Barely a Bride (Free Fellows League 1)

“Both of them are determined to make it so. And Alyssa’s their last chance.” Tressingham still appeared to be a genial host, but his voice had taken on a distinct mercenary tone. “Sussex is a duke. And if Sussex doesn’t come up to snuff, there’s always Linton. He paid me a c

all earlier and he’s a marquess.” Tressingham fairly crowed with success. “You’re a viscount and a soldier. Why should I give you any consideration?”

“Linton is a marquess, but an impoverished one. He’s looking to marry an heiress for her fortune. I’m not,” Griff told him. “As I told you earlier, my title is as old as Sussex’s, and I’m as well set financially. Perhaps Abernathy Manor can’t compete with Sussex House or its famous gardens, but I’ve something better to recommend me. Something you’ve been angling to acquire.”

Tressingham frowned. He didn’t like having a mysterious carrot dangled in front of him by a young man seeking to court one of his daughters. “And what might that be?”

“Access to some of the finest breeding stables and kennels in England.”

Tressingham swallowed hard and looked as if he’d just been handed the keys to paradise. “I don’t keep up with Debrett’s,” the man admitted, “or frequent clubs other than Boodles, but I know we’ve met before.” Too vain to don his spectacles and bring the younger man’s face into proper focus, he squinted at Griffin.

Griff nodded. “We’ve met on several occasions, but only in passing.”

Tressingham’s reaction was typical. He rarely attended social events, and when he did, his topic of conversation was generally horses and hounds and little else. Although they had met and conversed several times over the years, Griff had done his utmost to avoid Tressingham partly because Tressingham was a frightful bore who rarely, if ever, allowed anyone a chance to speak about anything except his favorite topic.

Tressingham grunted. “Whose get did you say you were?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then, I’m asking. Whose heir are you?”

Griff gave Tressingham an inscrutable smile. “I should thank a horse and hounds man and a member of Boodles, like yourself, would know to whom I refer.”

“Weymouth.” Tressingham breathed the name in a reverent tone. He looked as if he expected church bells to toll and a choir of angels to descend from heaven singing hymns of praise. “Weymouth has the finest stables and kennels in England. Now I recognize you.” Tressingham snapped his fingers. “Abernathy is Weymouth’s family name. You’re the Earl of Weymouth’s get.”

“I’m the Earl of Weymouth’s son and heir,” Griff corrected. “And a mere viscount because the traditional courtesy title of the Earls of Weymouth’s heirs is Viscount Abernathy and Baron Maitland.”

Tressingham drained his whisky, set the glass on the sideboard, then walked over to Griff and clapped him on the shoulder. “I agree, my lord.” He grinned broadly. “You’ve much to recommend you.”

“I thought you might feel that way,” Griff replied dryly, “once you understood that I have more to offer than mere money and a title.”

Tressingham pointed to the massive oil portrait of the tricolored foxhound. “Sir Thomas Lawrence painted it,” he said. “That’s Carrollton’s Fancy Mistress. I bought her great-great-grandmother when I was barely out of short pants, and I built my kennel by breeding my females to the best stud dogs I could find. Fancy is the culmination of all those years of careful breeding.” He stared at Griff. “Do you realize how many times I’ve attempted to persuade Weymouth to allow me to breed Fancy to his King George’s Prince of a Fellow?”

“Quite a few, I suspect.”

“At least a half dozen times this season.” Tressingham lifted an eyebrow in a sign of skepticism. “You’re absolutely certain that giving you permission to court my youngest gel will guarantee Fancy a breeding to Prince of a Fellow?”

Griff shook his head. “Not permission to court. Permission to marry.”

“Marry?” Tressingham was stunned. “You want to marry my daughter?”

“Yes.” Griff studied the older man for a moment longer, then decided to sweeten the pot. “And, as a member of the family, you will, of course, be allowed to align your kennels and stables with the earl of Weymouth’s.”

“Would your father be willing to put that in writing?” Tressingham asked eagerly.

Griff nodded. “You’ll be granted unrestricted entry to Weymouth’s kennels and stables, allowed to ride and hunt with the local hunt using Weymouth mounts and hounds if you like, and you shall be granted, in writing, exclusive breeding rights to the earl’s prized equine and canine studs and dams.” Griff watched Tressingham’s eyes light up. “So long as the agreement is written as part of the marriage settlement between your daughter, Lady Alyssa, and myself.”

Tressingham stared at Griff for a full moment before responding. “The stables as well as the kennels?”

“The stables as well as the kennels,” Griff confirmed.

“Even while you’re away at war?”

“Even so. As a matter of fact, I had hoped that since I am preparing to join my regiment, you might consider overseeing the care and management of my breeding stallion, Apollo.” Griff paused. “I’m leaving him behind, and my father is too busy with his government work and politics to attend to his breeding stable and my own…” Griff let his words fade away.

“I would consider it an honor.” Tressingham was fair to bursting with excitement and pride.

“The loan of Apollo would be temporary,” Griff clarified. “For the duration of my service abroad. I would, of course, expect to find him munching hay in my stables upon my return.” He smiled to ease the sting.