© 2001

“Damn me, there is no other way! I shall have to take a wife," Quinton Hunter, the Duke of Sedgwick, announced to his assembled friends. He was a very tall man, standing over six feet in height, with a lean hard body, and a shock of black hair.

"We all do eventually," his friend, Viscount Pickford replied with a cheerful grin.

"I don't notice you in any great hurry, Ocky," the duke said.

Octavian Baird, Viscount Pickford, grinned again. "I'll tell you what, Quint, we'll do it together. We'll go trolling for brides this coming season, eh?" His blue eyes danced mischievously.

"I think we should all do it," Marcus Bainbridge, the Earl of Aston announced. "My family would be delighted to have me bring a pretty heiress home."

"By God, Bain, what a splendid idea!" Viscount Pickford laughed.

The three friends looked to their fourth companion, Lord Adrian Walworth.

"Well, Dree?" the duke said.

Lord Walworth shrugged. "If I don't, and you do, I'll not have anyone left to play with," he grumbled somewhat petulantly. "Wives don't like their husbands having single gentlemen friends." He was thoughtful for a brief moment, and then he continued. "We'll not be able to play our little games in France any longer if we take wives. I suppose it is better that we don't. We were almost caught the last time. I don't relish having my head on some Frenchie's pike." He grinned. "If only all the fashionables in London knew that they had us to thank for their favorite dressmaker. We were at our zenith when we rescued Madame Paul and her people," he waxed nostalgically, but then he agreed, "Aye if you three plan to marry then I must out of necessity, or lose your company. It will certainly make my mama happy. All she talks about when I'm down at the hall is her lack of grandchildren."