Lady Rose.
Sebastian frowned. What had Miranda been thinking last night?
But that had always been the problem with her, he decided as he stared out the window of his study across the sweeping front lawn as the last of the house party guests set off in their carriages to return home. She rarely thought before leaping, and last night, she’d nearly leapt herself right into the fire. He frowned irritably. Into his fire.
What the hell had she been thinking?
He blew out a harsh breath and ran his hand through his hair. Christ, what had he been thinking?
She’d surprised him to the core when he’d walked into his room and found her there, draped so delectably across his bed in that silky crêpe and lace confection that barely covered anything and so reminded him of a frosted cake that he found himself salivating to lick the icing from her. He should have known he wasn’t fortunate enough to have such an alluring beauty offer herself up so freely like that on the night of his mother’s birthday party, but good God—after a suffocating sennight of being forced to be the perfect peer, quashing every impulse and urge to be as unrestrained as his brothers and actually enjoy himself for once, he’d yearned to taste just a bit of the wildness he used to have.
At that moment, with a night of freedom being offered to him so temptingly, he simply hadn’t cared how she’d gotten there. Or for that matter her true identity beneath the mask. All that mattered was once again being able to enjoy himself. To peel her dress away until she was naked, then cover her body with his and—
“Sebastian!” A half-eaten breakfast roll hit him square in the back.
He wheeled around, a sharp curse on his lips for his youngest brother, Quinton, who balanced on his lap a plate half-filled with his third helping of breakfast and held a second roll in his hand, ready to fire off at any moment.
But next to his brother sat his mother, and the concerned look she gave him silenced him immediately. “You were lost in concentration,” she said gently, worry lacing her voice. “Didn’t you hear me calling to you, dear, when we came into the room?”
Sweet Lucifer, he hadn’t. “No,” he admitted grudgingly. Running a hand through his hair, he drew a deep, patient breath. Lady Rose had managed to distract him from his own family, which no woman had done since the night his father died. But then, no other woman in his bed had ever been Miranda Hodgkins.
The gel was an absolute menace.
Forcing a relaxed smile, he walked back to his desk. “My apologies for being distracted.”
Quinn and his mother sat in two chairs on the other side of the massive piece of mahogany-inlaid furniture where his late father had managed their estate of Chestnut Hill, then in more recent years where he’d also overseen the newly awarded dukedom whose lands had once belonged to their former neighbor, the Earl Royston, along with the manor house of Blackwood Hall and its holdings. And all of it now fell to Sebastian to manage.
His brows drew together as he pushed all thoughts of masquerades and the sweet scent of rosewater from his mind to concentrate on the reasons his family had been summoned together in his study. “I was watching to make certain that the last of the party guests set off without any problems,” he explained.
Not exactly a lie. Technically, Miranda had been a party guest, although she lived on one of the estate’s tenant farms with her aunt and uncle. And she’d been sent off last night with many, many problems in her wake.
“Shall we start, then?” Elizabeth Carlisle smiled patiently.
Sebastian couldn’t help but return her smile. With her golden blond hair and luminescent skin, even after a late night at her own birthday celebration, his mother was beautiful in the slant of sunlight that fell through the window onto her lavender morning dress. His heart tugged for her, and a familiar knot of grief tightened in his throat. Nearly two years had passed since his father’s unexpected death, and although she was officially out of mourning, she still preferred to wear lavender in the mornings. A part of her would always grieve for his father, just as he knew she would never remarry. Theirs had been a true love match, and Elizabeth Carlisle would never take another man into her heart the way she had his father.
He cleared his throat and nodded at the empty chair beside her. “Should we wait for Robert?”
The middle Carlisle brother was most likely still outside saying his good-byes to Diana Morgan and her parents. General Morgan had been invited to the house party because he was an old friend of Richard Carlisle’s from their army days, yet the attention Robert had paid to the man’s daughter had surprised the entire Carlisle family. Especially his mother, whom Sebastian knew was torn between encouraging the match and convincing the poor girl to flee for her life.
Mother shook her head. “He’ll be here as soon as he can.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling. “No need for him to be rude to the Morgans by hurrying them along.”
Sebastian crooked a brow. So his mother had come down on the side of the match after all. Poor girl, indeed.
