He said nothing for a long moment. An idea, wild and dangerous, was taking shape—one that sent a hot, reckless spark through him. He schooled his features, uncertain whether his thoughts showed.
“She is more than unsuitable,” his mother pressed on. “She ought never be included at balls or parties. I cannot fathom how she secured an invitation to so illustrious a house as last night’s.”
Sebastian looked directly at her. Whatever she saw in his eyes made her stiffen; her own gaze flickered downward for a heartbeat before she met his again. The point had been made.
“I do not think it is necessary to censure those who are plainly in difficulty,” he said tightly, then continued: “I have no appetite for breakfast. I must attend to estate records.”
“Son—” she began, startled by his abruptness. But he said nothing more and walked out of the room and into the hallway.
He strode through the hallway, anger propelling him, and climbed to his study. The room still felt too much like his father’s domain rather than his own, despite the furniture he had changed. He dropped into the chair and shut his eyes, exhausted. It was scarcely nine o’clock, and already he felt moreworn than he had the night before. He recalled the waltz—the intoxicating energy of it—and the clarity it had given him then, so unlike the heaviness pressing on him now.
His thoughts shifted to the idea that had sparked earlier. He did not allow himself to examine it closely—not yet. It was too bold. Too perilous. He pulled an account book toward him instead.
Columns of figures swam into clarity. He scanned them, mind calculating, reviewing the income from various ventures, already considering new investments.
A knock interrupted him.
“Who is it?” he called.
“William,” came the reply—Lord Chelmsworth, his brother-in-law.
“Come in,” Sebastian said, surprised. William rarely sought him out in the study.
The door opened. William entered, looking relieved.
“There you are. Geraldine asked me to ensure you were not unwell—she heard you had not eaten breakfast.” A small, fond smile touched his face.
“I am well,” Sebastian replied, though a frown creased his brow. He gestured toward the chair across the desk from him.
“I see that you are,” William said, settling into the seat, though concern lingered across his square features.
“Iamwell,” Sebastian repeated. He was not accustomed to others checking on him, yet he could not fault the good intention behind William’s intrusion.
“I know,” William said carefully. “But—is something amiss?”
Sebastian exhaled. He had not realised how deeply his mother’s outburst had unsettled him until the question was posed aloud.
“Perdition take those papers, William,” he said at last. “Those scandal sheets that half of society pretends not to read—yet consumes greedily the moment no one is looking.”
William gave a short laugh. “Well put, Sebastian.” He hesitated. “It does trouble your mother greatly, though. And I suppose she is not wrong that such whispers could touch the family.”
Sebastian sighed again. William’s tact could not disguise his concern—concern that undoubtedly originated with Gemma. Sebastian sat straighter.
“I have a plan, William,” he said slowly. “But I can confide it in no one save you and Gemma.”
“You may speak freely. I shall repeat nothing,” William assured him.
Sebastian drew a steadying breath. The idea had come to him barely an hour earlier, and it still felt wild—reckless, even. Yet something in him urged him to press on.
“I intend to approach her with a proposition,” he said carefully. “I will offer her my hand. It will silence the scandalmongers and restore her reputation. And it will release the funds my father tied up in that cursed clause. With those, I may even be of assistance regarding her debts. I owe her my life,” he added, voice faltering.
“I think that is a…” William paused, frowning in thought. “A good notion.”
Sebastian stared at him in surprise. Oddly, he had expected to meet with a stone wall. He had imagined that nobody in his family could approve of such a wild idea. And yet William did—or at least, he said he did.
“A good notion?” he repeated, incredulous.
“Yes. It would secure respectability for the young lady—an honourable act.” William inclined his head. “And your sister would be very pleased.”
