An hour later, Griff straightened the folds of his neckcloth, splashed on bay lime, and ran a brush through his hair. He turned from the mirror as his valet appeared with a black evening coat.
“Lord and Lady Weymouth are waiting for you downstairs, my lord,” Eastman announced.
Griff shrugged into his evening coat. “Am I late?”
Eastman shook his head. “Not at all, sir. You’ve made splendid time.”
Griffin had burst through the front door of his parents’ town house an hour earlier and hit the stairs running. Eastman had a tub of hot water and his evening clothes prepared. Griffin had rushed through his bath, dressed as quickly as possible, and now, garbed in evening wear, stood ready to join his parents for light refreshments before escorting Alyssa and her mother to Lady Harralson’s party.
“Lords Grantham and Shepherdston sent word that they will be expecting you to join them for brandy and cigars at the club once your duty as escort to Lady Alyssa and her mother is concluded.”
Griff pocketed the handkerchief Eastman handed him, then walked over to his writing table and scribbled a note to Colin and Jarrod informing them that he would meet them when Lady Harralson’s ball concluded. He folded the note and gave it to Eastman. “Send this around to the club.”
“Won’t Lords Grantham and Shepherdston be making an appearance at Lady Harralson’s?”
“God, I hope not,” Griff admitted. “I shall get plenty of grief from Lady Tressingham. I shan’t need additional grief from my boon companions.”
Eastman bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “Anticipating mother-in-law difficulties, sir?”
“With every breath she takes,” Griffin answered. “Until she finishes venting her spleen over her disappointment in getting me for a son-in-law instead of His Grace.”
“Perhaps her displeasure will be short-lived,” Eastman offered.
“Perhaps.” Griffin didn’t sound convinced. “But since you and I will be joining my regiment in ten days, I’ll only have to endure Lady Tressingham’s temper for a little while longer. I’m afraid my bride won’t be as fortunate.”
“Your bride will be safely ensconced at Abernathy Manor,” Eastman reminded him. “Far away from her mother.”
“Mothers have been known to visit,” Griff said, “with or without an invitation, and countesses outrank viscountesses.” He frowned. “Another point in Sussex’s favor. If Lady Alyssa were marrying His Grace, she wouldn’t have to worry about her mother pulling rank.”
“She isn’t marrying the duke; she’s marrying you,” Eastman replied. “Perhaps a word in Lady Weymouth’s ear will do the trick, sir.”
“Mother doesn’t outrank Lady Tressingham,” Griff reminded his valet. “They’re both countesses.”
“Lady Weymouth is higher in order of precedence and is beloved of the queen. Her disapproval carries a great deal of weight with the ladies of the ton, and she’s sure to disapprove of anyone who gives her son’s bride a difficult time.”
“Including the mother of the bride?”
“Most definitely, sir,” Eastman replied. “Because Lady Alyssa is your bride, and your mother won’t allow anyone to question your choice or cause difficulties or distress for her. Especially while you’re away at war.”
“Assuming my mother approves of Lady Alyssa.”
“If you chose her, how could she not?”
Griff grinned. “I hope you’re right.”
“Count on it, sir.”
He would have to, Griff decided. For he had no other choice.
Moments later, Griff entered the main salon and found his mother and father waiting.
He crossed the room and embraced his mother, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“That’s all right, my dear,” Lady Weymouth replied as soon as Griff released her. “Your father and I have only been downstairs a few moments ourselves.
Griff shook hands with his father and then turned back to his mother. “You look beautiful, Mother.”
“Of course I do,” she teased, a twinkle in her blue eyes. “I’m wearing almost all of my sparkly Countess of Weymouth finery.”
“You don’t need your sparkly Countess of Weymouth finery in order to look beautiful, Mother,” Griff told her fondly. “It only enhances what you’ve already got.”
She laughed. “Spoken like a doting only son.”