“Then let’s begin.” He sat behind the desk and settled in for the meeting. “We need to discuss the family’s plans for the upcoming season.”
Normally, family business wasn’t conducted so formally. All of them preferred instead to discuss their plans casually during dinner or over coffees in the drawing room afterward, then be content to let Sebastian take care of all the details. But this season’s difference filled the air with a crackling electricity, and he wanted to make certain everything went smoothly in London for them. For once.
He owed it to his mother as well as to the title—and especially to his father’s memory—that this season the Carlisle brothers didn’t behave like…well, the Carlisles.
They’d terrorized the Lincolnshire countryside since they’d first learned to walk, then moved on to plague Eton and Oxford in turn. So it had only been a matter of time until the three of them focused their attention on London, where the whiskey was stronger, the card games played for higher stakes, and the women were decidedly more sophisticated. Until four years ago, what they’d done in the city hadn’t mattered much, with their family having almost no social standing among the quality despite their father’s barony, leaving them free to gamble, brawl, and chase women to their hearts’ content.
Then everything changed. His family was granted the former Earl Royston’s estate when the earl committed treason. At first, their family received only the land, not the title, but when the Regent was petitioned by Edward Westover, Duke of Strathmore, and Lord Bathurst, Secretary of State for War and the Colonies, both men made clear exactly how much the Carlisle family had participated in exposing Royston’s treason and in preventing the slaughter of the War Office’s best agents overseas. Prinny relented and bestowed a new dukedom.
Overnight, the Carlisle land holdings more than quadrupled in size, and their modest wealth became a fortune. No one could overlook the three brothers’ antics now, and whatever anonymity they’d had as sons of a baron disappeared as sons of a newly minted duke. Sebastian knew even then what the others had yet to realize.
What Prinny had granted wasn’t an award but a punishment.
Then the worst came. His father was tossed from his horse, struck his head, and died. The loss had been devastating to all of them, and their grief had been debilitating for months. But Sebastian didn’t have time to flounder. All the responsibility for the estates and the family had landed directly on him, and he worked his way through his grief by working his way through the estate books.
Nearly two years had passed, and not one day had yet dawned when the family didn’t feel Richard Carlisle’s absence. So the house party they’d held during the past sennight—the first soiree of any kind since Father’s death—signified more than his mother’s birthday. It was also a marker of all the changes their family had endured during the past few years and survived. And privately, Sebastian hoped they could once again focus their attention on the future and on protecting the reputation of the family. Especially from themselves.
He leaned back in the leather chair. “For once, we’re all going to London and remaining there for the entire season.” He paused meaningfully. “Together,” he emphasized, letting the gravity of that settle over them. “So I think it’s vital that we discuss our plans.” He narrowed his eyes at Quinn, knowing the trouble his brother could cause. “All our plans. So we can avoid any problems which might arise.”
In the past, the Carlisle family had never all been in London at the same time. His father had sat for every Parliament session, taking his position as baron seriously although he’d never acquired much political power in the Lords. Mother and Josephine went only to purchase a few dresses, if Josie went at all because his sister preferred to remain at Chestnut Hill to help with the children at the Good Hope Home. And all three brothers came and went as they pleased, sometimes not seeing one another for weeks even while residing within the same London town house.
But this year, circumstances brought them all together for the season. Josie now lived in London with her husband, Thomas Matteson, Marquess of Chesney, and their children. Sebastian was required to attend Parliament, having more power within its committees than his father could ever have imagined, and while he sat in the Lords, Elizabeth Carlisle would visit with Josie and her family. Robert would undoubtedly spend his time courting Diana Morgan. As for Quinton, he was going only so Sebastian could keep an eye on him.
“I’ll be residing with Josephine and Chesney at Audley House,” his mother volunteered to start the conversation, “leaving you and your brothers at Park Place.” Her shoulders heaved with a long sigh borne of years of suffering her sons’ wild antics, and she slid a sideways glance of warning at her youngest son. “Please don’t burn the place to the ground.”
“Well, there go my May Day plans,” Quinn muttered, only half-sarcastically.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Oh yes, Quinton was certainly coming to London, where he wouldn’t let his brother out of his sight until June. Of next year.
“No May Day?” Robert sauntered into the room, interrupting what had been a promising start to the conversation and now throwing it into chaos.
