“I know my duty, Mother. You need not instruct me in the necessities of my position. But I will not—cannot—bind myself for life to a woman who sees me as nothing more than a title to be acquired. I have spent seven years surrounded by such women. I know their calculation, their performance, their utter disinterest in anything I truly think or feel. I will not live the rest of my life shackled to such a person.”
The Dowager was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice had softened.
“Sebastian. I do not wish you to be unhappy. That has never been my aim.”
“I know.”
“But happiness and duty do not always coincide. Sometimes we must accept less than we desire in order to fulfil our obligations. Your father—”
“My father married for duty, and spent the rest of his life treating his wife and sons as extensions of the title rather than as people. Forgive me if I do not find his example inspiring.”
Another silence. Sebastian saw the words land—saw his mother absorb them, consider them, file them away.
“I was fond of your father,” she said at last. “He was not an easy man—but I was fond of him nonetheless.”
“I know. I did not mean to suggest otherwise.”
“And I did not marry him expecting romance. I married him expecting partnership—and that is what I received. It was enough. It can be enough.”
Sebastian turned away, unable to meet her eyes. Partnership. Such a reasonable word. Such a sensible prospect—and yet the thought of it left him feeling more alone than ever.
“I will attend the house party,” he said. “I will consider the candidates you have selected. But I promise nothing beyond that.”
“That is all I ask.”
It was not, of course, all she asked. But it was as much as Sebastian was willing to grant—and the Dowager Duchess was wise enough to accept the compromise.
***
Later, after his mother had retired to rest from her journey and Helena Crane had disappeared to manage some aspect of the Dowager’s correspondence, Sebastian found himself in the estate office with Daniel Reeve.
Daniel was the best steward Sebastian had ever known—not that he had known many, having inherited Daniel along with the title. But in seven years of working together, Sebastian had come to respect his competence—and to value something approaching genuine friendship.
Daniel was also, not incidentally, one of the few people who spoke to Sebastian as though he were a man rather than a title.
“The drainage improvements in the eastern fields are progressing on schedule,” Daniel was saying, reviewing a ledger with the quiet intensity of a man who genuinely cared about such matters. “The new channels should be completed before the heavy autumn rains, which will prevent a recurrence of the flooding that damaged the wheat harvest three years ago.”
“Excellent. And the tenant cottages?”
“The repairs to the Wilkins property are finished. The Hartley roof will be complete by week’s end.” Daniel looked up, his expression shifting slightly. “You seem distracted, Your Grace. Is something amiss?”
Sebastian considered deflecting. It was his customary response to personal enquiry—maintain distance, preserve the boundaries that prevented people from expecting too much of him. But Daniel was different. Daniel had earned something closer to honesty.
“My mother has arrived with her annual campaign to see me married. She has accepted an invitation to Lady Marchmont’s house party on my behalf and assembled a list of eligible young ladies she believes I ought to examine closely.”
“Ah.” Daniel’s tone was carefully neutral. “And you object to this arrangement?”
“I object to the entire premise. I am to spend a fortnight conversing with young women who have been trained from birth to tell me whatever they believe I wish to hear. At the end of it, I shall know no more of them than I do now, because none of them will have said anything genuine.”
“With respect, Your Grace, you cannot know that until you meet them.”
“I have met dozens of them. Hundreds. They are all the same.”
Daniel set down the ledger and fixed Sebastian with a look that would have been insubordinate from anyone else. “Perhaps the difficulty does not lie entirely with them.”
Sebastian blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You approach these encounters anticipating falseness. You arm yourself against connection before any attempt at connection has been made. Is it any wonder, then, that you experience precisely what you expect?”
