Bradley is extremely capable at this sort of thing. If anyone can discover where Captain Sharpe is, Bradley is the man.”
“Then I look forward to hearing from you, Colonel.”
Pendleton nodded and wandered away, leaving Cordwith more hope than he’d had in as long as he could remember. He was returning to his guests when Percival Chezwick, a friend of Sarah’s husband Jonathan, walked toward him a bit unsteadily.
“I must tell you, my lord, I have fallen completely in love.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Merciful heaven, never before in my life have I seen such a face. Like an angel, she was. When she smiled, I swear my heart very nearly stopped beating. And she is here, right under your very roof. You must tell me her name.”
Claire. It had to be. From the moonstruck look on young Percy’s face, there could be no other conclusion.
“The lady’s name is Claire, but she isn’t for you, I’m afraid. You probably didn’t notice, but the girl is a member of my housekeeping staff. She’s an innocent, Chez, not the sort for a tumble or two, and I’m afraid your father would scarcely approve a match between you and a serving maid.”
Percy’s gaze strayed toward the hall, but Claire was nowhere to be seen. It was completely out of character for the young man to mention a woman at all. Cord imagined the wine he had drunk had given him a shot of courage.
In a way it was a shame the pair’s status was so far apart. Percival Chezwick was a dreamer like Claire, a naive young man with his head in the clouds who wrote poetry but was too shy to read it. He was blond, blue-eyed and attractive to the opposite sex, if a bit thin and pale.
He was also the youngest son of the marquess of Kersey and a match between him and a chambermaid would hardly be the thing.
And oddly enough, Cord had come to feel protective of Claire. He wouldn’t stand by and let one of his friends take advantage of her. In fact, it would please him to see the girl well settled. Perhaps in time, he would help her make some sort of match. His thoughts strayed to Victoria. He could find her a husband, as well. Somehow the notion didn’t please him nearly so much.
Cord followed Colonel Pendleton and Lord Percy into the drawing room. Sarah and Jonathan were there, both blond and fair, a golden couple still enamored of each other even after eight years of marriage. They were talking to Dr. and Mrs. Chastain, while Grace, it seemed, had slipped off to the ladies’ retiring room.
Cord sighed. His cousin was matchmaking for him again. Sarah didn’t seem to understand the daughter of a physician held not the least appeal for him, no matter how attractive she was. He was going to marry an heiress. Lately he had been thinking more and more of Constance Fairchild or Mary Ann Winston. They were both blond and attractive and each possessed of a considerable fortune.
An earl was no small prize in the marriage mart. Either girl would likely accept his suit, and his wealth would expand considerably the moment the ceremony was performed.
He owed his father. He intended to repay him in the only way he knew how.
Walking over to the sideboard, he poured himself a brandy, his mind slipping away from the past to the disastrous supper he had hosted tonight. He thought of the excessively rum-soaked cakes and grinned as he made his way toward his guests.
Grace Chastain crossed the entry toward the sweeping spiral staircase on her way to the ladies’ retiring room. The evening was becoming interminable. Not only was the food beyond god-awful, she’d been seated next to Colonel Pendleton, who was a passable conversationalist but wanted mostly to discuss the war, which Grace did her best to forget.
Now that supper was over, Sarah would begin her matchmaking—the reason she and her parents had been invited in the first place. Her mother had been ecstatic, of course, pressing her every minute to talk more to the earl. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had.
“Then I look forward to hearing from you, Colonel.”
Pendleton nodded and wandered away, leaving Cordwith more hope than he’d had in as long as he could remember. He was returning to his guests when Percival Chezwick, a friend of Sarah’s husband Jonathan, walked toward him a bit unsteadily.
“I must tell you, my lord, I have fallen completely in love.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Merciful heaven, never before in my life have I seen such a face. Like an angel, she was. When she smiled, I swear my heart very nearly stopped beating. And she is here, right under your very roof. You must tell me her name.”
Claire. It had to be. From the moonstruck look on young Percy’s face, there could be no other conclusion.
“The lady’s name is Claire, but she isn’t for you, I’m afraid. You probably didn’t notice, but the girl is a member of my housekeeping staff. She’s an innocent, Chez, not the sort for a tumble or two, and I’m afraid your father would scarcely approve a match between you and a serving maid.”
Percy’s gaze strayed toward the hall, but Claire was nowhere to be seen. It was completely out of character for the young man to mention a woman at all. Cord imagined the wine he had drunk had given him a shot of courage.
In a way it was a shame the pair’s status was so far apart. Percival Chezwick was a dreamer like Claire, a naive young man with his head in the clouds who wrote poetry but was too shy to read it. He was blond, blue-eyed and attractive to the opposite sex, if a bit thin and pale.
He was also the youngest son of the marquess of Kersey and a match between him and a chambermaid would hardly be the thing.
And oddly enough, Cord had come to feel protective of Claire. He wouldn’t stand by and let one of his friends take advantage of her. In fact, it would please him to see the girl well settled. Perhaps in time, he would help her make some sort of match. His thoughts strayed to Victoria. He could find her a husband, as well. Somehow the notion didn’t please him nearly so much.
Cord followed Colonel Pendleton and Lord Percy into the drawing room. Sarah and Jonathan were there, both blond and fair, a golden couple still enamored of each other even after eight years of marriage. They were talking to Dr. and Mrs. Chastain, while Grace, it seemed, had slipped off to the ladies’ retiring room.
Cord sighed. His cousin was matchmaking for him again. Sarah didn’t seem to understand the daughter of a physician held not the least appeal for him, no matter how attractive she was. He was going to marry an heiress. Lately he had been thinking more and more of Constance Fairchild or Mary Ann Winston. They were both blond and attractive and each possessed of a considerable fortune.
An earl was no small prize in the marriage mart. Either girl would likely accept his suit, and his wealth would expand considerably the moment the ceremony was performed.
He owed his father. He intended to repay him in the only way he knew how.
Walking over to the sideboard, he poured himself a brandy, his mind slipping away from the past to the disastrous supper he had hosted tonight. He thought of the excessively rum-soaked cakes and grinned as he made his way toward his guests.
Grace Chastain crossed the entry toward the sweeping spiral staircase on her way to the ladies’ retiring room. The evening was becoming interminable. Not only was the food beyond god-awful, she’d been seated next to Colonel Pendleton, who was a passable conversationalist but wanted mostly to discuss the war, which Grace did her best to forget.
Now that supper was over, Sarah would begin her matchmaking—the reason she and her parents had been invited in the first place. Her mother had been ecstatic, of course, pressing her every minute to talk more to the earl. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had.
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