Page 3 of A Baron’s Most Inconvenient Marriage (Delightful Lords and Ladies)

Chapter 3

“It seems we are to be subjected to another evening of matchmaking spectacles,” William remarked, adjusting his cravat as he stepped closer to his friend in Almack’s entrance hall. “Though I dare say you might find it more taxing than usual, Bash.”

Lord Sebastian Whitmore’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on his walking stick; the polished wood of the heirloom cool against his palm. The candlelight from the crystal chandeliers cast dancing shadows across the marble floor, but the stunning sight did little to ease his weariness.

His body felt as heavy as the leather-bound ledgers that had occupied his desk since dawn. “You are entirely right, Fairfax. I must confess, the timing is less than ideal.”

The familiar scents of ladies’ French perfume and beeswax mingled with the underlying mustiness that seemed embedded in Almack’s very walls.

Even the lively strains of the orchestra felt muted tonight, as if heard through water. The gentle rustle of ladies’ gowns and the careful whispers of conversation washed over him like waves against the shore—rhythmic, but somehow distant.

“My mother grows increasingly insistent about securing my future,” Sebastian continued, his voice low enough to reach only William’s ears. “As if my father’s passing somehow accelerated time itself. Every eligible young lady must now be paraded before me. Do you know, she has taken to recite their accomplishments like prayers.”

William’s expression softened with understanding. “The dowager baroness means well, but perhaps—”

“Lord Blackthorn!” a shrill voice cut through their conversation like a knife through silk. Lady Quinn was stepping closer, with her youngest daughter in tow, their matching green dresses making them look like two peas from the same, carefully cultivated pod. “How fortunate to find you here, my lord. Do you remember my Adelaide?”

Sebastian bowed with practiced grace, though his shoulders carried the weight of a dozen similar introductions from recent weeks. “Lady Quinn, Lady Adelaide. A pleasure.”

The girl curtsied; her movements as rehearsed as a puppet’s. Sebastian engaged in the expected pleasantries, but his mind wandered toward the stack of estate ledgers awaiting his attention at home.

The mineral works needed restructuring, the tenant contracts required review, and the recent poor weather threatened the early crops. Yet, there he stood, making small talk about the latest musical entertainments at Vauxhall Gardens.

As Lady Quinn steered the conversation toward her daughter’s accomplishments—needlework, pianoforte and reading—Sebastian’s ears strayed, catching fragments of nearby discussions.

There were speculations about his inheritance, whispered assessments of his eligibility and calculations of his worth that reduced him to nothing more than his title and estate. The voices blended into a single, suffocating chorus of expectations and demands.

His father’s words suddenly echoed in his memory: ‘A title carries responsibility, Sebastian. To our land, our tenants, and our legacy.’ The weight of those words seemed to press down even harder upon his shoulders in that moment, almost like a physical burden.

But surely his father had not meant for him to marry solely for financial gain? The mere thought of binding himself to someone just to shore up the estate’s finances made his chest constrict.

William’s subtle cough drew Sebastian back to the present. He made his excuses to Lady Quinn and her daughter, allowing William to guide him toward a less crowded corner of the room.

The slight distance from the crush of society brought momentary relief, almost like stepping into the shade during a particularly sweltering day.

“You look half-dead on your feet, old chap,” William observed, concern evident in his dark eyes. “When last did you sleep properly?”

“Sleep is a luxury I can ill afford at present, Fairfax.” Sebastian said as he ran a hand through his dark curls, careful not to disturb its careful styling. The familiar gesture brought him little comfort. “The estate—”

“Will surely still be there, with all of its demand in the morning.” William’s tone brooked no argument. “I assure you, the ledgers will not sprout legs and walk away in the dead of night, old friend.”

Sebastian managed a weak smile at the mental image. “Perhaps, but the problems they contain might multiply like rabbits if left unattended.”

“One single evening of distraction will hardly bring ruin to Blackthorn Hall.” William noted as he glanced around the room, his expression brightening considerably.

“Come, Bash. Let me provide you with some less demanding company. My family is in attendance tonight, and I daresay, their conversation will prove to be far more stimulating than another recitation of some debutante’s accomplishments.”

