Free The Birthday Scandal by Leigh Michaels Page B

in the breakfast room, and a moment later Isabel came in as well—though she hesitated on the threshold for a moment, looking around.
    Making certain Maxwell wasn’t there, Emily guessed, and thanked heaven that she herself had escaped the pain of having a husband she despised.
    “What’s this about a riding party?” Lucien asked. “We ran into Father in the hall.”
    “Brace up. It seems we’re to meet the bride this morning and give our formal approval to his choice.”
    “Even though we don’t approve of her?” Isabel poured herself a cup of tea and sat down across from Emily.
    “Exactly,” Emily said. “Though I imagine we’ll find Chloe Fletcher as unobjectionable as any other young lady who has so recently left the schoolroom. Our father, on the other hand…”
    “The sainted earl is an arrogant ass,” Lucien said, picking up the tankard Chalmers had just set in front of him. “And any female who finds marriage to him an inviting proposition is a dolt.”
    “Her father’s only a baronet,” Isabel mused. “She’d be a countess. It’s hard to blame her for having stars in her eyes.”
    Lucien snorted. “Stars? More likely she’s seeing guineas, or tiaras and coronets. She might be excited over becoming a countess, but not over our father. How old was he when he married our mother, anyway?”
    “Thirty,” Isabel said. “Honestly, Lucien, you shouldn’t have to ask these things.”
    “ Thirty ? And he thinks I’m wasting time? I’m only twenty-six!”
    “Our mother was seventeen,” Emily said.
    “So I suppose he thinks he’s being reasonable to choose a bride who’s nearing twenty this time,” Isabel mused. “However, as there’s nothing whatever we can do about it—”
    “There’s always the distraction of a duke,” Emily said.
    “You think Uncle Josiah could stop him?” Lucien looked morosely at his empty tankard. “Where did Chalmers go? If I’m to be civil to my new stepmama, I need another ale.”
    “Not Uncle—the next duke. Emily’s taken a notion that the moment the Fletchers hear about Cousin Gavin, a mere earl will be out of the running. And I must say Athstone makes a tempting prospect.”
    Emily choked on a sip of tea. “Athstone? Tempting ? Compared with an earl in his fifties, yes, but—”
    “A marquess, soon to be a duke,” Lucien said. “If it’s a title they’re trying to capture, there’s nothing higher’ except a royal duke, of course.”
    “What female would want one of the king’s sons?” Isabel murmured.
    “But a duke—or even a duke’s heir—marrying the daughter of a mere baronet?” Lucien went to the door and called out for Chalmers.
    “Don’t be such a snob, Lucien.”
    “Anyway, he’s not a duke,” Emily argued. “Or even a marquess, officially. He’s an upstart with an accidental title.”
    “I think he’s charming,” Isabel said.
    Silence dropped over the breakfast room for half a minute. If Isabel was comparing Gavin to Maxwell, Emily thought, she had a point. But in Emily’s mind, charming and Gavin Waring were two terms that could never belong in the same sentence.
    “Oh, quite charming,” Lucien muttered. “He’ll probably end by beguiling Uncle Josiah into leaving him the lot after all, and the rest of us will be just as high and dry as ever.”
    “Lucien!” Isabel scolded. “I thought the two of you were getting on quite well last night. What happened?”
    “Nothing.” He had the grace to look ashamed of himself. “Very well—it’s Uncle Josiah’s money, and we shouldn’t count on a thing. But I’m telling you—if we each end up with nothing more than a thousand guineas and Uncle’s good wishes…”
    “A thousand guineas may not look like much to you,” Emily said crisply, “but I assure you it would make a great deal of difference to me in Barton Bristow.”
    “And to me.” Isabel sounded almost absentminded as she stared out the window.
    “Besides, Lucien, you’re at least assured of