“Although normally deadly dull and unremarkable this early in the season, my accidental discovery of the existence of the Free Fellows league has made Almack’s quite the opposite tonight.”
—Lady Alyssa Carrollton, diary notation, 25 April 1810
“That’s the one,” Griffin said, nodding at the girl standing with her mother across the room.
Jarrod groaned.
“What is it?”
“You don’t want that one,” Jarrod answered.
“Of course I do,” Griff responded, narrowing his gaze at Jarrod. “Why? What’s wrong with her?”
Although he tended to avoid the ton as much as possible, Jarrod knew everyone in it and all the latest on-dits about them. “Beyond being a bit more rational than most any female I’ve ever met, there’s nothing wrong with her. “
“Then what’s the matter?” Griff demanded. “Who is she?”
“Lady Alyssa Carrollton.”
Griffin wrinkled his brow. He knew that name from somewhere. “Carrollton? Isn’t that the family name of the Earl of—”
“Yes.” Colin nodded. “Tressingham. The one who talks of nothing but horseflesh and hounds. Every time you see him. Bores you silly. Even carries miniatures of his favorite hounds. Tressingham is the one who’s always after your father to breed Weymouth’s dog to Tressingham’s bitch.”
“That seems to be what Griff has in mind,” Jarrod remarked dryly. “Only in human form.”
Griff closed his eyes and slowly shook his head from side to side, as if unable to comprehend the news that the young lady of his dreams was the daughter of the biggest bore in England. “He has a daughter who looks like that and he carries miniatures of his hounds?” He opened his eyes and stared at Lady Alyssa. “There must be a strain of madness in the family.” He glanced over at Jarrod and winked. “Blister it, but I knew there had to be a fly in the ointment somewhere!”
Colin snorted. “Tressingham isn’t the only fly in the ointment.” He turned to look at the Duke of Sussex. “Rumor has it that the duchess of Sussex wants her for her son’s bride.”
Griffin looked over at the duke and glared at the immaculate fit of his coat, the snowy white perfection of his four-in-hand, and the sleek fit of his evening trousers. Daniel, the ninth Duke of Sussex, had everything Griffin had to offer and more. Sussex’s family name was as ancient and as well respected as Griff’s. His title was more prestigious. His estates were grander and his personal fortune greater. Griffin couldn’t best him in looks, either, for Sussex was every bit as tall and equally attractive. Some would say more attractive, for Sussex was perfection, elegance, and grace personified, and Griff was too big to be considered elegant. He was merely ruggedly handsome. “Sussex can have anyone he wants.”
“So can you,” Jarrod pointed out.
“I want her,” Griffin replied in a stubborn tone of voice.
“Apparently, so does he,” Jarrod said, giving Griff a pointed look.
“Has he offered for her yet?” Griff demanded.
“Not that I’ve heard,” Jarrod admitted. “But he will. His mother…”
“He’ll have to choose someone else,” Griff insisted. “He has plenty of time. The clock isn’t ticking for him. He isn’t going off to war.”
“He may see things differently,” Jarrod reasoned. “And the Tressinghams are sure to choose a wealthy duke over a wealthy viscount. Look around. The room is filled with lovely young ladies. Do yourself a favor and choose someone else. Someone who doesn’t interest you.”
Griff was incredulous. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re a Free Fellow,” Jarrod reminded him. “You took an oath. As Free Fellows, we shall never be encumbered by sentiment known as love or succumb to female wiles or tears.”
“I’m not in love,” Griff said. “And I’ve yet to meet the girl, so I can’t be succumbing to female wiles or tears.”
“Maybe not,” Colin added. “But you’re in danger of breaking another oath.” He stared at Griff and recited from memory, “We shall sacrifice ourselves on the altar of duty in order to beget our heirs, but we shall take no pleasure in the task. We shall look upon the act in the same manner as medicine that must be swallowed.”
Griffin groaned. “We took those oaths before we knew what we would be sacrificing…” He looked at his friends. “We were too young to have any practical carnal knowledge…”
“An oath is an oath,” Jarrod said. “And a gentleman always keeps his oath.”
“Especially when that oath was signed and sealed with blood,” Colin reminded him.
Griff sighed. “I am keeping my oath—as much of it as possible under the circumstances. I’ve no wish to relinquish my Free Fellows status. I don’t want to marry a stranger. But since circumstances compel me to do so in order to get an heir, I’d like to choose from the best breeding”—Griff winced as he said the word—“stock.” He found the idea of choosing women as if they were cattle personally distasteful, but that was the way in which these things were done, and he couldn’t change tradition at this late date. The fact was that he was marrying in order to get his family an heir and as far as his father, the Earl of Weymouth, was concerned, only the best breeding stock would do.
Colin looked at Jarrod. “He has a point.”
“Yes,” Jarrod agreed. “He does.” He turned to Griff. “Her father may be a tremendous bore, but Lady Alyssa is a beauty, and her family name is as old and honorable as yours. She’ll bring a handsome dowry into the marriage, and she certainly looks capable of producing an heir.”
“And we didn’t say that we couldn’t find our wives attractive, only that we couldn’t love them or succumb to female wiles,” Colin elaborated. “As to taking pleasure in the physical act…” he shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose that’s for each of us to decide for ourselves.” He grinned at Griff and then at Jarrod. “After all, we were only nine and ten at the time.”
Jarrod relented. “Then we’re in agreement. The charter can be amended. If we have to marry, we ought to get some pleasure out of it.” He reached over and clapped Griffin on the back. “Let’s find Lady Cowper and arrange an introduction before Sussex does. He’s more likely to win her than you are. But at least you’ll know what you’re losing.”