Read Online In the Spinster's Bed by Sally Mackenzie - Free Book Online
Authors: Sally Mackenzie
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I’m the one who made it so.
“Oh, I didn’t mean William would wish to marry that girl.” Oliver laughed. “If she’s close to his age, she’s almost forty. Quite a hag, no doubt.”
William took another mouthful of brandy so he wouldn’t make the fatal mistake of defending a woman he’d just indicated he knew nothing about.
“And likely unable to give him children,” Father said. “You mustn’t forget that, William, since neither Albert nor Oliver has seen fit to produce an heir.”
That had the predictable effect of causing both his brothers to glare at the duke. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t tried. Albert had five daughters and Oliver four.
“It is far too soon for me to think of taking another wife. Poor Hortense is not even cold in the ground.”
Oliver snorted. “Don’t try to tell us you are brokenhearted. That would be doing it much too brown.” He chuckled. “Much too brown indeed.”
But it was true. Oh, he wasn’t saddened by Hortense’s passing precisely, but he was unsettled. His life had changed suddenly and profoundly. It would take him a while to sort out his feelings.
And there’s Belle. I must decide what to do about Belle—or, rather, I have to discover what she’s willing to let me do.
“You’ll go up to Town for the Season and inspect the new crop of debutantes, of course.” Father looked at Albert and Oliver. “William shouldn’t have a problem finding some girl to marry, should he?”
“Of course not.” Oliver grinned. “He’s not too ugly yet.”
Albert sniffed. “The marriage-minded mamas don’t care how a man looks. They care about his pedigree and his pocketbook.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with his pedigree,” Father said.
“But what about his pocketbook?” Oliver looked at William. “ Did Hortense drain you dry?”
“No.” The thought of shopping for a wife among the London debutantes was nauseating. Most of them were young enough to be his daughter.
If Belle and I had made a child all those years ago, the boy—or girl—would be close to twenty now.
“I am not going shopping for a wife in London. I intend to take my full year of mourning.”
His father grunted. “Perhaps the Season would be a bit much. Albert or Oliver—or, more to the point, their wives—can look around for you. Be discreet about it. Then we’ll have a house party here with some likely candidates for you to choose from.”
William put down his empty brandy glass hard enough that it clinked against the table. There was no point in continuing this conversation.
“No, thank you, Father.” He wanted to get back to Loves Bridge and Belle. He needed to see her. “I really am not ready to step into parson’s mousetrap again so quickly.” He stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed. I’m leaving early in the morning.”
“And where the hell are you leaving to, sir?” Father’s brows met over his nose. “Your brothers say they haven’t seen you in London for months.”
William paused with his hand on the study door. “And I don’t intend to linger in Town now. If you need to reach me, Morton knows how to find me.”
“But—”
“Good-bye, Father.” He nodded at his brothers. “Albert, Oliver.” Then he stepped through the door and closed it firmly behind him.
Belle sat at her desk in the lending library and stared down at the newspapers. She didn’t see them. Instead she saw William’s face.
Where is he? When will he be back? He’s been gone over a week.
Because she’d been the one to cancel his lessons, everyone had asked her those questions, as well as why he’d left so abruptly. If they’d known his identity, they could have answered the why and where by reading the gossip columns.
The poor man. It was hard to sort the speculation from the facts, but none of it was pretty.
The when of his return, however—that was a mystery.
She’d told those who asked that she understood he’d had to attend to some
“Oh, I didn’t mean William would wish to marry that girl.” Oliver laughed. “If she’s close to his age, she’s almost forty. Quite a hag, no doubt.”
William took another mouthful of brandy so he wouldn’t make the fatal mistake of defending a woman he’d just indicated he knew nothing about.
“And likely unable to give him children,” Father said. “You mustn’t forget that, William, since neither Albert nor Oliver has seen fit to produce an heir.”
That had the predictable effect of causing both his brothers to glare at the duke. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t tried. Albert had five daughters and Oliver four.
“It is far too soon for me to think of taking another wife. Poor Hortense is not even cold in the ground.”
Oliver snorted. “Don’t try to tell us you are brokenhearted. That would be doing it much too brown.” He chuckled. “Much too brown indeed.”
But it was true. Oh, he wasn’t saddened by Hortense’s passing precisely, but he was unsettled. His life had changed suddenly and profoundly. It would take him a while to sort out his feelings.
And there’s Belle. I must decide what to do about Belle—or, rather, I have to discover what she’s willing to let me do.
“You’ll go up to Town for the Season and inspect the new crop of debutantes, of course.” Father looked at Albert and Oliver. “William shouldn’t have a problem finding some girl to marry, should he?”
“Of course not.” Oliver grinned. “He’s not too ugly yet.”
Albert sniffed. “The marriage-minded mamas don’t care how a man looks. They care about his pedigree and his pocketbook.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with his pedigree,” Father said.
“But what about his pocketbook?” Oliver looked at William. “ Did Hortense drain you dry?”
“No.” The thought of shopping for a wife among the London debutantes was nauseating. Most of them were young enough to be his daughter.
If Belle and I had made a child all those years ago, the boy—or girl—would be close to twenty now.
“I am not going shopping for a wife in London. I intend to take my full year of mourning.”
His father grunted. “Perhaps the Season would be a bit much. Albert or Oliver—or, more to the point, their wives—can look around for you. Be discreet about it. Then we’ll have a house party here with some likely candidates for you to choose from.”
William put down his empty brandy glass hard enough that it clinked against the table. There was no point in continuing this conversation.
“No, thank you, Father.” He wanted to get back to Loves Bridge and Belle. He needed to see her. “I really am not ready to step into parson’s mousetrap again so quickly.” He stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed. I’m leaving early in the morning.”
“And where the hell are you leaving to, sir?” Father’s brows met over his nose. “Your brothers say they haven’t seen you in London for months.”
William paused with his hand on the study door. “And I don’t intend to linger in Town now. If you need to reach me, Morton knows how to find me.”
“But—”
“Good-bye, Father.” He nodded at his brothers. “Albert, Oliver.” Then he stepped through the door and closed it firmly behind him.
Belle sat at her desk in the lending library and stared down at the newspapers. She didn’t see them. Instead she saw William’s face.
Where is he? When will he be back? He’s been gone over a week.
Because she’d been the one to cancel his lessons, everyone had asked her those questions, as well as why he’d left so abruptly. If they’d known his identity, they could have answered the why and where by reading the gossip columns.
The poor man. It was hard to sort the speculation from the facts, but none of it was pretty.
The when of his return, however—that was a mystery.
She’d told those who asked that she understood he’d had to attend to some
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