"It will no longer be Albert's decision," she said softly, hiding her triumph.

"Your husband will leave you in Ireland while he lounges in England?" Perry asked mockingly. At her nod, he said, "It is at moments like this that I wonder how well you truly understand men, Clarissa."

"I understand them well enough," she said, and then laughed, breaking the somber mood. "Each one of these men will offer for me by year's end." And at that she was being conservative. She doubted it would take even two weeks. She would be married by Christmas.

"Even Montwyn?" Perry asked.

Clarissa smiled. "Even Montwyn." Especially Montwyn.


Lindley called upon Beau at his home on Grosvenor Street and managed to catch him in.

"Well done, Beau," he greeted upon being directed into Beau's handsome library.

Beau rose from his chair at the greeting and said, "While I enjoy praise as earnestly as any man, for what am I being congratulated at this hour of the day?"

"Why, for your success with Clarissa," Lindley said, a scowl just beginning to form at the evidence of Beau's ignorance. "Whatever you have done must be working quite to your advantage, because she is more than half prepared to accept an offer of marriage from you."

"Really?" Beau said with a bemused smile.

She was prepared to accept him? She'd be a damned fool not to, by his reckoning. He was quite aware that she was attracted to him; she hadn't been adept at hiding that from him, not that he cared, in any regard. Still, Lindley had a right to be pleased; it would be a good union for all concerned. He was more than a sight pleased himself. He had come to London to find a wife, and he had done so rather expeditiously, not wasting time when his duty was to get an heir at all speed. Perhaps he'd have a son by Christmas next.

Yes, he was quite pleased with the way events were progressing. Lindley had an air of being almost relieved to have the matter of Clarissa settled, and well he should be; Clarissa was ravishing, true, but she was a bit of a scold. Not a proper sort of wife for every man, but he was more than certain that he would manage her most efficiently.


He had almost reached the stables when Russell Walingford greeted him. Truly, London seemed awash in Walingfords since Clarissa had come to town to find a husband. Beau greeted him cordially, as befitted a future brother, and waited civilly while Russell came to the point. He was beyond certain that Clarissa would be mentioned.

He was wrong.

"I noticed how prettily Miss Maria Belgrave played. Did you not also make note of it? A lovely young woman, is she not?"

"I would not disagree," Beau said with a mental shrug.

"So many young women to meet this season, Lord Montwyn," Russell said, pressing the point. "Delightful parties and splendid dinners abound, wouldn't you say? A shame for a man to cut himself off, so to speak, so early in the season."

"Cut himself off?" Beau repeated heavily. "I do not comprehend you."

"Have you not met Lady Mary Beckham? A most delightful girl. She is to be at the Mongrave dinner, to which I am certain you have received an invitation."

"Is that where the Walingfords will be spending their evening?" Beau asked.

Russell cleared his throat before answering, "I do not believe so, but you should avail yourself of the invitation. Mary is a stellar woman of rare beauty and pleasing deportment."

"Then allow me to encourage you to attend the Mongrave dinner, so that you may better enjoy the company of Lady Mary," Beau said, striving to maintain his cordiality.

"It was your own enjoyment that prompted me, Lord Montwyn," Russell said. "You would be rewarded in pleasure by spending time in Mary's company."

How much more pleasure he would have received if he had not understood Russell's intent; he was obviously trying to dissuade him from Clarissa by throwing Mary Beckham, or any other young woman, in his path. What to make of this state of events when Lindley, not half an hour since, had hailed him on, encouraging him to finish the task he had started when first he came to London and beheld Clarissa?

According to Lindley, Clarissa was his. According to Russell, he should look elsewhere. But perhaps Russell was not privy to Clarissa's thoughts… and perhaps Lindley was not either. Perhaps it was only that Lindley voiced his own wish. Blast! These Walingfords were a bedeviling lot, Clarissa the worst of all with her bold talk and mischievous air. He should forget her and give Mary Beckham a look, find a wife of a more demure nature and submissive demeanor.

He should, but he would not.

How could he, having met Clarissa?