“I am that,” Griff assured her. But even had he not been Cicely Abernathy’s only child, he would have spoken the truth. She was a beautiful woman with delicately formed features, shimmering silver blond hair, and the same bright blue eyes as her son. She wasn’t an especially tall woman, but she was reed slim with the graceful, willowy body of a ballerina and the vivacious personality and the energy of a six-year-old boy.
Griffin adored her.
She looked up at him with the same blue eyes he faced in his shaving minor every morning. “Your father says you’ve something you want to tell us.”
Lord Weymouth poured his wife a glass of sherry and handed it to her, then poured one for himself and one for his son, giving Griffin a moment to compose his thoughts before making his announcement.
Lady Weymouth lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. “That bad, eh?”
“Not at all.” Griff accepted the glass of sherry from his father, then took a deep breath before blurting out the news. “You see, I’m getting married.”
Lady Weymouth sat up straighter. “To whom?”
“Lady Alyssa Carrollton,” he replied. “The announcement will appear in the morning papers. I wanted to tell you in person before you read it in the papers.”
“This is a bit sudden, isn’t it?” She pinned Griffin with her direct gaze. “And a bit rash, considering that you are about to leave for the Peninsula.” She took a deep breath, and her voice trembled. “You could make the girl a widow.”
Griff didn’t flinch. “I know. The fact that I may not return from the Peninsula is all the more reason I should get married before I go. Ensuring the future of our family is the right thing to do.”
“That sounds exactly as if it came from your father’s mouth instead of yours,” Lady Weymouth commented, glancing at her husband, who remained conspicuously silent.
“It’s still the right thing to do,” Griff answered.
“For us,” his mother replied. “But what about your bride?”
Griffin sighed. “I’d like to think that it’s best for her as well, but the truth is that I don’t know.”
“Does she?” Lady Weymouth asked.
“She understands the situation, and she agreed to it.” Griff lifted his glass and swallowed a mouthful of sherry. “She chose me over the Duke of Sussex.”
His mother smiled. “I don’t blame her. She sounds like a sensible girl.”
Griff nodded.
“She’s Penina Tressingham’s youngest daughter, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard she’s quite lovely.”
“She’s one of the season’s Incomparables,” Griff offered.
His mother frowned at him. “I don’t doubt that she’s lovely on the outside. My hope is that she’s just as lovely on the inside.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” Griff replied.
Lady Weymouth glanced from her husband to her son. “Trevor forced you into this, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did,” Griff admitted. “But he didn’t choose Lady Alyssa. That choice was mine.”
His mother reached over and patted him on the hand. “I don’t imagine Penina is too happy about losing the Duke of Sussex for her youngest daughter. She already has two earls and a viscount.”
Griff shrugged. “It’s done. She’ll get used to it. Besides, I’m not marrying Lady Tressingham. I’m marrying Lady Alyssa.”
“I’m sure I’ll like Alyssa very much. When do we meet her?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?” she repeated.
“At Lady Harralson’s. Didn??
?t Father tell you?”
Lady Weymouth turned to her husband. “No, he did not. But that explains our unexpected foray into the ton tonight and your father’s suggestion that I wear my Countess of Weymouth finery.”
Weymouth cleared his throat, then drained his glass of sherry. He looked at the clock. “Griffin, you’ll want to be on your way—”
“On his way?” Lady Weymouth asked. “I understood that Griffin was riding with us.”
“No, my dear,” Lord Weymouth explained. “Griffin is escorting his intended and her mother to Lady Harralson’s. We’re meeting them there.” He looked at his son. “I’ve ordered your carriage brought around. It’s waiting out front.”
“Thanks, Father.”
Lord Weymouth smiled. “You don’t want to be late.” Griff placed his sherry glass on a marble-topped table, shook hands with his father, and then leaned down and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Good-bye, Mother. I’ll see you at Lady Harralson’s.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Chapter Thirteen
“My first test of endurance comes tonight. I must learn to endure my future mother-in-law’s enmity.”
—Griffin, Lord Abernathy, journal entry, 26 April 1810