The Ugly Duckling Debutante (House of Renwick #1)(4)

The Earl of Renwick had enough money to support more than one wife and a mistress, even if they all had children and houses of their own. He had a thriving mercantile business as well as old money that, thanks to his ancestors, continued to double and triple with the years. It seemed the more money he gave away to charity, the more money he had. It was an endless pursuit. At one point, he thought to bankrupt himself just so he could be free of the sins of his youth, not that it was all that long ago.

He sighed and walked to the edge of the dance floor. Sir Belverd was waiting for him with a smirk on his face.

“How old was that one?”

Lord Renwick held back a smile. “Oh, I believe this is her first season. She can’t be more than one and seven.”

Sir Belverd took a sip of champagne. “It seems they just keep getting younger and younger.”

“Or we keep getting older,” Nicholas finished.

Belverd chuckled. “Yes. Well, my friend, at least some of us have a mind to settle down. What are you now? Almost past your thirtieth year and you still have no wife or children?”

Nicholas hated this type of conversation. He knew Belverd meant well; after all, Belverd had married the most chaste and wonderful woman in the entire ton. Men with his luck had natural bragging rights.

“Marriage isn’t for me,” he answered, putting his own champagne down. It had suddenly gone dry in his mouth. He knew he was lying to himself saying marriage wasn’t for him, but he just couldn’t see a way where lust and love met in the middle. If he ever did marry, he would want her to be innocent enough to not push him past his physical limitations, and sweet enough to be a good mother. It was a nearly impossible find, considering his present company. Plus, any good Christian woman would be disgusted by his past. He didn’t deserve anyone good and didn’t desire to marry anyone as blemished as he.

Belverd obviously didn’t take that as an adequate answer and went on talking. “Renwick, one of these days, you’re going to find someone who turns that brooding head of yours, and when it happens, I’ll be standing right where I am now, relatively,” he waved his flippantly into the air, “and laughing. Yes, the day I see you fall to some poor woman’s feet, I will throw a ball in your honor.”

Nicholas lifted an eyebrow. “Big words and promises from a man such as yourself.”

“How about a wager then?” Belverd turned toward him with a devious look in his eyes. A head taller than most men, he had silver streaks running through his otherwise jet-black hair. His eyes were a grayish blue, giving him an intimidating yet calculating presence.

Intrigued. Nicholas raised an eyebrow and turned to full face Belverd. “What sort of wager, Friend?”

Belverd shifted on his feet and whispered, “If you can stay single this season, and this season alone, without any sort of scandal or a marriage, I’ll give you the feather.”

Nicholas’s eyes widened in surprise. “The feather? You’re just going to give me the feather?” The feather—an actual feather, highly prized by the group of gentlemen—represented one’s rank and station above the rest of the men. It had been passed amongst them to the gentleman who achieved a great victory or won a wager. The man who possessed the feather could ask a favor of anyone, including Prinny himself, and it would be granted. It was an honor highly sought after in Nicholas’s circle of friends.

Nicholas didn’t even have to think about it. He was, after all, going to live chaste for the rest of his days, and it wasn’t as if some girl would suddenly appear in the ton who would change that for him. He was more likely to be struck by lightning. He smiled and shook Belverd’s extended hand. “You, my friend, have a deal.”





Chapter Three



Sara jolted awake as the carriage rumbled to a stop. A hand shook her shoulder roughly, and she opened her eyes groggily to peer out the carriage window.

"We have arrived," announced her aunt, slicing through Sara's somnolent fog and jerking her abruptly into the present reality. It wasn't just a nightmare. This was really happening, and it frightened her out of her mind.

She quickly moved to the carriage door and took the hand of the footman to step down. Her first glance at her aunt’s townhome gave her pause as she disembarked the carriage. It was located on a row of extravagant mansions, and still it stood out as breathtaking in its magnificence. Just how wealthy was her distant aunt?

As if she heard her thoughts, Aunt Tilda suddenly turned. “Don’t gawk, girl. It isn’t becoming of a lady. Now hurry along inside. Drake will show you to your chambers. I’m sure you will wish to freshen up before the modiste arrives.”

Sara stared at her blankly, a modiste? She would get dresses? Just how many dresses would she have? Her insides turned to jelly in the realization of how completely out of place she really was.

“Oh, and Sara?” Sara turned as she stepped over the threshold of the magnificent house.

“Yes, Aunt?”

“Do remember to refer to me as Lady Fenton. We’re in London after all. Addressing me in such a familiar way is frowned upon.”

“As you wish,” Sara said. Venturing further into the house, the first thing she noticed was the sheer beauty of the place. The walls were adorned with expensive paintings and moldings of Greek mythological creatures. The floor was engraved marble and shined to perfection. Even the servants were better attired than she.