Quinn gave his brother a deflated look as Robert crossed to the coffee service on the side table and reached for the urn. “No bonfire.”
Robert paused mid-pour, aghast. “Where’s the fun in May Day without bonfires?”
“I know.” Quinn grimaced. “So much for our Maypole.”
“Did she cancel the donkey rides, too?”
Elizabeth Carlisle rolled her eyes in weary exasperation, and Sebastian couldn’t help but smile. His younger brothers had plagued their poor mother with one wild scheme after another all their lives. Even now, as grown men responsible for helping with the dukedom, the two couldn’t help but antagonize Mother every chance they could.
Looking at his brothers now and hearing the relaxed rhythm of their banter, it would have been easy to believe that they were the same as they’d always been, that their father’s death hadn’t changed them. But Sebastian knew better. It had changed all of them to their cores.
In the dark months following Father’s passing, both of his brothers had matured quickly and stepped up to assume large responsibilities for the dukedom. In that, they’d proven themselves well—Quinton as a successful estate agent, assuming supervision for the day-to-day operations of the workers and tenants, and Robert as a sharp business mind, taking on the bank accounts and business investments where a large portion of the family’s wealth was kept. Sebastian had been grateful for their help, knowing neither brother had to work given the ten thousand pounds each had inherited. Quinton had stashed his away, with dreams of buying his own land as soon as Sebastian found an agent to replace him here, while Robert had invested his in business ventures and nearly doubled it already, earning himself a fine reputation as a businessman in the process.
But when the two of them were together like this, they fell back into old habits, giving a glimpse of the rascals they’d been only a few short years ago.
Some things never changed. Sebastian only hoped that this season no donkeys were painted green in the process. Or set on fire.
“Are the Morgans off, then?” he asked as Robert splashed a generous amount of whiskey into his coffee, then fixed a second cup when Quinn gestured for one.
“Just.” Robert handed the coffee to his brother and sat down heavily onto the empty chair, kicking out his long legs. “I promised to call on them as soon as we arrive in London.”
Sebastian’s chest tightened as he remembered Miranda’s heartbroken words about his brother. “Does this mean you intend to court Miss Morgan?”
Robert smiled. “Yes, I do.”
He frowned. No one in the Carlisle family anticipated a marriage, yet Robert’s intentions appeared serious enough to draw Miranda’s attention and set her off on her madcap adventure last night to stop him. She could be flighty as a songbird at times, too boisterous and lively for her own good. Yet in her concerns about Robert and Miss Morgan, Sebastian didn’t doubt her intuition. Apparently she’d noticed something the rest of them hadn’t. “Do you plan to offer for her, then?”
Robert raised the cup to his lips and dodged, “If it comes to that. I do like her a great deal.”
His gut tightened in sympathetic dread. News of an engagement would devastate Miranda, who truly seemed to love his brother. Although looking at Robert now, gulping down whiskey-drenched coffee to combat a hangover, God only knew why.
“There’s no hurry to propose, you know.” Sebastian couldn’t stop the inevitable, but perhaps he could delay it. And truthfully, although he liked Miss Morgan, he wasn’t certain that she was the best choice in wife for his brother. Too demure, too genteel…too unsuspecting. “Best to wait until mid-season at least. Just long enough to give the girl time to realize what she’s getting herself into.”
Quinn grinned. “And flee.”
And just long enough to give Miranda’s heart a chance to heal. Sebastian nodded, for once agreeing with his youngest brother.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Robert agreed, taking a swallow of coffee. “There’s no hurry, I suppose.”
Relief swept through Sebastian. Miranda could bother him to no end with her uncontrolled exuberance, but she didn’t deserve to be wounded.
“Besides,” Robert chided, “you’re the one who should be getting married, Seb, not me.” He gazed with mock innocence at Sebastian over the rim of his coffee cup, an expression that did nothing to hide the flickering gleam in his eyes indicating that he wanted to cause trouble. “You’re getting old.”
“I am not old,” Sebastian grumbled. “I’m only thirty, for heaven’s sake.”
“And crotchety.” Quinn popped a bite of sweet roll into his mouth, oblivious to the glare Sebastian shot him.
