The Perfect Arrangement (The Not So Saintly Sisters #4) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,1

listening, Ox?” Corny scoffed. “To set Warwick here up with a woman willing to bear him an heir. A woman without expectations of love and all that nonsense. A noble purpose, indeed.”

Christian smiled grimly as his outrageous chum thoughtfully dipped a quill into the ink and then allowed it to hover over the paper. The paper, as well as Corny’s fingers, would likely be covered in ink before he finished. Corny somehow managed to bring chaos into most situations in one way or another.

“Do you suppose she’d need to be one of the upper classes? I doubt her lineage ought to matter at this point.” He side-eyed Christian. “Beggars can’t be choosers, you know. You must, however, require that she be healthy and intelligent. You won’t want your heir to be born a simpleton.”

Christian winced even as he laughed at the details one would consider for such a ridiculous advertisement.

Better to laugh than cry.

“Merchant class,” Cornelius continued. “Nothing lower. And she must have some looks to speak of. You wouldn’t want your heir to come out looking hideous.” Cornelius crossed a line out and then added another to his nonsensical advertisement. “Remember, Christian, you will have to bed her… possibly several times. It would be a shame if you couldn’t engage your sentiments enough to… perform.”

Christian shook his head but laughed again and poured another splash of brandy into his glass. “Old enough to know her mind. That’s the trouble with all the debs who come to London… they’re essentially children dressed up as ladies.” Yes, if Christian could have a say in such a matter, he’d not marry some naïve little girl. He’d want a woman who understood the ramifications of her decision.

Cornelius held up his document and read it aloud: “Applicants are to present themselves for consideration, with references, at 312 Chesterfield Hill promptly at… Say, what time would you like these chits to start coming ‘round?”

“Very funny, Corny.” But Christian appreciated his friend’s attempt to cheer him up.

“I think ten in the morning is reasonable. Early enough that the chit will have to show some initiative but not so early as to force you out of bed at too ungodly of an hour.” He wrote some more before blowing on his handiwork and then dusting it with sand. “Here you go, Christian, the answer to all of your troubles.”

Christian accepted the mock advertisement and managed to read it through despite the crossed-out words and occasional ink droplets.

Wanted: Intelligent female between the ages of 25 and 32 in good health to perform task of a sensitive nature, in exchange for lifelong security. Present yourself for consideration at 312 Chesterfield Hill in Mayfair this Thursday morning at exactly ten in the morning. Squeamish ladies need not apply.

Christian folded the paper in quarters as he rose from his chair. Placing an advertisement in the Daily Gazette was most definitely not the answer.

“It’s quite obvious I won’t find any help here.” Christian signaled to one of the club attendants who promptly retrieved the hat and coat Christian had checked earlier. “Come around to Master’s House if you come up with any rational suggestions.”

“What’s not rational about placing the ad?” Cornelius had the temerity to look hurt at Christian’s casual dismissal of his handiwork. “What can it hurt?”

Which gave Christian pause, if only for a fraction of a second. “If word got around that I’d resorted to something so desperate, I’d have even more troubles to contend with. Besides, it could harm Bernadette’s reputation if her brother did something so mercenary.”

Corny raised his brows and gave another of his impudent shrugs.

“Let this be the end of it.” As long as he’d known Cornelius, he’d had a tendency to act first and consider the consequences later.

Christian slipped the mock advertisement into his long coat and placed the tall hat atop his head. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He bowed mockingly before heading for the exit.

More liquor wasn’t going to solve any problems. He’d stroll on over to Bond Street instead and meet with his solicitors for the hundredth time this month. There had to be something he could do.

As he walked along the street, tipping his hat at a few acquaintances and swinging his cane with enthusiasm he didn’t feel, he searched his mind for any other solution to his troubles. Nearly everything he owned was entailed, but even if it wasn’t, Bernadette and any assets placed in trust for her would become the legal responsibility of the heir until she reached the age of