must have been neglecting you, if you are that bored with town.” Barclay pulled his waistcoat down over his slight paunch, and Sera smiled at this new habit of her father’s.
“I am never bored.”
“But you scarcely go out, except to the libraries or galleries.”
“Nonsense. I go to the theater several times a week.”
“Always to the Agora—the same play.”
“Travesian does it so nicely, though—I never tire of it. Wait until he tells you about next season’s production,” she teased. “I have asked him to dine with us Sunday.”
“I’m almost sorry I ever invited him here.”
“That’s not true. You find him entertaining, too.”
“As Henry VIII, not always as a dinner guest.”
“But he can enliven the dullest party.”
“Precisely!” Her father began pacing, hands behind his back. “You should not be throwing dull dinner parties for me. You should be going to balls and routs and whatever those other things are.” He fluttered an impatient hand. “You should be meeting people your own age.”
“But I do go to balls and parties with Lady Jane, and I meet a great many people my own age.”
“You do?”
“You know it is insulting of you to be so transparent, Father, dear. You are leading up to something. I can tell. And it must be disagreeable, or you wouldn’t be at it so long.”
“I do underestimate you. I hope what I have in mind will not be disagreeable. A dinner party for some...friends of mine.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? You know I love to entertain your friends. Who is it? Mr. Southey, or Lord Grenville perhaps?”
“No...no, I don’t think that would do,” Barclay said after a moment’s thought. “Why did you—?”
“There are one or two questions I would like to ask them.”
“I thought so. Just such a dull evening as I have been complaining of. No, this will be Lord and Lady Cairnbrooke—and their son, Anthony, to make up even numbers. Lady Jane will be here.”
“Oh.” Sera feigned surprise. “Who else?”
“No one else,” her father said innocently.
“Perhaps I will ask Armand,” she teased, then took pity on him when she saw his terrified look. “Come now, Father, let us leave off with this jousting. This is one of Lady Jane’s arrangements, isn’t it?”
“Well, she did suggest the meeting—and the whole point of her taking you about is to find you a suitable husband.”
“Yes, I know, and poor Cairnbrooke is probably still so weak from his wound he can’t evade the trap.”
“I’m quite sure he comes willingly.”
“Which is why his parents are bringing him, his mother for moral support, while his father holds the gun to his head.”
“It is not like that at all, I assure you.”
Sera sent him one of her penetrating looks.
“All right, I suppose that is a pretty accurate picture, but do you mind so much?”
Sera chuckled. “You are incorrigible. Is there nothing you won’t do to get rid of me?”
“This time it will be different. He’s not marrying for money, but to put a stop to all this talk about him and the Vonnes. It is an excellent family. You will have a title. I have spoken to his father...that is...” Barclay had the grace to look embarrassed.
“Just how far have the arrangements gone?”
“What do you mean? The details of the meal I—”
“I mean, have you only drafted the marriage settlements, or has his mother already written the announcement for The Post?”
“Well,” he said with a paternal smile, “the first is pretty well taken care of, not the second—not to my knowledge, anyway.”
“I suppose I have to marry someday. I just always assumed it would be another dull banker or lawyer, not such a romantic figure as Cairnbrooke.”
“You’re making fun of him. You always make fun of the ton.”
“Well, they do such stupid things sometimes, and other than supporting playwrights and artists, I’m not sure what use some of them are. Although they do sometimes surprise me.”
“You will find Lord Cairnbrooke to be a man of excellent good sense.”
“I’m sure, which is why he wants to rid himself of a troublesome son almost as much as you want rid of me.”
“The truth of the matter is, they want to put an end to the talk as soon as may be.”
“Before he is well enough to be bothersome again, you mean?”
“They feel marriage, especially with a sensible girl, will settle him down, give him responsibilities, an interest in life.” Barclay resumed his methodical pacing.
“But what if he doesn’t care for me?”
“I can’t see why he wouldn’t. You are pretty enough. No one would know to look at you how bookish you are.”
“Why, thank you,” Sera said, with a prim smile.
“Well, you know what I mean.”
Sera laughed her rich laugh. “Very well. I will do it for Lady Jane.”
“I don’t understand.” Her father stopped in front of the desk.
“It’s been obvious to me for some time that she will never marry you until I am settled. She is afraid of interfering in your household.”
“You little fox. I should have known we could not keep that from you.” He lifted her chin up with a finger. “So I will go from one cat’s paw to another. Just as you like.”
“What night shall I invite them for?”
“Saturday next—but I’ve already taken care of that.”
“Father! What if I had refused?”
“I knew I could rely on your good judgment. You have never failed me.”
Sera tried to go back to her perusal of The Times after her father left her, but she found her thoughts interrupted by the memory of a pair of laughing blue eyes that looked like they were lit from within. She knew an uneasy sympathy for this Tony, since she had an inkling of what had driven him to such stupid extremes, but she did not think it would work. If it came to making a push to fascinate him, she could not. Such artifices would cause her to laugh at herself the way she sometimes laughed at other women.
* * *
“Would you like to look over this draft of the marriage settlements? Quite handsome of Barclay, I assure you, but he can afford it.” Lord Cairnbrooke polished off his brandy and raised the paper to close scrutiny again as he sat with Tony in his dim study.
“No, I’m sure they’re fine. You are good at that sort of thing, Father,” Tony said in a lackluster way from the other armchair.
Lord Cairnbrooke eyed him suspiciously, but could detect no insult in the remark. He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Where is your mother?” he demanded rhetorically. “Amanda!” he shouted, without leaving the room or even getting up. “We are going to be late!”
Tony winced and leaned his head back on the chair pillow.
“Here, drink this,” his father commanded, putting a glass of brandy in his hand. “No one will expect