Robert continued, “Isn’t it time for you to find a wife of your own and produce an heir—”
“Or six?” Quinn finished.
Sebastian glanced between his two brothers, pausing as he considered sharing with them the decision he’d made at dawn after a sleepless night of tossing and turning in rosewater-scented sheets, thanks to Lady Rose.
He’d been contemplating the idea of marriage for months now, ever since he’d inherited, if truth be told, when he’d come to realize how much of a help a wife could be. He hadn’t been prepared for the emotional burden of becoming a duke, or the loneliness of it. He had no one to confide in, not even his own family. His brothers had never felt the same duty for the title that he had and so wouldn’t be able to understand that he felt imprisoned by it, that he chafed from it so much that sometimes he thought he would go mad, or how deep his jealousy ran that they could choose their own life paths while his had been thrust upon him. For Christ’s sake, he couldn’t even get foxed anymore or spend the night with a woman for fear of what it might do to the title’s reputation. The night his father died had driven home that lesson. And as for his mother…how could he expect her to listen to his complaints when what had given him this burden in the first place was her husband’s death?
Last night had made him come to a decision about his future and the ongoing absence of a woman in his bed, one who truly belonged there instead of those women he’d known before, who had given him little more than physical release and a night’s distraction from his responsibilities. The exact same thing he’d wanted to take from Lady Rose when he’d first walked into the room and found her draped so invitingly across his bed.
What he needed was a wife, one who would be a proper duchess and a guiding hand at his side, one in whom he could confide his troubles and take solace. One who was a reflection of what was important to him. A true partner, as his mother had been to his father. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like a prisoner in his own skin.
“Yes, it is time,” Sebastian agreed soberly, stepping to the edge of the cliff. Then he drew a deep breath and jumped. “That’s exactly what I plan on doing this season.”
The room froze around him, with Robert’s coffee cup raised halfway to his lips and Quinn stopping mid-chew. The only movement was a sudden widening of his mother’s eyes in stunned surprise. Not even the sound of breathing disrupted the shocked stillness.
Then his mother blinked. “That’s…” She blinked again, not quite able to clear the shocked expression from her face. “That’s…” She tilted her head as if she couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. “Marriage?”
His brothers continued to stare as if he’d just sprung a second head.
With a grimace, he rolled his eyes. Good Lord. From their collective reactions, he might as well have just admitted to attempting to kill the king. He’d expected them to be surprised. Not shocked speechless. Despite his protests, at thirty he wasn’t young anymore, and although it pained him to admit that Robert and Quinton were right, he did need to produce an heir. Or six.
“I’ve been contemplating the matter for some time now,” he clarified, drumming his fingertips with agitation on the desktop, “and have decided that a marriage is in the best interests of the dukedom.”
“Oh,” Quinn said quietly around the last bite of sweet roll in his mouth, a stunned expression still on his face.
Damnation. Wouldn’t the three of them stop staring at him like that?
Finally, Elizabeth Carlisle smiled gently through her bewilderment. “If that’s what you want…It’s wonderful, Sebastian, truly.”
A niggling suspicion in his gut told him that his mother had just lied to him.
But given that she had her hands full coming to terms with Robert’s sudden courtship of Diana Morgan and preventing Quinn from ever courting anyone, he didn’t blame her for her surprised reaction to his sudden announcement. He’d certainly been surprised enough himself in the past twelve hours.
“The timing is right. The most eligible ladies will be gathered in London for the season,” he continued, reciting the speech he’d practiced in his head while his valet had been dressing him this morning. Barlow had bemoaned the entire time that he hadn’t helped Sebastian undress last night after the party. And a good thing he hadn’t, given the unexpected appearance of Lady Rose in his bedchamber. “All their extended families will be in residence, which will give me a good opportunity to examine their pedigrees. I need a respectable duchess, a highborn wife befitting the title and its holdings.”
Quinn laughed. “It sounds as if you’re choosing a horse!”
“Oh no, not at all,” Robert disagreed with a teasing wink at Quinn. “Seb wants more spirit in his horse than in his wife.”
Sebastian ignored both of them and concentrated on his mother’s growing frown, more troubled by that than he wanted to admit, as he finished with the coup de grâce to his brothers’ joking—“Someone who can give me an heir.”
That sobered both brothers immediately.
