Romance
Read Chapter One of The Secret Wedding (continued):
"I'm sure it is, sir." Christian judged the moment right and rose. "I'll ask my father, but 'Hill' is such a common name. There might be no connection at all."
"My regards to Lord Royland. Sorry to have bothered you."
Christian lied and assured him it had been no bother at all, and caught up with his friends as they were climbing into a carriage.
"Come on!" Balderson called, and dragged him into the overcrowded coach just before it lurched off. "Even though you'll capture the citadel, you handsome bastard, and a future earl to boot."
"If I were a bastard, I wouldn't be in line to inherit, would I? Which would make my life a damned sight easier. I wouldn't be the prime target of all those husband hunters."
The young men all gave theatrical groans.
"And we can't even avoid them," said plump Lavalley. "Plaguey hostesses seem to think Guards officers exist for their convenience."
"Wouldn't mind being caught by a rich husband hunter," said Greatorix, "but they want to buy a title."
True enough, Christian thought, squeezed into a corner with an elbow sticking into his ribs. What's more, an impoverished tile beckoned a predatory heiress like a wounded rabbit appealed to a fox.
He was certainly no richer than he'd ever been. The earldom had increased his father's income, but when a man has thirteen sons and daughters all needing their start in the world, he needs every penny.
That was why Christian's presence at court and in the upper circles of power should serve the family. Juicy posts, privileges, and sinecures were always floating around. He was willing to do his best there, but he was balking at his father's latest strategy — using Christian as bait to bring a rich heiress into the fold.
He put that out of his mind and turned his attention to enjoying the evening. The play was excellent and the farce suitably ribald. In the greenroom he made progress with the pretty Prickett, but she wasn't willing to be captured yet.
It was only later, rolling home drunk and merry in another overcrowded carriage, that Delahew's question popped into his mind again."
"Zeus!"
It was too noisy for most to hear, but Arniston, crushed up against him, slurred, "If you're going to puke, Hill, turn the other way."
Christian ignored him, the name "Jack Hill" echoing in his mind. The name he'd given for that ridiculous marriage — how long ago? His sozzled brain protested arithmetic, but it had been just before he sailed. A bit over ten years, then.
But in all that time, it had been as if it hadn't happened.
Moore's death had been reported as a drunken brawl with an anonymous opponent. The Froggart woman's doing, he supposed, and he was grateful to her for that, at least. No one in the regiment had doubted the story. Everyone assumed that the girl's vengeful relatives had done for him, and the news that she was only fourteen had meant everyone applauded the deed.
Fourteen.
When a vague story had circulated that a wedding had been involved, it had been assumed that Moore had married her and that his death had ended it. Within days, the regiment had begun its preparations for departure, and that had been that.
There'd been the long sea voyage, with him sick as a dog for half of it, and then the excitement of a new world and the demands of learning to lead and fight. Somewhere in the midst of it he'd received a letter from the aunt to inform him that the girl was dead. He'd been sorry for her short life, but he couldn't claim any deep concern.
 |
|
Read more...