Free The Heir and the Spare by Maya Rodale Page B

fortune. He would be a model of decorum until his ring was on her finger.
    After escorting his heiress and her chaperone home, and not being due to Mrs. Roth’s home until much later in the night, Phillip went to Whites. As he assumed, Parkhurst was there.
    The two men soon occupied a corner table, drinks in hand.
    “Didn’t see you at the Loringthon Ball tonight,” Parkhurst said.
    “I went to the theater,” Phillip said, grimacing, not entirely due to the large sip of brandy he had just taken.
    “You?” Parkhurst said with a snort. “Oh, let me guess. Part of your courtship routine.”
    Phillip nodded. “I cannot endure it much longer.”
    “Miss Highhart seems agreeable enough.”
    “She is, I grant her that. But she stares at me. Lady Palmerston glares at me. It’s really unnerving.”
    “If she annoys you this much now, it will only be worse when she stares at you adoringly at the breakfast table every morning for the rest of your life .”
    “Damn it, Parkhurst! I’m trying not to think of that. I suppose I can just dump her in the country or something.”
    “There are other heiresses, you know.” There was something in Parkhurst’s voice that made Phillip wonder if his friend pitied the girl, or harbored some affection for her.
    “Yes, I know that,” Phillip snapped. “But they are all terrified of me, and Miss Highhart fancies herself in love with me. It’s annoying, but it does make the whole process easier.” He took another sip. “I just can’t bring myself to propose. I don’t even know how one goes about it.”
    “You know, Phillip, you really ought to throw a house party.”
    “Why ever would I do that? And what does that have to do with anything?”
    “People are always getting engaged at house parties. Plenty of opportunities for compromising positions and getting caught and all that.”
    “True,” Phillip said. “I’ll think about it.”
    After a moment of silence, both men finished their drinks in one long gulp and Phillip said good night. He made his way to the home of the notorious Mrs. Roth.

Chapter 7
    The following morning Emilia was reading the newspaper while alone at the breakfast table. She squinted at the small print in an article in the business section about the success of Diamond Shipping, the company that her father owned. She put it aside, unfinished, when her aunt arrived.
    “Good morning, Emilia. How are you this morning?” her aunt asked while a servant poured her a cup of tea.
    “Fine, thanks.”
    “This arrived for you,” her aunt said, handing her a letter. “It’s from that scoundrel.”
    Emilia opened the letter and quickly skimmed the contents. “It’s an invitation to a house party at Cliveden. Can we go?”
    “Do you really wish to?”
    “Yes. Though I am not sure of him, and after last night . . . well, I haven’t been to the country yet. And I have lived in cities all my life. I should like to go.” And give him one more chance, she added silently.
    “Very well, then. We shall go,” her aunt said, reaching for the newspaper and flipping straight to the gossip pages.
    “I thought you didn’t like Phillip,” Emilia said.
    “I don’t, quite simply. But the scoundrel attracts gossip where he goes and I should hate to miss it. You, my dear, better not be a part of it.”

CLIVEDEN
    They appeared to be perfect English gentlemen, Devon thought, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, a slightly bored expression on his face. Father and son, sharing the customary port and cigars in the dining room after supper. Footmen standing in the background like statues, waiting for a request to bring them to life. The chandeliers overhead cast a soft glow, and the long mahogany table gleamed under the light. Devon looked down the table at his father. The duke was not partaking of his port, and a cigar remained unlit before him. He sat motionless at the head of the table, coming to life every ten minutes, initiating the same conversation each