“They are one of the leading families in London,” she replied coolly, settling into a chair. “Ring for tea, won’t you, dear?”
He ignored her, taking a step forward. “Now is not a convenient time for me. I cannot entertain guests.”
“There is never a convenient time with you,” she said with a sigh. “If I had written to ask, you’d have refused. You forced my hand.”
“They must go.”
She gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You know perfectly well that you can’t send them away. To do so would be beyond rude—even for you—and Society would not forgive it.”
“At this moment,” Neil said between his teeth, “I do not much care. Why have you brought Lady Constance here?”
“I should have thought that obvious,” Aunt Harriet said crisply. “I wish you to marry her. It is high time you chose a wife. I have spent months considering the matter and have decided that Constance will do very well.”
Neil almost laughed aloud. It seemed ridiculous that only minutes previously he had been in the schoolroom, inches away from that infuriating governess, with her hand in his and her eyes lingering on him.
He pushed the thought aside. There was a time and a place for such nonsense, and now wasnotthe time.
“I am not going to marry Lady Constance Fairfax,” he said flatly.
“Why not? You must marry someone. You have grieved long enough.”
“Grieved long enough?” His voice rose. “Aunt, my brother-in-law was murdered—murdered—and my sister died of grief soon after. I watched her fade before my eyes, and I could do nothing!”
Aunt Harriet rose and crossed to him. She was nearly his height, her posture straight as ever. Placing her hands on hisshoulders, she said softly, “I did not tell you to forget, Neil. I said only that Catherine would be horrified to see you wasting your life like this.”
He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. Shrugging out of her grasp, he moved to the window.
Outside, Crawford supervised the unloading of the Farendales’ absurd number of boxes. Lord Farendale—thin, cadaverous, and irritable—scuttled about, berating footmen who were not his. His wife, a small, faded woman, stood motionless, staring into space. Beside her, Lady Constance looked tall and radiant, but her eyes were glassy, unseeing, as though she were somewhere else entirely.
“Why are they here, Aunt?” Neil asked quietly. “Lady Constance is very pretty. Can she not find a match in London?”
Aunt Harriet sighed. “Fair, willowy beauties are not in vogue this Season. It’s all dark, statuesque ones now. Constance’s pale hair and blue eyes have not drawn the attention they deserve. The family is comfortable, but her dowry is modest. I daresay Lord Farendale nearly bit off my hand when I suggested this visit.”
Neil turned, incredulous. “You cannot mean that hair colour and figure go in and out of fashion like bonnets and shoes.”
“I mean precisely that,” she said. “For women, at least. Men may look as plain as they please, so long as they’re rich.”
He glanced over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow. “You are cynical, Aunt.”
She sniffed. “Perhaps so, but I am not wrong. Now, my dear boy, I cannot compel you to marry. But you know as well as I that a duke must have a duchess. Constance and her family are aware of your reputation, and they have not been deterred. Why not at leastconsiderher? We cannot very well send them packing now.”
“No,” he said tightly. “You have seen to that. I remind you, Aunt, that the last man who presumed to dictate my choices now breeds sheep in Scotland, too afraid to return to London.”
Her mouth curved in a wry smile. “There is one crucial difference in that sentence, nephew:man.I am not a man—and I am not going anywhere.”
“I have no need of a duchess,” Neil shot back. “I manage Burenwood perfectly well alone, and Society can go hang. Emma is thriving, and I have secured an excellent governess to help raise her. All is in hand. I require no wife to improve matters.”
Aunt Harriet gave a patient smile. “I’m sure your little governess works very hard, but a governess is not a mother—not the same at all. If you cannot see that, I truly fear for Emma’s future.”
He flinched at that. “I will not marry Lady Constance.”
She sighed, moving to the door. To his chagrin, he realised she meant to dismiss him from his own room.
“I am not ordering you to marry her,” she said, her tone weary. “I am merely asking you to think about it. Will you do that, at least?”
Neil’s shoulders sagged. The fight drained from him.
“Very well,” he said curtly, striding to the door. “I will think about it.”
