“I’ll plan my arrival here accordingly,” Griff answered. “Unless you intend to act as their escort…”
Tressingham shuddered. “Not on your life.”
Griff laughed. “Then, you’ve no objection to my escorting them?”
“None at all, my boy. You’re welcome to it.” He pinned Griff with a look of glee. “I can’t believe my good fortune. Here, I thought the best I could do would be to marry the gel to a duke or a marquess. I never dreamed I would be marrying her to Weymouth’s heir. I can’t help but think I’ve gotten the best part of this deal. Strange, your coming along like you did. I had heard you were in league with a circle of confirmed bachelors.”
The Free Fellows League. Perhaps they hadn’t been quite as mysterious and discreet as they thought. “I was,” Griff allowed. “Until I laid eyes on your daughter.”
“Well,” Tressingham shrugged his shoulders. “To each his own. That’s what I always say. And whatever the reason, I’ll be as pleased to call you my son-in-law as I would have been to call the Duke of Sussex the same. Probably more so,” he admitted. “For Sussex’s horseflesh is passable at best, and he doesn’t hunt or keep a kennel. He has nothing to offer except a royal title, wealth, and that monstrosity of a house and garden.”
And a domineering mother. “And I’ll be honored to make Lady Alyssa my wife.” Griff looked Tressingham in the eye. “There is one other thing I failed to mention…”
“Oh?”
“Once the contract is signed, my betrothed answers to no one but me. I’ll take full responsibility for her behavior.”
Tressingham opened the door to Needham’s knock, then stood back to admit the butler. “Suit yourself,” he said, removing Alyssa’s gloves from the butler’s tray before passing them along to Griff. “But not until the notice appears in the morning paper.”
“Fair enough,” Griff said.
Tressingham turned to his butler and handed him the note Griff had written for his father. “See that this note is immediately sent round to Lord Weymouth at White’s.”
“Very good, sir.” Needham tucked the note away for safekeeping, and then set the tray on the side table. He uncorked the brandy, poured two glasses, and passed them to the gentlemen.
“Pour one for yourself, Needham.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“We’re celebrating Lady Alyssa’s betrothal to Lord Abernathy.”
Needham raised an eyebrow. “My understanding is that Lord Abernathy is a viscount.”
“Indeed, he is,” Tressingham said. “The Earl of Weymouth’s viscount.” He poured Needham a glass of brandy and handed it to him before raising his own. “To Lord and Lady Abernathy.”
“Hear, hear,” Needham agreed.
“Thank you,” Griff acknowledged the toast and the good wishes behind them.
“And here’s to Fancy.” The Earl of Tressingham gestured toward the oil painting hanging above the mantel. “And to Prince of a Fellow and the litter of champion foxhound pups we’ll be raising come fall.”
Chapter Nine
“The foundation is set, and my objective is in sight. I shall be taking up my commission and joining my regiment ere long.”
—Griffin, Viscount Abernathy, journal entry, 26 April 1810
Griff handed his hat and gloves to the doorman at White’s, then crossed the entrance hall to the main room where his father sat lounging in his favorite oversized leather chair in his customary place near the fire, a cup of coffee on the small marble-topped table at his elbow. Griff drew up a matching chair and sat down beside the Earl of Weymouth.
“It’s done,” he announced quietly. “The announcement will appear in tomorrow morning’s edition of the Times.”
Weymouth gave his son a curt, approving nod. He gestured for the waiter to bring a cup and saucer and a fresh pot of coffee for Griffin. “Who’s the lucky young lady?”
“Lady Alyssa Carrollton.”
Weymouth frowned. “Carrollton. That’s the family name of the Earl of—”
“Tressingham,” Griff finished his father’s sentence. “Yes, I know.”