All four of them knew how important it was that Sebastian father a son. If he didn’t, the titles, the estate, and all the responsibilities would fall to his brothers. No one wanted that to happen. Least of all both of them. Oh, they would help him whenever he asked, yet they also wanted the freedom to live their lives however they chose and pursue their own paths of success, along which they were already rapidly excelling. But assume all the responsibilities completely? Never.
His mother’s troubled frown melted into one of concern—and that bothered him even more than the frown. “An heir is an important duty, of course.” Motherly love and worry filled her voice. “Yet there are other considerations.”
He nodded. “She must also understand the necessity of privacy and sobriety.” A woman not at all like Miranda, he thought, once again piqued at last night’s events. What on earth had she been thinking? She could have rained scandal down on both their families if anyone had seen her sneaking in or out of his bedroom. “Having us together in London will allow for all of you to give approval before I make an offer.”
“But, Sebastian, dear,” his mother said gently, “that is not our decision to make.”
“Your opinions are very important to me.” The title was as much theirs as it was his, and the decision of taking a wife could prove a momentous one for the future of the entire family. “We’ll use the season to conduct a logical, well-reasoned search for a duchess.”
Robert and Quinn looked at each other, then hooted with laughter.
Sebastian scowled at them. They could at least take the matter seriously, and if not seriously, then at least hold their peace. And stay out of his way.
He leveled his gaze on Quinn, the cold expression making his brother choke on his laughter. “And what, exactly, do you plan on doing this season while the rest of us are productively engaged?”
Quinn grinned. “Conducting a logical, well-reasoned search to find as many women as possible.”
“Hear, hear!” Robert raised his coffee cup in a toast. “To sweethearts and wives—”
“May they never meet!” Quinn finished, clinking his cup against his brother’s.
Sebastian shook his head. How was it possible that all three of them shared the same set of parents?
Having learned years ago that it was better to ignore her sons’ antics than to risk encouraging them by giving them attention, his mother sat forward in her chair and turned her cornflower-blue eyes on Sebastian. Her love and concern for him shone in their depths. “I think it’s a wonderful idea that you are serious about starting a family. But I hope you choose a wife for the right reasons.”
“I will,” he assured her.
She reached across the desk and placed her hand over his. “And that you have a marriage as loving and wonderful as the one I had with your father.”
“I will,” he repeated, although with much less conviction. He squeezed her hand as a knot of emotion tightened in his throat, then pulled away. As a duke, love was a luxury he couldn’t afford. After all, he wasn’t searching for a loving wife but a perfect duchess. One to make his father proud. And to be fortunate enough to find both in one woman…well, fate had never been that kind to him.
He cleared his throat and leveled his gaze on Robert. “And the family’s investments? Anything to report?”
Robert nodded, and suddenly, with the turn of conversation, he wasn’t the same man who had just joked with Quinton about May Day and marriage. He was mature, responsible, confident. The change was palpable. “I’ve moved capital from our accounts into the funds with the Bank of England. A low-risk investment just as you requested. The yields will sustain the principal and incur modest growth, enough to roll over into new land purchases in a few years, if you still want to expand the family’s agricultural holdings.”
Sebastian studied his brother, not letting the pride he felt for him show. Anyone looking at Robert now would never have suspected the wild scapegrace he’d been just two years ago or how he’d successfully taken over the Carlisle family’s financial investments in the intervening years. Or how much Father’s death had rocked Robert to his core. “You advise against property purchases? Wealth lies in land.”
Robert shook his head, his face as serious as Sebastian’s. “We have enough land to support the estate twice over. What we need are capital investments not tied to real estate. The wars are over, and the empire’s changing. New trade opportunities are springing up every day, and we’d be wise to invest a share of our profits in factories, trade, and goods.”
Quinn elbowed him in the ribs with a wink. “The ladies love it when you talk like that.”
Robert said nothing but hid his grin behind the rim of his cup of whiskey-coffee as he raised it for a sip.
“And you?” Sebastian turned his gaze onto Quinton. “Is the estate ready for spring?”
