a few minutes to consider what their hoax had wrought and how to now correct it. He chuckled with anticipation. He could hardly wait.
He took a long sip of champagne and idly glanced at the engraved card in his hand: Miss Fiona Fairchild. Perhaps that was indeed her real name. No matter. He turned the card over and read the address written in a fine, firm hand. It was a house on Bedford Square. She certainly had picked a prestigious address. Didn’t Oliver live on Bedford Square? Indeed, this was his address. Of course, as he had arranged this scheme it only made sense….
The faintest sense of unease washed through him.
My sisters and I have been residing with my cousin and aunt. Surely that was part of the act? Although presenting a card with Oliver’s address written on it was going a bit far. After all, Jonathon would recognize the location immediately and the joke would be at an end. If it was a joke.
Of course it was a joke. It was just the kind of thing Norcroft and Warton and Cavendish would delight in. Why, Oliver didn’t even have a cousin. Did he? Jonathon racked his brain. Fiona had said her mother was the sister of an earl. If he remembered correctly, Oliver’s aunt was long dead and had been married to a diplomat of some sort. What was his name? Fargate? Fairfax? His breath caught.Fairchild?
Surely he was mistaken. It couldn’t possibly be…. Oliver would go to great lengths for a good joke, but he would never involve a member of his own family in something of this nature. Jonathon groaned aloud. Fiona Fairchild was the Earl of Norcroft’s cousin.
And Jonathon had just agreed to marry her.
Panic, pure and simple and overwhelming, gripped him. It was a mistake. A dreadful, dreadful mistake. Surely Fiona—Miss Fairchild—would understand that?And certainly Oliver would understand it as well?
Of course, if that ridiculous story she had spun was true, and right now he very much feared it was, the woman would not be inclined toward releasing him from his agreement. She was desperate to avoid an unwanted marriage. And while she had said he was not her perfect choice, she did seem to like him. At least if her kiss was any indication.
In spite of his declarations to his friends, he had no desire to wed anyone—perfect for him or not—at the moment. Why, he was still a young man. There were any number of things he wished to do before tying himself down with a wife and the accompanying responsibilities a wife and—God help him—children would entail. Oliver and the others were right. The very idea of imminent marriage—no matter how perfect the woman might be—was terrifying and chilled him to his very bones. Marriage was something one should approach slowly and with a fair amount of caution and reserve. Not something one should agree to when alone with a beautiful stranger and a bottle of champagne and a fervent belief that he was the victim of an elaborate hoax!
He started toward the door. He would certainly be the butt of the joke now and for the rest of his days if he did not find Fiona at once and stop her before she told anyone of their betrothal. Especially before she told Oliver or Oliver’s mother or—he groaned aloud—his own mother. Worse, he might be forced to actually marry her.
A heartbeat before he reached the door, it jerked open and he came face to face with his sister Lizzie, Lady Langley.
“Did you, by any chance, see anyone…someone…” He craned his neck to see around her.
“Someone?” Lizzie stepped past him into the library. “You mean a woman? Very pretty? Rather upset?”
“Yes,” he said eagerly. Although he wasn’t at all sure why Fiona would be described as upset. Indeed, she had had a charming smile on her face when she had left the library. Unless she had had second thoughts? His spirits lifted. Perhaps she had come to her senses about wedding any man she didn’t know, especially him. Or perhaps, as she had apparently avoided wedded bliss nearly as
He took a long sip of champagne and idly glanced at the engraved card in his hand: Miss Fiona Fairchild. Perhaps that was indeed her real name. No matter. He turned the card over and read the address written in a fine, firm hand. It was a house on Bedford Square. She certainly had picked a prestigious address. Didn’t Oliver live on Bedford Square? Indeed, this was his address. Of course, as he had arranged this scheme it only made sense….
The faintest sense of unease washed through him.
My sisters and I have been residing with my cousin and aunt. Surely that was part of the act? Although presenting a card with Oliver’s address written on it was going a bit far. After all, Jonathon would recognize the location immediately and the joke would be at an end. If it was a joke.
Of course it was a joke. It was just the kind of thing Norcroft and Warton and Cavendish would delight in. Why, Oliver didn’t even have a cousin. Did he? Jonathon racked his brain. Fiona had said her mother was the sister of an earl. If he remembered correctly, Oliver’s aunt was long dead and had been married to a diplomat of some sort. What was his name? Fargate? Fairfax? His breath caught.Fairchild?
Surely he was mistaken. It couldn’t possibly be…. Oliver would go to great lengths for a good joke, but he would never involve a member of his own family in something of this nature. Jonathon groaned aloud. Fiona Fairchild was the Earl of Norcroft’s cousin.
And Jonathon had just agreed to marry her.
Panic, pure and simple and overwhelming, gripped him. It was a mistake. A dreadful, dreadful mistake. Surely Fiona—Miss Fairchild—would understand that?And certainly Oliver would understand it as well?
Of course, if that ridiculous story she had spun was true, and right now he very much feared it was, the woman would not be inclined toward releasing him from his agreement. She was desperate to avoid an unwanted marriage. And while she had said he was not her perfect choice, she did seem to like him. At least if her kiss was any indication.
In spite of his declarations to his friends, he had no desire to wed anyone—perfect for him or not—at the moment. Why, he was still a young man. There were any number of things he wished to do before tying himself down with a wife and the accompanying responsibilities a wife and—God help him—children would entail. Oliver and the others were right. The very idea of imminent marriage—no matter how perfect the woman might be—was terrifying and chilled him to his very bones. Marriage was something one should approach slowly and with a fair amount of caution and reserve. Not something one should agree to when alone with a beautiful stranger and a bottle of champagne and a fervent belief that he was the victim of an elaborate hoax!
He started toward the door. He would certainly be the butt of the joke now and for the rest of his days if he did not find Fiona at once and stop her before she told anyone of their betrothal. Especially before she told Oliver or Oliver’s mother or—he groaned aloud—his own mother. Worse, he might be forced to actually marry her.
A heartbeat before he reached the door, it jerked open and he came face to face with his sister Lizzie, Lady Langley.
“Did you, by any chance, see anyone…someone…” He craned his neck to see around her.
“Someone?” Lizzie stepped past him into the library. “You mean a woman? Very pretty? Rather upset?”
“Yes,” he said eagerly. Although he wasn’t at all sure why Fiona would be described as upset. Indeed, she had had a charming smile on her face when she had left the library. Unless she had had second thoughts? His spirits lifted. Perhaps she had come to her senses about wedding any man she didn’t know, especially him. Or perhaps, as she had apparently avoided wedded bliss nearly as
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