“She is with child, Anthony,” Aunt Petunia snapped.
He was to be an uncle. Anthony felt a stab of something he thought could be joy, closely followed by pain that a child would be someone else he needed to watch over. Someone who could be harmed if not protected. It would also need love, but not from him. He was incapable of such things.
“You must visit her, Anthony,” Aunt Petunia said.
“I will.” He gave the response he always did when they asked something of him, and then usually did what he wanted, but in this they were right. He would make time to visit with his sister, now he knew she was expecting.
“Now tell me, what else has you all here at this early hour?” he added, looking pointedly at the clock on the wall behind them.
“We saw your Aunt Louise,” Aunt Agatha said. “I told my brother all those years ago not to wed her, yet he would not listen. Woman is completely irrational.”
“Dreadful person,” Aunt Lavinia added.
“Beastly,” Aunt Petunia agreed.
They always talked like this. One would start a conversation, and then the others all added their bit, until eventually someone got to the point. Anthony waited patiently, which wasn’t something he excelled at.
“She said that seeing as there is no heir, it’s imperative that simpering weasel Nigel, her—”
“Son,” Aunt Agatha added, cutting her elder sister off, in case Anthony did not know his cousin’s name.
“I know who Nigel is,” he said.
“Yes, well,” Aunt Petunia continued. “Your Aunt Louise said that Nigel should learn how to run the earldom, seeing as he is the one who will be inheriting it!”
After speaking, his aunt waved a hand in front of her face, upset, and her sisters clucked their comfort to her. It was for his benefit, as Aunt Petunia had the constitution of a bull.
The door opened and in staggered Dibley with the tea tray.
“Oh, Dibley, you have arrived just in time!” Aunt Lavinia said. “My sister is quite overcome. I hope you brought the honey?”
“I did, my lady.”
There followed ten minutes of teapot turning to the left and right, and cups eventually filled with the beverage, and liberally doused with honey until everyone was happy. Dibley handed Anthony another cup of coffee.
“I’m not sure why you drink that sludge,” Aunt Aggie said.
“And yet we digress,” Anthony said with the practiced ease of a man who had dealt with these three for years.
If society saw him now, he thought, they’d never believe he could exercise so much patience.
“We are here, nephew,” Aunt Petunia said after they all exchanged looks, “to tell you it is time for you to marry. You need an heir. That sniveling weasel—”
“For the purposes of expediting this conversation, shall we call him Nigel?” Anthony asked.
“You cannot allow us to be thrust into his unscrupulous hands if you die, Anthony,” Aunt Agatha said dramatically. “We shall be tossed onto the streets.”
“Not that we want you to die,” Aunt Lavinia added quickly.
Anthony wasn’t worried about death—it would come when it did—and he doubted anyone but the six closest to him would miss him. In fact, they’d probably rejoice. But he was worried about what would happen to these three if it came prematurely. He may appear to care about very little, but he took his responsibilities to his aunts seriously.
Thrust into the role of earl at a young age, he’d worked hard to repair the damage his father had left behind after his death. The late Lord Hamilton had believed money magically appeared, even when you spent more of it than you had. He was like many from that generation and loathed the thought of actually investing in your future, to ensure those you supported were cared for.
“I will ensure you are not left destitute should I die tomorrow. I have things already in place with my lawyers. You need not worry about your futures.”
“We’ve made a list,” Aunt Petunia said pulling something from the small bag she always carried around her wrist. “All nice young ladies and will be suitable applicants for your countess.”
“I beg your pardon?”
