Yes, she would speak to Great-Aunt Cornelia this afternoon about suitable options for a husband. She needed to escape the tall, dark-haired Scotsman and any wicked dreams he gave her.
Brodie had only been home for half an hour when Rafe’s butler, Mr. Chase, informed him that he had a visitor.
“A visitor?” Brodie stood in his bedchamber, tugging on his cuffs, while his valet, a young man named Alan, adjusted his coat at the shoulders. Unused to having a man dress him, Brodie was still adjusting to the close relationship between a man and his valet.
After his older brother, Brock, had married Rafe’s sister, Joanna, she had brought a large income into the Kincade family and had insisted that Brodie and Aiden also benefit from the joyful union by having valets hired for them. Alan was quiet and pleasant enough . . . for an Englishman.
“Yes, Mr. Kincade. He says his name is Mr. Jackson Hunt.” The butler passed Brodie an elegant calling card.
“Hunt . . .” The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t recall where he’d met the man. “I suppose I ought to see him.”
“Very good, sir. I shall have him shown to the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Chase,” Brodie called over his shoulder as he turned halfway to let Alan brush dust off his jacket. He had changed after his walk with Rafe. He wasn’t used to lounging about so much and had asked Rafe to show him more of the city. As a Scot, he loved the land and liked to be familiar with any terrain he was on, especially while in English territory.
“All done, sir,” Alan said. Brodie nodded his thanks, and then he proceeded to the drawing room.
His visitor, Jackson Hunt, was a tall man in his fifties. He stood by the fireplace and took in the measure of Brodie as he entered the room. Hunt offered a polite and hopeful smile that Brodie didn’t quite understand, given that he didn’t know the man and to the best of his knowledge he had no business with the fellow.
“Mr. Hunt?” Brodie nodded in greeting. “You’ll have to excuse me. I canna recall the circumstances of our meeting.”
“It’s quite all right, Mr. Kincade, as we have not met before today.” Hunt bowed to Brodie. “I apologize for the unannounced visit, given that we have no previous acquaintance, but I hope my business here today will be viewed favorably by you.”
“And what is that?” Brodie inquired.
“My daughter, Miss Hunt, met you last evening at the assembly rooms and speaks highly of you. I came here as a messenger on a mission. I am a wealthy man, you see, and while I know the peers have their own way of doing things, I hope I may speak frankly with you.”
“I wish you would.” Brodie wasn’t at all following what the man was saying.
“My daughter wishes to marry you. I am here on her behalf to inquire if you would like to court her with marriage in mind. I can promise her dowry would be an income of ten thousand a year.”
Hunt delivered this with a gentle excitement that astounded Brodie, as though throwing large sums of money and daughters at a man was an everyday occurrence.
“What?” Brodie stared at the other man. “I don’t even know your daughter, sir.”
“But you do—she met you last evening. She’s small, with flaxen hair and bright-blue eyes.” Jackson mimed how short the girl in question was.
Brodie’s half-drunk memory returned. The wee blonde who’d introduced herself and tried to exchange a vow of marriage for a kiss. He could barely recall her face.
“Ah . . . I ken who you speak of now. We met but briefly,” he informed Mr. Hunt.
“Yes, well, she was very taken with you, and I hope that you and I can come to some sort of arrangement. If you were to marry her, it would be quite a large sum of money I would be willing to part with to make my child happy.”
“I ken the bond of a father to his child, Mr. Hunt, but I barely know the lass, and I have no intention of marrying her or anyone at this time.”
“I can pay you handsomely,” Hunt insisted. “Name your price.”
Brodie sighed. “Mr. Hunt, a man bought like a stallion to stud isna a good man for your daughter. I dinna want to upset the lass, but I dinna ken her, or love her.”
“But she’s a clever, humorous creature,” Mr. Hunt insisted. “I’m sure you could