A Taste of Desire(2)
A poignant sadness dimmed the light in his friend’s eyes at the mention of his departed wife, and in that moment, Thomas was ashamed of his unfeeling suggestion that he knowingly allow Harry’s daughter to wed a gambler and fortune hunter. But good God, if any woman deserved such a fate, surely Lady Amelia Bertram topped that ignominious list.
To even contemplate Harry’s request—which he certainly was not—would be a hairbreadth shy of insanity, but the friend in him felt compelled to justify his refusal. “Just what would you have me do with her in that time? I will assume you wouldn’t allow me to put her to work?” Though, the thought did bring a rueful smile to his face. It would be nothing less than she deserved. Thomas was certain she didn’t even know the meaning of the word, much less participate in any activity more taxing than angling her insolent nose in the air.
Harry’s face brightened like a street urchin spying a crown on a sidewalk along the streets of the East End. “Now that is something I never considered. It is really a capital idea, albeit somewhat unorthodox. Yes, it might be just what she needs to acquire a modicum of temperance. This time I am determined she learn her lesson. Mind you, the work itself cannot be menial or anything of that sort.” The latter he added more solemnly.
So, Harry would be amenable to putting her to work. Thomas had only intended it as a joke. The notion was absurd. He smiled. But so fitting.
After a moment, the marquess’s eyes sparked again. “Perhaps she could act as a companion to your sisters?”
Thomas sobered immediately. The gleam in his friend’s blue eyes signified hopes soaring high, something he had to quash before he found her deposited on his front doorstep, trunks and all. “My sisters will be accompanying my mother to America for six weeks this winter.” And one of the ten plagues of Egypt would plunge London into utter darkness for three days if he even considered thrusting Lady Amelia upon his family.
Plowing a hand through his hair, Thomas sighed again. “Lord, you’ve seen us together. I’d have an easier time taming a wild boar. She’d exhaust my patience in the first hour, never mind days, much less weeks on end. What your daughter needs is a guard dog.”
Harry compressed his mouth into a straight line.
“Or perhaps you can find her a suitable gentleman who will divert her from her more, er, spirited activities,” Thomas corrected more judiciously. He really must remember to whom he spoke. As close as he and Harry were, the poor man was the girl’s father.
Harry tugged at the brass closures of his navy blue waistcoat as if it had suddenly become too tight. “Well, I cannot say that I particularly blame you, as the two of you did not have an auspicious start.”
Ha! That was like saying Waterloo had been a mere spat between neighboring countries. “I’d say that would be phrasing it nicely,” Thomas said, his tone arid.
Pushing the chair back, Harry slowly arose. Thomas took his cue and came swiftly to his feet. With resignation sketching his features, the marquess extended his hand across a desk surfeit with plumed pens, elegant black inkwells, and stacks of papers and books. Thomas accepted it with a flash of regret. Not regret for refusing his request, but regret that it had been one he could not in his right mind accept. Had he been feeble of mind, perhaps. Sound of mind, never.
“I bear you no ill will, although I had hoped …” Harry offered a faint smile. “It is quite unfortunate that Amelia did not choose to take up with a man more like you.”
Thomas’s gaze probed his friend’s as he disengaged his hand. He had known Harry for six years and was well aware of the man’s deep affection for him. But surely Harry hadn’t made this proposal with hopes that he and Amelia would …?
He tried to veer away from the thought before it could fully form in his head and take up residence in his mind. Unfortunately, the thought had a life of its own. The utter notion was beyond absurd, but in all likelihood would send Harry into fits of jubilation—were he inclined to such behavior. A union between he and Amelia would not only give the marquess a son-in-law he both admired and respected but more important, someone with mettle enough to control his unruly daughter.
A dark laugh emerged from somewhere deep in Thomas’s throat. “That would indeed be a match bound for the fires of perdition.”
A wry smile twisted Harry’s mouth. “Yes, it appears so.”
In silence, both men made their way to the study entrance. While they paused at the door, Harry clapped his hand across the width of Thomas’s back, giving his shoulder two solid thumps.