“My mother died of lung fever at four-and-twenty. Papa took it hard. He’s never remarried.”
“How old were you?”
“I was almost three.”
“I don’t suppose you even remember her?”
Dot shook her head. “Not at all. It’s always been just me and Papa. And my cats.”
Miss Appleton then settled her hand upon Dot’s. “Now you’re going to have new friends.”
Miss Appleton and her brother were the most genuinely welcoming people she could ever imagine. How fortunate she was to have met them.
“If you’re certain you don’t object,” Dot said, “I’ll go down and send Papa and Fur Blossom home, and I’ll stay here to dress for tonight’s fete.”
* * *
While Becca was dressing Miss Pankhurst’s hair, Appleton requested a word with his sister, and then closed the door to his library behind them. She looked queerly at him. “What’s all the secrecy about?”
“I beg a private word with you. That’s all. Please.” He waved her toward the emerald sofa. “Sit before the fire. It’s been beastly cold today.”
“Unless one is dancing.”
He smiled as he came to sit beside her. “You have an admirer who’s persuaded me to introduce you to him tonight.”
“And?”
“And he will request a dance.”
She nodded.
“You may dance with him once, and once only. Without going into particulars, allow me to say the man is unworthy of you.”
“What is the man’s name?”
His lips compressed, a distasteful look on his face. “Henry Wolf.”
“From where is it you know him?”
“Eton.”
“Was he a friend to you and Sir Elvin and Lord Sedgewick and the others?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t say any of us were friends with him. Acquaintances.”
“How does he know me?”
Appleton shrugged. “I believe he once admired you at Almack’s.”
Annie had much to recommend her. Many, many men had been attracted to her loveliness. And her attributes did not stop with the physical. She came from a high-born family, was possessed of a sweet nature, and displayed uncommon good sense. She also demonstrated persistently excellent taste in all she did, but especially in her selection of dress. His sister was close to perfection. Far, far too good for most men, but most especially for the likes of Henry Wolf.
He drew a deep breath. “There’s one more matter about which I must speak to you.”
She turned to face him, a quizzing look on her sweet face.
“This is difficult for me to say. You see, I’ve . . . had a financial setback and find that I must marry an heiress.”
Her brows lowered. “You mean you cannot marry for love?”
He tossed his head aside. “What do I care for love? Love is for poets—and women!” He had always hoped he might one day fall in love in the same way as had his friends—friends like Blanks with his Glee. And even Melvin and Catherine. Melvin had never noticed women—until he’d fallen in love with the pretty young widow.
Appleton recalled George, Lord Sedgewick, had not married Sally Spencer for love, but they soon fell quite desperately in love with each other. And the Morelands! Thomas and Felicity adored each other. Even that confirmed bachelor Jonathan Blankenship was now happily married to that bookish Mary Arbuckle, to whom he was so well suited, and the two acted perfectly silly toward each other.
Appleton had stayed a bachelor all these years because he was waiting for a love match like his friends had found.
But a love match was not going to be in his future. He would still have Mrs. Pratt to warm his bed. It wasn’t love, but she met certain needs.
“You simply must marry for love!”
His sister would have to look at the distressing situation like a female. “I am now the head of the house, and my responsibilities must come first.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Forrester Timothy Appleton, have you lost your money gambling?”
He gave her a haughty look. “I may have lost a portion, but surely you don’t take me for one who would completely lose his head . . .”
“Well, I will own, you’ve always been one for moderation.”
He coughed. “It’s time I marry. After all, I’m thirty. All of my friends, save one, are wed. It’s time. And I choose to marry a woman with a fortune.”
“But we don’t know any heiresses.”
“Actually, Annie. . .” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “Miss Pankhurst is an heiress. Her father’s said to be vastly wealthy.”
Her eyes rounded. “Forrester Timothy Appleton! Do you mean you knew all along who the lady was? That all your kindness to her was because she’s an heiress? And I thought