A Most Unsuitable Bride. Gail Whitiker
solution, and Diana accepted it as such. But close on the heels of that came another question. ‘Do you think Lord Durling knows I’m back in London?’
‘Oh, Diana.’ It was her aunt’s turn to sigh. ‘I think it would be naïve of us to believe that he isn’t aware. He’s far too well connected for matters like that to escape his notice.’
Diana nodded. Of course Lord Durling would know she was back, it was foolish of her to have thought otherwise. But she’d had to ask. She had to know if the lies Lord Durling had told about her four years ago were still the stories society believed today. She had to know if she was still thought of as the heartless schemer who had jilted her fiancé for the worst of reasons, and on the very day before they were to have been wed!
Chapter Two
I n the overall scheme of things, Edward Thurlow, Earl of Garthdale, was not unhappy with his life. Born into a situation most would have envied, he had inherited not only the title upon his father’s death, but the extensive lands and wealth that went with it. He enjoyed good health and a wide circle of friends, and a family situation that was, for the most part, agreeable.
He had two sisters, the elder of whom, Barbara, was happily married and soon to bear her second child, and a younger one, Ellen, who had been keeping company with a titled gentleman, who was said to be on the verge of proposing marriage. The only blot on his otherwise happy life, Edward acknowledged, was his mother.
His father, God rest his soul, had died four and a half years ago, and while the rest of the family had come to terms with his passing, his mother quite simply had not. She had stubbornly refused to move on with her life, and had become more fretful and cynical as the months went on. She had taken to complaining bitterly about a variety of physical aches and pains that suddenly seemed to have afflicted her, and as a result, was often to be found in bed, bemoaning the fact that no one truly understood what she suffered.
Edward wasn’t surprised that many of her friends had stopped calling. Moreover, he suspected that the ailments from which she suffered were strictly a means of drawing attention her way, since it was clear that her need for her family had increased as dramatically as theirs for her had decreased.
Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about that. He was hardly in need of a mother’s care, nor was Barbara, who had a family of her own to look after. And given that the servants effectively saw to the running of the house, it fell to Ellen to bear the brunt of their mother’s persistent attentions. The fact that her younger daughter might soon be engaged did nothing to prevent Lady Garthdale from clucking over her like a mother hen over her chick, which, at times, Edward supposed to be an apt comparison since, at times, Ellen seemed to possess no more sense than one.
Still, she was a sweet-natured child, deserving of happiness and anxious for a home of her own, and Edward was happy to see her courted by a man of wealth and position. Besides, once they were married, his obligation to her came to an end and he would be free to turn his attention to his own future and marital plans.
Not that he had any plans, Edward admitted as he trotted Titan, his large bay hunter, through the early morning quiet of the park. He had managed to reach the age of six and thirty without having been caught in the parson’s mousetrap, but he knew it wasn’t a situation that could go on forever. It fell to him to ensure the continuation of the line, and until now, he hadn’t given that particular obligation much thought. However, with Ellen all but settled, and his mother unlikely to produce another heir, he no longer had a choice. He had to take a wife.
The question was, who? Certainly, there was a long enough list of eligible young ladies from which to choose. His mother frequently rhymed their names off to him, and of late even Barbara had begun introducing the subject of which innocent young miss might be best suited to the role of Countess of Garthdale.
The problem was, Edward didn’t want an innocent young miss for a wife. He wanted a woman of character; a woman with whom he had something in common, and with whom he could have stimulating conversations. One who possessed the intelligence and sharpness of mind to have informed thoughts and opinions of her own.
Was that so shocking?
His friends seemed to think so, particularly those who wanted to marry attractive, well-dowered girls who would present them with sons and then leave them to pursue their own interests. But Edward couldn’t imagine a more dismal prospect. He could not imagine spending the rest of his life with a woman who did not at least share some of his interests, particularly those that related to politics or commerce.
To him, the idea seemed more purgatory than pleasure.
It was true, he would never be called upon to make his living from the land, or to forge his way in business, but as a member of the House of Lords, surely it behoved him to learn all he could about the factors affecting the British economy.
Closer to home, he wanted to be able to talk to someone other than his land steward or secretary about the state of the home farm and the welfare of his tenants. He wanted to be able to discuss such things with his wife. Unfortunately, other than Barbara, Edward had met very few women who showed an interest in anything beyond the latest copy of La Belle Assemblée.
His father had understood his desire to marry a woman of sound mind, perhaps because his father had had the misfortune to be married to one who hadn’t. Oh, he’d loved her well enough, Edward supposed, but he doubted his parents had shared anything beyond the most basic of interests. He could not imagine his mother stimulating his father in any way, and he thought that a sad commentary on two people who had lived under the same roof for nearly forty years.
Perhaps such mismatches were the fault of society, Edward reflected as he eased Titan to a walk. The necessity of marrying well was often more important than marrying for love, and blushing young women were shot out into the social world for a flock of eager young men to look over, with all the objectivity of farmers selecting brood mares. Appearance was everything, followed closely by good bloodlines and careful upbringing. Those ladies fortunate enough to be blessed with all three would be chosen first, and those even more fortunate would make a marriage with a man who loved and respected them. The rest would settle for a pretence of love and make of it what they could.
Edward didn’t like settling and he didn’t like pretence. He didn’t like the idea of choosing a wife based solely on the strength of a few polite and rigidly supervised meetings. After all, what did a man really know about the woman he intended to marry? All ladies appeared poised and polished on first meeting. They all smiled and danced, and sang pretty songs and played the piano, but what did a man really know about the inner workings of such a woman? Was she a lady in public and a shrew in private? Did she evidence a sparkling wit, only to fall victim to vapours when no one was around?
And what about sex? Now there was a subject rife with the potential for disaster. What if his wife turned out to be one of those frigid creatures who did her duty in bed but derived no pleasure from it? How did a man go about pleasing a woman who shuddered at the very thought of intimacy?
Edward was so deep in thought that it was a few moments before he realised that someone was approaching on horseback. He looked up, and to his surprise, saw an elegant lady seated atop a fine dapple-grey mare. She was accompanied by a groom, but because it was so early in the day, Edward felt a mild stirring of interest. Most females of his acquaintance didn’t even leave their beds before noon, yet this one was dressed and riding in the park at barely half past seven. That in itself gave the suggestion of someone out of the ordinary.
His gaze sharpened as he noticed other things about her: the flattering cut of her mulberry-coloured habit, and the quality of the lace trim. Her bonnet was most dashing, but the unusually heavy veil descending from it made it all but impossible to discern her features, though her figure looked to be that of a young woman—and one who was obviously at ease in the saddle. She held the reins firmly between gloved fingers and gave no impression of being nervous or ill at ease, even though the mare had her ears pricked forward and looked to be skittish.
Edward knew she would have ridden by him had it not been for the cat, a scrawny creature only a few months old that chose that