Page 8

J oy was enjoying a rare moment of quiet in the Westwood town house’s garden.

On this particular morning, the Dowager Lady Westwood had gone to an exhibition with Patience, Faith, and Lady Maeve.

Joy, pleading a headache, had remained behind, savouring the lull that descended on the otherwise bustling household.

As kittens tumbled about her feet, she strolled through the neat rows of box hedges, pausing to admire the early roses that clustered along the wall. Their pastel petals shone under the late spring sun, their fragrance much nicer in its natural habitat than when used as perfume.

Here, in the hush of the garden, she could imagine herself at the family’s country estate, free from the prying eyes of London Society.

Her responsibilities as a young lady in her first Season felt far away.

Here there was no pressing need to smile and curtsy at the next tedious event or to feign pleasure at yet another prospective suitor whose conversation she could hardly endure.

The sound of the back gate’s latch clicking broke her reverie.

She turned, expecting perhaps a footman, bringing a message, or a gardener in search of tools.

Instead, she saw Freddy slip through the gate from the mews.

The sight of him brought an immediate, uncomplicated joy to her heart.

Since they’d come to London, Freddy had been the one constant, friendly presence in her life—brotherly, comforting, and wholly unconcerned with propriety when it came to climbing trees or galloping across fields.

No one in Society looked askance at their familiarity, for they were viewed more as siblings than potential sweethearts.

He was practically family, and Joy had never shown the slightest inclination to swoon in his presence (nor he in hers).

It was an arrangement Joy had always cherished: the closeness of a companion without the weighty expectations that haunted so many other young ladies.

But as she watched him cross the garden, she noticed something peculiar in his stride—an anxious energy, as though he bore unwelcome tidings. He did not greet her with his usual teasing quip or lively wave. Instead, he approached more slowly, his gaze fixed on the gravel path.

“Freddy?” Joy called gently. “Whatever is the matter? You look as though you have just lost a race.”

He glanced up, wearing an uncharacteristic grimace. “Only the race to escape my future, perhaps.”

She frowned at the cryptic remark. “Explain.”

Without further invitation, Freddy slumped onto a marble bench beneath a beech, letting out a heavy sigh. Joy scooped up Lord Orville, then seated herself beside him.

“Until now, my parents have not seemed inclined to curb my freedoms.” His lips tightened. Joy’s eyes widened. “Surely they have not banished you to the colonies or something dreadful of that sort?”

“Worse, in some ways.” Freddy let out a shaky laugh.

“They have decreed that I must marry and take charge of an estate.” He paused, raking a hand through his blonde curls.

“I am not entirely sure which estate it is—my father has a property he has threatened to bestow upon me for years—but the important point is that he refuses any longer to humour my bachelor ways. I am to be wed by the close of this Season, if possible.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice in mock calamity. “It is my thirtieth year, you know.”

“How awful!” Joy gasped. She stroked the kitten’s ears, cogitating upon this development. “I…I do not think I will like it when you marry, Freddy. We will not be able to stay friends as we are now.”

At that, Freddy’s distress seemed to heighten.

“You see? It is a noose around my neck, Joy!” he exclaimed, pressing a theatrical hand to his chest. “No more carefree races. No more walking side by side without a chaperone scolding us.” His face twisted in exaggerated dread.

“I will be forced into a staid, responsible figure, looking after tenants and sheep, and hosting dull dinners for my neighbours. Does that not sound like something out of a nightmare?”

Joy was torn between sympathy and amusement.

Freddy so rarely displayed genuine alarm.

Even in the face of mild scandal, he normally offered a quip and a smile.

Now, though, he seemed sincerely troubled—and she found herself longing to comfort him, even as she shared some measure of his dismay.

If Freddy married, her most steadfast companion would be transformed into someone else’s husband.

Their easy camaraderie, once taken for granted, might slip away.

She inhaled, searching for a constructive suggestion, and studied him for a moment, trying to imagine Freddy married. It was not something she desired for herself, and she did not wish it upon him either. Her heart softened with sympathy, and a kernel of an idea formed.

