A Wallflower Christmas (Wallflowers #5)(3)

“Apparently we’ll find out.”

“I want him to be happy,” Lillian said. “To find someone he could care about.”

Evie regarded them both thoughtfully. “Has anyone actually met Lady Natalie? Do we know anyth-thing about her character?”

“I haven’t met her,” Lillian admitted, “but she has a wonderful reputation. She’s a sheltered girl who came out in society last year and was quite sought after. I’ve heard she is lovely and exceedingly well bred.” She paused and made a face. “Rafe will frighten her to death. God knows why the Blandfords are advocating the marriage. It must be that they need the money. Father would pay anything to pump more blue blood into the family.”

“I wish we could speak with s-someone who is acquainted with her,” Evie mused. “Someone who might advise your brother, give him little hints about things she likes, her f-favorite flowers, that sort of thing.”

“She has a companion,” Lillian volunteered. “A poor cousin named Hannah-something. I wonder if we could invite her to tea before Rafe meets Lady Natalie?”

“I think that’s a splendid idea,” Annabelle exclaimed. “If she’s even a little forthcoming about Lady Natalie, it could help Rafe’s case immensely.”

“YES, YOU MUST GO,” LORD BLANDFORD SAID DECISIVELY.

Hannah stood before him in the parlor of the Blandford home in Mayfair. It was one of the smaller, older houses in the fashionable residential district, tucked in a little enclave near Hyde Park on the west.

Comprised of handsome squares and broad thoroughfares, Mayfair was home to many privileged aristocratic families. But in the past decade there had been new development in the area, oversized mansions and towering Gothic-style houses cropping up in the north, where the recently moneyed class was establishing itself.

“Do anything you can,” Blandford continued, “to help facilitate an attachment between my daughter and Mr. Bowman.”

Hannah stared at him in disbelief. Lord Blandford had always been a man of discernment and taste. She could scarcely believe that he would want Natalie, his only child, to be married off to a crass American manufacturer’s son. Natalie was beautiful, polished, and mature beyond her twenty years. She could have any man she chose.

“Uncle,” Hannah said carefully, “I would never dream of questioning your judgment, but”

“But you want to know if I’ve taken leave of my senses?” he asked, and chuckled as she nodded. He gestured to the upholstered armchair on the other side of the hearth. “Have a seat, my dear.”

They did not often have the opportunity to speak privately. But Lady Blandford and Natalie were visiting a cousin who had taken ill, and it had been decided that Hannah would remain in London to prepare Natalie’s clothes and personal items for the upcoming holiday in Hampshire.

Staring into the wise, kind face of the man who had been so generous to her, Hannah asked, “May I speak frankly, Uncle?”

His eyes twinkled at that. “I have never known you to speak otherwise, Hannah.”

“Yes, well…I showed you Lady Westcliff’s invitation to tea as a courtesy, but I had not intended to accept it.”

“Why not?”

“Because the only reason they would want to invite me is to ferret out information about Natalie, and also to impress me with all the supposed virtues of Mr. Bowman. And Uncle, it is obvious that Lady Westcliff’s brother is not nearly good enough for Natalie!”

“It appears he has been tried and convicted already,” Lord Blandford said mildly. “Are you so severe upon Americans, Hannah?”

“It’s not that he’s American,” Hannah protested. “Or at least, that’s not his fault. But his culture, his values, his appetites are entirely foreign to someone like Natalie. She could never be happy with him.”

“Appetites?” Blandford asked, raising his brows.

“Yes, for money and power. And although he is a person of consequence in New York, he has no rank here. Natalie isn’t used to that. It’s an awkward match.”

“You’re right, of course,” Blandford surprised her by saying. He settled back in his chair, weaving his fingers together. Blandford was a pleasant, placid-faced man, his head large and well shaped, the bald skin hugging his skull tightly and then draping in more relaxed folds around his eyes, cheeks, and jowls. The substantial framework of his body was lank and bony, as if nature had forgotten to weave the necessary amount of muscle to support his skeleton.

“It is an awkward match in some regards,” Blandford continued. “But it may be the saving of future generations of the family. My dear, you are very nearly a daughter to me, so I will speak bluntly. There is no son to inherit the title after me, and I will not leave Natalie and Lady Blandford to the questionable generosity of the next Lord Blandford. They must be provided for. To my profound regret, I will not be able to leave a satisfactory income for them, as most of the Blandford monies and lands are entailed.”

“But there are Englishmen of means who would dearly love to marry Natalie. Lord Travers, for example. He and Natalie share a great affinity, and he has generous means at his disposal”

“Acceptable means,” Blandford corrected quietly. “Not generous. And nothing close to what Bowman has now, not to mention his future inheritance.”