The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [14]
She was looking thoughtful, a circumstance that normally would have made him very wary, for her perfect brow was furrowed, a condition that she wouldn’t have allowed had she been aware of it, for it diminished her beauty. It made her look remarkably human. Soon, thank God, another man would have to worry about her tantrums, her passions, her sulks, the inevitable scenes that gave him indigestion. Ah, but then again, the man who would be her husband would also have one of the most beautiful women in England in his possession.
The duke wondered if that would be enough. He liked the Earl of Northcliffe, believed him a fine young man. Since he was fit again, he probably did smile and laugh from time to time. The duke hadn’t remembered him as being overly serious and severe. And now he would give him a prize that would gratify any man’s soul.
He would give himself desperately needed funds to keep the ducal ship afloat.
CHAPTER
4
“BUT WHAT DO you think, Alex? Should I agree to marry Douglas Sherbrooke?”
Why, Alexandra wondered yet again as she looked at her sister, did people go through the pretense of asking for another’s opinion? It was as if Alexandra, more than most, gave an impression that encouraged people to speak to her of their innermost thoughts, to ask her view, but of course, she wasn’t to expect that they would ever heed anything she had to say.
Slowly she raised her chin and said clearly, “I think Douglas Sherbrooke deserves to marry the most beautiful woman in the world.”
That drew up Melissande, for she’d been pacing her bedchamber like a healthy young colt, clearly involved in her own thoughts. “What did you say?”
“I think Douglas Sherbrooke—”
“Oh, all right, I heard you! Well, if I decide to wed him, you will have your wish, won’t you?”
Alexandra eyed her sister thoughtfully, then said slowly, “I hope that Douglas Sherbrooke will believe so.”
Melissande had very nearly convinced herself that becoming the Countess of Northcliffe would be quite the thing for her to do when their mother, Her Grace, Lady Judith, came into the bedchamber like a small whirlwind, spots of angry color on her thin cheeks, her hands fluttering, saying, “Your father says you will marry the earl soon—next week if it can be arranged! He says we won’t go to London, there won’t be the need to go! Ah, the man is impossible! What are we to do?”
Alexandra said mildly, “You know there isn’t much money, Mama. London would cost Papa a fortune he can ill afford to spend.”
“Stuff and nonsense! It is ever his plaint. I want to go to London. As for you, my girl, you must find a husband, and you’ll not find one hanging over the garden wall watching you as you weed your infernal plants! After your sister chooses the gentleman she wishes, why then, the others will realize that you are to come next. They will put their feelings for your sister behind them and turn to you. As I said, your father has always complained that there is no money for anything, but there always is, except for your poor brother, who is quite unable to pry sufficient funds from your father to live like a young gentleman should live in London. It is disgraceful, and so I told His Grace.”
Lady Judith stopped to catch her breath. “What did Papa say?” Alexandra asked quickly during this brief respite.
“He said I should mind to my own affairs, if it is any of your concern, my girl.”
Alexandra wondered why her father had told his wife about the marriage plans, but decided he’d probably been forced into it somehow. She sat back and watched with a good deal of detachment as her mother and Melissande whipped themselves into a state of advanced outrage. It was ever so when one or the other didn’t get her way. Eventually Alexandra rose and walked from her sister’s peach and cream bedchamber, her departure unregarded.
Alexandra knew that Melissande would agree to marry the earl. She also knew that on that day, she would wish to be on