Fated Love - Deluxe Version

Chapter 3

3

Laethan

Laethan Ross Gordon, seventh Earl of Rathcavan, hated being late for anything—especially when it had to do with his beloved grandmother. His frustration grew as he tugged at the knot his cousin tied for him around his neck. If he didn’t get the damned thing loose he would die of suffocation. He ducked under a tray and slid past the footman carrying it through the narrow servant’s passageway behind the great hall, wanting to just slip into the room quietly and not take attention from his grandmother, the countess, on her special day. Well, the day they chose to celebrate her seventy-fifth birthday. Her actual birthday had been two weeks earlier, in mid-September, but she’d insisted on this month-long house party to bring her nephew’s family up for the hunting. Lord Huddleston’s wife, daughter, and two other ladies were guests of his grandmother’s for the month.

One of the young ladies in this room was the Duke of Caversham’s only daughter. His gaze scanned the great hall searching for her. She was here—Lady Isabel—the lady he'd dreamed of meeting properly since that day three-and-a-half-years earlier. That was when he’d gone to London to speak with the owner of a foundry he and his cousin were considering purchasing in Glasgow with the intention to convert it to a rail production mill supplying rail to the expanding railroad industry spreading across the country. Knowing he was coming to London, his grandfather had asked him to pay a call on the Duke of Caversham, and he had. At the time Laethan was a mere mister, not even the heir to his grandfather’s title yet because his uncle still lived. So he’d gone to Caversham House to carry his grandfather’s greetings to the duke one afternoon.

That’s when he first saw her.

It had been early summer, and the family was packing to return to their home in the country. The house had been in transition, with servants scurrying about and footmen carrying trunks to the lower level of the home. Laethan had been seated in the hallway in front of the duke’s office when Lady Isabel entered the front door of Caversham House after her ride in the park. Her face had been radiant with color and her doe eyes were sparkled with excitement. Her long, wavy black hair had been hanging down her back, in windswept disarray.

Laethan overheard her tell her mother she’d lost the ribbon that held it back, but that her hat had prevented it from falling into her eyes while she rode. She disappeared up the steps without speaking with him, but they’d had a moment of eye contact that he would never forget, and he knew at that very moment he wanted her.

At the time he’d nothing to offer the daughter of a gypsy, much less the only daughter of the richest man in the entire country, and one of the most powerful members of parliament. Laethan knew he needed a plan, and would have to bide his time, all the while praying she didn’t meet another. And during that time, he was going to build his mill somehow, and hope they would turn a profit quickly.

The very next day, Laethan purchased that falling down, abandoned foundry he and Eamon had come across. But all the right intentions and dreams couldn’t prevent the roof collapse over the area that housed his furnaces, leading to an explosion and fire. They’d recovered and rebuilt the roof, and production had been going swimmingly, up until the rolling mill failure which showed him how critical it was to have the most current and state of the art furnaces and rolling equipment. And since they were updating equipment they might as well expand because Laethan didn’t see the demand for rail decreasing at all.

All this left his personal business in debt to his and Eamon’s ears, which was why he needed an heiress, but in his heart there was only one heiress he wanted. Lady Isabel Halden.

Reading about Lady Isabel in the newspapers each week made him smile, and every time a gossip columnist wrote about her rebuff of one man or another, he got his hopes up. And rumors of Lady Isabel's incredibly large dowry were never confirmed in anything he'd read, but often hinted at. The last time was earlier this year when one gossip writer wrote: "How a lady of such impeccable breeding, incredible beauty, and immense dowry could still be unattached after four seasons out in society leads this author to believe that the lady is either too selective, or there must be such a great defect in her personality that would make it impossible for a man to remain in her company for any length of time."

Laethan also heard she'd refused dozens of offers of marriage, and that her father feared for his daughter’s safety so much he had guards protecting her. Of course he doubted that all he'd read or heard about the lady was true, but one thing he did know—having that man as an ally in his corner would be good for his business.

Yes, he'd have to thank his grandmother for inviting her family to the party. When she'd told him it was time he took a wife and asked him if he had anyone in mind, Laethan quipped in an off-handed manner, that he'd love a match with the Duke of Caversham's daughter. He'd said it in passing, in a very off-handed way, or so he thought, because his interest in the lady was a secret he'd kept to himself all these years.

He stared at the trio of ladies making their way down the steps. Now which one was she? Hers was the second name announced, but the lady in the center of the trio was blonde wearing an ice blue gown, so obviously not the ebony-haired goddess he remembered, or that the gossip columnists adored. The taller of the two brunettes, wearing white, was not dark enough to be her either, her hair was caramel-colored and straight. He remembered Lady Isabel having soft waves of ebony black falling to her waist.

She had to be the voluptuous petite lass in blood red bringing up the rear of that threesome. He then noticed her midnight black hair, and she was everything he remembered, and more. Her face had a more mature beauty, than child-like charm now. The way she carried herself, with that adorable regal tilt of her chin, and the graceful fluidity with which she walked, all mesmerized him to the point he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was poised, elegant, and… regal.