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, but the thought of facing more marriage-minded mamas and their carefully trained daughters made his decision easy. “Lead on then. Though, I must warn you, I am poor company at present.”

“Poor company is better than none,” William replied cheerfully as he began guiding them through the crowd. “And who knows? The evening might prove far more interesting than you anticipated.”

Sebastian followed William through the crush of society, nodding to acquaintances as they passed. The press of bodies had warmed the room considerably, and he found himself longing for fresh air.

The constant murmur of conversation blended with the lilting notes of the orchestra, creating a tapestry of sound that seemed to wrap around him like a fog.

Then, movement near the dance floor caught his eye, and suddenly, time seemed to still entirely.

A young woman stood laughing with James Fairfax, her brown hair glinting as it caught the amber notes from the candles above them. Her dress, while fashionable, seemed to flutter about her figure with a vitality that had nothing to do with current fashion styles.

There was something familiar about her grace, the way she gestured as she spoke, the tilt of her head as she listened.

“Good God…” Sebastian breathed; his fatigue momentarily forgotten. “It cannot be… is that Charlotte?”

William’s prideful grin confirmed it before his lips could. “Indeed. Rather different from the wide-eyed girl who used to trail after us and chase us with frogs, isn’t she?”

Different hardly began to describe it. The Charlotte of his memory—William’s pesky little sister, who had forever been underfoot during his visits to Ravensmere—had transformed.

Her features had refined into that of a classical beauty, with high cheekbones and a delicate chin that spoke of her mother’s fine breeding. But it was her animation that drew his eye. She practically vibrated with barely contained energy, like a thoroughbred before a race.

Her blue eyes sparkled as she spoke, her hands painting pictures in the air to illustrate whatever tale she was telling.

A single tendril of hair had escaped its pins and was now curling against her neck in silent defiance of proper styling. The sight stirred something unexpected in Sebastian’s chest, a warmth that had absolutely nothing to do with the overcrowded ballroom.

“When did she…” he trailed off, unable to properly frame the question. How could he ask when William’s little sister had become this captivating creature who commanded his attention without even trying to?

“Become a woman?” William supplied, clearly amused by Sebastian’s stupefaction. “It does tend to happen, you know. Though I am not sure that Charlotte will ever entirely grow out of being a force of nature. She will always be my wild sister.” he concluded with a wink.

As if sensing her name upon their lips, Charlotte turned, and her eyes met Sebastian’s across the room. Her smile faltered for just a moment before brightening again.

The way she moved reminded Sebastian of a poetry recitation he had once attended in Oxford—fluid and rhythmic, each step precise, yet somehow spontaneous.

Her blue dress, while modest by current standard, seemed to shimmer with each movement, the fabric mimicking water.

He found himself noticing details he had never paid attention to before: the elegant line of her throat, the way her lips curved upward, forming little dimples in her cheeks, the subtle flush on her face that spoke of vitality rather than artifice.

Sebastian suddenly became acutely aware that he had been staring far too long without speaking. Around them, the ball continued its elaborate dance of social niceties and careful manners, but there, in that moment, time seemed to have developed a most peculiar elasticity.

The sounds around him faded to a distant hum, and the press of the crowd receded, leaving only this strange, suspended moment of recognition.

William cleared his throat and Sebastian realized with a jolt of dismay that his carefully ordered world had just tilted on its axis, and he had no idea how to right it again.

Sebastian nodded struggling to reconcile the woman standing in front of him with his memories. “Your sister looks…” Remarkable. Transformed. Bewitching. “…well.”

Sebastian’s momentary respite with William proved short-lived as his mother’s voice cut through the crowd with surgical precision. “Sebastian, darling! You simply must come to meet Lady Norrington’s eldest. Such an accomplished young woman…”

He squared his shoulders, armor donned for another social battle. Lady Victoria Blackthorn advanced through the crowd like a ship under full sail, towing in her wake a procession of carefully curated young ladies. Her eyes held the determined gleam he had come to dread these past weeks.

“Miss Juliana Norrington,” his mother announced, presenting a willowy blonde whose posture spoke of countless hours under a deportment master’s guidance. “She is quite sufficient at the pianoforte.”

Sebastian bowed, performing the expected pleasantries, and tried not to think about the estate ledgers requiring his attention—or about Charlotte, for that matter.

