“To attract a husband, of course. That’s what women are for. The ones who take the most care to look their best are the ones who make a match.”
That was interesting, in a horrifying sort of way. “So the women who aren’t married are…”
“Not trying hard enough, or are of inferior quality.”
“What if a female chooses not to marry?” Despite the insult to his happily spinstered aunties, he was actually thinking of Georgiana. She certainly wasn’t of inferior quality, and the idea that she would attempt to attract a husband because that’s what women were for—well, that was laughable.
“Chooses not to marry? That’s absurd.”
“My aunts are unmarried, you know.”
“Well, they are very old,” she said, biting into her peach.
“I suppose they are,” he agreed, mostly because the idea of attempting an argument with her was absurd. He would have more luck disagreeing with a turnip.
He hadn’t used to find her this dull and simpering. And the reason for the change was obvious. Georgiana. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his thoughts in days, and now he was comparing every bit of inane conversation he had with poor Amelia to the stimulating tête-à-têtes he engaged in with Georgie.
The problem, though, remained the same. He needed to marry an heiress, before fall harvest. If he didn’t, he would have to begin selling off unentailed bits of his land, and he refused to finance his present with his descendants’ futures. Georgiana was an heiress, and definitely more interesting than any of the other wealthy chits he’d cultivated. She, however, hated him.
The idea remained intriguing, nonetheless. He didn’t hate her; in fact, the heated desire that ran through him every time he set eyes on her was becoming difficult to hide. She had softened a little toward him, but he couldn’t afford to wait more than another three or four months.
“Tristan?”
He shook himself. “Yes?”
“I didn’t mean to say that your aunts are inferior. I’m sure they’re very nice.”
“Yes, they are.”
“Sometimes, I think that maybe I should be cross with you, you know.”
“Cross with me?” That seemed an odd thing to say, since he’d gone to the trouble of taking her out on a picnic.
“Yes, because you always pay so little attention to me. But you seem nicer today. I think you’re learning your lesson.”
Tristan looked at her, his mind pulling free of the dullness she inspired in him. She was certainly saying interesting things, all of a sudden. Lessons for him? She seemed to have used the word deliberately. And Amelia thought he was learning not a lesson, but his lesson. Did she have reason to think that someone was teaching him some sort of lesson? Not her; she was in his company to get married, and nothing besides.
He could guess who it might be, but had no idea why Amelia would be aware of Georgiana’s machinations when he hadn’t been able to discover anything himself. Perhaps she did mean a lesson in general and had worded it poorly, and he was merely being suspicious.
On the other hand, being suspicious had saved him from serious trouble on more than one occasion. “I’m trying very hard,” he offered slowly, trying to draw her out further, “to learn my lesson.”
She nodded. “I can tell. I think you’re listening to me today, when you almost never do.”
“Is there anything else you’ve noticed my doing better today?”
“Well, it’s too soon to tell, but I have high hopes for you. If we are to marry, I would like you to be at least a little pleasant.”
He suppressed a shudder. Now was the perfect time to inform her that he meant to speak to her father about that prospect. It was what he needed to do, for his family. In the back of his mind, though, one thought kept repeating itself: he still had three months. Three months, and a woman sleeping under his roof who didn’t annoy him nearly as much as Amelia did, though she aroused and aggravated him considerably more.
“I shall continue to work on being pleasant, then,” he hedged. Best not to let the issue fall on one side or the other; talking about marriage could be as binding as promising it, and in three months, if she was still his best prospect, he would have to do so.
“I still think your kissing me would be pleasant.”
Good God. Tristan wondered if she had any idea what sort of reputation he’d had in his younger days, or what it would mean if someone caught them kissing. Of course, that might have been what she had in mind.
“I have too much respect for our friendship to risk ruining it, Amelia.” He dug into the basket again. “Apple tart?”
“Yes, please.” She took it in dainty fingers and nibbled at one corner. “Do you attend the Devonshire ball tomorrow night?”
