Incognita (Fairchild Book 2) by Fixsen Jaima

Author:Fixsen, Jaima [Fixsen, Jaima]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance
Published: 2014-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Come to Watier’s with me tonight?” Cyril asked, late that evening, when Alistair stumbled across him in the hall.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Alistair said. He was fighting heavy eyes already, and no wonder: he’d been to Horse Guards again, supervised his packing, seen his bankers and written a new will. He had few worldly goods, but no reason Anna shouldn’t have them if he couldn’t. A real fiancé would do that, he was sure.

“That’s why I’m inviting you,” Cyril said. “It’s our last chance.”

“Good of you,” Alistair said. “But I’d rather not. Have to make an early start if I’m to reach Portsmouth in good time.”

Cyril shrugged and started off toward his chamber—hopefully to change his cravat. The marvel at his throat was making Alistair uncomfortable.

“Look,” Alistair began, stopping Cyril before he’d gone more than a few steps.

“Yes?”

“I should tell you something . . . ”

“Mmmm?” Cyril waited, eyebrows raised. Alistair yanked his eyes away again from his brother’s cravat. Many gentleman chose to wear the style known as the trône d'amour—he did himself, in chaste white. But pairing that knot with a neckcloth in the color known as Yeux de Fille en Extase, or Eyes of a Girl in Ecstasy, was excessive. Never mind. He had more important things to discuss.

“I’m getting married,” he said in a rush.

“In Spain? I hear the women are fine, but mother will have a fit if you marry a Catholic. Don’t put her through that.”

“New one for you to be considering her nerves,” Alistair retorted. “I’m not getting married now, just engaged. She’s not Catholic.” It was the only point he could think of in Anna’s favor, besides her face, but his mother was too mercenary to appreciate that.

“Hmmn.” Cyril thought it over for a minute. “Sudden, isn’t it?”

I’ll say. “Not really. She’s staying with Uncle William and Aunt Georgiana. Just thought you should know.”

“Has she a name?” Cyril asked.

“Anna. Anna Morris.”

“Don’t recognize it,” Cyril said. “Sure I can’t persuade you to come?”

Alistair shook his head.

“I’m off then. Try not to get shot.”

It was probably the friendliest exchange they’d had in years.

On his way upstairs, Alistair found a note from Jasper.

You brute,

Just when were you going to tell me? Convenient, that you are recalled to Spain before I can force an explanation from you. I was joking, you know, when I asked if she had felled you with a glance. You are a dog, but I wish you the very best of luck.

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