The Earl's Wallflower Bride (5 page)

“I couldn’t agree more,” Warren said,
shooting a pointed look at Asheley.

The corner of Asheley’s mouth twitched in
irritation, but he managed a polite, “You are welcome to your
opinion, but we suggest you keep it to yourself. We’ve already
voted against you with the matter of that book. You keep it up, and
we’ll have you voted out of here, even if you do have an impressive
ability to acquire money. Now that the Marquess of Dodsworth’s a
part of this establishment, you won’t be able to intimidate the
weak anymore.”

Well, maybe he didn’t want to be a part of an
establishment that would wager on the fate of a virgin. Maybe he’d
had enough of this kind of moral debauchery. Maybe he’d take the
few decent gentlemen in this place and start his own club. He’d
often fantasized about the idea, but it was difficult to gain
enough support for such a thing. And no doubt, these gentlemen
would see it as a victory.

The two cads walked away, snickering at him,
knowing full well the marquess had, indeed, tipped the scales in
their favor. But Anthony had also been voted to join White’s, and
that meant at least half the gentlemen didn’t want the likes of
Asheley and Rossington to have full reign over White’s. That meant
there was still a chance to make a difference, to make this a
respectable establishment. Feeling more hopeful, he left
White’s.

When he arrived at his townhouse, he found a
couple of missives waiting for him in the drawing room. He sorted
through them. One was from Anthony. It was probably an invitation
to a dinner party, one he had every intention of attending.

Another was from his half-brother. He
grimaced. This was probably another plea for money. Money he’d only
waste. He set it aside.

The last was from the Duchess of Ashbourne.
That was quick. He’d only seen her and the other two ladies
yesterday. He’d assumed it would take longer for them to match him
up with a lady, but then, he only told them he needed a lady to
give him an heir. It wasn’t as if his requirements had been
difficult.

Curious to know the identity of the lady who
was to have his children, he opened the envelope and pulled out the
missive. When he saw she was Lady Iris, he looked up from the
parchment in his hands. The name was familiar. He was sure he’d met
her at some point during the Season. But he couldn’t place a face
with the name.

He read through the rest of the missive and
saw Her Grace had been thoughtful enough to include the lady’s
address. He’d have to pay her a visit so he could remind himself
who she was and, of course, introduce himself, in case she didn’t
remember him. He was sure they hadn’t had any meaningful
conversations. If they had, he would have remembered her. So he
could only conclude she didn’t remember him, either.

Well, no worries. They’d remember each other
soon enough. He picked up a quill and grabbed a blank sheet of
parchment. After he wrote her a greeting and said he was looking
forward to visiting her, he asked for a day and a time when it
would be convenient to see her.

Once he gave the missive to his butler to
send out, he returned to the desk and opened Anthony’s missive,
knowing full well he’d enjoy this one much more than the one his
half-brother sent. As expected, Anthony had invited him to a dinner
party. It was going to be in a week and a half. Maybe that would be
enough time to get a chance to get better acquainted with Lady
Iris. He’d like to invite her to come with him. What better chance
for her to make her first appearance as his betrothed than by
attending a dinner party at Anthony’s townhouse?

Decision made, he replied he would be happy
to attend and that he hoped to bring the future Countess of
Steinbeck with him. Once that was sent off, he turned to the final
missive. Did he really want to open it today? He doubted it’d be
much different from all the other missives Byron had sent.

Warren sat back in his chair and drummed his
fingers on the desk in front of him. It’d be a waste of time—not to
mention it’d incur a great amount of frustration—if he opened it.
He ought to just throw it out.

After a good ten minutes, he picked up the
missive and threw it into the trash. It was enough he gave his
stepmother and her two children an allowance, as was his father’s
wish. He’d do no more than that.

He left his townhouse, more to get away from
the memories the past brought up whenever he received any
correspondence from them than for any other reason. It wasn’t until
he was almost at Malcolm’s townhouse that he realized he’d been
hoping to see his friend.

His steps slowed as he reached the bottom of
the steps leading to the front door. The last thing he wanted to do
was make a nuisance of himself. But Malcolm was so hard to find
these days. Did he have any other choice? Sure, he could write a
missive and ask to see him. And he would do that…if he thought
Malcolm would answer it.

He tapped his foot on the sidewalk. Why did
social interactions have to be so difficult?

Taking a deep breath, he headed up the steps.
He knocked on the door before he could talk himself out of it and
waited as the footman opened the door.

“Is Mr. Jasper in?” he asked the footman.

The footman nodded and motioned for him to
enter. Good. Maybe he’d made the right decision in coming here. If
Malcolm was here, it had to be a good sign. At the very least, it
was promising.

Once Warren was seated in one of the chairs
in the drawing room, he released his breath. The townhouse had
belonged to Malcolm’s wife. He’d only been over a couple of times,
but already, he could tell which things Malcolm had added to this
room.

There was a globe of the world. Warren
recalled how expensive that particular purchase had been,
especially since it’d been made by John Fagles, who was the most
renowned artist in London. Then there was a display of one of the
sheets of music Mozart had used. It’d been such a rare collectible
item that Warren had been envious for weeks over Malcolm’s
acquisition of it.

Of all the people he knew, Malcolm had the
best taste…and the best business sense.

Warren heard footsteps and turned toward the
door, ready to greet his friend, but the greeting fell short when
he realized it was just the butler.

The butler poured him tea and gestured to the
scones. “Help yourself. Mr. Jasper will be down shortly.”