Miss Norrington’s responses were perfectly calibrated—neither too bold nor too tiring—and yet, somehow, she reminded him of a clockwork mechanism, each word wound up and released with perfectly timed precision.

“And here is Miss Jane Crowton,” his mother continued, barely allowing the previous introduction to conclude. “She has the most delightful singing voice.”

Another bow, another exchange of practiced phrases. His mother’s parade of eligible young ladies continued with ruthless efficacy.

There was Miss Helena Dorchester, whose family connections stretched all the way back to William the Conqueror. And Miss Amelia Pembrooke, whose dowry could restore no less than three failing estates. Each young lady was perfectly bred, perfectly trained and perfectly… predictable.

“I believe the orchestra is about to play a quadrille,” Lady Blackthorn observed with studied casualness as she presented yet another potential bride. “Miss Eloise Hawthorn is an excellent dancer, are you not, my dear?”

Miss Eloise’s answering blush was doubtless considered charming in certain circles. “You are too kind, Lady Blackthorn.”

“Sebastian, surely you’ll stand with Miss Eloise for this set?” His mother’s tone made it clear that this was less request than command.

The mere thought of executing the intricate steps made Sebastian’s already exhausted mind revolt. “I fear I must beg your forgiveness, Miss Eloise. A rather pressing matter of estate business has left me rather fatigued, and I would not want to disgrace you with a poor performance.”

His mother’s lips thinned into a sharp line. “Surely you can muster a sliver of endurance for the lovely Miss Eloise? The estate can wait for—”

“The estate,” Sebastian replied with quiet firmness, “waits for nothing, mother.” The words emerged more sharply than intended, weighted with memories of his father’s lesson on duty and responsibility.

Miss Eloise handled the rejection with grace, though Sebastian caught the flash of disappointment in her eyes. His mother, however, was less easily deterred. “Perhaps one of the other young ladies then? Surely you can spare one dance—”

“Mother.” Sebastian kept his voice low, but there was unmistakable steel beneath the velvet. “Not tonight.”

Lady Blackthorn drew herself up, preparing for battle, but then, something in his expression made her pause. She studied him for a long moment, taking in the shadows beneath his eyes and the slight strain around his mouth. Her expression softened fractionally. “It seems you have been working too hard, my dear.”

“Like father, like son.” The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken grief and worry.

His mother’s hand tightened on her fan. “Which is precisely why you need a suitable wife to help shoulder these burdens. Someone of good breeding and proper understanding of what nobility demands.”

Sebastian glanced around the ballroom, at all the perfectly polished young ladies with their carefully cultivated accomplishments.

Each one of them would make an excellent wife, of that he had no doubt. Yet, the thought of binding himself to any one of them made something in his chest constrict, like a bird beating against the bars of a gilded cage.

“I understand your concern,” he said finally, “but a hasty choice now could lead to a lifetime of regret.”

“And too much hesitation could lead to disaster,” his mother countered. “The estate needs—”

“The estate needs careful management and clear thinking,” Sebastian interrupted gently. “Neither of which I am capable at present.” He softened the words with a slight bow. “If you will excuse me, I believe I am in need of some fresh air.”

He made his way toward one of the less crowded corners of the ballroom, hoping to find a moment’s peace. The constant press of social expectations, layered atop his grief and worry for the estate, felt like a physical weight pressing down on his shoulders—so much so that it felt as if his knees would buckle at any given moment.

How could he possibly choose a bride when he could barely keep his thoughts in order?

William appeared at his elbow as if summoned, offering silent support. “I know she is overbearing, but your mother means well, Bash.”

“She always does,” Sebastian agreed wearily. “But sometimes I think she forgets that I am more than a title and marriage is more than a business transaction.”

“And what would you have it be?”

Sebastian stared out at the swirling dancers, their movements as precise and predetermined as the steps he was expected to follow in his life.

“A partnership,” he said finally. “Of minds and of circumstance. I should like someone who would understand duty without being enslaved by it. Someone who could breathe life into Blackthorn Hall, not just proper management. And if by God’s grace it is possible, I should like to find love amid all of that.”

William’s expression held something Sebastian couldn’t quite read. “A rather interesting set of requirements, old friend.”