Barely a Bride (Free Fellows League 1)

“The army needs cavalry officers.”

“Yes,” the earl agreed. “And the reason the army needs cavalry officers is because we have more than our share of idiot generals who insist on getting them shot to hell. You’re tall enough to be a grenadier. And you’d have a better chance of staying alive.”

“I intend to serve my country,” Griff said. “I mean to help defeat Bonaparte, and I have to go with my strength in order to succeed.” He looked at his father, silently begging the earl to understand. “I’ve spent my entire life playing at soldiers, memorizing military tactics and stratagems. I may be tall enough, but I don’t fancy a position in the grenadiers, lobbing grenades at the enemy lines until some sharpshooter picks me off. I prefer to take my chances with the cavalry. It’s what I know best. If you were twenty years younger, what would you do?”

Weymouth nodded. “I would do exactly what you’re going to do.” He met his son’s gaze. “I would provide for the future of my family name and line by finding myself a suitable bride and getting myself an heir on that bride before I go off to war. And if I were you, I’d begin right away.”

“You must be joking!” Griff exclaimed.

“On the contrary,” the earl replied. “As you are quite aware, I have a considerable reputation for not having been born with a sense of humor. This isn’t a joke.”

“But, Father, be reasonable—”

“I am being reasonable,” Weymouth snapped. “Far more reasonable than you are being. I, at least, would tend to the details of the family. I, at least, would provide my parents with a grandchild to take my place as heir to the family land and tides in order that they not become extinct should something happen to their only child.”

“But to marry some poor girl and get her with child in order to leave her a widow—” Griff broke off as the magnitude of his decision and the possibility of his not returning home from war suddenly became a reality.

“I’m not suggesting you marry a poor girl or that you leave her a widow,” Weymouth told him. “An heiress will do just as well. And as long as you’re going to be a husband and a father, you might as well return from the war alive and healthy and whole.” He smiled at his son for the first time since Griffin arrived. “It’s the least you can do for your family.”

“You aren’t serious.”

“I thought that we had established that I am quite serious. I suggest you start the quest for your bride at Lady Cleveland’s soiree this evening.” Weymouth flipped through his appointment book as he spoke. “You only have two weeks.”

“I’m not going to spend my remaining fortnight attempting to locate a bride.”

“You will if you expect to be married before you leave,” his father countered. “You only have a fortnight plus four days before you’re scheduled to report to your regiment. It will take at least a day to negotiate the wedding settlement and another two days to plan and execute the wedding and a wedding breakfast for a hundred or so of our closest friends.”

Griffin stood his ground. “I am not getting married.”

“Fine,” the earl agreed. “Sell your commission and turn your attention to Abernathy Manor. It is desperately in need of upkeep. The house and the lands are on their way to ruination.”

“Abernathy Manor will have to endure a bit longer without my attention,” Griffin said. “I’m joining His Majesty’s Eleventh Blues.”

“Then you’ll want to choose a bride.” His father’s tone of voice and the look of steely determination in his eyes brooked no argument. “Otherwise, I shall be forced to select one for you.”

“You can select a wife for me, but you can’t make me repeat the vows.”

“I won’t have to,” Weymouth said grimly. “You will repeat your wedding vows willingly, or you will find yourself summarily cashiered out of the Eleventh Blues. You’ll be dishonored, disgraced, and disowned.”

“You can’t disown me,” Griffin reminded him. “You have no other heirs.”

“Then I’ll cut you off without a penny.”

“Fine,” Griffin replied. “I’ll make my own way.”

“You do that,” Weymouth told him. “You’re young and strong and smart; you can earn a living for yourself. But that task might not be so easy for the three hundred souls at Abernathy Manor who find themselves dependent upon your income—”

“You would close the manor and turn everyone out?”

“I would tear down the manor and put sheep on the place without batting an eye,” Weymouth promised. “It’s less costly and a much more efficient use of the acreage.” He glanced at his son, gauging Griff’s reaction. “What do I need with another manor house? I have Weymouth Park, the London town house, and a hunting lodge in Scotland to keep up.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“Of course it is,” the earl agreed. “And the reason it’s used so often is because it’s effective. Don’t look so glum,” he advised his son. “While it’s true that you’ll be giving up your bachelor ways, you’ll be able to rest easy in the knowledge that in addition to acquiring a bride and an heir, your noble sacrifice has secured the livelihoods of three hundred or so deserving souls.”

“I’ll have your word that Abernathy Manor and all its inhabitants will be well taken care of,” Griffin demanded. “Whether or not I return from the war.”

“You have my word…so long as you take a bride and get an heir on her before you leave.”