Warren thanked him and took the cup. After
the butler left, he took a sip. Peppermint tea. It wasn’t his first
choice, and he guessed it wasn’t Malcolm’s, either, but Warren knew
from the times his stepmother had been with child that peppermint
had a tendency to ease a lady’s stomach. Melissa had told him Regan
was with child. He must not forget to congratulate Malcolm on his
good fortune.

Malcolm had been hopeful his marriage would
yield children who’d one day inherit his money. “And,” Malcolm had
added when he’d told Warren and Robert of his engagement, “I will
be sure to teach my children how to properly handle their finances.
I won’t have any of them wasting it like so many gentlemen we hear
about.”

Gentlemen like Byron. Suddenly feeling weary,
Warren rubbed the back of his neck. If only his father had taken
the same care and attention to instilling the value of money on his
stepmother and the children he had with her. Had it not been for
Warren, they’d all be destitute, but did they ever thank him for
it? No. It was only, “You owe us more,” or “Your father would roll
over in his grave if you don’t give us this.”

Again, footsteps pulled him out of his
thoughts, but this time, it wasn’t the butler. It was Malcolm.
Relieved for the interruption, Warren smiled and put the cup down.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, rising to his feet.
“You’re to be a father at last.”

“Yes, Regan did a fine job in conceiving
quickly,” Malcolm replied.

Though Malcolm smiled, he seemed uneasy, and
for the life of him, Warren couldn’t figure out why. Did he dare
ask?

“Would you prefer brandy instead of tea?”
Malcolm asked, gesturing to the decanter.

“I’d be a fool to pass up an offer to have
your brandy,” Warren said. “It’s the best in all of London.”

“That’s probably because it’s not from
London.”

“It’s not?”

Malcolm went to the decanter and poured the
brandy into two glasses. “No. It’s from Scotland. I do business
with a gentleman there whose father-in-law makes it. It’s a family
recipe, and according to his father-in-law, it’s his best kept
secret. Others have tried to duplicate the recipe without
success.”

Warren accepted the glass Malcolm offered him
and made a toast. “To best kept secrets.”

Malcolm nodded, and the two drank their
brandy. This was nice. It was much like how it used to be before
things turned awkward. Warren wished he could pinpoint the moment
when things went downhill.

He knew when things turned badly with Robert.
It’d been that day at White’s when they were opening up votes for
two new members. Robert complained about Warren ignoring the Duke
of Hartwell’s daughter. That event was easy to remember, even if he
still couldn’t recall what the daughter looked like. He tried,
really he did, but his mind kept coming up blank. Maybe if he saw
her again, he’d remember.

But it was no matter. He was to marry someone
with the name Iris, and his attention would be better spent on her,
especially in the matter of convincing her to try for an heir.
Again, he lamented the fact that he needed a lady in order to have
a child. Everything else he could do without assistance except for
this very important matter.

“I am to be married,” Warren finally told
Malcolm after a long moment of silence passed between them.

“Are you?” Malcolm asked.

“Yes. I decided to do what you did and seek
out the help of the Duchess of Ashbourne and her friends. I figured
since it worked well for you, then it might work for me.”

“A word to the wise: make sure you meet the
lady they match you with before your wedding day.”

“Oh, I most definitely will. In fact, I sent
her a missive asking to visit her.”

“You already know who she’ll be?”

He nodded. “I’m surprised, to be honest. I
was only at the duchess’ townhouse yesterday. I thought it might
take more time for her to find someone. I’ll tell you one thing
about her: she’s efficient. It’s hard to find ladies who are
capable in business, but I can see why she gained such an
impressive reputation in London.”

Warren caught sight of Regan as she came into
the room and put the empty glass on the tray so he could greet her.
“It’s a pleasure to see you,” he said with a bow.

She curtsied and went over to Malcolm. “It’s
a pleasure to see you, too.” Looking at Malcolm, she asked, “Are
you ready to get Leonard?” Glancing at Warren, she explained, “My
son spent the day with Frederick’s mother. Malcolm and I promised
to bring him home in time for dinner.”

“Oh, then I should be going,” Warren said,
catching the hint. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought Malcolm
seemed relieved. Maybe they had timed it so that Warren’s visit
would be cut short. Pushing aside the uneasy feeling in his gut,
Warren forced a smile. “I only came by to offer my
congratulations,” he told her. “I heard you’re with child.”

“Yes. We just found out,” she replied.

Since he didn’t know what else to say and
neither one seemed as if they wanted to continue the conversation,
he settled for offering a good-bye, finishing with, “I hope I’ll
see you at White’s,” directed to Malcolm. Then he left, wondering
if he’d somehow made things worse without knowing it.

Chapter Five

“Y
ou have to see him,” the Duke of Hartwell told his daughter
four days later. “He’s given you ample time to prepare for his
visit.”

Iris tried not to gag from where she was
sitting at her vanity in her bedchamber, but it wasn’t to be
helped. The way she saw it, when ladies didn’t want to marry, they
either cried, ran away, or got angry. She was much too upset to
cry, and she was much too sensible to run away. So all she could do
was be angry.

“I’ll slap him,” she said. “I just know he’ll
say or do something that’ll make me slap him.”

Her father shot her a pointed look. “Come
now, Iris. You can’t know that.”

“This is Lord Steinbeck we’re talking about.
He doesn’t have one decent bone in his entire body.”

“I have a feeling he’ll be on his best
behavior this evening. He knows he’s marrying you. He has a reason
to show you some interest.”

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror
and motioned to her reflection. “Why? Look at me. I’m not pretty.
I’m plain. I don’t stand out in the crowd. I’m forgettable. Do you
even think he’ll remember me?”

“I’m sure he will.”