Love With the Proper Husband by Victoria Alexander

perhaps two extremely thrifty people, it certainly would amount to only bare survival for four. It would take a great deal of money to support a family of four, let alone provide for dresses and seasons and dowries. Gwen simply did not have the finances. But she well knew where she could find it. Whether she liked it or not, the means to the future was within her grasp. All she had to do was marry it.
    Chapter Five
    Even the most intelligent of men rarely knows as much as he thinks he does. Francesa Freneau
    “What you need is a plan of action,” Reggie said once again, as if the simple saying of it would magically provide such a plan. The viscount lounged on the sofa in an indolent manner, a precariously tipped glass of brandy in his hand.
    “We’ve determined that.” Marcus rested his hip on the desk and swirled the liquor in his glass. Indeed, that was all the men had determined. They had planned to spend the evening at their club but instead still lingered in the library at Pennington House. Thus far they’d agreed on nothing other than the need to come up with a course of action to entice Miss Townsend into marriage. Just what that should be remained annoyingly elusive.
    “And with Miss Townsend, it must be a good plan. The stakes are exceedingly high, and she is no fool.”
    “A good plan is always difficult. However, an adequate plan is possible.” Reggie sipped thoughtfully at his brandy. Both men had years ago agreed decisions of any magnitude could not properly be made without endless glasses of decent liquor. “I find flowers work well.”
    Marcus snorted. “That’s scarcely a plan.”
    “No, but it’s a start. A prelude to a plan, so to speak. Soften her up for the real thing and all that.”
    Reggie thought for a moment. “Although it may not be enough in this case.”
    “No, it’s not nearly enough. Still, in the belief that it couldn’t possibly work against me, I have done my best to fill her residence with flowers since our meeting yesterday. I have had them delivered and indeed brought them myself today but she was not at home.”
    Reggie frowned. “I didn’t think she knew anyone in London.”
    “Neither did I.” Marcus did think Miss Townsend’s absence rather odd, especially as Madame Freneau had politely but firmly declined to answer his casual query as to Miss Townsend’s whereabouts. Still, it was probably not at all important, and Marcus set it from his mind.
    “At any rate, I have thus far deluged her with blossoms, a remarkably expensive proposition, I might add. I have already spent a small fortune.”
    “Excellent. You don’t want her to think you cheap. You might as well spend it while you have it, I say.” Reggie shrugged. “I do.”
    Reggie had never been at all hesitant to shower the current object of his affections with flowers or whatever else he deemed suitable. Not that it had ever done him a great deal of good, as he tended to select women who not only needed rescuing but were more often than not completely unsuitable or already had their affections engaged elsewhere. Reggie pursued love with a rash, single-minded determination and gave his heart as easily as he tipped his hat. Marcus viewed that same emotion with a cautious eye and a protective attitude.
    Still, in spite of their differences, both friends had the unfortunate gift of setting their sights on the wrong women, and both harbored a desire for love. Only their ways of seeking it varied. But Marcus had long ago realized, even if Reggie never would, that such desire was at once overly romantic, highly impractical, and quite improbable.
    “Poetry is a nice touch as well.” Reggie’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “They like it if you write it yourself.”
    “I do not now, nor shall I ever write poetry,” Marcus said in a lofty manner. Reggie laughed. “You say that like it’s quite disgraceful.”
    “Not at all. I simply realize my limitations.”
    “Helmsley writes poetry.”
    “Helmsley