“Perhaps,” she said carefully, “there is a way for us to remain friends whilst also satisfying your family’s demands.” She tapped her chin, eyes alight with mischief. “Let me think…how best to ensure we continue to see one another?”

Freddy perked up a little. “Yes, go on. I am desperate for any plan to keep life tolerable.”

“Well,” Joy began, “maybe we should marry each other’s friends—assuming we can find suitable candidates—so that we might remain in the same social sphere, free to visit without raising eyebrows.

If I married your friend, and you married mine, we would all be a cosy group, do you not see?

Attending dinners together, going on outings.

We would be forced into the same circles. ”

At this, he let out a short bark of laughter. “Except, might I remind you, most of my close friends are already wed. The ones who remain unmarried are older than I—some well into their fourth decade.” He pulled a face. “Old codgers, all.”

Joy made a dismissive gesture. “You do not act old, Freddy.”

Freddy grimaced. “Precisely. I may be on the cusp of thirty, but my spirit is that of a man ten years younger. Some of my acquaintances—take Westwood or Rotham, for instance—have grown as serious as clergymen since their respective marriages. Or Montford, who is so happily married to my sister that all he does is extol the virtues of wedded life. The rest are no better. Even Carew is smitten. My set has deserted me in droves.”

Joy tapped her foot against the gravel, pondering the predicament.

“Well, then our grand scheme to marry each other’s friends cannot succeed unless you discover new, unmarried companions.

Meanwhile, I suppose I will scour my circle for a lady who might suit you whom I can also tolerate.

” She offered him a playful smile. “Any ideas?”

He narrowed his eyes, serious in thought. When he produced no answer, she tried a different approach.

“What qualities do you seek in a wife?”

For a moment she watched him in silent contemplation. It felt oddly comforting—and yet a tinge of sadness flickered through Joy’s heart, for she knew that once Freddy truly stepped into the realm of matrimony, the easy, unguarded nature of their friendship would change.

Abruptly, Freddy stood up and paced across the pebbled path.

“If you are to be forced into an estate and a wife, we must ensure it is at least tolerable. Shall I take a guess? Let me see…do I know any lady possessed of good humour, not a prosing bluestocking, and a willingness to let you chase foxes across muddy fields?”

Freddy raised an eyebrow. “A short list, I suspect.”

She tapped a finger to her lips, thinking aloud.

“Lady Celia Linton is newly come to Town, said to be quite lively. Then there is Miss Ariana Porter—a bit shy, but rumoured to love horses. Perhaps I should contrive invitations to some small gatherings and see which lady you take a fancy to, although I can only claim one true friend, and that is Lady Maeve.”

He perked up at that name. “She is quite bonny.”

“Indeed, but has her sights set on a duke. Nevertheless, she is my friend and perhaps we can convince her of your finer qualities.”

He stopped and wrinkled his brow. “A duke, you say?” Lord Orville jumped from Joy’s lap and rubbed himself against Freddy’s legs.

“Thornhill,” Joy confirmed.

“We are acquainted since Eton, though he has not been much in Town. Any chance you could distract him while I court Lady Maeve?”

“Does he like animals?”

“I do not see why he would not. He was fond of horses when I knew him.”

“Then I shall try my best.” Though Joy could not think her beauty comparable and she possessed no feminine wiles to speak of.

“Capital! I shall invite him to ride out to Richmond on the morrow, if that suits you?”

“I will talk to Maeve and send word.”

Thus, a plan hatched, they began walking slowly along the garden’s edge, gathering the kittens and discussing possible events where Freddy might cultivate new candidates.

Joy promised to keep her eyes open for any young ladies whose temperament aligned with Freddy’s, while he offered to do the same for her.

Whilst she faced no parental ultimatum, she knew her own family harboured hopes of seeing her settled—and she very much feared she would lose Freddy if this plan did not work.

Freddy had always considered himself an uncomplicated, easy-going sort of fellow, fond of friendly company and boisterous outings rather than the delicate niceties demanded by London’s drawing rooms. So when Joy suggested a riding excursion to Richmond, while also surveying a future wife, he seized upon it with gusto.

He found himself mounting his chestnut gelding in front of Westwood House, shading his eyes against the bright sun as he surveyed his little party.