Chapter 3
Alex did not like the fact that his father had summoned – nay, commanded him – to call, but even though he no longer considered himself a member of the pack, he still had a deep-seated need to connect with family.
Neither his father nor his older brothers understood him, he thought as he was let into the house by an old retainer pleased to see him. To them, the pack was everything. To him, who had not inherited the ability to shift his shape, it was a nuisance. While the family lycans required numbers for support, he could function just fine on his own. An inheritance from his late mother also made it possible to leave, as she had intended it to, to live independently of his father's rule. Which made today's audience with the old wolf all the more confusing.
Wilfred, the butler, settled Alex in the study with a small whiskey and informed him that Mr. Hartwell would join him shortly.
Twenty minutes later, his tall, autocratic father strode into the room. He was smiling.
“Good news?” Alex prompted, even as he rose to shake his father's outstretched hand. The fact that his father had extended a hand in the first place told Alex that the old wolf was not going to give out any lectures today. Good.
“The very best! I should say, the very best, Reverend Hartwell!”
Alex shook his head in bemusement. His father was never this jovial around the one son who most resembled a beloved late wife. And one who did not have the family talent.
“You may.” They took seats, his father choosing one next to his son, not the chair behind the desk.
“I have found a mate for one of your brothers.”
Alex was about to take a sip if whiskey, but stopped himself. On second thought, he might need that drink and he tossed back half of it in one gulp.
“How... interesting. You understand that I cannot condone this, but neither will I condemn you.”
“Yes, yes, I know where you stand when it comes to perpetuating the pack. But I want to keep this in the family, and I do not think you could condemn my wish for them to be wed by a man of the cloth.” The old man sniffed the air for a moment, frowned, and then smiled at his son.
“You want me to perform the wedding ceremony?” He was surprised once again. Although it made sense. The service would be performed, most likely, under a red Hunter's Moon, and only in the presence of the pack. A shifted pack. There were no other lycan-related vicars that he knew who would be able to keep his wits about him in the midst of a pack of wolves.
“You will be discreet.” The old man was sure of that, and he would be correct. Alex would never betray those closest to him, even if he did not approve of their lifestyle.
“I assume this will be at Hartwell in October?”
“Naturally. Miss Winterbottom and her family will have been invited by then, and...”
“Wait. Winterbottom?” Alex frowned. How many Winterbottoms were there that this was not the same lady he had recently met and could not get out of his mind?
“Yes. Miss Winterbottom, it seems, carries the ability to breed lycans. I only tell you this so that you may have no objections to her marrying one of your brothers.”
Hell, yes, he had objections. But now was not the time to think of them. He was going to agree now, so he could ensure his presence at Hartwell during the full moon next month. And he was curious. Since his parent was in a gregarious mood, he pressed him for information.
“Miss Winterbottom has agreed to the marriage?” That was a reasonable question – no minister would ever marry a couple where one of the parties objected to the union. That was against church law.
“Not yet, but she shall. After all, your brothers are wealthy, with the promise of more money in the future, ruggedly handsome and appealing in an olfactory way.”
Alex was of two minds considering the olfactory comment, but he wisely held his tongue. “She knows what she is?”
“No, and no one is going to tell her, either. Not yet. I may tell her close to the wedding, but I plan to announce it to the rest of the pack at the party after the ceremony.”
“Special license?”
“Naturally. After all, we cannot expect the wedding to take place in the morning. Not the real ceremony, at any rate.”
Of course, Alex thought a bit sarcastically. It had to be during the full moon.
“What if she refuses?”
“She will not dare.”
Alex shrugged, glad his parent was more optimistic about this endeavor than he was. Besides, he planned on exposing everything to the lady beforehand, in case she was actually considering one of his barbaric brothers. He hoped not, and he dared think she would be as offended by the entire situation as he was, even though he barely knew her himself.
“But what if she does?” he pressed.
“I will exact a promise from you now that you will say nothing to the lady, even though you have not yet met her.”
“Sir?”
“I do not want you tracking her down, telling her everything we know, spoiling my plans. Do I have your word, as a Hartwell, that you will not?”
Alex hesitated. Although he wished to protect Miss Winterbottom, there were ways around a promise if he gave it. He might not be a member of the pack, but he did wish to have his father's approval. Who did not?
