Page 14 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife (Cinderellas of Mayfair #1)

Hugo ground his teeth. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Too much, if the ache in his jaw was any indication. “I told you – London doesn’t suit me.”

“Surprised to hear that. You seemed happy as a pig in mud when you first arrived.”

“That was a long time ago.” That carefree man seemed like a stranger.

“Only a couple of weeks. Are you sure you’re not eating your heart out over Lady Petronella? She’s a dashed comely chit.”

“She’s pretty enough, but I was never interested in the girl. She has no more sense than God gave a grasshopper.”

Ivor frowned. “Never thought grasshoppers were that thick. Always seem to know just what plant to eat. You need a working brainbox for that. I don’t know one bush from another. I’m lucky the ladies like roses. I’d have a hard time naming any other dashed flower.”

Hugo had spent the last fortnight languishing in a wilderness of regret and misery and frustration.

Nothing had penetrated the fog of despair that gripped him.

But Ivor’s conversation managed to pierce his self-involvement.

Open-mouthed, he stared at his friend, as he struggled to work out why they were suddenly talking about insects.

“I don’t give a fuck about grasshoppers. ”

“You said—”

Hugo slammed his hand down hard on the desk. “I said I didn’t want to marry Petronella Fitchett. I also said that I’d like you to go.”

Ivor ignored the second part of that, as Hugo knew he would.

He sometimes wondered whether Ivor was quite the nodcock that he presented to the world.

The fellow was a dab hand at doing just what he wanted without too many unpleasant consequences.

“Well, that’s good. She’s marrying Bannerman in a month. ”

“So you said.”

“Means you can start courting some other lady. That’s what you came to Town to do, after all.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Going to look closer to home? Not a bad idea. Big fish in a small pond and all that. Mind you, fish are smart coves, too. There’s a pike in the lake at home that’s been laughing at me since I was in short pants. I think he enjoys the game as much as I do.”

Hug bit back the urge to curse the pike as well. “I’m not getting married.”

And the sheer bloody bleakness of that statement made him want to howl like a lone wolf.

Ivor’s frown intensified. “But you have to, old man. Noblesse oblige and all that. All those sheep to pass on to the next generation.”

Before Ivor could speculate on a sheep’s intelligence, Hugo spoke. “Bugger the next generation.”

Ivor continued to study him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re acting like a chap who’s been disappointed in love.”

“I told you that bloody Petronella—”

“Isn’t for you. But I don’t need a grasshopper’s brains to see that something’s happened. Who’s the girl?”

“You don’t know her,” Hugo said, which wasn’t true and probably also wasn’t the wisest answer, given he didn’t want Ivor interrogating him about his failed romance.

“I’m sure I do. I know everyone in the ton, old chum. I’m a hostess’s favorite animal. A single man who’s happy to dance with the plain daughters and the shy nieces. Nobody’s afraid of me. I’m too dense to be superior and too kindhearted to be a danger.”

It was true. What was surprising was that Ivor understood his place so well. “She’s not in the ton,” Hugo mumbled, avoiding his friend’s curious stare.

Ivor looked utterly horrified. “She’s not one of the frail sisterhood? Hadn’t heard you’d fallen into a courtesan’s clutches. Now that won’t do. That won’t do at all.”

Hugo was sick of Ivor staring at him as if he was a beast in the damned Royal Menagerie. He stood up and swung across to the sideboard where he splashed some brandy into a glass.

He was gulping it down when Ivor said in a plaintive tone, “All this gabbing gives a man a mighty dry throat.”

Hugo slammed down the fine crystal glass and sent his companion a murderous glare. “I didn’t invite you to stay.”

Ivor shrugged, unoffended. He was remarkably hard to offend.

Always had been. The bullies at school had soon given up trying to get a rise out of him.

He either didn’t mind or didn’t understand their insults.

“Thought you might need someone to talk to. You spent a week haunting the ballrooms looking like a dog that lost his master.”

Ivor was right. Hugo had tried to find distraction from his longing in the social whirl, but it was too hard pretending to enjoy himself. He wasn’t any happier on his own, but at least he didn’t have to act like his world hadn’t turned upside down.

Ivor went on. “Then I haven’t seen you at all this week. Wondered if you were suffering a fit of the megrims, don’t you know? Thought I should call and check on you.”

Which only confirmed the kind heart Ivor had claimed earlier.

Hugo contemplated tossing the pest of a fellow out, but Ivor was here to help. Or at least try to. He meant well in his ham-fisted fashion. Not bothering to hide his reluctance, Hugo splashed some brandy into a glass and passed it over.

