He shook his head, backing farther away from the cliff edge. There’d been a recent storm and the ground wasn’t all that solid beneath his feet. He warned Sinjun, then fell into abstraction again as he sat on an outcropping of rocks.
“They won’t leave you alone, Douglas.”
“I know,” he said, not bothering to pretend ignorance. “Damn, but they’re right and I’ve been a stubborn bas—fool. I have to marry and I have to impregnate my wife. One thing I learned in the army is that life is more fragile than the wings of a butterfly.”
“Yes, and it is your child who must be the future Earl of Northcliffe. I love Ryder dearly, as do you but he doesn’t want the title. He wants to laugh and love his way through life, not spend it with a bailiff poring over account books or hearing the farmers complain about the leaks in their roofs. He doesn’t care about all the pomp and dignities and the knee-bending. His is not a serious nature.” She grinned and shook her head, scuffing the toe of her riding boot against a rock. “That is, his is not a serious nature about earl sorts of things. Other things are different, of course.”
“What the devil does that mean?”
Sinjun just smiled and shrugged.
Douglas realized in that instant that he’d made his mind up; more than that, he also knew whom he would marry. Ryder had himself brought her up during their meeting. The girl he’d fancied three years before, the beautiful and glorious Lady Melissande, daughter of the Duke of Beresford, who had wanted him and had cried when he’d left and hurled names at his head for what she’d seen as his betrayal. But three years before, he’d been committed to the army, committed to destroying Napoleon, committed to saving England.
Now, he was only committed to saving Northcliffe and the Sherbrooke line.
Aloud, he said, “Her name is Melissande and she is twenty-one, the daughter of Edouard Chambers, the Duke of Beresford. I met her when she was eighteen, but I left her because I had no wish to wed then. The devil, I was only home because of that bullet wound in my shoulder. It is likely she is long wed now and a mother. Ah, Sinjun, she was so beautiful, so dashing and carefree and spirited, and behind her was the Chambers name, old and honored, become dissolute only in her grandfather’s day. There was little money for her dowry three years ago, but I didn’t care if she came with naught but her shift on her back. Aye, her brother is another rotter, and even now he brings new odor to London with his profligacy. He is dissolute and a wastrel, gaming away any guinea he can get his hands on. It is likely that he will finish off the Chambers line.”
“I think it noble of you not to be concerned with a dowry, Douglas. Mother says again and again that it is the only basis for marriage. Perhaps your Melissande has waited for you. I would. Perhaps no one wed her because there was no money, despite the fact she’s a duke’s daughter and beautiful. Or, what if she did wed another but is now a widow? It’s possible her husband would have been obliging and died, and it would solve all your problems.”
Douglas smiled at that, but nodded, again, comfortable with speaking aloud his thoughts and his plans to Sinju
n. Yes, he had liked Melissande, found her careless ways fascinating, her clever manipulations intriguing. He’d also wanted to bed her very badly, had wanted to see her tousled and whispering endearments to him, adoration in her eyes for him.
Sinjun said quietly, “If Melissande is still available then you won’t have to worry about spending time in London to find another appropriate girl.”
“You’re right,” he said, rising and dusting off his breeches. “I will write immediately to the Duke of Beresford. If Melissande is still available—Lord, it makes her sound like a prize mare!—why then, I could leave immediately for Harrogate and marry her on the spot. I think you would like her, Sinjun.”
“I’ll like her if you do, Douglas. Mother won’t, but that doesn’t matter.”
Douglas could only shake his head at her. “You’re right. Do you know she’s the only one who’s never carped at me about marrying and providing the Sherbrooke heir?”
“That’s because she doesn’t want to give up her power as chatelaine of Northcliffe. The Sherbrooke dower house is charming but she disdains it.”
“You sometimes terrify me, my girl, you truly do.” He touched his fingers to her wind-tangled hair, then cupped her chin in his large hand. “You’re a good sort.”
She accepted this token of affection calmly, then said, “You know, Douglas, I wondered why the Virgin Bride would come at this particular time, but now it makes sense. I think she appeared because she knew you were planning to marry. Perhaps her coming is a portent; perhaps she is trying to warn you or your Melissande about something that will befall you if you aren’t careful.”
“Nonsense,” said the Earl of Northcliffe. “However, you are still a good sort, even if you are overly fanciful upon occasion.”
“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ ”
“Ah, Sinjun, and I shall say back to you, “ ‘Rest, rest, perturbed spirit.’ ”
“You are sometimes a difficult man, Douglas.”
“You sulk because I out-Shakespeared you?”
She poked him in the arm in high good humor. “You are too earthbound, Douglas, but perhaps that won’t continue after you are wedded.”
Douglas thought of the immense passion he fully planned to enjoy when he bedded Melissande. “Sometimes, my girl,” he said, giving her a fatuous grin, “you are also delightfully perceptive.”
The earl wasn’t frowning when he returned to Northcliffe Hall. Everything would work out. He had the unaccountable Sherbrooke luck as did the first son of the Sherbrookes for the past untold generations. It would continue, for the Sherbrooke luck had never yet deserted him, and he would have no more worries.
He paused, standing next to his sister in the front hall, listening to the Northcliffe butler, Hollis, when their mother, Lady Lydia, swooped down on them, demanding that Joan come upstairs immediately and change her highly repugnant clothing and try, at least try, to appear the young lady, despite all the blocks and obstacles Douglas and his brothers—who positively encouraged the silly chit—put in her path.
“I gather we are expecting guests, Mother?” Douglas asked, after sending Sinjun a commiserating wink.
“Yes, and if the Algernons—Almeria is such a high stickler, you know!—if she saw this child in her breeches and her hair like—” She faltered and Sinjun said quickly, “Like Medusa, Mother?”