Barely a Bride (Free Fellows League 1)

She had thought, at first, that he was teasing, but the look in his eyes told her he wasn’t. “You’re serious…”

“I have need of a bride,” he said. “And I want her to be you.”

Alyssa didn’t find his proposal entirely flattering, nor was she surprised by the suddenness of it. But she pretended to be by quietly, calmly murmuring all the protests she imagined any young lady would murmur at such a time. “Lord Abernathy, we’ve only just met. I know nothing about you. You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough,” he told her. “I chose you from the moment I first saw you at Lady Cleveland’s.”

“This is much too sudden—”

“Not for me,” he said. “I don’t have the luxury of time for a long courtship. I’m joining my regiment soon.”

“You’re leaving?” Alyssa bit her bottom lip.

“I’m afraid so. Unless you choose to stay with my parents, you’ll be alone at Abernathy Manor.” He gave her a rueful smile. “As alone as one can be with fifty servants wandering about the place.”

She knew why he was offering to marry her, knew she should be offended at the idea of being his means to an end, but she wasn’t the least bit offended. She was intrigued and seriously considering his offer. “How long would yo

u be gone?”

“I’m a soldier,” he said. “And we’re at war. Who can say? Perhaps months, perhaps years, perhaps forever.”

“Forever?” She tried very hard to keep from sounding eager, and she must have succeeded, for he seemed not to notice or find fault with her manner.

“There is always that possibility,” he reminded her. “I’m in the cavalry.”

The strains of the music faded, and Griff gracefully guided Alyssa to a stop and led her off the dance floor on the opposite side of the room from where they had left her mother.

The assembly rooms at Almack’s were deuced inadequate when it came to seeking respite from the crowd. Unlike most private residences, Almack’s had no terrace or gardens from which to escape the closeness of the ballroom. Griff had never been inside the assembly rooms, but he knew that Almack’s was perfectly suited to its purpose, which was to provide a place for eligible young men to view and dance with the marriageable young ladies without danger of compromising them.

The only possible chance of escaping the eagle eyes and ears of the patronesses and of the Marriage Mart Mamas lay in finding the ladies’ retiring room unoccupied or in slipping behind one of the curtained window alcoves or behind the profusion of strategically placed potted palms. Griff decided the ladies’ retiring room would offer the most privacy—provided it was unoccupied and provided Lady Alyssa proved to be a passable actress.

“It’s uncomfortably hot in here,” he prompted after their dance. “You must feel faint—”

“Not at all,” Alyssa protested. Except when he stands so close.

Recalling that she was an innocent, Griff tried again. “If you feel faint, Lady Alyssa, I’ll be happy to escort you to the ladies’ retiring room or to one of the curtained alcoves behind the potted palms where you might catch your breath in private.” He emphasized the word.

Understanding dawned, and Alyssa blushed to realize that he wanted permission to escort her somewhere private so they might continue their discussion away from prying eyes and ears. “Oh!” She leaned heavily against him, feigning dizziness. “As a matter of fact, I do feel faint, my lord.”

“Easy,” he cautioned, keeping a hand on her arm as he pretended to steady her. “Don’t overact. I’ll have to burn a few feathers as it is…”

Alyssa wrinkled her nose as he expertly guided her through the crowd, past the first card room, to the ladies’ retiring room.

The drapes hanging in the doorway were opened, a sign that the room was unoccupied. But Griff wasn’t taking any chances. He motioned Alyssa inside, then leaned close to whisper, “Are we alone?”

Alyssa nodded. “Yes.”

Griff quickly stepped inside the room and pulled the velvet drapes partially closed. To pull the drapes completely closed was to risk the chance that someone would notice and come to inquire about the occupant. To leave them completely open ran the risk of having some other lady or some other couple seek respite from the crowd. Partly closing the drapes seemed the best way to insure some privacy without putting Alyssa’s reputation at risk.

Griff glanced around, getting his bearings. The ladies’ retiring room was large, with medallioned ceilings and numerous gilt mirrors. Upholstered chairs lined the walls, and several velvet-covered low fainting couches were placed about the room. A large circular table in the center of the room held a stack of ladies’ handkerchiefs, a collection of decorative smelling bottles, a large metal box of Promethean matches, and several bottles of asbestos and sulfuric acid in which to dip them in order to ignite them. A large china urn held an arrangement of peafowl and peacock feathers for burning.

He pulled out a peacock feather and lifted several matches along with a bottle of igniting fluid, and a bottle of smelling salts and carried them to a table beside a fainting couch away from the door, close to the far wall out of the line of sight of the gilt mirrors, making certain they were at the ready should he be required to use them.

When he was certain they were alone and out of earshot of anyone who happened along, Griff took hold of Alyssa’s hand. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Alyssa’s heart began to pound. She would be foolish to take him seriously. She couldn’t take him up on his offer, and yet she thought she might regret it if she allowed this chance pass her by. It wasn’t as if she was going to be miraculously delivered from the prospect of being sold into marriage to a stranger. At least, with Viscount Abernathy, she could do the choosing instead of her father. And Alyssa really disliked the thought of being the duchess. The rank of viscountess would suit her much better. She could do as she liked. No one would pay much attention to a viscountess. Not when there were countesses and marchionesses and duchesses around.

“What would you expect of me?” she asked.