goddamn it, Father, not yet. . . . Perhaps when I’m twenty-five.”
“Are you insane? She’ll be snapped up like a trout fly if she goes to London. Haven’t you noticed young Hartington sniffing around her? The Longford heiress won’t sit about twiddling her thumbs until you decide you have enough guts to take the bloody plunge.”
“What about my Grand Tour? I want to travel Europe before I’m dragged to the altar.”
“We’re fighting a bloody war in Europe, or has that slipped your mind, you imbecile?”
“Then I’ll go east . . . to Turkey perhaps. I want to study art.”
“Turkey, my arse! Only fops and weaklings are interested in art! You forget, young sir, I am the paymaster here. I control the purse strings!”
“I’ll pay my own traveling expenses. My allowance doubles now that I am twenty-one.”
“Don’t dare to defy me, Christopher! I shall cut off your allowance today unless you promise you’ll do your duty and beget a Hatton heir.”
There was a low tap on the door, then it swung open to admit Nicholas.
“What the hellfire do you want? You are forever sticking your bloody nose in where it isn’t wanted,” his father spat.
“Well, I want his opinion, if you don’t!” Kit shouted.
“Are you aware our houseguests can hear you both?” Nick asked quietly.
“He actually wants to announce my betrothal at the hunt dinner tonight! What the hell would you do, if he insisted that you marry Alexandra Sheffield?”
Nick masked the surprise he felt and quickly controlled his emotions. He saw the look of pure panic on his twin’s face at the thought of marriage. “I’d take her in a heartbeat,” Nick said quietly.
“I’m not ready for marriage!” Kit cried.
“You gutless young swine! You haven’t the balls for anything save gambling, drinking, and whoring!”
“He had a good teacher,” Nicholas defended his brother.
Kit’s gray eyes narrowed with hatred. “I’ve far more guts than you realize, Father.”
“Good! Then you’ll act like a man when I announce the betrothal at the dinner tonight.” He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “Ten o’clock; the whip will have the staghounds ready.” He lifted a hunting rifle from the gun case. “Are you coming, or are you as squeamish about hunting as you are about marriage?” he asked contemptuously.
Alexandra, along with the other guests, could hear Lord Hatton and his son having a terrible row. Though no one could make out the words exchanged, the timber and tone of the voices told everyone they were having a fierce argument. Since the Hatton twins’ voices were identical, none knew which son had invoked Henry Hatton’s fury, but all knew he frequently vented his vile temper on Nicholas. Alexandra too assumed it was Nicholas, since he was the usual recipient of his father’s wrath, and relief washed over her when the shouting abruptly ceased.
She tapped on the door of the adjoining bedchamber. When she opened it she was surprised to find Dottie wearing a silk morning gown rather than a riding habit.
“I’m not joining the hunt, Alexandra. Lord Staines isn’t up to it, and it will give Neville and I a chance to be alone.”
“Did you hear all the shouting?”
“Fiddle-faddle, darling; it doesn’t signify. In a household of men, shouting and brawling is the order of the day. The morning after men have imbibed, their tempers have hair triggers. Best to avoid them at breakfast. By the by, what are you planning to wear tonight to the hunt dinner?”
“My jade green silk, I think.”
“No, no, darling, wear that blush pink thing; it’s more maidenly. Take that rebellious look off your face, Alexandra. I’ll come along to help you dress and we can argue about it then. No point in ruining the day with an argument that can be postponed until the evening, is there?”
Alexandra laughed. “I suppose there is logic in that.” It was only when she got to the ground floor of Hatton Hall that it
“Are you insane? She’ll be snapped up like a trout fly if she goes to London. Haven’t you noticed young Hartington sniffing around her? The Longford heiress won’t sit about twiddling her thumbs until you decide you have enough guts to take the bloody plunge.”
“What about my Grand Tour? I want to travel Europe before I’m dragged to the altar.”
“We’re fighting a bloody war in Europe, or has that slipped your mind, you imbecile?”
“Then I’ll go east . . . to Turkey perhaps. I want to study art.”
“Turkey, my arse! Only fops and weaklings are interested in art! You forget, young sir, I am the paymaster here. I control the purse strings!”
“I’ll pay my own traveling expenses. My allowance doubles now that I am twenty-one.”
“Don’t dare to defy me, Christopher! I shall cut off your allowance today unless you promise you’ll do your duty and beget a Hatton heir.”
There was a low tap on the door, then it swung open to admit Nicholas.
“What the hellfire do you want? You are forever sticking your bloody nose in where it isn’t wanted,” his father spat.
“Well, I want his opinion, if you don’t!” Kit shouted.
“Are you aware our houseguests can hear you both?” Nick asked quietly.
“He actually wants to announce my betrothal at the hunt dinner tonight! What the hell would you do, if he insisted that you marry Alexandra Sheffield?”
Nick masked the surprise he felt and quickly controlled his emotions. He saw the look of pure panic on his twin’s face at the thought of marriage. “I’d take her in a heartbeat,” Nick said quietly.
“I’m not ready for marriage!” Kit cried.
“You gutless young swine! You haven’t the balls for anything save gambling, drinking, and whoring!”
“He had a good teacher,” Nicholas defended his brother.
Kit’s gray eyes narrowed with hatred. “I’ve far more guts than you realize, Father.”
“Good! Then you’ll act like a man when I announce the betrothal at the dinner tonight.” He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “Ten o’clock; the whip will have the staghounds ready.” He lifted a hunting rifle from the gun case. “Are you coming, or are you as squeamish about hunting as you are about marriage?” he asked contemptuously.
Alexandra, along with the other guests, could hear Lord Hatton and his son having a terrible row. Though no one could make out the words exchanged, the timber and tone of the voices told everyone they were having a fierce argument. Since the Hatton twins’ voices were identical, none knew which son had invoked Henry Hatton’s fury, but all knew he frequently vented his vile temper on Nicholas. Alexandra too assumed it was Nicholas, since he was the usual recipient of his father’s wrath, and relief washed over her when the shouting abruptly ceased.
She tapped on the door of the adjoining bedchamber. When she opened it she was surprised to find Dottie wearing a silk morning gown rather than a riding habit.
“I’m not joining the hunt, Alexandra. Lord Staines isn’t up to it, and it will give Neville and I a chance to be alone.”
“Did you hear all the shouting?”
“Fiddle-faddle, darling; it doesn’t signify. In a household of men, shouting and brawling is the order of the day. The morning after men have imbibed, their tempers have hair triggers. Best to avoid them at breakfast. By the by, what are you planning to wear tonight to the hunt dinner?”
“My jade green silk, I think.”
“No, no, darling, wear that blush pink thing; it’s more maidenly. Take that rebellious look off your face, Alexandra. I’ll come along to help you dress and we can argue about it then. No point in ruining the day with an argument that can be postponed until the evening, is there?”
Alexandra laughed. “I suppose there is logic in that.” It was only when she got to the ground floor of Hatton Hall that it
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