Anne Barbour by A Pressing Engagement

ready to have me committed to Bedlam.’’
    The tale was not so long in the telling, after all, but when Jared had finished, his brother indeed looked as though he believed him to have taken leave of his senses.
    “That regal creature? A lightskirt? And she was able to fool Grandfather? This is—incredible, Jared. And Aunt Amabelle is part of the scheme? I begin to believe you’re both candidates for the loony bin!”
    Jared flung up a hand.
    “Peccavi, brother. Enough. I know the plan is dangerous. All right, foolhardy, if you will. But, Simon, if you had seen him, worrying and fretting. ... I would have done anything to bring him peace. And let us have a little less of the moral outrage, my lad. This little project is a drive in the park compared to some of the crack-brained schemes I’ve seen you through over the years.”
    Simon had the grace to blush. “But—”
    Jared continued, ignoring the interruption. “Besides, the thing is working. So far, at least. As you saw, Grandfather is happy. To give the adventuress her due, she is a consummate actress, and has convinced not only the old gentleman, but Aunt Amabelle and the entire household, of her gentility.’’
    “All but you, that is.”
    “Indeed. I wish you could have heard her story, Simon. Well, perhaps it is better you did not. Her tears are most effective, and her voice, soft as summer rain. Of course, it’s a tale guaranteed to touch the hardest of hearts.”
    “But not yours, I take it.”
    Jared laughed shortly.
    “I think you know better than that. It’s been a good many years since I allowed my purse to be lightened by a sad story and a pair of appealing eyes.”
    “Ah, yes, the lovely Cleanthe. Jared, are you still smarting over that? Good God, that was over ten years ago! I was just a sprout at the time, but I can still remember you glumping about the place as though you meant to put a period to your existence at any moment.”
    “Was I that bad?” Jared’s mouth curved in a rueful smile. “No, little brother, I am not smarting over it. I’ve enjoyed as many enjoyable connections since then as the next man, I should imagine. I am, of course, always willing to pay handsomely for services rendered, but I have become a little harder to fool than the next man.”
    “Yes, and just a bit more reluctant to fall in love.”
    “Nonsense. I just told you—”
    “I don’t mean agreeable connections, Jared. I mean love—as in marriage and children.”
    “Good God,” exclaimed the earl, “who looks for love in marriage? And who in their right mind would wish for that wretched condition of petty jealousies and whining recriminations? But to answer your question, yes, I shall marry. Having been brought to the realization of my dereliction, I have promised myself to make an offer within the next few weeks.”
    “Ah. Who is the lucky candidate? Anyone I know?”
    “Don’t be an ass. I don’t know. Sally Westerby, perhaps.”
    “She squints, don’t she?”
    “Well, Eleanor Forbes-Lacey, then.”
    “Oh, yes—the Incomparable. Has her temper improved any?”
    A touch of impatience crept into Jared’s voice.
    “All right, what about Catherine Ponsonby, or what’s-her-name, Framlingham’s youngest daughter? The point I am trying to make is that there are any number of ‘candidates,’ all well-bred, dutiful, and noticeably anxious to wed the heir to a noble fortune.”
    “And you really don’t care which of them you marry?” asked Simon curiously.
    “No. Not since the days when I burned with passion for the exquisite Cleanthe, and had visions of installing her as Countess of Burnleigh, have I considered marriage anything more than an extended tour of duty. Lord, what callow dreams those were!”
    “What ...” Simon hesitated. “What did happen, Jared. with Cleanthe?”
    “Did I never tell you? No, I suppose not; you were just a stripling then.” Jared sighed again. “I, of course, was a sophisticate of nineteen. I thought she