“When it’s in your best interest,” Pierson said, “I would rather speak plainly than mince words, Your Grace. I find it to be far more efficient.”
“An’ admirable,” Raphe added.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Pierson spoke without the slightest hint of pleasure. Apparently a good night’s rest had restored the butler’s composure from the shaken state it had been in yesterday when he’d first made Raphe’s acquaintance.
“At any rate, this cannot happen again,” Humphreys said. “Naturally, as Pierson has already mentioned, you have your sisters’ reputations to protect. Without that, they will stand no chance of securing good matches for themselves, regardless of what your title may be. But, aside from your sisters, it is also imperative that you consider your own position.”
“My position?” Raphe shook his head. “If ye think I plan on paradin’ about on account of me new title, then ye must’ve mistaken me for another sor’ of man.”
“What Humphreys means,” Richardson cut in, “is that aside from you, there are no other heirs to the title, which means that you now have quite the responsibility toward the continuation of it.”
Raphe blinked. “Are ye speakin’ of procreation?”
“I err—ahem. That is to say . . .”
“Yes,” Pierson said. “That is precisely what he’s talking about. And to that end, you shall require a wife. And in case you’re wondering, no lady of noble birth will agree to marry you unless you can come up to scratch.”
Richardson nodded. “Which is why we would like to—”
“I’m not marryin’ some nob. Not now, not ever,” Raphe ground out with a deadly edge to his words. “Got that?”
“But—” Humphreys looked to Pierson, as though praying he’d work a miracle.
“It’s your duty to do so,” Pierson calmly responded.
“No!” Raphe fairly spat the word. “I refuse to consider it. The only reason I’m ‘ere . . . is to offer me sisters a better opportunity.”
“Very well then,” Pierson said, to which Humphreys and Richardson both sputtered as though they were being strangled. Pierson served them each a quelling look. “If His Grace is not the marrying sort, then he is not the marrying sort. We can hardly force him—simply advise. However,” he added, “since your sisters will be requiring your assistance, I would suggest that you make every effort to improve upon your appearance as well as theirs. Which brings us to what Richardson was going to propose earlier.”
“We should like to help you,” Richardson said, with the eagerness of a schoolboy thinking up his first prank.
“How?” Raphe asked. As much as he hated the thought of subjecting himself to their ministrations, he saw their point. Juliette and Amelia would have to look and sound the part of sophisticated young ladies if they were going to marry as well as he hoped. Which meant that he would have to improve upon himself, as well.
“For starters, I have taken the liberty of sending for a tailor,” Richardson said, “which means that you ought to have some new clothes within a few days. Similarly, a seamstress has been summoned to tend to your sisters’ needs.”
“And then of course there’s your speech,” Humphreys muttered with downcast eyes. “We think you can do with some proper pronunciation lessons.”
“There’s nothin’ wrong with me pronunciation,” Raphe clipped.
“No,” Pierson agreed. “Not if you wish to sound as though you belong in a cotton mill.”
“Since when was earnin’ an honest livin’ frowned upon?” Raphe asked.
“A little too close to home?” Pierson asked. “Tell us, what were you doing before you arrived here?”
Narrowing his gaze beneath a deep frown, Raphe glanced at each of the men in turn—his employees. “I was a dockyard worker.”
Humphreys and Richardson stared at him as though he’d just dropped from the sky. “Bloody hell!” they exclaimed in unison.
Pierson showed no emotion. “And the ton will see that as soon as you open your mouth. Which is why you ought to accept our assistance.”
Raphe said nothing for a moment. Eventually he tossed back the remainder of his drink, set the glass aside and nodded. “Perhaps ye’re right.” Keeping up appearances would be a necessity if they were going to benefit from his title. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. “As it is, I told the ladies that me sisters an’ me—”
“My sisters and I,” Humphreys supplied.
Grumbling a little, Raphe raised both eyebrows, drew a breath and said, “Myyyy sisters and I.”
“I say,” Humphreys exclaimed as he clapped his hands together. “That was splendidly done. Don’t you agree?” He turned an expectant eye on Richardson and Pierson.
