Forsaking the Prize (The Wild Randalls 2)

Blythe crossed her arms over her chest. “Really?”

Mercy had the grace to blush. “I concede Leopold’s younger brother may have a few more rough edges than I’d imagined, or even believed possible for that matter. However, I’m sure with the right prompting he may be able to speak without sounding so shocking.”

“You’re hoping for a miracle.”

Mercy chuckled softly and shook her head. “I know. Do you forgive me?”

Blythe sighed. What was the use of holding a grudge? She and Mercy had always been closest. “Fetch Dr. Heyburn to attend me again and we cease to be sisters. That man is incompetent not to have realized I was feigning unconsciousness.”

Mercy leaped at Blythe and squeezed her in a tight hug. “You fooled me for certain that time, Blythe. Part of me was hoping you were tricking us, but part of me was afraid that Mr. Randall’s entry through the window had been too much for your nerves. You haven’t done that in years and I don’t care to be scared like that again.”

Blythe untangled herself from Mercy’s grip with as much dignity as she could muster and finished unpacking her things. “I’ll say one thing about Mr. Randall, he does like to make a dramatic entrance.”

A male voice cried out in outrage through the wall from the next room. The little bottles of perfume on her dresser shook.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” Tobias Randall shouted.

“Just shut up and sit down,” Leopold Randall barked in return. “You know this must be done.”

Mercy looked at Blythe, a frown creasing her brow. “Sounds painful.”

A warm glow filled Blythe’s chest as she dragged in a deep breath then let it go. She smiled. “Sounds perfect to me.”

Four

Some weeks later . . .

Tobias Randall had faced many dangers in his life; none compared with his current predicament. He would gladly face the enemy in battle, starvation, and the most godforsaken ship's captain ever to sail against England rather than make polite conversation.

But, as he’d been repeatedly warned in the last weeks, the proprieties must be observed if he wanted to remain in good society and have a chance of being acceptable to a well-to-do marriageable woman. He was dressed now in the finest clothing he’d ever owned. Primped and polished until he shined like a new minted penny. There seemed no end to the number of things that he could and could not do or say as brother to the future husband of the Duchess of Romsey.

He stood quietly on the edge of the Romsey drawing room, forgotten for the moment, as his brother and the duchess discussed plans for the future and the estate. A party here, a field plowed there, a trip to London and to Bath to visit with the duchess’ relations and be introduced properly, raising the staff wages. As his brother’s future unfolded, mind-numbingly tedious by the sounds of it, he tried to remain alert.

He was a man of action, and there was no action here. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, that would add any excitement to the morning. Well, perhaps there was one.

He shifted his gaze across the room. He could, if he was feeling particularly adventurous, engage in conversation with Lady Venables. She was, and had always been, a rather prickly conversationalist. Was he willing to risk a verbal lashing to relieve his boredom? Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Besides, he needed to practice for when he found a woman he wanted to wed.

He crossed the room to where she sat, her head bent over books, ignoring the activity around her. As always, she was dressed

in somber tones: a dark priggish gown, gloves and delicate fichu covering up her skin. She appeared quite spinsterish today, rather than a widow of four and twenty years and long out of prescribed mourning.

He knew few other things about her life. He’d quizzed Leopold during the endless hours of fittings and instructions to pass the time. She’d been married to a man quite a few years her senior, widowed two years ago but still grieved for him. She’d also had a son who’d died of a fever. Aside from observing the proprieties without fault, she had no apparent interest in members of the opposite sex. He’d never met with a woman like her before. Everything about her demeanor was designed to keep others at a distance. Yet he knew her to have a warmer heart than she let on. Those brief glimpses of merriment with the boy duke fascinated him.

Her face lifted as he drew closer, pale green eyes framed by thick lashes unblinking. Her expression changed to one of extreme distaste.

He forced a polite smile. “Good morning, Lady Venables. How are you enjoying your day?”

A very unladylike scowl crossed her face then quickly disappeared again. She marked her place in her book with her fingertip. “The same as I enjoyed it earlier this morning, Mr. Randall. And I am in perfect health, too, in case that was to be your next question. You seem extraordinarily interested in my health.”

Her brow rose while he fumbled for something else polite to say.

Damn Leopold and his list of suggested conversational topics to engage in with proper ladies. He’d never been tongue tied before in his life and he didn’t like the feeling. He usually said the first thing that crossed his mind. Unfortunately, his previous conversations with Lady Venables had not made them the best of friends. Unlike the other women he’d known, suggesting they tumble into her bed and any other gentler teasing had not had a softening effect on her disposition. Quite the opposite in fact.

At his continued silence, her gaze dropped to her book and she ignored him.

Being ignored wasn’t going to alleviate his boredom. He sat beside her on the lounge. “What are you reading so studiously?”

Her lips twisted in a grimace. “I am attempting to unscramble the duke’s journals, if you must know, in an attempt to discover the location of your siblings. However, I’m starting to regret taking on the task.”