is only one sister to be saved from sacrifice on the altar of marriage.”
“You need not concern yourself, my lord.”
He stopped walking. “I thought we were friends. Of course I am concerned.”
A squirrel was suddenly found fascinating as Irma considered whether Winn was more concerned with her possible forced marriage—or his own. “Fustian, they’ll never push me in your direction. Not even Mama is so buffleheaded.”
“What, does she think I am too old for you?”
“What does old have to do with Mama’s plans? Mr. Frye was ages older than Inessa. Besides, you’re not too old. I am too young. Too unschooled and unpolished for a top-of-the-trees gentleman like you. Mama will be the first to tell you.”
So she didn’t think he was too old? The viscount’s waistcoat buttons nearly popped, his chest swelled so. He started walking again, Glory’s hand still in his. “But she must have noticed how we’ve become friends. Won’t she hope for more?”
Irma sighed. “Not Mama. She’ll realize that with Iselle gone and Inessa promised, we are thin of company. She’ll thank you for being amused by her harum-scarum adolescent.”
Winn was amazed again at Glory’s lack of vanity. Hadn’t anyone ever told her she was beautiful? And would she believe him if he said it? “In truth I am amused with your company, entertained by your charm and wit, and knocked cock-a-hoop by one of your smiles.”
Which, of course, restored that glorious grin, dimples and all. “Flummery, sir, but I accept the compliments all the same. Nevertheless, Mama has made her choice for me. Algernon Thurkle. Squire’s son.” She took her hand back.
“What? That cawker? I could cut him out with my eyes closed. Shower you with flattery, strew flowers in your path, write sonnets to your dimples.”
Irma laughed at the absurdity of the nonpareil at her side making such a cake of himself over a hobbledehoy female. “And leave me the bobbing-block of the neighborhood when you leave, with Squire Thurkle and Papa still dickering over how many acres make a proper dowry. No thank you.”
“But I want to help. Or is there someone you prefer waiting in the wings?”
“No, but I can discourage Algie’s suit in a snap. He’s hunt-mad, just like most of the gentlemen in the neighborhood, and not half inclined to wed yet anyway. I only have to disrupt his sport again to make sure he cries off.”
“Again?”
“You cannot think I approve of what they do to the poor fox?” Earnest green eyes looked beseechingly into his brown ones, and Viscount Wingate swore off fox hunting on the instant.
“Ah, what then? I mean, once you dispose of the unlamented Algernon, is there some totally ineligible beau you mean to spring on Lady Bannister when she is desperate? A highwayman, perhaps, or a hog butcher? I know, a lawyer.”
“Silly, I don’t have any beaux.”
“Then you’ll be coming to London to devastate the ranks of bachelors?” he asked hopefully. Not that he hoped she’d catch the eye of every Buck and Blood on the lookout for an incomparable, but that she’d get a chance to spread her wings out of her sisters’ shadows. She should have the chance to know her mind, make her own choice, he thought. He also thought that was deuced noble of him.
Irma hadn’t really considered what would happen after she rid herself of the Thurkle toad…or after his lordship left. “Mama swears she’ll never go to London again, and positively not with me in tow. I suppose she’ll ship me off to Nessie or Ellie, once they are settled, to be the doting aunt.” She shrugged. “No matter. I do not intend to marry.”
Winn chuckled in a superior manner. “You are young, Glory. You’ll change your mind when you meet the man of your dreams.”
There was hardly a chance of that happening, she thought despondently, not twice.
*
Baron Bannister’s big day had arrived. He was strutting about the courtyard like a cockerel in his scarlet hunt
“You need not concern yourself, my lord.”
He stopped walking. “I thought we were friends. Of course I am concerned.”
A squirrel was suddenly found fascinating as Irma considered whether Winn was more concerned with her possible forced marriage—or his own. “Fustian, they’ll never push me in your direction. Not even Mama is so buffleheaded.”
“What, does she think I am too old for you?”
“What does old have to do with Mama’s plans? Mr. Frye was ages older than Inessa. Besides, you’re not too old. I am too young. Too unschooled and unpolished for a top-of-the-trees gentleman like you. Mama will be the first to tell you.”
So she didn’t think he was too old? The viscount’s waistcoat buttons nearly popped, his chest swelled so. He started walking again, Glory’s hand still in his. “But she must have noticed how we’ve become friends. Won’t she hope for more?”
Irma sighed. “Not Mama. She’ll realize that with Iselle gone and Inessa promised, we are thin of company. She’ll thank you for being amused by her harum-scarum adolescent.”
Winn was amazed again at Glory’s lack of vanity. Hadn’t anyone ever told her she was beautiful? And would she believe him if he said it? “In truth I am amused with your company, entertained by your charm and wit, and knocked cock-a-hoop by one of your smiles.”
Which, of course, restored that glorious grin, dimples and all. “Flummery, sir, but I accept the compliments all the same. Nevertheless, Mama has made her choice for me. Algernon Thurkle. Squire’s son.” She took her hand back.
“What? That cawker? I could cut him out with my eyes closed. Shower you with flattery, strew flowers in your path, write sonnets to your dimples.”
Irma laughed at the absurdity of the nonpareil at her side making such a cake of himself over a hobbledehoy female. “And leave me the bobbing-block of the neighborhood when you leave, with Squire Thurkle and Papa still dickering over how many acres make a proper dowry. No thank you.”
“But I want to help. Or is there someone you prefer waiting in the wings?”
“No, but I can discourage Algie’s suit in a snap. He’s hunt-mad, just like most of the gentlemen in the neighborhood, and not half inclined to wed yet anyway. I only have to disrupt his sport again to make sure he cries off.”
“Again?”
“You cannot think I approve of what they do to the poor fox?” Earnest green eyes looked beseechingly into his brown ones, and Viscount Wingate swore off fox hunting on the instant.
“Ah, what then? I mean, once you dispose of the unlamented Algernon, is there some totally ineligible beau you mean to spring on Lady Bannister when she is desperate? A highwayman, perhaps, or a hog butcher? I know, a lawyer.”
“Silly, I don’t have any beaux.”
“Then you’ll be coming to London to devastate the ranks of bachelors?” he asked hopefully. Not that he hoped she’d catch the eye of every Buck and Blood on the lookout for an incomparable, but that she’d get a chance to spread her wings out of her sisters’ shadows. She should have the chance to know her mind, make her own choice, he thought. He also thought that was deuced noble of him.
Irma hadn’t really considered what would happen after she rid herself of the Thurkle toad…or after his lordship left. “Mama swears she’ll never go to London again, and positively not with me in tow. I suppose she’ll ship me off to Nessie or Ellie, once they are settled, to be the doting aunt.” She shrugged. “No matter. I do not intend to marry.”
Winn chuckled in a superior manner. “You are young, Glory. You’ll change your mind when you meet the man of your dreams.”
There was hardly a chance of that happening, she thought despondently, not twice.
*
Baron Bannister’s big day had arrived. He was strutting about the courtyard like a cockerel in his scarlet hunt
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