An Heir To Spare
London, 1863
"You're quite sure of this?" The words tore through Robert Melbourne's throat as though they had thorns. He gripped the arms of his desk chair and waited for the messenger to answer his question, praying he'd misheard the man. But evidently, God wasn't listening.
"Yes, m'lord, Lord and Lady Bellbrook's ship was lost at sea. There were no survivors." The British naval officer shifted nervously in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the duty of delivering such news.
Robert cared little about the officer's discomfort. He only cared that his chest had constricted and his churning gut threatened to empty its contents. Cage and Emma were dead? How could that be?
"If there's anything else I can do for you ... " The officer stood to depart, obviously anxious to take his leave of Robert's study.
Robert cleared his throat in an attempt to rid himself of the thorns before he said, "I wish there were," knowing he should probably stand and shake the officer's hand, but finding no strength to do so.
The officer nodded awkwardly. "Well, then, good day to you, m'lord." He left Robert to his thoughts and the torrid emotions roiling through his body.
Good day? How does one have a good day after learning his only brother is dead? And to add to the shock, he would have to inform their mother.
Grasping the edge of his desk, he pulled his stunned body to his feet and absently adjusted his jacket. He didn't have time to grieve. His mother would be devastated, and it would be Robert's responsibility to console her, one of the many mind-boggling responsibilities that would fall upon his shoulders as the new Earl of Bellbrook.
The Earl of Bellbrook.
Bloody hell, what a day this was going to be.
London, two months later
Laughing just now would not be a proper reaction at all, which under normal circumstances would be precisely reason enough for Penelope Winston to do just that. But Lord Wattson's face was as red as the large stain creeping across his once white cravat. Adding the laugh might not be necessary.
"Oh dear, m'lord," Penelope said, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. "I don't know what made me stumble. Is your cravat ruined?"
It was, indeed, as ruined as a cravat could be, but he'd been more determined than most to pursue her, leaving her no choice but to resort to the public humiliation of christening him with her punch.
"Don't worry, Miss Winston," he said, dodging her attempt to mop at the stain with an already ruined kerchief. "I'll call a servant."
He bowed slightly and hurried away, allowing her to free the smile she'd held in check. Shoving her large dark-framed spectacles up the bridge of her nose, she headed back to her corner chair with the rest of the wallflowers.
A few more weeks would see the end of the last season she would ever have to endure. And to this point, she'd made it through without a betrothal. Not that avoiding the fortune hunters had been easy. Many of the peerage had found her attractive despite the hideous, ill-fitting wardrobe she'd acquired. She supposed the large inheritance attached to her name added to her allure, but the last thing she needed was a husband managing her every move. She'd seen enough of that between her parents.
Securing her freedom had necessitated developing the grace of a cow, the intelligence of a slug and the charm of an adder. No sane man would want a wife lacking in so many social graces, despite the wealth she possessed.
In a few short weeks she would be four and twenty, and she could officially cease her attempts at the marriage mart and live her life in freedom. Her father's will had expressly stated she would not receive her inheritance until her twenty-fourth birthday, assuming she didn't marry before then. Her mother would now have no choice but accept Penelope's spinsterhood and relinquish her funds, funds that would be totally under Penelope's control.
No husband. No shackles. No obligations.
Perfect.
"Are you in here?" Robert's mother walked into his study, the tone in her voice alerting him a lecture was at hand.
"Yes?" he said, dipping his pen into the inkwell. Maybe if she saw he was busy, she'd hurry on her way.
The black satin of her skirts swished against her legs as she crossed the room to sit near the fireplace. "I think you need to seriously consider finding a bride."
Damn. This was not a discussion from which she was likely to hurry. "You've been saying that for years," he teased, in an attempt to lighten her mood.
"I know." She lowered her head and Robert could feel her sorrow even across the room. "But circumstances have changed and it's even more important for you to produce an heir. The next in line for the title is your third cousin, Sigmund."
Robert snorted. "He's an idiot."
"Precisely my point, though it wasn't very proper of you to say so." She lifted her gaze, the glint in her eyes softening her rebuke. "So, in order to save us all from the less than capable control of that side of the family, you need produce an heir."
"But I'm still young."
She hesitated before saying, "So was Micajah."
Every time his mother mentioned Cage, the pain in her voice twisted Robert's gut. His once beautiful and vivacious mother smiled infrequently now, her demeanor as stark as her clothing. Even though she'd worn black since his father's death more than a decade past, she no longer adorned herself with the jewels she used to love. She no longer laughed or danced or sang. Cage's death stole part of her and each day she died a little more.
