.” She traced the neckline of the gown. “Of course, she’s rather better endowed than I am, so the gowns are a little loose. But I don’t think ’tis too noticeable.”

“I hadn’t noticed at all,” he lied gallantly.

“Liar.”

He laughed. “No, ’tis true. The whole impression is what counts; a minor imperfection here and there is not worth mentioning.”

“Oh, so, ’tis an imperfection.” Her eyes danced.

He threw up his hands in disclaimer. “Never say so. It is a most beautiful gown, and you are perfection, my dear.”

She gave a complacent smile. “I thought that since we were dining with Lord and Lady Blackwater, I should be a little more formal than usual.” She shook out the tawny velvet folds of the overgown that opened over an underskirt of bronze damask, spread over wide panniers. The décolletage was particularly low, her breasts rising in a creamy swell almost to the nipples, and the width of the skirts accentuated the smallness of her waist.

Before Perry could respond adequately, the door opened, and Sebastian came in. “Ah, Mistress Douglas. An honor.” He swept her a formal bow, his eyes dancing, and she responded with an equally deep, perfectly judged curtsy.

“Mr. Sullivan.”

“Oh, Sebastian, please,” he said, dropping the formality instantly. “Or Seb. My friends call me the latter.” He regarded her with an appreciative smile. “I must say ’tis hard to picture you in the guise of the dowdy spinster lady Mistress Hathaway.”

“That is my most fervent hope, sir,” she responded with a mischievous smile that instantly endeared her to Sebastian. She looked between the brothers. “If you were not standing side by side, I confess I would be hard pressed to tell you apart.”

“Most people have that problem,” Perry said, turning to the decanters on the sideboard. “Sherry, or claret, Alexandra?”

“Sherry, if you please.”

“Seb?”

“Claret, thank you. Serena will be down in a moment.”

On cue, Serena came into the parlor. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting.” She advanced with a warm smile and an outstretched hand to Alexandra. “Mistress Douglas . . . or may I call you Alexandra?”

“I do hope you will . . . or just Alex, if you prefer.” Alex clasped Serena’s hand. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

“Serena,” Serena corrected. “I will have sherry, Perry, if I may, and Alex and I are going to get better acquainted on the sofa.” She moved to a sofa on the far side of the parlor and sat down, arranging her lavender silk skirts around her so that she left sufficient room for Alexandra.

“I won’t ask for all of your secrets immediately; you’ll only have to repeat them for Clarissa later,” Serena said comfortably. “But I am most intrigued about selling a library. Perry was telling us that was what you were doing this afternoon?”