Husband Wanted (HC #1)

1: A Plan in the Making

Elizabeth Anne Humphrey was not exactly plain, she decided after studying her reflection in the mirror for many minutes, she just did not have a particularly strong feature to recommend her. Her hair and eyes were a soft brown, gentle, but hardly enticing. Her brow was not weak, but neither did it hint at an iron will. And her lips were too thin and slow to smile to be beguiling. Not even her nose was interesting, she thought, turning in profile to study it in more detail. It was too sharp to be delicate, yet not sharp enough to be aristocratic. All-in-all, it was a very disappointing appearance, and at two and twenty she could hardly expect any further improvements.

She pushed herself away from the vanity with a harrumph, grasping the front of her skirts in both hands as she darted out of her room and along the landing in search of her brother. He was, as was only to be expected, in his study. The door was ajar – again, not uncommon – and she knocked once before stepping inside.

Lord Simon Humphrey, Duke of Germaine, bore a striking resemblance to his sister, though the features which were boring on her were apparently, if one was inclined to believe the other ladies of Beth's acquaintance, quite striking on him. His hair was in a charming disarray, and his eyes were an inviting chocolate colour, and his nose was most definitely aristocratic. Despite his welcoming smile for her, Beth felt an irritated frown form.

"I shall not marry," she declared suddenly before he could speak, placing her hands on her hips.

Simon's eyebrows rose slightly, alarmed at the unprovoked proclamation. But again, she spoke before he could.

"I shall not be dissuaded from this decision," she said, adding a firm nod. If pressed, she might have admitted that was not exactly true. She could be very easily dissuaded from her decision, if only some beloved relative had some suggestion as to how she could find a man willing to be her suitor.

She paused expectantly.

"I would never force you into marriage, sister-mine," Simon said gently, his mouth curving slightly. "If you say you would rather not marry, then you need not marry."

He was not overly surprised when her expression darkened. She glowered at him from the doorway, but without finding suitable words to express her irritation – for, obviously, he had responded with perfect grace – she huffed her exasperation and stalked out of his study in search of a more sympathetic ear.

Simon watched her go with calm equanimity, glancing away from the door when there was a heavy sigh from beside him. The child uncurled herself from her seat on the floor, standing to lean against his desk. She caught her head in one hand and sighed again.

"If Beth does not marry, does she live here forever?" The voice was delicate and fitting of the 8-year-old who spoke, but the tone was that of a much older – and wearier – woman.

He didn't laugh at her question – he'd made it a habit many years earlier to never laugh at her. "Indeed she would."

Another heavy sigh. "We shall have no peace if that happens."

Simon frowned gently. "Be kind to our sister, Phil. She is concerned for her future. Two and twenty is a very uncertain age for a young woman."

Phil – Phillipa Frances Humphrey, though she rarely owned to it – met his gaze evenly, not shirking from his slight rebuff. "You said the same last year, Si. When is this 'certain age', for if we celebrate her birthday twice a year might we make it there faster?"

Her brother shook his head, running a hand across his face to hide his smile. "I believe it is 8-years-old, actually," he said, reaching out to ruffle her hair.

She leaned to rest her head on both hands, staring at the door with melancholy. "We are doomed, then."

"We have no time to be doomed." He pushed her gently away from his desk so he could pick up a few sheafs of paper. "Now, where are the accounts from..."