“Your Grace.”
“Please, be seated. I understand my mother has come bearing news.”
“Not news, precisely.” The Dowager settled more comfortably in her chair, like a predator preparing to savour a particularly gratifying meal. “More in the nature of… opportunity.”
“Mother.”
“Do not take that tone with me, Sebastian. I am merely fulfilling my obligations as your parent and as a member of this family. The succession must be secured. You have had seven years in which to find a bride of your own choosing, and you have conspicuously failed to do so. I am simply offering assistance.”
“I have not failed. I have declined.”
“You have declined everyone. That is its own form of failure.”
Sebastian lowered himself into a chair and prepared for battle. “I have declined to marry women who regarded me asa means to an end rather than as a person. Surely that is not unreasonable.”
“It becomes unreasonable when the alternative is no marriage at all. You are a duke, Sebastian. Women will always see you, in some measure, as a means to an end. That is the nature of your position. The question is whether you can find one whose ends align sufficiently with your own to form a tolerable partnership.”
It was—infuriatingly—a rational argument. His mother was always rational, which made disputing her infinitely more difficult than if she had merely been unreasonable.
“And you believe this list”—he gestured toward the papers—“contains candidates whose ends may align with mine?”
“I believe it contains candidates worth examining. Lady Marchmont is hosting a house party in Kent in the coming weeks. I have accepted on your behalf—do not look at me like that; you were going to refuse, and I could not permit it—and several excellent young ladies will be in attendance.”
“Which young ladies?”
The Dowager smiled the satisfied smile of a woman who had anticipated the question. “Miss Georgiana Ashwood is said to be quite accomplished. Her family is respectable—connected to the Thornfield baronetcy, if I am not mistaken—and she is considered one of the beauties of her season.”
“Georgiana Ashwood.” The name meant nothing to Sebastian. “What do we know of her beyond rumour?”
“She plays the pianoforte admirably and speaks French with a creditable accent. Her mother is… ambitious, though that is hardly uncommon. Her father is inoffensive. There is a younger sister, not yet out, and some sort of poor relation residing with them—a cousin, I believe—but nothing scandalous.”
“A poor relation?”
“Yes—the daughter of the previous baronet. Sir Edmund Ashwood died without making proper provision for her, and the family took her in. A gesture of family benevolence, one assumes.” The Dowager’s tone suggested she assumed no such thing. “But that is scarcely relevant. Miss Georgiana is the candidate of interest.”
Sebastian filed away the detail about the poor relation without quite knowing why. Perhaps because his mother had dismissed the girl so swiftly—and his mother rarely dismissed anyone without cause.
“Who else will be present?”
The Dowager launched into a thorough catalogue of the guest list, her commentary displaying both her encyclopaedic knowledge of the ton and her unembarrassed willingness to share opinions on everyone’s lineage, accomplishments, and matrimonial prospects. Sebastian listened with half an ear, his gaze drifting periodically toward the window, to the gardens, to anywhere but the conversation before him.
Helena Crane, he noticed, was studying her hands with the fixed concentration of someone attempting invisibility. He sympathised. Few people succeeded in being invisible in his mother’s presence.
“—and Lord Thornbury will bring his sister, though I cannot imagine anyone will pay her much attention; she has the most unfortunate teeth—Sebastian, you are not listening.”
“I am listening. Unfortunate teeth.”
“You were not listening to what came before. I was explaining the particulars of Miss Ashwood’s circumstances.”
“Her father is inoffensive, her mother ambitious, and she plays the pianoforte,” Sebastian replied, summoning a tired smile. “I assure you, I was listening. I am merely uncertain the information signifies, as I have no intention of marrying Miss Ashwood—regardless of her musical accomplishments.”
“You have no intention of marrying anyone. That is precisely the difficulty.”
“The difficulty is that I have not yet met anyone I wish to marry. Surely that ought to be a consideration.”
“It is a consideration in a love match. You are not seeking a love match; you are seeking an alliance. The sooner you accept that distinction, the sooner we may all proceed.”
Sebastian rose, abruptly unable to remain seated. He paced to the fireplace and back again, aware that he looked like a caged animal and unable to prevent it.
