The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [10]
The duke grunted, a dark eyebrow raised. “That’s what she told you, Alex?”
Alexandra nodded, then turned away from her father. She walked to the wide bow windows, their draperies held back in every season, regardless of the weather, because the duke refused ever to close them over the magnificent vista outside. His wife complained endlessly about it, claiming the harsh sun faded out the Aubusson carpet and the good Lord knew there was no money to replace it, for that was what he was always telling her, wasn’t it, but the duke paid her no heed. Alex said slowly, “Now Douglas Sherbrooke is the Earl of Northcliffe and he wishes to come here to wed her.”
“Yes, I give him permission and we will come to agreement over the settlement in short order. Thank God he’s a wealthy man. The Sherbrookes have always used their money wisely, never depleting the estates through excesses, not forming alliances that wouldn’t add to their coffers and their consequence. Of course his marrying Melissande won’t bring him a single groat, indeed, he will have to pay me well for her, very well indeed. He must really care for her since the chances would have been excellent that she would have already been wed to another man. I must say too, in your sister’s defense, that her consequence displays itself in equal measure to her pride.”
“I suppose so. I remember that he was a very nice man. Kind and, well, nice.”
“Hotheaded young fool, that’s what he was,” the duke said. “He was the Northcliffe heir and he refused to sell out. Not that it matters now. He survived and now he’s the earl and that makes things quite different. All the Sherbrookes have been Tories, back to the Flood I dare say, and this earl is very probably no different. Staid and well set in his ways, I’ll wager, just like his father, Justin Sherbrooke, was. Well, none of that has any bearing now. I suppose I should speak to your sister.” He paused a moment, looking toward his daughter’s profile. Pure and innocent, he thought, yet there was strength there, in the tilt of her head, in the clear light in her gray eyes. Her nose was straight and thin, her cheekbones high, and her chin gently rounded, giving the impression of submissiveness and malleability, which wasn’t at all the case, at least in his experience with his daughter. But, strangely enough, she didn’t appear to know she had steel in her, even when she argued with him. Her rich titian hair was pulled back from her face, showing her small ears, and he found both her ears and her lovely. She wasn’t an exquisite creation like her older sister, Melissande, but she was quite to his taste, for there was little vanity or pettiness in her and there was a good deal of kindness and wit. Ah, she was the responsible one, the child who wouldn’t gainsay her papa ever, the one who would do her duty to her family. Again, he had the inescapable feeling that she was distressed and he wondered at it. He said slowly, “I told you of this first, Alex, because I wanted your opinion. Even though your mother believes you to be much like the wallpaper—quiet and in Melissande’s shadow—I know differently, and thus I would like to know what you think of this proposed match.”
He thought she trembled slightly at his words and frowned, wondering if her mother had perhaps tried to flatten her spirit again with her constant comparisons to her sister. He watched her closely. “Are you ailing with something, my dear?”
“Oh no, Papa. It’s just that—”
“That what?”
She shrugged then. “I suppose I wonder if Melissande would have him now. She wants to enjoy another Season, you know, and we are to leave next week. Perhaps she would wish to wait to see what other gentlemen are available to her. She much savors the chase, she told me. Oglethorpe, she said, was a spineless toad and she was vastly relieved when his mama made him cry off before he cried on, so to speak.”
The duke sighed. “Yes, your sister was right about him, but that isn