“Get up!”
Owen blinked against the harsh sunlight that was streaming through the window of his bedchamber. Though he’d come home quite alone, he’d gone on a bender last night. One of which he was not particularly proud, and now his head pounded like the devil and someone had kicked his mattress and yelled at him.
He blinked through his bleary haze some more, opening his eyes to see his father’s rotund form standing above him.
“What time is it?” he asked through a cracked, dry throat.
“Well past noon, of course.” His father always sounded judgmental.
“I was out till after four.”
His father rolled his eyes. “That makes it all right?”
“No. That makes it exceedingly early. For me.”
Owen struggled to his feet and pulled on his dressing robe. Then he sat on the edge of his bed, braced his palms on his parted knees, and contemplated his father through unfocused eyes. “What can I help you with?”
His father grabbed his lapels and began to pace in front of Owen. “I want to know how you’re progressing. With Lady Lavinia.”
“Ah, so the parents want a progress report, do they?”
His father hesitated briefly. “Yes. We do. All four of us.”
“It’s progressing as well as can be expected.” Owen yawned and rubbed his fingers through his hair.
“Yet you were out till all hours instead of courting her?”
Owen rolled his head around on his neck. “On the contrary, I went to a ball to see her and then I went out till all hours.” And he’d gone out till all hours to try to blot out the memory of Alex dancing with Viscount Berkeley.
His father grunted. “You’re not witty, you know.”
“I have reason to believe otherwise.”
His father yanked at his lapels again and resumed his pacing. “Is she taking a liking to you? Showing interest?”
“That task has proved impossible. The girl is an icicle. I’ve decided I’m just going to tell her we’re meant to marry. Reason with her.”
“No!” His father’s voice shook the rafters. “You must make her fall in love with you.”
Owen rubbed his temples. “I’m telling you that’s far easier said than done.”
More lapel tugging ensued. “What’s this? Lost your confidence, have you? Where’s the lad who was so certain of himself not a fortnight ago?”
“He’s been trying to pay court to a dragon,” Owen muttered.
“I won’t have you insulting the chit, Owen. Now, listen here—”
“If it’s a match with the duke’s family you want so dearly, Father, why can’t I court Lady Alexandra Hobbs instead? She’s Lady Lavinia’s younger sister.”
His father’s eyes widened, and his face quickly turned a mottled shade of red. “Lady Alexandra—Why, that’s preposterous! Is the girl even wearing long skirts yet? It’s Lady Lavinia whom the duke wants you to marry, and it’s Lady Lavinia you shall marry.”
“I don’t see why he’s so set on it. She’s a horror.”
“You’re not exactly the most brilliant catch yourself. You should be honored the duke will accept you, what with your tarnished reputation.”
“Not to mention my ignominious matriculation at Harrow.”
His father turned toward the door, completely ignoring Owen’s remark. “The one thing I thought I could count on you to do, Owen, was charm a female.”
That was it. His father had just thrown down the gauntlet. There was no way Owen wasn’t going to scoop it right up.
“Fine. Don’t worry. I have everything perfectly in control. I have … help.”
His father’s bushy eyebrows arched. “Help? What sort of help?”
“I’ve enlisted the aid of someone quite close to Lady Lavinia to give me the details on her likes and dislikes. I’ll redouble my efforts to woo her in the span of a fortnight.”
His father narrowed his eyes on him but looked a bit mollified. “Very well. See that you do, Owen. We’re all counting on you. Don’t fail me. For once.”
* * *
The door to Brooks’s swung open, and Owen was welcomed by a bowing footman. “My lord,” the man intoned as Owen handed him his hat. Owen glanced around. The club was busy for a Wednesday afternoon.
“Have you seen the Duke of Claringdon? Or the Earl of Swifdon?” Owen asked.
“I believe they’re in the blue drawing room, my lord,” the footman answered.
Owen went directly there. He found Claringdon, Swifdon, Cavendish, and a man who looked exactly like … Cavendish. The four men were talking, laughing, and drinking brandy.
“Monroe, there you are,” Swifdon said, standing to clap Owen on the back. He gestured to a seat next to them. “Join us.”
“Good to see you, Claringdon.” Owen slumped into a nearby leather chair. “I must say I’m a bit surprised to see you here again, Cavendish. Let alone two of you.”
“Have you met my twin brother, Cade?” Cavendish flourished a hand in his brother’s direction.
“I don’t believe I have.” Owen shook hands with the captain’s twin.
“Always a pleasure to meet another blue blood,” Cade replied. Owen noticed that the captain winced. He didn’t know much about Rafferty Cavendish’s twin, other than the fact that Cade had recently returned from years of being at sea. Apparently, until his return, Cavendish had believed Cade to be dead.
“The pleasure is mine,” Owen said, settling back into his chair.
“How is your engagement proceeding?” Claringdon asked. He stopped a footman to order a brandy for Owen.
“As you all already told me, the lady is … difficult.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Swifdon said. “Can’t you just tell her your parents want the match and be done with it?”
Owen sat back in his chair and rested his arm over his head. “I wish I could. It’s more complicated than that.”
“How?” Swifdon asked.
“First of all, the duke insists that his daughter fall in love with me.”
Claringdon winced. “That’s not easy.”
“No it is not, and with this particular lady, it’s even more difficult than usual. She has the personality of an angry she-cat.”
“And?” Cavendish prodded.
“There’s something else?” Swifdon asked.
“There’s always something else,” Cavendish said with a grin.
“What else?” Swifdon asked.
Owen took a deep breath. “In the course of trying to court Lady Lavinia, I’ve gotten to know her sister and I find I am much more interested in pursuing her.”
Cavendish’s brows shot up. Claringdon nodded sagely, and Swifdon whistled.
“Good God. That does seem like a pickle,” Swifdon said.
“Have you mentioned this to your father?” Claringdon asked.
“Yes. He insists it’s Lady Lavinia or no one. He’s threatening to cut off my allowance. Apparently, the duke is interested in marrying off his daughters one at a time.”
Cade, who had been entirely silent up to this point, announced, “Well, that’s easy enough.” He took a hearty sip of his brandy.
Owen’s head snapped to the side to face the man. “Easy? How?”
“Just find a chap to marry the first chit and run off with the second,” Cade said with a roguish grin.
Swifdon and Claringdon laughed. Rafe shook his head and groaned. “The man’s not like you, Cade. He has morals.”
Cade tossed a hand in the air and went back to drinking his brandy. “Morals are overrated.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Rafe said. “You cannot run off with the girl.”
Owen rubbed the back of his neck. “At present, I’m not at all certain she even wants to run off with me.”
Now Swifdon shook his head. “You might begin by telling her how you feel.”
Owen shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Cade looked positively horrified.
“We’re not all of us adept at writing love letters as you did with Cass,” Rafe said with a laugh to Swifdon.
“You can always do what I did with Lucy,” Claringdon announced.
Owen took another gulp of brandy. “What’s that?”
“Get drunk, punch a tree, climb up into her window, and kiss her.”