Only Beloved Read Free

worse than the loneliness and emptiness that sometimes conspired to drag down his spirits.
    But now the same thoughts were back. Why the devil had he not gone riding? Or to White’s Club? He could have had his coffee there and occupied himself with the congenial conversation of male acquaintances or distracted himself with a perusal of the morning papers.
    Would she have him if he asked? Was it conceited of him to believe that she would indeed? Why, after all, would she refuse him unless perhaps she was deterred by the fact that she did not love him? But she was no longer a young woman, her head stuffed with romantic dreams. She was probably as indifferent to romance as he was himself. He had much to offer any woman, even apart from the obvious inducements of a lofty title and fortune. He had a steady character to offer as well as friendship and . . . Well, he had
marriage
to offer. She had never been married.
    Would he merely be making an idiot of himself, though, if he married again now when he was well into middle age? But why? Men his age and older were marrying all the time. And it was not as though he had his sights fixed upon some sweet young thing fresh out of the schoolroom. That
would
be pathetic. He would beseeking comfort with a mature woman who would perhaps welcome a similar comfort into her own life.
    It was absurd to think that he was too old. Or that she was. Surely everyone was entitled to some companionship, some contentment in life even when youth was a thing of the past. He was not seriously considering doing it, though, was he?
    A tap on the library door preceded the appearance in the room of a youngish man carrying a bundle of letters.
    â€œEthan.” George nodded to his secretary. “Anything of burning interest or vast moment?”
    â€œNo more than the usual, Your Grace,” Ethan Briggs said as he divided the pile in two and set each down on the desk. “Business and social.” He indicated each pile in turn, as he usually did.
    â€œBills?” George jutted his chin in the direction of the business pile.
    â€œOne from Hoby’s for a pair of riding boots,” his secretary said, “and various wedding expenses.”
    â€œAnd they need my inspection?” George looked pained. “Pay them, Ethan.”
    His secretary scooped up the first pile.
    â€œTake the others away too,” George said, “and send polite refusals.”
    â€œTo all of them, Your Grace?” Briggs raised his eyebrows. “The Marchioness of—”
    â€œAll,” George said. “And everything that comes for the next several days until you receive further instructions from me. I am leaving town.”
    â€œLeaving?” Again the raised eyebrows.
    Briggs was an efficient, thoroughly reliable secretary.He had been with the Duke of Stanbrook for almost six years. But no one is perfect, George mused. The man had a habit of repeating certain words his employer addressed to him as though he could not quite believe he had heard correctly.
    â€œBut there is your speech in the House of Lords the day after tomorrow, Your Grace,” he said.
    â€œIt will keep.” George waved a dismissive hand. “I will be leaving tomorrow.”
    â€œFor Cornwall, Your Grace?” Briggs asked. “Do you wish me to write to inform the housekeeper—”
    â€œNot for Penderris Hall,” George said. “I will be back . . . well, when I return. In the meantime, pay my bills and refuse my invitations and do whatever else I keep you busy doing.”
    His secretary picked up the remaining pile from the desk, acknowledged his employer with a respectful bow, and left the room.
    So he was going, was he? George asked himself. To propose marriage to a lady he scarcely knew and had not even seen in a longish while?
    How did one propose marriage? The last time he had been seventeen years old and it had been a mere formality, both their fathers having