our young cub in tow.”
“I doubt it will be as easy as you seem to expect,” George Bowen said. “Even cubs need time to digest news they are not expecting and to pack their bags and bid their fond farewells. Besides, there are his sisters.”
“Three of them.” Elliott rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and propped his face in his hand. “But they are bound to be every bit as delighted as he. How could they not? They will be ecstatic. They will fall all over themselves in their haste to get him ready to leave with us at the earliest possible moment.”
“For a man who has sisters of his own,” George said dryly, “you are remarkably optimistic, Elliott. Do you really believe they will happily gather on their doorsill within the next day or two to wave their only brother on his way forever? And that then they will be willing to carry on with their lives here as if nothing untoward had happened? Is it not far more likely they will want to darn all his stockings and sew him half a dozen new shirts and... Well, and perform a thousand and one other useful and useless tasks?”
“Dash it all!” Elliott drummed his fingers on his raised thigh. “I have been trying to ignore the possibility that they might be an inconvenience, George. As females are more often than not. How simple and easy life would be without them. Sometimes I feel the distinct call of the monastery.”
His friend looked at him incredulously and then laughed in open amusement mingled with derision.
“I know a certain widow who would go into deep mourning and an irreversible decline if you were to do that,” he said. “Not to mention every unmarried lady of the ton below the age of forty. And their mamas. And did you not inform me as recently as yesterday on the journey down here that your main order of business during the coming Season is going to have to be the choosing of a bride?”
Elliott grimaced. “Yes, well,” he said, his fingers pausing for a moment and then drumming faster. “The monastery may call with wistful invitation, George, but you are quite right—duty positively shouts it down, in the unmistakable voice of my grandfather. I promised him at Christmas ... And of course he was quite right. It is time I married, and the deed will be done this year to coincide more or less with my thirtieth birthday. Nasty things, thirtieth birthdays.”
He scowled in anticipation of the happy event, and his fingers beat a positive tattoo against his thigh.
“Perish the thought,” he added.
Especially since his grandfather had made a specific point of informing him that Mrs. Anna Bromley-Hayes, Elliott’s mistress of two years, simply would not do as his bride. Not that he had needed his grandfather to tell him that. Anna was beautiful and voluptuous and marvelously skilled in the bedroom arts, but she had also had a string of lovers before him, some of them while Bromley-Hayes was still alive. And she never made a secret of her amours. She was proud of them. Doubtless she intended to continue them with more lovers than just him at some time in the future.
“This is good,” George said. “If you went into the monastery, Elliott, you would doubtless not need a secretary and I would be out of lucrative employment. I should hate that.”
“Hmm.” Elliott returned his foot to the floor and then crossed it over the other leg to rest his booted ankle above the knee.
He wished he had not thought of Anna. He had not seen her—or, more important, bedded her—since before Christmas. It was a damnably long time. Man was not made to be celibate, he had concluded long ago—another reason for avoiding the lure of the monastery.
“The three sisters will very probably be at the assembly tonight,” George said. “Did not Sir Humphrey say that everyone and his dog will be attending—or words to that effect? Perhaps the cub will be there too.”
“He is far too young,” Elliott said.
“But we are deep in the
“I doubt it will be as easy as you seem to expect,” George Bowen said. “Even cubs need time to digest news they are not expecting and to pack their bags and bid their fond farewells. Besides, there are his sisters.”
“Three of them.” Elliott rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and propped his face in his hand. “But they are bound to be every bit as delighted as he. How could they not? They will be ecstatic. They will fall all over themselves in their haste to get him ready to leave with us at the earliest possible moment.”
“For a man who has sisters of his own,” George said dryly, “you are remarkably optimistic, Elliott. Do you really believe they will happily gather on their doorsill within the next day or two to wave their only brother on his way forever? And that then they will be willing to carry on with their lives here as if nothing untoward had happened? Is it not far more likely they will want to darn all his stockings and sew him half a dozen new shirts and... Well, and perform a thousand and one other useful and useless tasks?”
“Dash it all!” Elliott drummed his fingers on his raised thigh. “I have been trying to ignore the possibility that they might be an inconvenience, George. As females are more often than not. How simple and easy life would be without them. Sometimes I feel the distinct call of the monastery.”
His friend looked at him incredulously and then laughed in open amusement mingled with derision.
“I know a certain widow who would go into deep mourning and an irreversible decline if you were to do that,” he said. “Not to mention every unmarried lady of the ton below the age of forty. And their mamas. And did you not inform me as recently as yesterday on the journey down here that your main order of business during the coming Season is going to have to be the choosing of a bride?”
Elliott grimaced. “Yes, well,” he said, his fingers pausing for a moment and then drumming faster. “The monastery may call with wistful invitation, George, but you are quite right—duty positively shouts it down, in the unmistakable voice of my grandfather. I promised him at Christmas ... And of course he was quite right. It is time I married, and the deed will be done this year to coincide more or less with my thirtieth birthday. Nasty things, thirtieth birthdays.”
He scowled in anticipation of the happy event, and his fingers beat a positive tattoo against his thigh.
“Perish the thought,” he added.
Especially since his grandfather had made a specific point of informing him that Mrs. Anna Bromley-Hayes, Elliott’s mistress of two years, simply would not do as his bride. Not that he had needed his grandfather to tell him that. Anna was beautiful and voluptuous and marvelously skilled in the bedroom arts, but she had also had a string of lovers before him, some of them while Bromley-Hayes was still alive. And she never made a secret of her amours. She was proud of them. Doubtless she intended to continue them with more lovers than just him at some time in the future.
“This is good,” George said. “If you went into the monastery, Elliott, you would doubtless not need a secretary and I would be out of lucrative employment. I should hate that.”
“Hmm.” Elliott returned his foot to the floor and then crossed it over the other leg to rest his booted ankle above the knee.
He wished he had not thought of Anna. He had not seen her—or, more important, bedded her—since before Christmas. It was a damnably long time. Man was not made to be celibate, he had concluded long ago—another reason for avoiding the lure of the monastery.
“The three sisters will very probably be at the assembly tonight,” George said. “Did not Sir Humphrey say that everyone and his dog will be attending—or words to that effect? Perhaps the cub will be there too.”
“He is far too young,” Elliott said.
“But we are deep in the
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