He had excused himself-rather abruptly, if he must admit it-from Russell and proceeded to the stables. A good ride in the park was just the thing to clear his head and illuminate his resolve. His mount was reliable and of an easy temperament and just as eager for a run in the cold winter air as his master. Beau gave him his head and threw out all thoughts but the pure joy of riding a good horse. Clarissa and her brothers would be managed in their own time. For the moment he wanted to be free of the responsibility of making a good marriage and the necessity of producing an heir to secure Montwyn for future generations.

It was a burden that had belonged to his older brother, William, and William had borne it cheerfully. But William had died of a fever without issue, his widow had remarried, and now it fell to Beau to carry on. He had never wished for the duty. He had taken up a commission in the regiment and found joy there. He had resigned his commission and taken up a life of gaming and women and found joy there. He was now called upon to resign his life of decadence and assume the role of Lord of Montwyn. He only hoped he could find some small measure of joy in it.

Meeting Clarissa had given him hope. He had to marry and to marry a certain type of woman, of certain family and certain position, and such women were generally of the same type: quiet, demure, and biddable. Certainly there were benefits to having such a woman in a man's life, but the drawbacks gleamed more brightly. He did not want to share his life with a woman of little more spirit and fire than a babe. He suspected that such a woman would drown a man with her constant need for guidance and direction. And, for all that it was unfashionable, he wanted a wife with whom he could converse.

Clarissa had a tongue in her head and the brain to wield it in a most entertaining manner.

He did not think he would ever grow bored with Clarissa.

He was certain Clarissa was the ideal choice.

He was equally certain, most of the time, that Clarissa saw him in the same light.

Of what could she complain? He was well propertied, well titled, well fixed, and… he did not want her to want him for those reasons. Blast, but he would have her wanting him for himself and not what he brought to the union, though it went against all logic for him to wish it. Should he even want a woman who would throw all sense aside to listen to her heart? No, and yet he did.

And no matter what Russell said, he was certain that she wanted him for those things that could not be listed on a clerk's ledger. That is, he was certain most of the time.

All good intentions aside, he had not been able to leave Clarissa and her brothers behind him on his ride. Still, it had been good to get out into the air. He felt better for it.

Until he saw Dalton waiting for him at the stable as he returned his mount.

"I hate to say it, since I consider you a friend," Dalton said with a huge grin, "but you seem to be something of a fool, Beau."

Beau dismounted and handed the horse off to the groom.

"In the name of that friendship, I will refrain from calling you out," Beau said with the barest hint of a smile.

Dalton bowed. "Thank you, Lord Montwyn. But you have been fool enough to let it be known that you were in the possession of an Irish estate, and that has put you firmly on her list."

"List?" Beau said as he walked out, Dalton matching his stride.

"Oh, yes, let me inform you of the method that my darling sister is implementing in her quest to obtain for herself the ideal husband."

"You mock her, yet it shows sense," Beau said. Perhaps his personal attributes were mentioned on the list.

"Oh, good sense, I will agree," Dalton said, laughing. "At the top of her list is the necessity for her future husband to be the lord of an Irish estate. The second requirement, which naturally follows and which you can hardly debate the wisdom of, is an annual income of not less than thirty thousand pounds a year, for how can an Irish estate be maintained for less?"

"In addition to a home or two in England," Beau added calmly. "She shows a rare inclination for management. You must give my compliments to your sister."

Dalton merely smiled and kept walking, swinging his stick most irritatingly.

She wanted him; that matched with Lindley's impression. But for his Irish lands? He would not believe it. He had seen her eyes when she looked at him and watched the thrumming of her blood in the slender stem of her throat; she wanted him. Let her tell her brothers that it was his Irish lands that compelled her to him, if it suited her, but he knew the spark of female interest when it landed in his lap, so to speak. She had him on her shopping list of possible husbands for more flattering reasons than property and income.

"Our Clarissa," Dalton said, "is a very clever, very levelheaded girl. No limp sentiment for her. I will deliver your compliments to my sister, Lord Montwyn."

Dalton bowed and left Beau at Grosvenor Place and Piccadilly. Beau did not return the bow; he walked on, more determined than ever to prove, at least to himself, how very wrong Clarissa was if she thought to have him for his property alone.