A sick knot tightened below his ribcage. He'd heard stories of people grieving themselves to death, and though he doubted she'd take it to that extreme, he could no longer avoid the inevitable. As an earl, even newly so, he had obligations to many, and one of those obligations was to produce an heir. He supposed it would be in poor form for him to do so without securing a bride first. With a heavy sigh, he stood and crossed the room to sit with her.
If Cage were alive, then he would be the earl and Robert would still be free.
"I'll find a wife before the season ends," he told his mother, taking her hand in his. There was no sense in wishing away the responsibilities that had thundered down on him. Wishing wouldn't bring Cage back nor would it ease his mother's pain.
She looked at him, a tiny bit of her spark returning. "Do you swear it to me, Robert?"
"I'll give you a grandchild," he said, with a reassuring pat to her hand. "You have my word."
Making good on his promise to his mother required a change in behavior, starting at the ball given by Lady Winston that very evening. Up to now, the new duties of the Earl of Bellbrook had kept Robert too busy to attend most of the social functions of the season. But potential wives didn't stroll up to a gentlemen's door. So with the reluctant determination of the damned, Robert donned his finest evening clothes in preparation for his plunge into the marriage mart.
He felt like a pig going to slaughter.
"Good evening, Lord Bellbrook," Lady Winston gushed, offering her gloved hand for a quick buss across her knuckles. "We haven't seen enough of you this season."
"I thought it only fair to give the other gentlemen a chance to find a bride." He ended his teasing with a wink, which had the lady smiling, as he'd intended. Lady Winston was a pleasant woman, plump and jovial, her company always affable. Left with substantial wealth, she'd chosen to remain unmarried after her husband's death. She and his mother had been intimate friends for as long as Robert could remember.
"How is your mother?" she asked, her tone suddenly serious.
"She's well, though still grieving."
With a shake of her gray head, her eyes saddened. "Would she want the company of an old friend?"
"I can think of one old friend she would probably enjoy immensely." And she would. His mother had always taken pleasure in Alberta Winston's company, as had Cage and Robert, at least when she visited without her daughter, Penelope. That chit had always been a pain in the arse.
"Have you spoken to Penelope yet this evening?" Lady Winston asked, apparently reading his mind. He hoped she'd skipped over the reference to his arse.
"No. Is she here?" He tried to sound as though he wanted to see her. It seemed the only polite reaction under the circumstances.
"Yes," she said, gesturing across the ballroom. "I'm sure she'll save a dance for you if you hurry."
He doubted the need to hurry. Lady Winston had dragged her daughter to many balls the last few years with hopes of finding a suitable husband. But Penelope had always managed to end up with the wallflowers, overlooked by most, and evidently tonight was no exception. He spotted her sitting in the corner, a rather disheveled gentleman reaching for her hand to escort her to the dance floor.
Good. Penelope's distraction gave Robert the opportunity to slip away from Lady Winston without going directly to her daughter. He'd speak to her sometime during the evening. He always did. But dance with her? He'd made that mistake a few years ago, and his feet had barely withstood the assault.
Even now, the monstrosity of a gown she wore did little to hide the movement of her feet as she trounced her partner's toes repeatedly. He bit back a smile as he watched the poor man finally concede defeat and escort Penelope back to her seat, hobbling, of course, as he scurried away.
Did she grin?
His attention was suddenly captured by a beauty entering the ballroom.
"Miss Constance Monroe," the servant announced and Penelope Winston's grin no longer mattered.
"Well, well," Robert muttered. This delightful debutante was much more to his liking.
Penelope shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose, making sure to grimace as she did so. Her grimace was one of her best expressions. The scrunching of her nose and squinting of her eyes made her resemble a rodent, and the result was gruesome. She held the grimace for a few seconds longer as she scanned the ballroom, giving anyone looking at her a chance to see her face. It should be sufficient enough to keep away any other man who was contemplating requesting a dance.
The room was crowded with the glitz and glimmer of the ton. Beautiful women with beautiful men, all pretending interest and winding their way through social interactions that bored Penelope to tears. She allowed her mind to drift to far-off lands and exotic peoples. Any place away from London and the ton. Her heart quickened at the thought of traveling the world.
Soon her mother would allow her access to her wealth, and she would have the freedom to go to the fascinating lands she'd read and dreamed about for so many years. Soon she would never have to worry that a man could prevent her from experiencing the adventures and excitements life had to offer. She'd be a woman of the world, just like her Aunt Sophie.
A soft laugh from the woman spinning past brought her mind back from Egypt and to the couple dancing in front of her. The man had his back to her, but his broad shoulders hid the woman in his arms. Tall, strong, he certainly stood out among the other men in attendance. He dwarfed them. The man turned, allowing Penelope to see his partner and more importantly, to see his face.
Good heavens, Robert Melbourne and Constance Monroe. If ever a couple deserved one another, it was those two -- the addlebrained debutante and the rakish earl. What a pair.