“Thank you.” Ivor took a sip and smacked his lips in appreciation. “Deuced fine drop.”

It was. It deserved more respect than to be thrown down a man’s throat, just because he sought oblivion. Anyway, it didn’t help. Hugo had never been much of a drinker. This last fortnight proved that he was never going to be.

“You’re welcome,” Hugo said with an irony that he knew Ivor wouldn’t pick up.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, she’s not a courtesan.”

Ivor looked relieved. “That’s something to be grateful for.”

Hugo returned to finish his brandy, then leaned against the sideboard to face Ivor. His friend still looked troubled.

“If she’s not from our world, it could be difficult to fit in as lady of the manor.”

“She’s smart. She can learn.” He paused. “Anyway, she’s a well-bred woman. She’s just fallen on hard times.”

“So we’re not talking about King Cofe…Cofula…Cofetta and the beggar maid?”

Hugo winced, not just at Ivor’s mangling of King Cophetua’s name. “No, she’d fit in.”

“That’s good to hear. So why don’t you marry her?”

Hugo stopped grinding his teeth long enough to answer. “Because she won’t have me.”

“Gadzooks, that’s a turn-up for the books.” If Hugo had been in a better frame of mind, he might have appreciated Ivor’s astounded reaction. “If I was a filly down on my luck, I’d marry you. You’re plump in the pocket, and the ladies have always had a soft spot for you.”

“No accounting for taste,” Hugo said bitterly.

“The lady doesn’t fancy you?”

Hugo sighed. Because he was well aware that a lack of mutual attraction wasn’t what kept him and Athene apart. “She doesn’t want to marry me.”

Because she was a woman of unshakable principle. He’d almost admire her stance, if her absence wasn’t sending him demented.

“In love with someone else?”

Was she? Hugo didn’t think so, and not just because she’d kissed him as if she starved for his touch. She’d clearly been in love with the brute who’d run off with her, but that was ten years ago and her voice had dripped with loathing when she mentioned him. “I don’t think so.”

Ivor held out his empty glass, and Hugo added brandy with more forbearance than he’d imagined that he’d feel when his friend arrived. “Then I don’t understand why she won’t have you.”

Hugo did, but that didn’t make rejection any easier to bear. “It doesn’t matter why. The fact is she’s refused me.”

“How many times did you ask her?”

“Once,” Hugo bit out. In truth, he’d asked her several times with increasing desperation, all on that one glorious, heartbreaking evening when he’d briefly believed that he’d found his destiny.

He picked up his glass to refill it, then replaced it empty on the tray. He didn’t want any more. That first night when Athene sent him on his way, he’d tried to drown his woes in brandy. All he’d got for his trouble was a headache to go with his heartache.

Ivor relaxed back in his chair with a relieved laugh. “That’s it, then.”

“That’s what?”

“That’s your answer. Ask her again. Woo her. Show her what a dashed fine husband you’ll make.”

“She said—”

“Pah! Females say all sorts of things they don’t mean. It’s part of the game.”

“She’s not like that.” Hugo couldn’t think of anyone less likely to play at silly flirtation than Athene.

“Are you sure?” Ivor sent him a reproachful look.

“So you intend to crawl away at the first setback? You used to have more backbone. I remember you digging in on the cricket pitch when all seemed lost and we were ready to give the trophy to those blighters at Eton. You carried the team that afternoon. Hell’s bells, you carried the day.

It was like watching bally Wellington at Waterloo. ”

Hugo’s lips adopted a humorless smile. “That was sport. This is love.”

Was it? He hadn’t dared to put the true source of his malaise into words before. Another sign that Ivor was right to call him a coward. He tried to tell himself that he hadn’t known Athene long enough to fall in love with her. But the weight in his heart insisted that sometimes time didn’t matter.

When he looked up, he caught sympathy in Ivor’s gaze. “If it’s love, real love, all the more reason to keep trying. Even a numbskull like me knows that.”

Could it hurt to try again? Stupid question.

Of course it would. Like blazes. But perhaps this last fortnight had been painful for Athene, too.

Perhaps she wasn’t nearly as sure of her decision now as she’d been at Sylvie’s.

If she’d missed him even a tenth as much as he’d missed her, she’d had a tough time of it. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said slowly.

“Of course I’m right. Faint heart never won fair lady.”

For the first time in a week, Hugo found himself smiling. “You know, old cheese, I wanted to consign you to the devil when you turned up tonight. But I might just be ready to call my firstborn Ivor.”

Ivor beamed back. “Glad to hear it, chum. Can’t have you slouching back to Yorkshire with your tail between your legs while there’s still some bounce in the wicket. It’s just not cricket.”