Page 4
Sebastian knew this argument had been going on for several months. Lord Richard, their younger brother, would have found a way to dissipate the heated discussion, but Sebastian had no capacity for it. He had his own conflict to resolve back in London.
Being an only child and the heir to his father’s title, he was bound by obligation.
His mother had summoned him to London, even though the whole ton had left the capital for autumn and winter. The reason for his summons made his stomach churn and his entire being fill with dread.
Marriage.
Both brothers were now clenching their fists, eyes locked.
“Wife sale is an old English tradition,” said Sebastian in a pathetic attempt to quell the glaring duel. “Why don’t we go and see it?”
“Quite,” said Grandhampton, taking a deep breath, “a barbaric notion.”
Preston raised both eyebrows. “How is it different from what our kind does? The price is a gentleman’s name and wealth. The highest bidder wins.”
This was why Sebastian had been best friends with Preston since Oxford. He liked Preston’s direct manner, and they were both grumps who had no patience for cheerful chatter and preferred to engage in debauchery with more sophisticated ladies than most young men.
“Like you, my poor old friend,” said Preston, looking at Sebastian. “You won Lady Isabella Greene, didn’t you?”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. His waistcoat and tailcoat were suddenly too tight around his chest, and it was hard to breathe in the beautiful, sunlit English day.
“That is what my mother wants, yes,” Sebastian said.
“Do not sound as if you’re going to your own execution,” said Grandhampton. “Isn’t Lady Isabella quite pleasant?”
Lady Isabella, with her soft, delicate face, bright blue eyes, and blond, shiny curls, was a perfect English lady. The daughter of the Earl of Whitemouth, with whom Sebastian’s deceased father had had an understanding. There was a dowry attached to her, a large estate in the north of England. The only thing his father had ever wanted was to increase his estate.
But that was all it was between the two families. An understanding. Papa had died two years ago, and now the impatient Earl of Whitemouth insisted it was time to make his daughter a duchess.
“She’s just not for me.”
His gaze wandered, noticing people turning their heads towards the market square and making their way to the center of it.
The booths closest to Sebastian, previously surrounded by people, now stood empty.
“Ten pence!” came a loud cry from the center of the square.
“Just say you won’t marry Lady Isabella,” said Preston.
“Wife sale!” came the voice from behind the booths. “Come one, come all, bids are still accepted!”
“It doesn’t solve it,” said Sebastian. “Mama will never stop arranging marriages for me. She will keep drilling and drilling until I give in. And in the meanwhile, I’m expected to attend balls and bow and talk politely and dance quadrilles, but God forbid with one lady twice, and tolerate the matchmaking mamas who are eager to present their eligible daughters to me. This will not end until I have a wife.”
Preston and Grandhampton looked at him with empathy. Such an important decision as the choice of a bride was taken out of his control so completely. He was a gentleman, and if he agreed to marry Isabella, he’d never go back on his word, even though she was completely wrong for him.
“Two and twenty pence!” came a cry from behind the booth.
He needed a distraction. And the pitiful glances from the two men didn’t help.
“I’d like to see a wife sale,” he said. “How about it?”
“Come on, brother,” said Preston to Grandhampton. “Perhaps you’ll find a wife to your satisfaction and forget Miss Beckett.”
Grandhampton’s square jaw tightened. He gave a short nod, his mouth straightening in displeasure. “Only if you stop talking about her.”
The three of them left their cups on the small round table and walked towards the center of the market square, turning the corner of the next booth.
Sebastian was getting curious now. People were agitated, laughing, yelling. He could hear insults thrown at the wife in question.
