The Perfect Bride. Brenda Joyce
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happiness Mary de Warenne had. Had she the ability to fall in love, she certainly would have done so by now. Gentlemen were always sniffing about Harrington Hall. She could only wonder what it must be like, to be so loved, to love so much, and to be surrounded by such a family.
“I will no longer avoid matrimony,” she said slowly. “There is no point. I simply cannot manage these estates by myself.”
Mary and Lizzie exchanged pleased glances. “Do you have anyone in mind?” Lizzie asked with open excitement.
“No, I don’t.” Blanche realized that half the room had cleared—and it was much easier to breathe now. She fanned herself. “That was a long afternoon!”
“And it is only the beginning.” Lizzie laughed while Blanche felt a moment of dismay. “Well, I have seen a number of interesting prospects. If you wish to gossip, let me know.” Lizzie laughed again, now holding out her hand for Tyrell. He instantly left his group and came to her side, clasping her palm, their gazes meeting briefly in an intimate communication.
“We should go, as you seem very tired, dear,” Mary remarked. The women exchanged hugs and goodbyes.
Blanche then spent the next half hour smiling at the departing gentlemen, doing her best to seem gracious and truly interested in each and every one. The moment her last caller was gone, she went to the nearest chair and collapsed, her smile gone. Her cheeks actually hurt. “How can I do this?” she gasped.
Bess grinned, settling on the sofa. “I thought it went quite well.”
Felicia asked a servant to bring sherry for three. “That went very well,” the voluptuous brunette smiled. “My God, I had forgotten how many dashing men remain eligible!”
“That went well? I have a raging migraine!” Blanche exclaimed. “And by the by, the Earl and Countess Adare will be celebrating their twenty-third anniversary in May.”
Felicia looked surprised; Bess did not. “And Rex de Warenne will attend,” she said.
Blanche looked at her and their gazes held. What did her friend mean?
“Are you certain you want an elderly husband, Blanche?” Bess smiled.
Blanche was uncomfortable. “Yes, I am very certain. Why did you just mention Sir Rex?”
“Oh, hmm, let me see. I was standing behind you while you were discussing Sir Rex with his family,” Bess said pointedly.
Blanche failed to understand. “I am bewildered. I asked after the entire family, Bess. Are you implying I am somehow interested in Sir Rex?”
“I hardly said such a thing,” Bess gasped in mock denial. Then, “Come, Blanche. This isn’t the first time his name has come up.”
“He is a family friend. I have known him for years.” Blanche remained confused. She shrugged. “I have merely wondered why Sir Rex never called. It was a lapse. It was somewhat insulting. That is all.”
Bess sat up straighter. “Do you wish for him to court you?”
Blanche could only stare. Then she started to smile—and briefly, she laughed. “Of course not! I wish for a peaceful future. Sir Rex is a very dark man. Everyone knows he broods—and that he is a recluse. We would never suit. My life is here, in London, his is in Cornwall.”
Bess smiled sweetly. “Really. I have always found him disturbingly sexual.”
Blanche paled. She did not want to know what that meant! And only her friend could get away with such an inappropriate remark. She decided to ignore it. “If anything, I want my old life back,” she said sharply.
“Yes, of course you do. Your old life was just so perfect—doting on your father, and living vicariously through me and Felicia.”
Felicia pulled up an ottoman as they were finally served the sherry. “Bess, I tried to seduce him after Hal died. He is truly a boor. In fact, he was so lacking in charm, he was almost rude. He would be the worst possible candidate for Blanche’s hand.”
Blanche didn’t hesitate to defend him, for she hated malice of any kind. “You mistook an introversion of character, Felicia,” she said gently. “Sir Rex is a gentleman. He has always been the perfect gentleman around me—and perhaps, just perhaps, he did not wish to dally with you.”
Felicia flushed. “The de Warenne men are notorious for their affairs—until they marry. Perhaps he simply isn’t virile.”
“That is a terrible thing to say!” Blanche cried, aghast.
Bess cut in. “He has a reputation for preferring housemaids to noblewomen, Felicia. He also has a reputation for great stamina and skill, never mind his war injury.”
Blanche stared at her friend, aware of heat rising in her cheeks. “That is gossip.” Then, “I do not think it appropriate to discuss Sir Rex this way.”
“Why not? We talk about my lovers all the time—in far more detail.”
“That is different,” Blanche said, but even she realized how lacking her rationale was. She had never thought about Sir Rex in any way except as a family friend, albeit a distant one.
“It is unbelievable that he would bed servants,” Felicia said with condescension. “How crude!”
Blanche felt the heat in her cheeks increase. “It cannot be true.”
“I overheard two maids discussing his prowess very frankly—one of the maids having been the recipient of that prowess,” Bess grinned.
Blanche stared at her, more uneasy now than before. “I really prefer we not discuss Sir Rex.”
“Why are you becoming the prude now?” Bess asked.
“It is reprehensible for a nobleman to dally with the servants,” Felicia said swiftly, obviously determined to be catty.
“Well, I enjoyed my gardener very much,” Bess shot, referring to an old affair.
Blanche didn’t know what to think. She would never judge Sir Rex; it wasn’t her nature to judge and condemn anyone. Still, it wasn’t really acceptable for noblemen to dally with the servants, but now and then, they did. A mistress was acceptable, as long as vast discretion was used. Sir Rex probably kept a mistress. And now she was thinking about Sir Rex in a way she had no wish to continue. How had this conversation begun? Did he really have a reputation for stamina and skill? She truly did not wish to know!
“When was the last time you spoke with Rex de Warenne?” Bess now asked.
This was far safer ground. And Blanche didn’t have to think about it. “At Amanda de Warenne’s comeout—before she married Captain de Warenne.”
Bess gaped. “Are you telling me you have pined for a man you haven’t seen in two years?”
Blanche sighed and smiled. “Bess, I am not pining for him. And that was a year and a half ago. And frankly, I have had enough discussion for one day.” She stood abruptly, her feet hurting, too, forgetting all about the most enigmatic de Warenne.
Bess also rose, but like a terrier with a bone, plunged on. “Darling, do you realize that Sir Rex has not presented himself as a suitor?”
“Of course I do.” She hesitated. “I know what you are thinking—he needs a fortune and a wife, so that lapse is odd. Obviously he is not yet inclined toward matrimony.”
“How old is he?” Bess asked.
“I think he is thirty, but I am not sure. Please, Bess, stop. I can see where you lead. Do not think to match me with Sir Rex!”
“I have distressed you,” Bess finally said. “And you are never dismayed. I am sorry, Blanche. It must be the strain of your comeout. I would never match you against your will—you know that.”
Blanche was relieved. “Yes, I know. But you did begin