Sebastian’s heart pinched. Of course Gemma would approve—she would see only a young woman in distress whom he might help.
“My sister is a kind woman,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” William replied, a fond smile lifting his features.
Sebastian fell silent, letting William’s ready acceptance settle over him while he considered his rash idea more soberly. He had conceived it partly out of practicality. Yet its appeal to him had very little to do with convenience—and everything to do with the lovely face and enticing figure of Miss Caldwell.
Having met with no resistance whatsoever, he was forced to examine the notion in earnest. The very thought made a bead of sweat trail down his spine. He had spent so long avoiding intimacy of any real sort that the idea of entering into marriage—of forming an attachment—unnerved him profoundly.
“I will have to apply for a license, and…” he began, grasping at practical difficulties. “Her father or her brother must approve, and—”
Nicholas cleared his throat softly. “Her father passed some time ago. Only her brother remains—and I am certain that both of those matters will resolve easily.”
Sebastian tensed. Oddly, that wasnotwhat he wished to hear. He had almost hoped for obstacles—something to halt this headlong plunge into madness.
“Mayhap,” he muttered.
“I will do whatever I can to assist you,” William added gently. “Geraldine would be relieved to see the business settled promptly.”
Sebastian stared at him. “I thank you,” he murmured.
He spoke with William a little longer, turning the conversation toward safer topics—East India shipping and the profits of long-term investment. After ten minutes, William rose.
“I promised your sister we would ride this morning,” he said. “She fancied a turn in the countryside.”
Sebastian wished him a pleasant ride and, once William had gone, sat in silence for several moments, contemplating what he had just done. It was a wild idea. A wonderful idea. And it terrified him. Having told William was nearly equal to telling Gemma—and Gemma would be distressed indeed if he changed his mind. Above all, he tried never to upset his sister. She had endured too much at their mother’s hands while growing up; it had made him fiercely protective of her.
I cannot risk this,he told himself bleakly. Alone in his study, he could admit the truth.If I wed her, I will come to love her. And if I love her, I place my heart entirely in her keeping—and I swore I would never do that. I have seen too much misery to follow in those footsteps.
He stood up, deciding that he, too, should go for a ride. It was the only activity that ever helped him think. Words chased themselves around his head, statements and notions that made no sense. He hoped that a ride would clear his mind.
***
Obtaining a license proved neither as simple as William predicted nor as difficult as Sebastian had feared. As a duke—and one generally well regarded—doors opened readily once he applied pressure in the right places. Within a week, all formalities were settled.
It was a bright, warm morning when he set out for London.
The road was clear, and sooner than expected, he found himself riding past the small houses dotting the outskirts of the city. The address of Caldwell House had been easy enough to obtain—Lady Evandale knew it and had readily supplied it.
Riding along the busy Kensington street, he observed the modest yet well-kept exterior of the house, its little front gardentended with care. He dismounted, strode to the door, and hesitated. The action felt weighty, momentous. He drew a breath and knocked.
He did not know what he hoped—that Lord Calperton would oppose him, or that he would not. The wildness of his own plan unnerved him more than he wished to admit.
When the door did not open promptly, irritation pricked him. He knocked again—then a third time. At last, the door flung open, and an elderly butler bowed low.
“Good afternoon, my lord. I apologise for the delay. Are you calling on Lord Calperton?”
“I am.” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man, who must be the butler. He was finding it hard to draw breath, as though he had been running. It was most untoward, but before Sebastian could dwell on it, the butler continued.
“Do you have an appointment, or a card I may present to his lordship?”
“Yes,” Sebastian said, temper rising. “But you may simply inform him that the Duke of Brentfield calls. I imagine he will choose to receive me.”
“Oh—yes, your Grace,” the butler murmured. He looked mortified. “At once.”
Sebastian watched grimly as the man hurried away. He gazed down into the little garden, irritation chafing. The roses climbed the fence prettily; sunlight lay warm across the grass. He imagined Miss Caldwell seated there and felt an unexpected twist in his chest. The scene was peaceful, inviting—dangerously so. He pushed the fancy away with effort. He had foresworn sentimental domesticity; childhood had taught him the misery that marriage could bring.
“Your Grace?” the butler said, startling him.
