The Reluctant Bridegroom Chapters 1-3

CHAPTER ONE

"But my dear Almeria," said Hugo, casting an amused glance at his older sister, "I am in no hurry at all to get married. It seems that you are more concerned than I am over my marital state, or the lack thereof."

A small explosive squawk of annoyance came from Lady Almeria Pickerton, the earl's senior by fifteen years. She was a handsome, dark-haired woman who had kept both her looks and her figure, despite the passage of time. At that moment, she surveyed her sibling with an angry expression and a jaundiced eye.

"You'll be the death of me, Hugo, I swear it!"

"Oh, surely not. You must not become too excitable over matters which do not bear thinking about, well, not yet anyway."

He yawned. "Not for a very long time, at any rate."

Hugo unhooked his leg from the arm of the chair in which he had been lounging during his sister's lecture on the benefits of matrimony, and strolled over to the window. He gazed down upon the busy throng of carriages and people in Mount Street, an excellent address in London. But then, Almeria always did everything so well.

Almeria was a superior woman in all respects: an excellent wife, hostess, and sister. Her Mayfair home was comfortably furnished, yet retained a fashionable elegance that pleased the discerning eye; her French cook was a culinary master, and the well-stocked Pickerton wine cellar a delight to sample. She was a credit to the Wendover family and her husband.

However, the only marital task she had failed to complete was to present Lord Pickerton with an heir, and a nephew to inherit his title should Hugo Charles William St. John Wendover, the Earl of Wenham, fail to marry and produce a successor.

"Look at you!" she said. "You're tall, good looking—that much you got from Papa—with more money than sense, possessing enough charm and style to satisfy every woman in London and yet—"

Hugo swung round to face Almeria. "And yet at thirty, I am still unmarried, with no firm intention to correct the situation in the very near future."

Almeria's face crumpled a little. She fished a dainty handkerchief out of her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. Then she gave a tiny heart-rending sob.

"But why, Hugo, why?"

Her voice was unusually wistful, very different from her customary firm tones.

"Is it too much to ask that you choose a wife? If you don't produce a son then you know very well that upon your death the entire lot, and by that I mean the title, the estates, and the money, will go to that awful cousin of ours, Felix Barstowe."

Hugo blinked in surprise when his generally calm and collected sister almost spat their cousin's name.

"Now, Almeria, Felix is our—"

She shook her head in an angry gesture, interrupting his attempt to mollify her.

"I don't care if he's our only cousin. He's a nasty, slimy little eel. Just the thought of him getting his paws on the family estate makes me want to explode!"

Hugo strode to Almeria's chair and took her hands.

"Now, now, my dear. Please don't upset yourself. I'm hardly likely to die in the very near future. My health is excellent, and if you wish it, I'll give up all my dangerous sports like curricle racing and...and even hunting!"

Almeria's eyes filled with tears and she gave a pathetic moan as she turned her face away.

"How can I ask you to stop doing all the things you love the most?"