His shoulders tensed. “If he intends to merely dally with our daughter, then by God—”
“Before you call Corbett out, I’d like to point out that the dallying is likely going the other way around.”
Ambrose frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Darling, you know Rosie. You know how much having a position in Society means to her. Because she’s a bastard,”—Marianne’s voice quivered with the old guilt—“she’s had to contend with theton’s cruelty, and now she thinks she has what she wants. A title that will translate into respectability. I doubt she’s willing to give that up—even if she has feelings for Corbett.”
“She can’t think to have an affairindefinitely,” he said hotly.
“Widows and married ladies do it all the time. Society turns a blind eye as long as everything is done with discretion. And Corbett is nothing if not discreet.”
“I won’t allow it. No daughter of mine, widow or not, is going to carry on in that disreputable fashion,” he declared. “If she has feelings for him, then she damned well better do the right thing.”
“So you do want Rosie to marry Corbett.”
He opened his mouth—and shut it.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Am I truly considering a procurer for a son-in-law?”
“Better the devil you know. And you want to know the truth?”
He cocked a brow.
“I’d rather have Corbett in the family than Daltry any day,” his wife said with feeling.
Ambrose couldn’t argue with that. “So we’re just going to…acceptRosie’s carrying on with Corbett?”
“Precisely.” A calculating gleam entered his spouse’s gaze. “You know how Rosie is: if we try to stop her from seeing Corbett, she’ll only want to do so more. Thus, we must stand back and allow her to make her own decisions. In other words—treat her like the adult she claims to be.”
“Claimsbeing the operative word.” As much as he loved his daughter, he couldn’t help but question her judgement. “How can we trust that she will act in her own best interests?”
“What choice do we have? She has her independence now.” Marianne’s tone turned contemplative. “And I begin to think thatnottrusting her may have been the root of this fiasco.”
“How do you mean?”
“By being overprotective, I may have made Rosie doubt herself,” she said slowly. “In retrospect, I think I’ve added to her insecurities by trying to shield her from the truth. By communicating to her—unintentionally—that I didn’t believe in her ability to handle reality. Now she doubts her own instincts, and it is my fault.”
“You cannot take responsibility for that,” he said. “And I do not think Rosie suffers from an excess of self-doubt.”
“Don’t you?” Marianne’s smile was edged with sadness. “She exudes confidence and charm, no doubt, but do you think a truly confident woman would care so much what thetonthinks? Would seek acceptance above all—even love?”
He hadn’t considered the matter from this angle before. The idea that his bright, brave, and beautiful daughter might believe herself lacking inanyway raised a welt on his heart.
“How can we help her?” he said tautly.
“We nudge her—gently—in the right direction. I think it would be in the best interests of everyone if you got to know Corbett better. Make sure that he is, indeed, a man of character and a suitable husband for Rosie. You wouldn’t mind doing that, would you, darling?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles there fine-tuned to paternal stress. “I suppose not.”
“Thank you.” His wife’s lips brushed his jaw. “I knew you would understand.”
“I understand one thing for certain.”
“What is that, my love?”
“I’m keeping Sophie under lock and key,” he said darkly. “I’ve learned my lesson. No gentlemen are getting near our other daughter.”
Marianne laughed. Apparently, she thought he was joking.