“The repairs to the dairy barn are set to start as soon as the cold weather breaks, and we’ve managed to mend the stone wall on the east pasture, as well as deepen the irrigation ditch ahead of schedule. I’ve decided to make allowances to the tenants this spring for losses in last year’s drought. We’re not obligated to, but…” He shrugged casually, as if that project alone hadn’t taken weeks to bring to fruition. Quinton had found a hidden skill in dealing with the estate’s daily operations, and all his charm had certainly helped relations with the tenants. “Trent has offered to supply free seeds for this year’s plantings.”
Sebastian arched a brow, not because he was upset at his brother for making promises on his behalf but because he was proud of the way Quinton had risen to the challenge of overseeing the estate. “Trent is, is he?”
Quinn grinned at Sebastian’s expense. “And quite happily, too. I’ve also got an estate agent lined up to oversee everything while we’re in London.” A hopeful tone crept into his voice. Quinn was chomping at the bit to find his replacement. As soon as he did, he could leave Islingham and carve out an independent life for himself on his own property. “If he does well, you should consider keeping him on.”
“We’ll see.” Quinton might be ready to charge out into the world on his own, but Sebastian wasn’t ready to give him up just yet. As he glanced between his brothers, he knew how lost he would have been these past two years without their help. “Any other business to discuss?”
“I have plans for London, too,” Mother spoke up.
“Of course.” Sebastian’s eyes softened on her, knowing how beneficial this season would be for her. He’d been worried about her this winter and knew that London would reenergize her spirit. “You want to spend as much time as possible with Josie and the children.”
“No, dear.” Her lips curled into a pleased smile, and her eyes gleamed, reminding him of the joyful woman she’d been before his father died. “Miranda Hodgkins.”
His heart stopped.
And when it started again, the lurch ripped his breath away. He cleared his throat to keep down the panic that his mother had somehow discovered what had happened last night. Almost happened. “What about her?”
“She’s done a remarkable job with the orphanage these past few years.”
That was what she wanted to say? He smiled with relief. “Yes, she has. A wonderful job by all accounts.”
Her smile turned beaming. “So I’ve decided that we will sponsor her for the London season.”
Dread surged through him, numbing him in a flash. “Pardon?” He prayed that he’d heard incorrectly, that his mother had confused Miranda with someone else, that there was another young woman who needed a sponsor for the season.
“I want Miranda to come to London with us this season, so we can express our gratitude for all she’s done for the orphans and the village. And for our own family as well.” Oblivious to his distress, she continued enthusiastically, “She has no one except Rebecca and Hamish, and they’re not in a position to give her the season she deserves. We are. And we should.”
“To what end?” His chest tightened. Young ladies made London debuts in order to snag husbands. Was his mother seriously considering an attempt to marry off Miranda to some London dandy?
As if reading his mind, she answered, “Only for the experience of it, I assure you. Every young lady should be able to enjoy the excitement of a London season at least once.” She added, almost in afterthought, “Although I wouldn’t chase away any gentlemen who might spark an interest in her.”
Wordlessly, he slid his gaze to Robert. Did his mother have any idea of where Miranda’s true interest lay?
No, of course she didn’t. His mother wasn’t cruel. If she did know, she wouldn’t place Miranda in a position to see Robert wooing anyone else.
When he didn’t agree, her smile dissolved. “It was your idea, Sebastian.”
His idea? Impossible. Yet a fuzzy memory formed painfully at the back of his mind of a passing conversation in the carriage returning from Christmas morning service, a conversation he’d dismissed at the time as unimportant. A London season, introductions, a new wardrobe…all things better left to the ladies, especially when his attention was focused on the estate as he watched it roll past the carriage windows, of repairs that needed to be made to the stables and a new bridge built over the creek between the south meadows, a new roof installed on Blackwood Hall, the walls reinforced around the western pastures…Wouldn’t it be nice, Mother, if you gave Miranda a London season?
Good God. He had mentioned it.
“We owe it to her,” Elizabeth Carlisle continued, her eyes glistening. “She was a great help to me after your father’s death when Josie had to return to London. I don’t know what I would have done without her. It would be lovely if we could repay her kindness.”
He conceded that point. Miranda had provided important support for his mother during that dark time. She’d stopped by Chestnut Hill every day on her way home from the village to check in on them, often came with her aunt and uncle for Sunday dinners, and cajoled his mother into shopping trips to the village or delivering baskets to the tenants, which Sebastian had come to suspect were nothing but excuses for her to take his mother out of the house and away from her grief.
