Or perhaps she merely had periodic bouts of dyspepsia. Hard to know with Clarissa. She was entirely unpredictable. Which was why she always threw him out of sorts.
Warren waved over a servant and ordered another brandy. “Honestly, accompanying her won’t be as trying as you think. Don’t you need to go out into society this Season anyway? Aren’t you bent on marrying?”
“Yes.” He was bent on siring an heir, anyway, which required wedding someone. Though God only knew who that might be.
“You see? It’s perfect. You have to go on the marriage mart. Clarissa wants to enjoy the Season, and I want her to find a husband. It’s an ideal situation.”
“If you say so.” How he could successfully court anyone with Clarissa hanging about was anyone’s guess, but he supposed it might improve his stern reputation if he had a lighthearted woman on his arm at the usual balls. Assuming she would even agree to take his arm. That was by no means certain with Clarissa.
“You were still recovering from the loss of Jane last Season, so this will be your first real attempt to secure a wife since Jane jilted you. Do you have any particular lady in mind?”
“No. I know what I want. But God only knows if I can find a who to go with it. I haven’t made a serious search, because I had my hands full with Samuel and Yvette. And then there was the false start with Jane.” Edwin sighed. “But I suppose I must begin looking.”
“And what are your requirements for a wife? Other than that she be of breeding age, I suppose.”
Chafing at Knightford’s astute perception that this endeavor was about finding a woman to bear him an heir, Edwin glanced out the window that overlooked Pall Mall. “I would prefer a woman who’s responsible and uncomplicated.”
“Like your mother, you mean.”
He didn’t answer, preferring not to lie. His mother hadn’t been remotely uncomplicated, but no one knew that except Edwin and his brother Samuel. Not even their sister Yvette was aware of how complicated their mother had been . . . and what had made her so. Edwin had worked hard to spare Yvette that awful knowledge.
“I want a woman who’s quiet and sensible,” Edwin went on.
“In other words, someone you can keep under your thumb. The way your father kept your mother under his thumb.”
A swell of painful memories made acid burn his throat. “Father didn’t keep her under his thumb; he ignored her.” For reasons that Edwin unfortunately knew and had difficulty accepting. “I will never do that to my wife.”
“You will if she’s as dull as what you describe.” Warren leaned back in his chair. “When I get around to choosing a wife, I want a lively wench who will keep me well entertained.” He winked. “If you know what I mean.”
Edwin rolled his eyes. “Remind me again why we asked you to join St. George’s? You’re as bad as the men we’re guarding our women against.”
“Ah, but I don’t prey on innocents. Any woman who lands in my bed jumped there of her own accord. And I daresay that’s true of any number of fellows here.”
It probably was. Even Edwin had taken a mistress in his twenties when the turmoil within his family had kept him too busy to look for a wife and his loneliness had grown too acute to endure. That hadn’t, however, been very satisfying. Knowing that a woman was with you only for your rank and money was somehow more lonely than not having a woman at all.
Although with Yvette married and out of the house, he’d started to feel the disadvantages of a solitary life. So once more he’d be looking for a wife, always an awkward experience. Women expected a man to gush about being in love, and he simply couldn’t. Love was a fictional construct dreamed up by novelists. His parents’ marriage had proved that.
But it wasn’t wise to tell a woman his philosophy. Unfortunately, neither could he lie about it. He wasn’t like his scoundrel brother, who was presently serving a sentence of transportation for kidnapping. Edwin couldn’t spin a clever yarn or hide an opinion beneath a facile compliment.
Sadly, most women seemed to prefer facile compliments to blunt truths any day. For that matter, some men were like that.
Hence, his dearth of friends and his difficulty finding a suitable wife. “When will you broach this with Clarissa?”
Warren looked at his pocket watch. “At dinner, which should be in . . . oh . . . half an hour. I was hoping you’d come.”
“Now?”
“Why not? Might as well get it over with, eh? And I am leaving for Portugal in the morning.”
Devil take it. Edwin would have liked more time to prepare. He wasn’t the spontaneous sort. “Planning to have us join forces against her, are you?”
“That wasn’t my intention initially, no.” Warren gulped some brandy. “When we left Hatton Hall for London, I’d hoped that by now Yvette and Keane would have returned from America, and they could simply take her under their wing. Yvette can talk Clarissa into just about anything.”
Edwin smiled. His sister could talk anyone into anything, even him.
“But I gather they’re still abroad,” Warren said.