Merely the Groom (Free Fellows League 2)
“Do you want a second chance, Gillian? Or do you want to continue to punish yourself for the rest of your life for being fooled by a man who took advantage of your generous heart and your romantic nature?”
“I want a second chance,” Gillian said. “But I can’t help thinking that Viscount Grantham deserves better.” Gillian admitted her fears aloud. Men like Viscount Grantham deserved women with untarnished reputations. They deserved—he deserved—the best. And she wasn’t the best. Not anymore. Still, it was nice to think that he might have chosen her... Gillian bit back a wistful sigh and ruthlessly suppressed the hundred unnamed, restless yearnings plaguing her. Don’t think about it, she admonished herself, just do what you have to do. “I can’t help thinking that he deserves an undamaged bride—someone who hasn’t made a foolish mistake. Someone who would make him a much better viscountess.”
Lady Davies took a deep breath. “The contracts have already been signed, my love. I think Lord Grantham has made his decision, and he’s picked you.”
“But, Mama—”
“Gillian,” Lady Davies’s voice was firm. “He’s a grown man. You cannot protect him from himself. He’s made his decision. You’re going to become Viscountess Grantham tomorrow morning. Lord Grantham is giving you a second chance. Why don’t you give him one as well?”
“I wish I could believe he felt something for me,” Gillian said wistfully.
“Believe it, Gilly-flower, because he wouldn’t be marrying you if he didn’t.” Her mother leaned over and kissed Gillian on the cheek, then took her daughter by the hand and led her over to the armoire. “Now, we’d better get busy. We’ve a trousseau to assemble and a wedding dress to select.”
* * *
The hired butler announced Colin when he arrived at his mother and father’s rented London town house.
The town house, situated several blocks off the park on the edge of Berkeley Square, provided its residents with a fashionably acceptable address, and its distance from the park made it slightly more affordable than other closer mansions. But Colin still wondered how his father managed to afford it.
Waiting for the last quarter hour for his mother to appear had given Colin plenty of time to study the details of his surroundings, and he’d concluded that although the drawing room was adequately furnished, the furnishings were not of the same quality as those found in Jarrod’s or Griff’s London homes, and it couldn’t begin to compare with the Duke of Sussex’s Park Lane mansion.
He was reevaluating the wood carving in the mantel when his mother entered the room.
“Colin, what a pleasant surprise!” His mother rushed to embrace him.
He bent to kiss her cheek. “Evening, Maman.”
Lady McElreath accepted his greeting, then moved to a damask-covered sofa and perched on the edge of the seat. She lifted a silver coffeepot from the tray on the table that Nelson, the butler, delivered to the drawing room. Lady McElreath filled a delicate bone china cup with hot coffee, set it on the matching saucer, and offered it to Colin. “Come sit down and tell me what brings you here tonight.”
Colin accepted the cup of coffee and sat down on a wing chair angled near the sofa. “I came to invite you to a wedding.”
“Really?” Lady McElreath poured herself a cup of coffee. “Whose wedding?”
“Mine,” Colin answered.
His mother’s cup rattled against the thin bone china saucer, and several drops of the hot liquid splashed her hand. “You’re getting married?”
Colin nodded. “Tomorrow morning at ten. At Number Seven Park Lane. The announcement will appear in th
e morning papers. I thought it best I inform you before you read it in the papers.”
“Thank you for telling me. That was considerate of you,” Lady McElreath replied, her voice laden with sarcasm and displeasure.
“I didn’t come here just to tell you about the wedding.” Colin frowned. “I came to invite you. You’ll receive an engraved invitation in the morning, but I came in person because I thought you and Father and the children might want to attend.”
“Of course I would,” Lady McElreath said strongly. “And now that you’ve issued the invitation, might I know the name of the lucky young lady who is about to become my daughter-in-law and the newest member of our family?”
“Miss Gillian Davies.”
Lady McElreath sighed. “Oh, Colin, are you sure?”
“Quite sure,” he answered firmly. “Why?”
His mother took a deep breath. “There have been recent rumors about—”
Colin cut her off, unwilling to hear uncomplimentary comments about his bride-to-be from the mother he loved and admired. “Maman, you know there are rumors about everyone in the ton. And you, of all people, should know better than to lend them any credence.”
“Yes, well, I’m not the only one likely to have heard them,” she told him. “Or to have given them credence—especially in light of this rather sudden wedding.” She looked over at her son. “I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted with Miss Davies until you danced with her last evening.”