Idly, Jason twisted the stem of his brandy glass in his fingertips. Without her, the dining room suddenly seemed gloomy and empty. Unaware that Charles was watching him with a gratified twinkle in his eyes, Jason continued to sit there, frowning at her empty chair.
“She’s an extraordinary young woman, is she not?” Charles prodded finally.
“Yes.”
“Ravishingly beautiful, and witty to boot. Why, you’ve laughed more since Victoria came to England than I’ve seen you laugh in a year! Don’t deny it—the girl’s unique.”
“I don’t deny it,” Jason replied, remembering her intriguing ability to look like a countess, a milkmaid, a forlorn child, or a sophisticated woman, depending upon her mood and surroundings.
“She’s charming and innocent, but she has spirit and fire, as well. The right man could turn Victoria into a passionate, loving woman—a woman to warm his bed and his life.” Charles paused, but Jason said nothing. “Her Andrew has no intention of marrying her,” Charles continued meaningfully. “I have no doubt of that. If he did, he’d have contacted her by now.” He paused again, and again Jason said nothing.
“I feel sorrier for that Andrew fellow than for Victoria,” Charles added with sly determination. “I pity any man who is fool enough to ignore the one woman in a thousand who could make him truly happy. Jason,” Charles demanded, “are you paying any heed to all this?”
Jason sent him an impatient, puzzled look. “I’ve heard every word. What has all this to do with me?”
“What has all—?” Charles sputtered in frustration. Catching himself, he continued more cautiously. “It has everything to do with you, and with me too. Victoria is a young, unmarried female. Even with Miss Flossie here as her chaperone, Victoria can’t continue indefinitely to live in a house with one bachelor, and another bachelor who spends every day here. If we go on like this for more than a few weeks, people will assume the betrothal’s a hum and that she’s really another of your conquests. When that happens, they’ll cut her dead. You don’t want to cause the girl humiliation, do you?”
“No, of course not,” Jason said absently, staring at the brandy in his glass.
“Then there’s only one solution—she’ll have to marry, and quickly.” He waited, but Jason was silent. “Won’t she, Jason?” he urged.
“I suppose so.”
“Then who should she marry, Jason?” Charles demanded triumphantly. “Who could turn her into a loving, passionate woman? Who needs a wife to warm his bed and give him an heir?”
Jason shrugged irritably. “How the hell should I know? I’m not the matchmaker in this family, you are.”
Charles gaped at him. “Do you mean to tell me you can’t think of the one man she ought to marry?”
Jason tipped the brandy glass to his lips and quickly drained it, then put the glass on the table with a decisive thud and abruptly stood up. “Victoria can sing, play the piano, curtsy, and sew,” he summarized decisively. “Find a man with a good ear for music, an eye for beauty, and a love of dogs. But make certain he has a placid disposition—otherwise she’ll drive him to distraction. It’s as simple as that.”
When Charles stared at him openmouthed, Jason said impatiently, “I have six estates to run, a fleet of ships to keep track of, and a hundred other details to concentrate on. I’ll take care of those things. You take care of finding a husband for Victoria. I’ll cooperate by escorting her to a few balls and soirée's during the next week or two. She’s already caused a sensation. With a little more exposure at a few more functions about town, she’ll have more suitors than you’ll know what to do with. Look them over when they call on her and draw up a list of the most likely candidates. I’ll go over the list and pick one.”
Charles’s shoulders slumped with weary defeat. “As you wish.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I haven’t seen a young woman create a stir like this since Caroline made her bow,” Robert Collingwood said, grinning at Jason as they stood watching Victoria at a ball a week later. “She’s set every tongue in the city wagging. Did she really tell Roddy Carstairs she could outshoot him with his own pistol?”
“No,” Jason said dryly. “She told him that if he made one more improper advance to her, she would shoot him—and that if she missed, she would turn Wolf loose on him. And that if Wolf didn’t finish the job, she had every faith I would.” Jason chuckled and shook his head. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been nominated for the role of hero. I was a little crushed, however, to be second choice after her dog.”
Robert Collingwood shot him an odd look, but Jason didn’t notice. He was watching Victoria. Almost completely surrounded by beaux who were vying for her attention, she stood serenely in their midst—a titian-haired queen holding court with her worshipful subjects. Draped in an ice blue satin gown with matching elbow-length gloves, her hair spilling over her shoulders in a lush, wanton mass, she dominated the entire ballroom with her enchanting presence.
As he watched, he noticed Lord Warren hovering at her elbow, his eyes delving down the low, rounded bodice of Victoria’s gown. Jason’s face whitened with anger. “Excuse me,” he said tightly to Robert. “Warren and I are going to have a little talk.”
It was the first of many times to come during the next fortnight that the ton witnessed the staggering spectacle of the Marquess of Wakefield swooping down like an angry hawk upon some overeager swain whose attentions toward Lady Victoria became too marked.
Three weeks after Victoria’s come-out, Charles walked into Jason’s study. “I have made up the list of candidates for Victoria’s husband that you wanted to review,” he announced in the voice of one who has been forced to perform a repugnant task and now wishes to be done with it. “I’d like to go over it with you.”
Jason glanced up from the report he was reading, and his eyes narrowed on the sheet of paper in Charles’s hand. “I’m busy at the moment.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like to get this over with. I’ve found the chore of preparing it singularly unpleasant. I’ve selected several acceptable candidates, but the task has not been an easy one.”
“I’m certain it hasn’t,” Jason agreed sardonically. “Every fop and fool in London has been here sniffing after her.” Having said that, Jason returned his attention to the report. “Go ahead and read off the names, if you must.”