The Earl of Davenport: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club #7)(6)

Now it seemed that he would be next, whether he liked it or not. Early yesterday morning when he’d been leaving the club after yet another debaucherous night within the club’s hallowed halls, his old friend Coventry had stopped him, asking for a chat. The Earl of Coventry ran the Wicked Earls’ Club and seemed to have a keen intuition when it came to his club members’ lives. The man was old enough to be his father and in many ways he’d been better than one—at least better than the one he’d been born to. Coventry, for all his secretive ways, seemed to truly care about him, unlike the man who’d raised him.

If nothing else, it was impossible to disappoint Coventry and the others as he’d long ago established himself as an ill-tempered rake. They neither expected nor demanded anything different.

Coventry had taken him aside and asked after Eleanor’s health. In doing so he’d managed to slip more than a few hints into the conversation that it was about time he wed. Cornered in his own club by a man he admired and reminded of his duties—it had been an unpleasant reminder of what he ought to do.

And then to come home to Anne, of all people, demanding that he take a wife. No, not just any wife. To take her sister as his wife.

He shook his head as he toyed with one of the white pawns he’d won from his great aunt. A full day had passed and yet he still marveled at her gall. It shouldn’t have surprised him, perhaps; her straightforwardness and her strong will had always been apparent. Yet it had been years since he’d seen her and Anne was no longer a willful child, but a grown woman.

A beautiful woman. That detail was impossible to ignore.

A beautiful woman who all but begged him to marry her sister. He shook his head again at her audacity as well as the impossibility of such a match. Whether he intended to or not, he’d surely run roughshod over poor Claire in their first week of marriage. His temperament was far too abrasive for someone like that, even if he did find her of interest. Which he did not. Though he’d teased Anne by pretending not to remember who she was, he’d honestly needed help remembering which sister was Claire.

Aside from Anne, all the other Cleveland girls had always blended together in his mind to form one pretty, yet utterly boring blonde. He still couldn’t quite picture Claire though his family’s country estate neighbored hers his entire life. In his defense, he hadn’t been back to the Davenport Estate in years, preferring the slightly less haunted surroundings of his London home, as well as the diverting pastimes and brotherly friendships that the club provided.

His great aunt finally made her move and he leaned forward, his attention turning to his rook and how to block her latest attack against his queen. His focus was so fixed on the game in front of him, he was nearly blindsided by Eleanor’s next statement.

“You do need to marry, Frederick. It’s well past time,” she said.

He scowled at the board. “Indeed.” Though he hated to do anything that would please the ton, the fact of the matter was—he was in need of a bride.

Purely for practical reasons, of course.

Though he’d spent a lifetime perfecting the image of the Devil of Davenport, he took his role as earl seriously. Not for society’s sake, but for his tenants’. As a peer he was incorrigible, as a landowner, on the other hand, he was as responsible as they came.

His property needed a countess, whether he liked it or not. His great aunt was getting too old to visit with tenants and ensure their comfort. While he and his steward dealt with the finances, Eleanor had managed the manor and other properties, making sure the staff was content, the housekeeping running smoothly, and the kitchen efficient and of the highest caliber.

But after her latest bout of illness, he’d had to face facts. Eleanor could no longer run his estates and mind his tenants, much as she might wish to, and he could never ask it of her. Her health was degrading with each passing month, and every doctor advised rest and relaxation.

Running several households hardly qualified as relaxation.

“What is the matter with this Claire woman?” Eleanor asked. Her grey eyes were identical to his and filled with mirth. “From the sounds of it, this Anne girl did a fine job of selling her.”

His lips curved up despite himself at the memory of Anne pleading her sister’s case. To Eleanor, he said, “What kind of proper young lady sends her younger sister to beg for an offer of marriage? Alone and unchaperoned, mind you.”

He shook his head, but he couldn’t seem to stop smiling at the memory. It was the first time in a long time that someone had surprised him and he was delighted. But delighted or not, he would have to disappoint her by rejecting her proffered sister. There was no other way around it.

A pang of something uncomfortably similar to guilt had him hesitating before finally moving his rook forward. He’d known that her brother had gotten into financial trouble after their father died—it was no secret in the gaming hells that Jed was drowning in debts. He was one of those unfathomable fellows who never seemed to know when to walk away. He and Jed had parted ways long ago, partly because they began to run with different circles, but also because he’d grown disgusted with Jed’s carelessness when it came to his family’s estate.

In particular, he’d grown tired of watching his childhood friend piss away his inheritance because he was too weak to say no—to another drink, a pretty face, or one more game of cards. Like Claire, Jed was weak. Soft. Malleable.