They did owe her a great deal for her kindness. He only wished there was some other way to repay her than with a London season.
“It would break Miranda’s heart if she didn’t have this opportunity,” she insisted.
Sebastian grimaced. It would break her heart to watch Robert court Miss Morgan.
But Mother was right. With only Rebecca and Hamish to care for her, no connections in society except for their family, and not enough money to buy the gowns, accessories, and everything else she would need for a proper debut, Miranda had no chance at a real season without the Carlisles’ help.
And yet, the last person he wanted to deal with in London was Miranda, especially when he was hunting a wife and she was hunting Robert. He couldn’t imagine a more potentially disastrous situation for all of them.
“Perhaps we should wait a year,” he countered gently, doing his best to maneuver himself out of the sticky situation in which he had unwittingly placed both Miranda and himself. Up to their necks. “With this being the first season for the family out of mourning—”
“Certainly not.” His mother straightened her spine in that way she did when she prepared to do battle with her sons, in the past over everything from snakes in laundry baskets to racing cows down High Street. “Besides, I’m looking forward to it myself.” Her face softened at the slightly selfish admission, and a lightness and happiness came over her that Sebastian hadn’t seen nearly often enough since Father died. “Josephine never had a proper debut, and since none of you three have yet to secure wives and grandchildren for me to spoil—”
All three men glanced guiltily away from her, to cast their gazes onto the floor, the wall, out the window—anywhere but on their mother.
“Then I’ll have Miranda to dote on.” She beamed happily at the idea. “And sponsoring her will give me the opportunity to finally assist with a young lady’s London season.”
Sebastian shook his head, knowing the headaches of a season. “Invitations to court and vouchers to Almack’s, all that pomp to suffer, all the social hoops to jump through—”
“Shopping trips to Bond Street and visits to the dressmaker for beautiful ball gowns.” Her eyes shined at all the possibilities of the season. “Carriage rides through the park, grand balls, art exhibitions, musicales, nights at the theater…”
As she continued to tick off a long list on her fingers, Sebastian knew he’d lost. After last night, he wanted to keep Miranda as far away from him as possible, but he would also do anything to make his mother happy.
And yet, not wanting to be accused of not trying to stop this goose egg of a plan in four weeks when all hell broke loose, he warned solemnly, “The girl causes nothing but trouble.”
She smiled patiently at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, Miranda is no longer a girl.”
Oh, he’d certainly noticed that, all right. Which was the biggest trouble of all.
“She simply needs supervision and a proper place to channel her exuberance,” she assured him. “I’ll take care of her and all the arrangements, and since we’ll be staying with Josephine and Chesney, you’ll hardly see her. You’ll barely know she’s in London at all.”
His mother’s assurances did nothing to alleviate the uneasiness clawing at his gut, but he had no choice. He wouldn’t do anything to take away the first signs of excitement in Mother since Father died. If it took giving Miranda a proper London season to make his mother happy again, then he’d do it.
Even if it killed him.
“Very well,” he grudgingly acquiesced. “We’ll give her a season.”
His mother beamed happily, and Sebastian’s chest lightened. Whatever problems Miranda did manage to create in Mayfair, seeing that happiness again on his mother’s face would be worth it.
He hoped.
“Good. It’s all settled then. If you’ll excuse me.” She rose from her chair, and all three of her sons scrambled to their feet. “I have a house to see to, to make certain all is put back to order.” She headed toward the door, then paused to glance back, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Including the cupid statue from the rose garden fountain that somehow found its way into Lord Batten’s bed.”
Robert and Quinn exchanged guilty glances, then dropped their gazes to the floor, saying nothing to incriminate themselves.
With a long-suffering sigh and shake of her head, she glided from the room, a perfection of matronly force.
Robert and Quinn flopped back down into their chairs. Sebastian crossed from behind his desk to the coffee tray, not bothering with the pretense of coffee as he poured himself a cup of straight whiskey.
He shot Quinn a glance. “Were you really planning on setting a May Day bonfire?”
“Seb.” His youngest brother feigned injury at the accusation. “You know we’d never do anything like that.”
