A Proper Lord's Wife (Properly Spanked Legacy 2)

“Did you have a pleasant journey home?” his father asked. His hair, dark as Townsend’s, barely showed any gray. “I suppose it can get choppy, crossing the Channel in winter.”

“It was sunny, with calm waters,” he assured them. “And France was peaceful and enjoyable, for the most part.”

“After so much upheaval,” his mother said. “I’m glad. And how do you do, Edward?” she asked gently, using his Christian name.

She feared he still nursed a broken heart over Ophelia. And yes, his heart was a wasteland since he’d lost her, but the entirety of his problem was so much worse. He put down his fork and faced his parents. “I’ve done something rash, I’m afraid. Something foolish.”

“That’s unfortunate,” said his father. “I hope it’s easily fixed.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He glanced at his sister, whose eyes had gone wide. “I’ve asked someone to marry me, but I think, now, that I ought to have consulted with both of you first.”

“A French woman?” his mother asked. “Has there been an…entanglement?”

Rosalind’s eyes went wider. His sister was known for being demure and polite, but he knew a secret part of her enjoyed mayhem. Her puppy-dog crush on his friend Marlow was proof enough of that.

“Not a French woman,” he assured her. “I visited the Earl of Mayhew as soon as I arrived in London. I don’t know why, but I thought it would be a wise and just course to propose to the young woman Wescott jilted. I had this idea that it might fix everything…everything that happened between us.” And exert a measure of vengeance. He didn’t admit that part out loud, but feared it was obvious enough.

“Oh, but Lady June has already married another,” said Rosalind. “Lord Braxton, a longstanding acquaintance. They left recently for his country estate.”

“I realize that now. Unfortunately, I didn’t know she’d already married when I arrived at her father’s home. And I thought…” He sighed. “I thought her name was Jane.”

His parents stared at him. The food on his plate, so recently warm and delicious, seemed less so as he forced a forkful of lamb into his mouth.

“So, you see,” he continued after he chewed it, “I have engaged myself to Lady Jane, the younger sister, by accident.”

“When did you discover this…accident?” his father asked. Townsend had the sinking feeling he was trying not to laugh.

“I met with August and Marlow just afterward and told them I’d become engaged to Wescott’s former marriage prospect. They let me know I was mistaken.”

“My goodness,” said Rosalind, her delicate whisper too loud in the quiet room.

His mother blinked rapidly. Rosalind had gained her commendable polish at the Duchess of Lockridge’s knee. His mother disguised her surprise—her dismay?—but the blinking said everything.

“I wonder now, in hindsight, if we will suit one another,” said Townsend. “I find myself in a situation.”

“I’d say so.” His father leaned back, resting his elbows upon his chair. “Didn’t you speak to the girl herself before you set forth your proposition?”

“No, sir. She’s in Berkshire, in Reading with her mother. I spoke to her father, though, and put my name to an extensive marriage contract.”

“Ah.” The faint hint of laughter faded from the man’s dark brown eyes. “It is, indeed, a situation. You are legally engaged to Lady Jane, then. And she is of an age…?”

“She is my age,” offered Rosalind. “A few months older, perhaps.”

“Lord Mayhew said he wished for a quick wedding, a holiday wedding, and I agreed.” He could feel the flush rise beneath his tanned skin. “But, learning later that I had proposed to the wrong woman, I wish I had not.”

“Oh, my dear.” His mother’s words were soft but full of feeling. “Of all the things to do impulsively.”

“I know. I regret it.”

“But you have done it,” his father pointed out. “You offered marriage, and your suit was accepted.”

Townsend took another bite of food, forcing himself to chew it. His mother fidgeted with her silverware. Rosalind waited, watchful and still.

“Lady Jane is of excellent birth,” his mother finally said. “The Mayhews are a fine family, even if their youngest daughter is a bit…out of the ordinary.”

“Have you met her?”

She paused a moment, considering before she spoke. “I’ve heard she is a great lover of nature.”

The naturalist. That’s what Marlow had called her. Even his mother had heard the gossip, and she was not one to seek it out.

“Lady Jane is very interested in plants and animals,” Rosalind said. “I’ve never met anyone like her, man or woman.”

When neither parent moved to silence her, she took it as permission to go on.

“From what I understand, she spends far more time in the gardens and forests of her family’s country estate than the drawing room. Hazel met Jane while June and her brother were courting; she told me Jane took tea at Arlington Hall once with a great streak of mud staining her gown’s hem.”