Brandon didn’t believe him for a moment. “If you say so.”
“I do.” A muscle twitched in King’s jaw. “Ask a woman how you ought to proceed.”
“The only woman I know well enough to ask is Lottie,” he said dejectedly, for conversing with any of his past paramours on the matter of securing a wife was decidedlyde trop. “Or Pandy.”
King winced. “Yes, but she’s a child, and she approved of that godforsaken waistcoat. Is there no one else?”
Brandon thought for a moment. “Grandmother, I suppose.”
“There you have it.” King beamed. “Ask your grandmother. I’ve no doubt she’ll be pleased to see you married off and obeying her edict. Two birds, one stone, et cetera.”
It occurred to him then, with sudden, painful, almost dizzying clarity, that it wasn’t advice he needed to seek from his grandmother. Rather, it was surrender.
Because he’d spent the last few weeks determined to keep from losing Wingfield Hall, only to realize what mattered most. Not an estate. Not funds. Not the Society. But Lottie and Pandy. They were who mattered to Brandon more than anyone and anything else in all the world.
But if he wanted to win Lottie’s hand, he was going to have to prove that to her.
“I’mafraid that I don’t understand, Brandon.”
He was seated opposite his grandmother in her opulent drawing room, which was laden with so manyobjets d’art, plants, and pieces of furniture that it made a man feel as if he were suffocating just looking at all thebric-à-brac. He tried to ignore the three-foot-tall monk sculpture that was eyeing him steadily at his left and the cloying fronds of a potted palm at his right.
“You may give Wingfield Hall to Horrible Horace,” he repeated, more than aware that he was being churlish.
He couldn’t help it. He’d never liked the oafish clodpoll. He liked him even less now. Somehow, Brandon would have to make amends to his friends for the loss of Wingfield Hall. If he had to dig into his own coffers to do so, he would. Because he refused to marry anyone but Lottie. And she didn’t seem anymore inclined to wed him now than she had when he had first proposed.
“That is a most unkind sobriquet,” his grandmother chastised, frowning as she stroked the pug curled in her lap.
Idly, he wondered how many dogs Grandmother had collected. He’d counted no fewer than eight during his brief call already.
“It is an accurate one,” he pointed out, unapologetic.
“You’ve chosen not to marry, then?” she asked in a tone that dripped with disapproval.
“On the contrary. I intend to marry. However, the lady in question is reluctant to wed. I very much doubt I’ll be able to persuade her to marry me in less than a month’s time. Therefore, I felt it pertinent to inform you.”
It pained him to admit it. Failure was a novel sensation for Brandon. But he could swallow his pride. He could forfeit that which was rightfully his. He could survive the loss of Wingfield Hall.
What he couldn’t fathom was losing Lottie.
“Is the lady’s reluctance regarding the institution of marriage in general or is it down to marrying you in particular, Brandon?” Grandmother wanted to know.
“Marriage in general, I believe. Having endured an unhappy union, she is deeply hesitant to entrust herself to a marriage again.”
The acknowledgment was not without an accompanying surge of fury for Grenfell, that blighter. The man had been too selfish and stupid to appreciate her. Worse, he had hurt her. And Brandon couldn’t lie—he absolutely despised that the bastard had broken her heart.
“A widow,” Grandmother said, raising a winged silvery brow.
“The Countess of Grenfell,” he confirmed.
“That explains the lady’s reticence.” Grandmother harrumphed, thumping her cane for emphasis. “The earl was a horse’s ass.”
Brandon’s lips twitched at her unexpectedly blunt pronouncement. “On that, we are in agreement, madam.”
“Why Lady Grenfell?” Grandmother asked shrewdly, studying him in a way that made Brandon want to shift in his uncomfortable chair.
Something was tickling his right ear, and he realized it was a bloody palm frond. He felt a nudge at his foot and looked down to find another pug nosing at his boot.
“She cares for Pandy. She laughs at Cat’s antics. She looks at me, and it’s as if all the world stops around us.” He did squirm in his chair then, realizing he sounded maudlin, and cleared his throat. “And many other reasons as well.”
