The Baron’s Betrothal by Miranda Davis

Author:Miranda Davis
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Aspen Street Press RJP, LLC
Published: 2013-02-13T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

In which a minx lets the cat out of the bag.

Days passed. Clun waited for word that, with sincere regret on the Earl of Morefield’s part, Lady Elizabeth wished to end their betrothal. None came. Part of him wanted the pain over quickly, especially when gripped by irrational impulses whilst watching her dance with every benighted bachelor on this side of the English Channel. Another part of him, equally irrationally, hoped she would change her mind, hold her nose and marry him.

At one such social torment, the Berkeley fête, fellow Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Mr. Percy, Lord Seelye and the Duke of Ainsworth, with his new duchess, found Clun muttering to himself.

“Surrounds herself with fops, peacocks and dandiprats,” the baron growled to no one in particular.

“Stop grumbling and offer Percy your congratulations,” Seelye instructed Clun as his friends gathered around him.

“Whatever for?”

“After all of his mysterious doings on the continent, Percy shall achieve nobility of the sword. He’ll be elevated to a viscountcy in his own right,” Seelye explained with an exaggerated bow to Percy.

“Only if the Prince Regent doesn’t think the better of it in the meantime,” Percy said with characteristic self-deprecation.

“Property?” Clun asked.

“Small estate and a London townhouse, nothing lavish, but it’s more than I deserve.”

“I detest false modesty, Percy,” Clun snapped. “About time Prinny acknowledged your post-war efforts, whatever they were.”

“You’re always so deuced vague about it. What have you been up to, Percy?” Seelye asked.

“This and that, nothing much of note,” he replied smoothly.

“And you were doing those where exactly?” Seelye pursued, trying to discomfort the unflappable Mr. Percy by probing his mysteries.

“Here and there,” he replied with a shrug. “I must say, Ainsworth, your duchess looks remarkably well.”

Seelye threw up his hands. “The man’s an enigma.”

The baron helped divert attention from Percy by asking, “Any other glad tidings of which I should be aware?” He looked directly at Prudence, Duchess of Ainsworth, who blushed and instinctively brought a hand to her belly. “Good God, Ainsworth, already?” Clun reproached the grinning duke then turned back to his duchess of a few months to warn, “Early success will only encourage him, Your Grace.”

“That is my hope, Lord Clun,” she replied with a madonna’s smile. “Have you any news you wish to share at this point, your lordship?” Lowering her voice, she added, “I understand congratulations are due for an engagement.”

“Been betrothed for ages. All very hush hush. You’re bad as Percy, Clun. Why not go on and marry the chit? Might improve your mood,” Seelye said.

The baron harrumphed but remained otherwise silent.

“He’s in foul temper because the Fury’s underfoot and circulating in the ton,” Seelye explained to the rest. “Might scare off the fiancée.”

“Then marry sooner than later,” the duchess said with an encouraging smile.

“Not likely,” Clun muttered. “My betrothed has decided against me.”

“A few more years of freedom then, lucky man,” Percy said and patted his back.

“She hasn’t seen fit to end our engagement either,” Clun replied.

An awkward silence ensued until Seelye and Percy sputtered. Ainsworth tried to remain solemn.

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