Toby's heavy pacing, complete with arms crossed and an excessive amount of huffing and sniffing pulled Regina from her woolgathering. "He said he'd wait for me to talk to Lord Hogshead," Toby whined before sweeping his open palm across the mahogany game table, sending all the stone pieces to the floor.
"You'd better hope you haven't lost any of those chess pieces, Toby," Father thundered, entering the door. "Those were expensive-about a week's worth of wages, for you."
Toby gulped and started picking up the pieces from the floor. For as much money as Father had, he was reluctant to part with a shilling if he could help it and often found reasons to deduct from her allowance or Toby's wages.
"You didn't meet with Lord Hogshead without me, did you?" Toby asked when he'd found-and replaced-all the scattered chess pieces.
Father waved him off. "No. I know he's your client." An odd look passed between them before Father cleared his throat and turned his attention to Regina, grinning. "Lord Hogshead will not be here until six; and as it would happen, I have something of great import to discuss with Regina just now."
Regina and Toby exchanged looks. While Father wasn't what most would consider to be unlikable, he rarely smiled. In fact, the only times she'd ever seen him do so was following the meeting with a very important client or on the few occasions when they'd received a highly coveted invitation to a social event hosted by a prestigious member of the ton.
But no amount of thick vellum invitations issued to balls and soirees could hide the truth about Regina's family. They were commoners who filled their coffers not by inheriting old family money or by being paid by tenants who farmed their land, but in trade. It was only due to his financial position that their family had been extended any invitations at all. And he'd accepted the invitation to every event they'd been invited with the intention that Regina would find a husband of rank.
"In that case, I'll find something to amuse myself with until I'm needed," Toby said, snatching his wig off the floor where he'd thrown it.
"Very good. Send Aunt Florence in before you get too amused."
"Yes, sir."
Regina nearly pulled out every strand of her brown hair. Her father's widowed sister, Aunt Florence, had an undeniable tendency to act as if she was the debutante of the pair, always giggling or batting her eyelashes at the gentlemen. One would think she was still trying to land a husband instead of seeing to it that her charge made an acceptable match.
Only a moment later, Aunt Florence with her bright blonde hair, purple crushed velvet dress, and more paste jewels than was good for a body to wear sauntered into the room. "You wished to see me, Lucas."
"Have a seat."
Aunt Florence clasped her gloved hands together and glided across the room to where Regina was sitting on the settee closest to the window. Despite there being two other settees and at least six unoccupied chairs in close proximity, Aunt Florence took a seat right next to Regina. "Yes, Lucas," she said with a hint of a squeal.
Regina shook her head in amusement.
Father, however, rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Regina, Florence," he started, taking a seat in the chair Toby had vacated earlier. "I have some very exciting news for both of you."
"You do?" Aunt Florence cooed.
Father shot her a pointed look, sobering her aunt. "Yes. I do." He folded his arms and stretched his long legs out in front of himself, crossing his ankles. "As it would happen, Regina's last Season was far more productive than any of us thought it would be."
Regina's heart picked up pace. What was he talking about?
"Oh?" Aunt Florence asked, placing a bejeweled hand on Regina's forearm.
Father gave a stiff nod so not to displace the ridiculous wig he insisted that he needed to wear to be fashionable. "Yes. She seems to have captured the attention of a certain lord who has just requested her hand in marriage."
Regina gasped and Aunt Florence squealed with delight.
"I-he-we-" Regina tried desperately to form a sentence, but nothing coherent came out.
"And what did you tell him, Lucas?" Aunt Florence asked for her, casting Regina a sly wink.
Father pressed his lips together and crossed his arms as if he were in deep contemplation. She hated it when he did that. Likely, that unreadable stance was what made him a good banker. But she hated it when he did it to her. Especially right now when she wanted a real answer, not be made to play games.
"Well?" she asked breathlessly. Her future hung on the answer her father had given the man, and it had better have been no.
"Why would you want me to say no?" Father asked, his facial expression hadn't changed a bit.
Regina didn't bother to be embarrassed that she'd accidentally slipped and spoken her thoughts aloud, a habit she tended to have when vexed. "Because-because- I don't even know who it is," she exclaimed.
"Hmm. I can see where that might be a concern." He raised his right hand up to his face and tapped one long, bony finger against his chin. "What if I were to tell you that I think you'll be satisfied with the match?"
She stared at him, perplexed. How on earth could he possibly know whether she'd be satisfied with the match or not? The two of them had never once spoken of her suitors, or lack thereof.
He continued to tap his finger alongside the rigid scar that marred his left cheek. "It's because I know you so well, my dear, that I accepted Lord Watson's suit on your behalf."
Regina's mind raced. Lord Watson? Who was Lord Watson and when had they met? She racked her brain and images of stodgy, fat, bald, old lords with awful breath and cold, leering eyes flew in and out of her mind faster than a turtle could swim.
Lord Weston. Lord Rawlings. Lord Townson. Lord Halsey. Lord Danby-or Lord Dandy as she'd come to think of him due to his impeccable appearance. Lord Swatherson. Lord Drakely. Lord Ravenscar.
But no Lord Watson.
At least not that she remembered seeing. Not that that meant much. For all she knew, she'd either met him already at one of the finer balls she'd attended and just couldn't remember him, or she hadn't met him at all.
Frowning, she reached for her father's copy of Debrett's on the side table. Ignoring her father's curious gaze and her aunt's annoying tittering, she flipped through the pages. "Watson. Watson. Watson," she murmured, flipping the page.
Ah, here he was.
Her heart pounded while her eyes skimmed the entry.
His given name was George.
His title was baron.
He was born in 1715.
The book nearly slipped right out of Regina's suddenly loose grasp. If he were born in 1715, that would make him-she'd never been terribly good with sums... She bit her lip. Two minus five... No borrow from the eight to make it a seven... Her teeth dug harder into her lip. "Sixty-seven."
"Dead, I'm afraid," Father said; his voice solemn. "You're looking at an outdated version."
This time, Regina did drop the book-right on her father's toe.
Paying no mind to her clumsiness, Father kicked the book away from his feet with the edge of his boot. "His son is who you'll be marrying."
"Well, that's a relief."
"Show some respect, Regina" Aunt Florence admonished.
"Forgive me," she murmured, her face heating with embarrassment.
"Because I'm in a good mood, I'll let it pass," Father warned. "As I stated already, it is his son you'll be marrying in a fortnight."
Regina bit her lip and waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she said, "Does his son have a name," she paused, "other than Lord Watson?
Father chuckled. "Indeed he does. In fact, he has one you just might recognize."
She doubted that. "Oh?"
The laugh lines on the outside of his lips deepened and his eyes narrowed. "His given name is Edward. Edward Banks."
For the second time in the span of no more than ten minutes, Regina's lungs were robbed of air. Edward? Her Edward? The Edward who'd accompanied Lord Sinclair to Sloan's School for Young Ladies last April and talked to her about turtles? Her heart hammered wildly in her chest. "Why?" she squeaked.
"I'm assuming you're wondering why he came to request your hand in marriage."
Too excited to speak, she nodded. He'd actually requested her hand!
Father resumed his impassive face. "I don't know. Apparently, he took a fancy to you last year."
"Did he tell you that?" she asked. Only excitement could possibly make her brave enough to ask such a silly question.