She should be married to a King, she was so far above him and so beautiful. But she’d bewitched him that long ago summer day, and he wanted her as his wife.

The society gossip section of the papers all called her an aloof beauty, an Ice Princess. All he could think of was how wrong they were. There was nothing aloof about this young woman who—without knowing him—met his gaze and gave him a grin. From what he’d read about her, and observed with his own eyes, she always had a ready smile for her friends, and if it weren’t for the fact that she turned down one suitor after the next, she would never have this reputation for being cold at all.

He couldn't take his eyes off her, this lass some gossip writer dubbed Lady Ice. The young lady entering the great hall was simultaneously radiant and… delectable. Even a vision of the most beautiful angels heaven could not be lovelier. From the top of her head, piled high with curls and laced through with what appeared to be tiny pearls, to the bottom of her deliciously curvaceous body, everything about the lady mesmerized him, drew him to her.

Good manners dictated he get to the dais to greet his grandmother as he'd just entered the room through the servants’ vestibule, but he held back. He had to first collect his wits lest he appear a love-drunk fool. Just then his twin cousins Alain and Eamon caught up to him, stopping just short of bumping into him.

"One of the kitchen maids said the card rooms are starting to fill," Eamon clapped him on the back. "We need to go on down if we're to escape this crush of marriage-minded dearlings before someone gets their claws into us. So let's greet your grandmother and hie on out of here, right?"

"Aye," said Alain, the older twin. "While I'm not ready to get shackled yet, I will admit to looking forward to a dance later with your cousin, Miss Penelope."

Eamon stopped and whistled low, catching his attention. “Oh, hullo, dearlings!"

Laethan returned his gaze to the striking beauties, grinning. "They are the heiresses I believe my grandmother invited for me to select a bride from."

Of course Eamon and Alain knew the true purpose of this house party. His cousins, and now their friend Nate, were aware to some extent of the circumstances Laethan found himself in. Not of his doing, yet his to repair.

"Why I believe your grandmother just made a house guest of me, cousin," Eamon said. "This should be an interesting few weeks. Who are they?" he asked of his twin, who had been here several days already. "Do you know?"

"The blonde is Miss Penelope," Alain said. "She's your cousin Laethan, and Lord Huddleston's daughter."

Laethan c****d a dark auburn brow. "You mean that’s… that’s my step-cousin? I don't know why, but I was expecting someone who wasn’t… as attractive as that.”

“Ahh… then she's the lass Nate came for." Eamon leaned closer to Laethan and Alain. "Brother mine, who are the other two with Nate's lass?"

"The shorter, curvier lass is the duke of Caversham's daughter," said Alain, "and the tall one is the earl of Camden's daughter. All three are very charming, polite, and intelligent ladies. Do not think to dally with them, ye big dolt."

"Let the ladies be the judge, laddie," Eamon replied. "If one is in need of consoling—or something more—from a real man and not town dandies like yerself, then I'm just the man to help a lady out."

“Stay away from the lass in red,” Laethan whispered. He couldn’t let his ill-mannered cousin work his charming way into the lady’s heart. Not when Laethan wanted her for his own.

"What's that?" Eamon asked.

“You heard me,” Laethan said, “Lady Isabel Halden, the lass in red… until you hear from me she is off limits to your meaty mitts.”

“Where did ye hear about her?”

“In the papers,” he replied, never taking his eyes off Lady Isabel. "You should read them as well. You'd learn much."

Eamon grunted. "I've got better things to do than read about society doings."

"Yes, well…” Laethan continued, never taking his eyes off the dark-haired heiress, “After my uncle died, and I knew I was going to inherit from my grandfather, I had to change what I think with regard to finding a wife. Aye, I've got to do my duty by the title. But, by damned, I'd like the experience to at least be pleasant.” He clapped Eamon on the back and grinned at the two men he planned to stand up for him. “And I'm thinking that little one with the abundant cleavage might make the task very pleasurable indeed."

Laethan couldn’t help but remember the look in her eye that morning he sat in the hallway outside her father’s office, or the shy grin she gave him as she went up the steps and out of his sight. That vision is what motivated him to meet, court, and marry her. Because she was the one he wanted as his countess.

Eamon slapped him on the shoulder. "Well then, let's hie on o'er to your grandmother and get an introduction."

Alain stopped his brother. "They are ladies, and not barmaids, Eamon. Do not think to play fast with their hearts."

Laethan watched two of the ladies walking away from Lady Isabel, and she moved off to a corner. Now was his chance to get close to her. Like a moth to her flame he wanted to fly into the light.

“Give me a few minutes to think and I’ll meet you downstairs.” Laethan left his cousins behind as he wended his way toward the far corner of the great hall to watch the lady a moment or two before he made his move. Without a doubt she was incredibly beautiful. Even better, she had a dowry that would end all his problems.

He had to hand it to his grandmother. She said she would do her part to bring the ladies to him and she delivered, bringing the biggest fish in all Britain to his feet. He'd have to remember to give her a big kiss to thank her. Better yet, he'd promise to name his first daughter after her.