“What if I take a bride but fail to leave her with an heir? I can’t promise I’ll be able to fulfill that duty in a few days’ time.”
Weymouth looked his son in the eye. “The sooner you find a bride, the more time you’ll have to work at it.”
“I could still fail,” Griff reminded him. “You’ve failed to produce another child. And, as you said, not for want of trying.”
“You’ll have to do better than your mother and I have been able to do.”
“What if I succeed, and the child is a girl?”
“Ownership of Abernathy Manor reverts to me. Our letters patent make no allowances for firstborn females.”
“You could have the letters amended by parliament.”
“I could,” the earl said. “But I prefer that my son return to England and fulfill his duty to his family.”
“Even if that means returning from the dead?”
“Whatever it takes to accomplish the deed,” Weymouth pronounced. “I will accept nothing less from my son and heir.”
Chapter Two
“Since I’ve no wish to marry, I’ve decided to ignore the fuss of the London season and devote my energies to improving the gardens here instead. I’ve designed four new flower beds already, and I wish to experiment with the application of varying strengths of fertilizer from the stables.”
—Lady Alyssa Carrollton, London, 1810
Grosvenor Square Mews
Three blocks away
“You aren’t supposed to be in here, miss.”
Lady Alyssa Carrollton started at the sound. She dropped the heavy metal fork she’d been using to muck the stall of her favorite hunter and whirled around to find Abrams, the head groom, standing in the door of the stall.
Abrams doffed his cap.
“Abrams!” Alyssa gasped, pressing a hand to her breast in an attempt to still the rapid beat of her heart. “You nearly frightened me half out of my wits!”
“I didn’t mean to startle you, miss,” Abrams apologized. “But you aren’t supposed to be here, and certainly not decked out like that.” He nodded at the hem of her girlish riding habit.
Recognizing the censure in Abrams’s tone, Alyssa glanced down at the skirt of her stained and dusty habit. The garment was at least four years old, threadbare in places and straining at seams in others. She hadn’t wasted a moment worrying about propriety or her appearance until she realized the seams of her bodice were pulled taut and that the hem of her dress barely reached the calves of her oldest pair of riding boots.
“Your abigail should have retired that habit to the rag bin ages ago,” Abrams replied, his disapproval more than apparent.
“She did.” Alyssa bent to retrieve her fork. “I recovered it from the rag bin because I needed it.”
Abrams’s look of disbelief spoke volumes.
“I had to have something to wear to muck the stalls.” She stared at the groom. “I tried to borrow a pair of trousers from one of the grooms, but he refused.”
“Of course he refused!” Abrams exclaimed. “Any lad working here would refuse such a shocking request from the young lady of the house. And every lad here should turn his face to keep from seeing you in that.”
“I know it’s a bit shorter than is completely proper,” Alyssa admitted, “and snug in places, but I can’t very well wear a good dress, now can I? And the fact that this one is old is what makes it perfectly suited for the task at hand.” She reached for the rope handle of the muck bucket and tugged, pulling it closer to the stall door.
“There is no task at hand for you, miss.” Abrams bent to help her. “Lady Tressingham ordered us to keep you out of the stalls and as far away from the stable as possible.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Alyssa sputtered. “How does she expect me to tack up Joshua if I cannot enter the stalls?”
Abrams bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at her bluff. “Beg pardon, miss, but your mother expects us to tack up Joshua and bring him to you. Young ladies fortunate enough to employ grooms do not tack up their own horses.”