The Marriage Mart by Teresa DesJardien

place. We’ll see you all at suppertime.” Abruptly he turned, his hand still tightly over Mary’s, forcing her to throw her thanks over her shoulder as he marched her from the room. Mrs. Pennett followed, ignoring any speaking looks from Rothayne.
    He did not stop until they had flown up the wide sloping staircase. There on the landing he paused long enough to take a deep, relieving breath--but then was overcome by a bevy of young girls accompanied by their flustered-looking nanny.
    Free of parental influence, they all squealed for hugs from “Uncle John! Uncle John!”, after which the six young girls were introduced to Mary, who offered them smiles and a curtsy. While all six spoke at once, eventually Mary made out that the group was in pursuit of dolls for a tea party they were planning in the nursery. Apparently a supply had been left in their bedchambers. Then they were gone as quickly as they’d appeared, little Alice toddling behind as best she may on her two year old legs.
    Rothayne pulled down his waistcoat, reorganizing the order the girls had disrupted.
    “And that is but a third of your nieces,” Mary noted, a bit dazed but still smiling.
    “Yes, some of the younger,” John agreed.
    He turned to Mrs. Pennett. “You will see that your mistress’s bags are safely ensconced?” he asked pleasantly, though it was no less than a command.
    Mrs. Pennett at last gave in gracefully, simply inclining her head before she slipped back down the stairs.
    Now it was John’s turn to smile as he gave his attention to Mary wholly. “Are you ready to meet still more of my relations?”
    She nodded somewhat bemusedly, wondering if he meant the remaining nieces, or a grandmother or great-aunt who was confined to her room. He led Mary down a long corridor filled with a variety of paintings and marble busts in small alcoves, past a number of doors, some open, some closed, and through the closed one at the end of the long corridor. “Gentlemen,” John said by way of a greeting, as four men of differing ages turned toward him.
    Mary’s eyes flew to John’s face. “You did not quite write me all the truth, John. How silly of me not to figure it out for myself!” she cried, for of course these must be his sister’s husbands. Although it was true he was surrounded by females, here then were also some males with whom he could take refuge.
    “Would you have come if you’d known I had some relief?” he said quietly near her ear.
    The eldest of the four, his hair streaked with gray at the temples and in his beard, stepped forward as he transferred a brandy glass from his right hand to the other. “So this must be Lady Mary,” he said in a soft, well-modulated voice.
    “She is. Gentlemen, may I make known to you my very good friend, Lady Mary Wagnall, who has given us all permission to call her by her given name. Mary, this is Sir Edmund Billings, Hortense’s fellow.”
    “How do you do?” Edmund asked politely as they exchanged bow and curtsy.
    The other three men stepped forward as she gave her polite answer, each repeating the bows, and Mary her curtsy, as John introduced them. “This scalawag is Lord Gateway, shackled to Angela, and whom you must call Timothy. This is Mr. Aaron Seffixhenny, the new bridegroom among us. That makes him Sofie’s lucky fellow. And here is little Jessica’s papa, Lord Withal, called Kevin.”
    “Felicitations are in order, my…Kevin,” Mary said in his direction, tripping over the casual use of his name.
    “Thank you, Mary. I must say, we were just discussing our lack of surprise the newest babe was yet another female to come among us.”
    “We Rothaynes are stubborn, even in the matter of procreation,” John quipped.
    Edmund lifted his eyebrows, followed by a glance toward Mary at the mildly scandalous comment. When she did not blush, nor in any wise seem discomfited, he chose to voice no offense.
    As she was invited to take a seat, Edmund moved to John’s side, close enough