done little to warrant my compassion."
"Your father was much like Basil, at the same age. Yet he settled down and led a respectable life soon thereafter. Some men come by their sense of responsibility late."
"My father did not manage to squander his entire inheritance in five years—"
"He did not have the opportunity, coming so late to the title, and by then he had a wise and affectionate wife to guide him. But I did not invite you here to quarrel with you, Edward." Lady Bertram, whose back was always straight, straightened it just a bit more, and assumed a dictatorial air. "I wish to know what progress you have made."
The long, strong fingers gripped the wineglass just a bit more tightly. "Progress, Aunt?"
"Don't play the fool with me, Edward. You have narrowed down the field to half a dozen, and I hear Lady Honoria Crofton-Ash is leading by a nose. When do you plan to offer for her?"
"Really, Aunt Clem, you make it sound like a race at Ascot."
"Well?"
Curious how, lately, women seemed so often to be putting him at a disadvantage. Aunt Clem, with her cross-examinations concerning his prospective brides; Lady Honoria, with her meaningful smiles and glances which he was quite incapable of returning; Miss Latham, with her intelligent blue eyes and insinuating laughter... Oh no. Not that train of thought again.
The majestic bosom rose and fell as Lady Bertram exhaled a sigh of impatience.
"Are you still there, Edward?"
"Sorry, Aunt. I was just considering how to phrase it—"
"It? What? Will you offer for her or not? If you do not plan to do so, then you must cease paying her such particular attention." Her nephew's blank look told her that Lady Honoria little occupied his thoughts, and inquiries regarding other prospective countesses had the same result. His obvious lack of interest in these eligibles, coupled with his unusually passionate hostility at the mention of Basil, led Lady Bertram to put two and two together. Thus, she ceased her cross-examination, and casually turned the topic to his ward. She enquired about the new pony Lucy had been in such a flurry about, and then easily went on to Lucy's infatuation with Miss Latham. Noting that merely mentioning the young lady's name wrought an interesting change in the earl's demeanour, she pressed on.
"I have conversed with her several times," Aunt Clem said innocently, "and have been much impressed with her good sense. She can also be most amusing—once you can get her away from that cat of an aunt of hers. It's no wonder Lucy likes her. In fact, I've thought of inviting her to tea; but it would be so awkward."
Lord Hartleigh raised an eyebrow. Awkwardness, he knew, was not in his aunt's repertoire.
"How so, Aunt?"
"Well, if Lucy is to come, I must have you, I suppose, for I will not have that ninny Miss Carter. And then of course I can't have Basil. But if I don't invite Basil, he'll be horribly put out, for he is quite besotted with Miss Latham."
"The devil he is!" the earl burst out, and then, catching his aunt's inquisitive eye, settled back in his chair and drawled, "I told you, Basil is in love only with his expensive amusements—which, I assume," he went on, unable to help himself, "he would like Miss Latham to pay for. As my father did. As Basil expected me to do. Aunt, you know he has no consideration for anyone but himself, has no thought of responsibility to anyone or anything—"
"In that case, what would you have him do?" his aunt asked. "Unlike you, he has no choice but to marry a woman with a fortune. And if Miss Latham finds him suitable, and is content to have him—"
"What?" Lord Hartleigh sat bolt upright, nearly spilling his sherry in his agitation. "Surely he has not offered for her?"
"Not to my knowledge, but if he should—"
"Aunt, you cannot permit it."
"I have nothing to say in the matter." Calmly, she helped herself to a piece of cake. "I cannot dictate my nephew's behaviour."
"You cannot think to abandon her to
"Your father was much like Basil, at the same age. Yet he settled down and led a respectable life soon thereafter. Some men come by their sense of responsibility late."
"My father did not manage to squander his entire inheritance in five years—"
"He did not have the opportunity, coming so late to the title, and by then he had a wise and affectionate wife to guide him. But I did not invite you here to quarrel with you, Edward." Lady Bertram, whose back was always straight, straightened it just a bit more, and assumed a dictatorial air. "I wish to know what progress you have made."
The long, strong fingers gripped the wineglass just a bit more tightly. "Progress, Aunt?"
"Don't play the fool with me, Edward. You have narrowed down the field to half a dozen, and I hear Lady Honoria Crofton-Ash is leading by a nose. When do you plan to offer for her?"
"Really, Aunt Clem, you make it sound like a race at Ascot."
"Well?"
Curious how, lately, women seemed so often to be putting him at a disadvantage. Aunt Clem, with her cross-examinations concerning his prospective brides; Lady Honoria, with her meaningful smiles and glances which he was quite incapable of returning; Miss Latham, with her intelligent blue eyes and insinuating laughter... Oh no. Not that train of thought again.
The majestic bosom rose and fell as Lady Bertram exhaled a sigh of impatience.
"Are you still there, Edward?"
"Sorry, Aunt. I was just considering how to phrase it—"
"It? What? Will you offer for her or not? If you do not plan to do so, then you must cease paying her such particular attention." Her nephew's blank look told her that Lady Honoria little occupied his thoughts, and inquiries regarding other prospective countesses had the same result. His obvious lack of interest in these eligibles, coupled with his unusually passionate hostility at the mention of Basil, led Lady Bertram to put two and two together. Thus, she ceased her cross-examination, and casually turned the topic to his ward. She enquired about the new pony Lucy had been in such a flurry about, and then easily went on to Lucy's infatuation with Miss Latham. Noting that merely mentioning the young lady's name wrought an interesting change in the earl's demeanour, she pressed on.
"I have conversed with her several times," Aunt Clem said innocently, "and have been much impressed with her good sense. She can also be most amusing—once you can get her away from that cat of an aunt of hers. It's no wonder Lucy likes her. In fact, I've thought of inviting her to tea; but it would be so awkward."
Lord Hartleigh raised an eyebrow. Awkwardness, he knew, was not in his aunt's repertoire.
"How so, Aunt?"
"Well, if Lucy is to come, I must have you, I suppose, for I will not have that ninny Miss Carter. And then of course I can't have Basil. But if I don't invite Basil, he'll be horribly put out, for he is quite besotted with Miss Latham."
"The devil he is!" the earl burst out, and then, catching his aunt's inquisitive eye, settled back in his chair and drawled, "I told you, Basil is in love only with his expensive amusements—which, I assume," he went on, unable to help himself, "he would like Miss Latham to pay for. As my father did. As Basil expected me to do. Aunt, you know he has no consideration for anyone but himself, has no thought of responsibility to anyone or anything—"
"In that case, what would you have him do?" his aunt asked. "Unlike you, he has no choice but to marry a woman with a fortune. And if Miss Latham finds him suitable, and is content to have him—"
"What?" Lord Hartleigh sat bolt upright, nearly spilling his sherry in his agitation. "Surely he has not offered for her?"
"Not to my knowledge, but if he should—"
"Aunt, you cannot permit it."
"I have nothing to say in the matter." Calmly, she helped herself to a piece of cake. "I cannot dictate my nephew's behaviour."
"You cannot think to abandon her to
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