“Not for May Day,” Robert piped up in his brother’s defense. “But Guy Fawkes—”
“An imperative,” Quinn interjected resolutely. Then he grimaced with disappointment. “But the donkey rides were true.”
“Not anymore.” Sebastian took a gasping swallow of whiskey. “I don’t want any trouble this season. It’s going to be hard enough for Mother to be in London for the first time since Father’s death. I don’t want any of us to make it harder for her than it needs to be.”
Quinn nodded, suddenly serious. “Then it’s a good thing she’s bringing Miranda. Truly, Seb. We all know you don’t like her, but—”
“I like her,” he interrupted, far more defensively than he’d intended. He did like her. She was sweet and endearing in her own way, when she wasn’t causing trouble. But while he was searching for a duchess, he simply preferred to like her from two hundred miles away.
“But she is good for Mother,” Robert concluded seriously in that peculiar way all three brothers had of finishing each other’s thoughts.
Quinn nodded. “Miranda will keep her busy.”
“And keep her mind off Father,” Robert finished soberly.
Sebastian sighed in grudging agreement. “Just keep Miranda from causing problems for me, will you?”
“Sorry.” Quinn shook his head with a wide grin. “I’ll be too busy looking for my own women to keep close.”
“Looking but not finding,” Robert goaded with a laugh.
“Oh, I’ll catch them all right.” Quinn kicked his feet up onto the corner of the desk and laced his hands behind his head as he leaned confidently back in the chair. “As easy as salmon fishing in Scotland. They’ll be taking the bait and begging me to—”
“Throw them all back once they’ve seen the size of your lure?” Robert finished.
Quinn laughed. Then, realizing that the barb was at his expense, he snapped his mouth shut and glared at his brother.
“No one will be throwing anyone anywhere.” Sebastian smacked at Quinn’s feet for him to take his boots off the desk. “So keep your drunkenness to places where no one knows you, and don’t gamble where they don’t. And if you must go whoring—”
“Salmon in Scotland,” Quinn reminded him pointedly.
Robert shook his head. “The size of the lure—”
“Be careful,” Sebastian finished somberly. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to either of you. Or to Mother.”
Both brothers stared at him quietly for a moment, understanding the grimness behind that warning, then nodded their compliance. Relieved that he’d managed to corral his brothers’ antics, if only temporarily, Sebastian blew out a long breath and took another sip of whiskey.
Robert slapped Quinn on the shoulder. “Maybe Chesney can get us into Boodle’s.”
“Or White’s,” Quinn added.
“What’s the use of having a marquess in the family—”
“If he can’t get us into the book at White’s—”
“Or under a skirt at Boodle’s?”
The two brothers grinned at each other.
“No,” Sebastian said firmly, the start of a headache throbbing behind his eyes. The two of them could try Job’s patience.
Instead of dampening their enthusiasm, his admonition only drew a laugh from Robert. “That’s because you’re afraid we’ll take all the pretty women before you get to them.”
He scowled. He loved his brothers and would do anything for them…if he didn’t kill them first himself. “That is not—”
“Sowing wild oats before you shackle yourself to some lord’s prim daughter is all very fine and good,” Quinn advised Sebastian with mock solemnity, as if he were an Oxford don delivering a lecture.
Robert joined in. “But best not to get caught doing anything that could turn you into a pariah for the well-bred ladies.”
“Don’t drink where anyone knows you—”
“Don’t gamble where they don’t—”
“And if you must whore, be careful,” the two brothers finished together. Then they glanced sideways at each other and grinned.
Sebastian shook his head. Good God. The two of them together was exhausting.
He rubbed at his forehead to ease the headache that they put there, but he also took their teasing warning to heart. He couldn’t risk even a hint of scandal this season given his need to find a bride and his desire to make his mother happy, but he knew it wouldn’t be his brothers who would cause problems. They might be wild and careless, but they also knew how important this season was. That alone was enough to keep them well-behaved until at least the end of June, May Day bonfires and donkey rides aside.
No, the risk to his season came in the form of a petite country gel with unruly strawberry-blond hair, a pert nose dotted with freckles, and a penchant for stirring up trouble.
Tossing back the rest of the whiskey, he welcomed the burn down his throat. He knew what he had to do about Miranda.
It was time the two of them came to an understanding about her behavior.