Lucas’s mind jumped to the worst. “Are you well?” he asked, terrified of the answer.
His father looked him in the eye, nodding. “Of course. But I should like the bit of respite—and the chance to mentor you more as you take over the estate and accompanying duties.”
Lucas studied him. “You are sure you are well? I did not anticipate that you would slow down until you were well into your dotage.”
“Your mother would say I am already there, as the stairs seem to wind me more than they once did.” Father chuckled a bit to himself. “But no, I am well.”
Lucas nodded, accepting his father’s assurance, though that tickle of concern remained. It seemed to always be there in the back of his mind, worry that he would lose another family member. But taking on more responsibility was something he could comfortably do. He could do far more good with more responsibility.
“But that is not all, son.”
His eyes found his father’s again.
The wrinkles beside his father’s mouth tightened and loosened before he spoke. “I want you to think seriously about marrying.”
This conversation was proving to be one shock after another, and Lucas could come up with nothing in response. But his father seemed to have expected that.
“I think you perfectly capable of attending to your duties as marquess when I am gone, but I would not for the world wish such a mantle on anyone without a helpmeet. I know you are not unwise in the extent of the requirements of a marquess. The burden of decisions, power, and responsibility is best shared.”
Lucas nodded slowly, buying himself time to come up with some sort of rebuttal. “I have no one in mind for marriage.”
“I expected as much. Your mother would be more than willing to draft up several options for you.” A hint of humor laced this statement.
Lucas allowed a small smile at that. “Believe me, I am aware.”
Father chuckled. “I do not mean to press you, but consider it. You have all Season to find someone you would enjoy having beside you as you take on more responsibility.”
More responsibility. Lucas swallowed, a trickle of fear tingling up his spine. How would he fare if he added the weight of finding a wife to his shoulders? It had never concerned him before, but somehow, in the last weeks, that seemed to have changed.
Father came to his feet, crossing the space between them to clap Lucas on the shoulder. “Just think on it, son.”
Lucas nodded, and his father left.
The empty room created too much silence, which was strange because Lucas generally loved silence and the company of his own thoughts. But at the moment, it was all too quiet in the room and too loud in his head. Because sometime around when his father had told him to find a wife, Lucas had begun imagining a face, and it was a face he absolutely should notimagine. The face of the woman his younger brother was courting.
He scrubbed a hand across his jaw—and scrubbed the image of Miss Faraday from his mind—teeth clenched as he fell into a chair. A wife.
Awife.
He’d already planned to marry... Why was it that having his father recommend it made him suddenly wary? What would he do with a wife? His father had mentioned someone to bear the mantle of responsibility with him, and he could clearly see how his mother did that for his father. She stood proudly beside him at all events, yes, but she also sat with him in his study when he had to be up late working. She rubbed his neck after a long day of estate business. She kissed him on the cheek each morning before he left and again when he returned home.
But that was not what Lucas wanted out of a marriage. He didn’t want an intimate relationship—he wanted a basic partnership. He wanted someone who would make a good marchioness, not necessarily a good wife.
Above all, he had no intention of falling in love.
But... His father had said nothing about love. Only marriage. He could continue with his plan to marry someone well-matched to him but with no chance of causing him to fall in love, and therefore, no chance of losing that love. His plan would just have to be accelerated.
“Lucas.”
His head jerked up at the sound of his name. His mother was in front of him, hands on hips, watching him with a cocked head.
What had he done wrong? Could she somehow read his inner thoughts? That did seem to be a particular talent of mothers.
“I have called your name three times now.”
Oh. So his inner thoughts were safe, thank the heavens.
“I apologize.” He came to his feet as she came close.
