About Kindred Heart
by GS Wiley
36 pages / 17900 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-836-4
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Crippled by a devastating stammer, Alfie would prefer to hide himself away in the audience of London's theaters. But as the perfect Georgian gentleman, it's his responsibility to find a husband for his ward Eleanor. The pain of having to converse with strangers is lessened by the appearance of the kind-hearted Lord George Caldwell and his cousin Lieutenant Markham, who is far more interesting than any character Alfie has seen on stage, and far more intriguing than any man he's ever met in person.
Sample
For all the trouble he had expressing his thoughts,
Alfie was a man who knew his own heart. He had known it, in fact, since he
was a very young man, and knew there was nothing he could do to change it.
Alfie would never make a good husband for any woman. He would have to marry
one day, of course, but he'd decided long ago the least he could do for
womankind was to wait for someone suitable. A widow would be perfect, a
little older than he with no expectations of romance or passion. Preferably
she would be someone who had borne children in the past and could do so
again, giving birth to the required heir with a minimum of fuss. Then, Alfie
would install his wife and child at the Derbyshire estate and once more be
left alone in London with his books and his plays.
It was a practical rather than a romantic outlook. Eleanor clearly did not
share it. “Lord George is a very sweet man. Only a second son, I know, but I
can’t really hope for more than that, and at least he is kind and
intelligent. And Rupert is quite charming, don’t you think?”
“You c-can’t m-marry a m-man for his dog,” Alfie pointed out.
“Alfie, I know that.” Eleanor clucked her tongue. “Lord George is very
handsome, as well.” She leaned in close, as if about to impart a secret.
“He’s got a little sister, the Lady Margaret. She’s quite young still, but
she’s said to be a great beauty. Lord George says she’s the loveliest girl
in London. She won’t be out for another year, at least not officially, but
I’m certain that if I mentioned your interest…”
“I h-h-have no in-interest.” Eleanor frowned a little, but she did not press
the subject.
The Whitworth was not one of Alfie’s regular theaters. It was primarily a
location for ballet performances, and Alfie was less fond of those than of
plays that used words or song. It was pleasant small theater, with plush red
carpets and gilt cherubs flying high on the domed ceilings. Gas lights
burned in sconces on the walls. The foyer was crowded before the
performance, and Eleanor clung to Alfie’s elbow as they maneuvered through
the crowds of fan-waving ladies and frock-coat wearing gentlemen.
Alfie spied Lieutenant Markham first. He was difficult to miss, standing in
his naval uniform next to an oil painting of some austere theater patron.
Lord George was with him, as was a woman Markham introduced as, “My sister
Mrs. Fitz.”
Mrs. Fitz looked nothing like her brother. She was short and plump, with a
pillowy décolleté and fingers like little sausages. She took Eleanor’s arm
as soon as they were within reach. “I am so glad to make your acquaintance,
Miss O’Reilly. Lord George has told me much about you. About both of you,”
she added, although Alfie was clearly an afterthought. “Come, we have much
to discuss.” A brief look of panic crossed Eleanor’s face, but she was a
lady. She composed herself and let Mrs. Fitz lead her toward the stairs.
“My sister is an enthusiastic hostess,” Markham commented dryly.
“Indeed.” If Lord George was irritated at having Eleanor spirited away so
quickly, he was too well-bred to show it. “Thank you for agreeing to join
us, Lord Brentworth.”
“M-m-m-my p-pleasure.” He allowed himself a glance at Markham. He was as
well-favored as Alfie remembered, with a handsome face and a fine figure
made even finer by his dashing uniform. All told, Markham was as appealing
as any man Alfie had ever seen on stage. That thought caused a tremor of
unease in Alfie’s stomach, and Alfie looked away.
“After you, gentlemen.” Lord George extended a gallant hand. Alfie followed
the bobbing heads of Eleanor and Mrs. Fitz to their seats.