“Yes, I promise,” he finally said, even as he wondered how much such an agreement would cost him. He would worry about that later.
For a couple of weeks, wherever she went, Rachel was forced into the company of the Hartwell brothers. Her mother continued to be displeased, at least until someone pointed out the Hartwell wealth and lineage. After that, she was less watchful of her daughter. Rachel felt betrayed. And she continued to be bored to tears.
Most of her time with the Hartwells was spent in silence. Both of the gentlemen seemed content with that, but Rachel often wished to run screaming from their presence.
One day, however, at a Venetian breakfast, only one of the Hartwell brothers, Marric, was present. Rachel did not think much of it, as Mr. Hartwell was close mouthed, as usual, until he suggested they take a walk in their hostess' gardens.
Already inattentive to the entire event, Rachel was more than willing for a change of scenery, even though she found her companion lacking any semblance of intelligence.
They were soon out of sight of the crowd, and Rachel stopped to survey a flower bed that had already been prepared for winter. When she turned back to Mr. Hartwell, he was actually on one knee and reaching for her hand. She put both hands quickly behind her back.
“What are you doing?”
“I am going to ask for your hand in marriage. Please be quiet, Miss Winterbottom, so I do not forget what I am supposed to say.”
“You memorized what you want to say? This is rehearsed?”
Yes, now, please, Miss Winterbottom, be quiet.”
“But...”
“Shhh!” It was the most he had ever said to her. “I know we have not known each other for long, but I have a warm regard for you.”
“Warm...” Of all the cheek!
“Yes, warm regard for you. I think we would rub along tolerably well, and I am asking you to be my wife.”
“You had to rehearse this?” she all but shouted. “Of all the.... 'Rub along tolerably well...' I have never heard such a terrible proposal in all my life!” Even the betrothal of Arabella and Cosmo had not come off this badly.
“Does that mean yes?”
“It means no. I could never accept someone who only holds me in warm regard, sir, and thinks we would rub along tolerably well. I want something more out of life, and I am sorry to say that you could never provide it.”
“I have money!”
Rachel turned red. “I do not measure the worth of a husband by his money!” She stormed off, but as she turned a corner in the garden, she heard him speak again.
“I have money.”
If that was not bad enough, Mr. Ulric Hartwell cornered her at a ball the very next evening.
“May I have this dance, Miss Winterbottom?”
“I...” She hesitated, in case his brother was not too far away, but there was no sign of the other Mr. Hartwell, and she did not give a second thought to spending time with Ulric. After all, if she had turned down one Hartwell, the other must assume that he was no longer in the running, either.
She was wrong.
“How have you been?” she asked as they performed a country dance.
“I have been miserable,” he confessed as they met at one point.
“Oh? I am sorry to hear that. Do you wish to tell me about it?” Rachel was not exactly enamored of the Hartwell brothers, but she was not unkind, either. She suggested they sit out the next dance in the set. He agreed and said he would be more comfortable out of doors. Rachel agreed and they adjourned to the garden when they were able to leave the dance floor without comment.
“Now, tell me why you are miserable?” she prompted once they were outside.
“You have refused my brother.”
“But... Are you that close that you are in such sympathy?”
“You broke his heart.”
“I sincerely doubt that, Mr. Hartwell. He never showed that his heart was engaged, and for that matter, neither have I, because it is not so. You might support his disappointment, but I doubt you feel miserable because of a broken heart.”
“But we want you to marry one of us, so if you will not have Marric, perhaps you will have me?”
Rachel was not going to leave without hearing the entire proposal, unless he mentioned money, in which case she was going back into the house.
“Perhaps. What have you to offer?” she wondered.
“A house. I have a house.”
Rachel leaned against a marble column, one of the more pretentious pieces in their hostess' garden. “Oh? A house is good. What else?”
“I have a position with my father, and I can support a wife. And a family.”
At least he didn't say money out loud, she thought.
“Those are all very nice things,” she agreed, “and one day, I want them, as well. But I do not want all those things with either you or your brother.” A pair of green-gray eyes came to mind, instead. “It is nothing personal, Mr. Hartwell, truly. But I cannot be your wife any more than I can marry your brother.”