The Unexpected Bride by Elizabeth Rolls Page B

him over his head. What had George said? Marry the first eligible girl who can hold a rational conversation! Well, that was Ffolliot’s sister! Damn! what was her name? Might have been Phoebe, but he couldn’t really remember. It occurred to him that she would be made devilishly uncomfortable over the night’s doings. That bothered him, he had been oddly attracted to her. Usually young girls bored him, but she had a spark of humour that appealed to him. Not on the occasion he’d danced with her at Almack’s, to be sure, but in the park and at the concert she’d seemed a different creature entirely. And she had that unusual dog.
    He was about to get into bed when the idea struck him. To his somewhat tipsy logic it seemed perfectly reasonable, although an irritatingly sober voice warned him not to do anything rash. Impatiently he thrust the warning voice aside to consider his idea. Then he pulled on a dressing gown, sat down at the writing desk in the corner and penned a brief letter. He read it through owlishly, nodded, and sealed it. That would take the trick! he thought triumphantly. Must get it off immediately!
    A little unsteady on his feet now, he went back downstairs to leave the letter on the hall table for the post.
    A glow of satisfaction pervaded his being as he returned to bed, convinced he had solved all his problems in the most sensible way imaginable. The idea seemed so neat and logical that he could not for the life of him think of a single objection to it: a circumstance which must be ascribed in great part to the quantity of brandy he had consumed.
    Never, even when sober, prone to worry about a decision once it was made, Lord Darleston drifted off to sleep. His only concern was the devilish head with which he was bound to be afflicted when he awoke.

Chapter Four
    C lad in sober grey muslin, Miss Ffolliot and Miss Phoebe Ffolliot stepped off the terrace and moved through the shrubbery towards the rose garden accompanied by a large Irish wolfhound. A basket hanging from Miss Ffolliot’s arm suggested that the pair were engaged upon an expedition to gather flowers. The scent of roses hung heavily in the early-morning air and the cloudless sky gave promise of a lovely day.
    Miss Phoebe took a deep breath, remarking, ‘This is the best part of the day. No one else about, just us and the sun.’
    Miss Ffolliot looked amused as she answered, ‘Surely Mr Winton would improve the morning? You’d scarcely notice if the sun disappeared, let alone Gelert and I!’
    Phoebe blushed, but said with spirit, ‘You know perfectly well what I mean, Penny. Gathering the flowers for Mama with you gives us a chance to be private, and talk.’
    ‘About Mr Winton?’ asked Penelope, with a faint smile.
    ‘Oh, Penny, he’s so wonderful!’ said Phoebe, givingup all attempt at dignity. ‘I wonder why he is coming to see Mama…do you think he might possibly make an offer?’
    ‘Not being in Richard’s confidence, I can’t say,’ answered Penelope. ‘But it does seem likely. Even Mama seems to think so, and certainly the fact that he went to town for the season last year, danced with you everywhere, took you driving, sent you flowers and came home when we did because of…of…Papa, and has danced attendance on you ever since, suggests that he takes an interest in you!’ She gave her twin an affectionate hug.
    This reference to the death of Mr Ffolliot put an end to conversation for several moments, and the twins gathered roses in silence. Phoebe selected the best blooms, cutting them carefully to place in her sister’s basket. Penelope broke the silence, saying, ‘I’m sure he would have spoken sooner but thought it would be in bad taste. As it is you will have to wait until we are out of mourning to be married. But that’s only a month now.’
    ‘Geoffrey doesn’t let that stop him from enjoying life!’ said Phoebe in disgust.
    ‘Just because Geoffrey chooses to behave badly and gamble in every hell in