Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Townsend gaped at him. “She has not.”
“I believe she also snuck into a Royal Zoological Society meeting by dressing as a man. It’s not a well-known fact,” he added, as Townsend’s insides roiled in horror. “It hasn’t been proven or talked about much.”
“Then it can’t have happened. Mayhew wouldn’t have allowed it, would he?” Townsend asked, hating the plea in his voice. “These tales about her can’t be true. I would have heard.”
“Would have heard?” August scoffed. “You lunkhead, you couldn’t even figure out Wescott’s intended was June, not Jane.”
“I haven’t paid attention to this season’s marriageables,” he said. “I meant to marry Ophelia. She was, and always will be, the love of my life.”
“You can’t keep talking that way,” said Marlow sharply, looking around. “She’s married to your friend now, and Wescott won’t have you spouting off about your lost, unrequited love, especially in a public room like this. As for your hunger for revenge, I hope you’re happy. You’ve revenged yourself right into a disastrous engagement.”
“Come, that’s an awful thing to say to him.” August turned from scolding Marlow and patted Townsend’s hand, perhaps in an effort to stop him drinking more brandy. “Look at it this way. You enjoy disciplining women, Townsey, and now you’ve got a good project to take beneath your wing. I’m sure it’ll only take a week or two for you to set this Lady Jane straight as an arrow. Why, she’ll thank you for developing her into a more proper lady. Surely she hates being maligned by gossips all the time.”
“All the time? I can’t have a peculiar wife.” Townsend drew a ragged breath, then bent to rub his temples. “I have to find a way to escape this engagement or she’ll make me the object of ridicule. I didn’t realize to whom I was offering marriage.”
“And how will you explain this error to her father?” Marlow drew himself up into a mocking example of Townsend’s stature. “I’m terribly sorry, Lord Mayhew, but I thought I was engaging myself to an entirely different sister for vindictive reasons.”
“No, I won’t tell him that. I’ll tell him I didn’t understand…” He stopped, realizing how impossible such an explanation would be. “Bloody hell. I must go see my parents. Perhaps they’ll have some ideas, some way to undo this mess. My father has a persuasive way of speaking.”
Marlow and August stared back at him, their expressions communicating doubts they were too considerate to express. To break an engagement for such a ridiculous reason, because he misunderstood who she was…and the poor woman so recently rejected by Lord Hobart?
Oh God, what had he done? He hadn’t the least desire to marry an insane naturalist known for picketing outside the Exeter Exchange.
“You’ll excuse me for quitting your company, friends,” he said, pushing away the brandy. “My life seems to have taken another turn for the worse.”
“Tell your parents we said hello,” said Marlow. August continued to grimace at him, mirroring the sense of doom he felt.
*
Townsend checked in at his house to be sure his luggage had arrived, then dressed to go to dinner at his parents’. He thought of hiring a gig to their Regent’s Park mansion but decided to walk instead to disperse some of his panic, not to mention the smell of brandy on his breath. The Duke and Duchess of Lockridge normally would have been in the country by now, preparing to celebrate Christmas amid the wooded beauty of Oxfordshire. It was his fault they were still in London, awaiting his return from the Continent.
He ought to have gone to them first, as soon as he’d arrived in London. He ought to have consulted them about his plan, proposing to Lady June, or Jane, whichever one Wescott had been meant for. His parents could have told him she’d already married another man. His sister Rosalind would have known, at least; at seventeen, she was an astute observer of the marriage market.
When he arrived at the Lockridge home and greeted his mother and father, he put on a cheerful face. His mother embraced him, bringing the first sense of comfort he’d felt in a while, and he held her close an extra moment. Rosalind appeared, sweeping down the stairs in a demure white gown, her chestnut locks piled up in an intricate chignon for dinner. She was his only remaining unmarried sister, and she looked more grown up each time he saw her. He teased her about her fanciful hairstyle only to avoid his mother’s searching gaze.
From a mere hug and a kiss on the cheek, she knew something was the matter. His mother had always been that way.
They proceeded to dinner at once, the servants having planned a special feast in honor of his homecoming. His favorite dishes were brought out: curried parsnip soup, roasted rack of lamb, swiss chard with leeks, and au gratin potatoes. It was comforting to be with his family in the gilded dining room, though he could feel his mother’s eyes on him.