“Certainly not,” Lady Scranton agreed, “What one does is avoid the situation leading up to a challenge.”
“Your grandmother is right,” Scranton said. “I can think of no other man who’s been called out as often as you have, Henry. The fact that you are still among the living is something of a miracle if you ask me.”
Everyone nodded in unified agreement while Henry hoped Mr. Andrews would soon appear with news of some dire emergency requiring his immediate departure from this accusation-riddled conversation. Instead the parlor door opened to admit two maids bringing tea, porcelain teacups and a plate stacked with blueberry tarts.
“Which is all the more reason for you to marry with haste,” Lady Armswell insisted once the maids had gone and the tea had been served.
Henry froze with his teacup en route to his mouth. What the devil had he been thinking when he’d told them of his intention to hang up his rakish mantle in favor of reformation? He looked at his guests and saw that they watched him with keen expectation. His father raised an eyebrow and his grandmother leaned forward in her seat and tilted her head. “Well?” she finally inquired when nobody else spoke.
“Well what?” Henry asked, still hoping to extricate himself somehow from the mire of promises and duty his life had become.
“What,” Lady Scranton asked with exacting words, “are you doing about your marriageable prospects?”
“Ah.” She couldn’t have been any clearer. Henry thought of Viola and swiftly banished her from his mind. Because although he had every intention of pursuing her, he would not allow his family to know it. One hint of his intentions and there was no doubt in his mind he’d lose his chance—which was slim enough as it was. “I will set my mind to it once again when I’m fully recuperated.”
“And when do you suppose that will be?” Armswell demanded to know.
Henry gave him a cavalier shrug. “I honestly cannot say.” He needed time. Time to plot and plan and discover the best course of action where Viola was concerned. Courting her would be no simple matter since she never attended social events. He’d been fortunate to happen upon her today when she’d been out walking. “Recuperation takes as long as it takes. I shall inform you when I am ready to continue hunting for a bride.”
“You needn’t make it sound so unpleasant, Henry,” Lady Scranton chided.
He raised a challenging brow at her. “Your collective urgency with this matter is what makes it so. If it were up to me, I would take my time with finding the right woman. But ever since I told you of my plan to one day marry, you’ve been pushing me toward the altar with increased vigor.”
“We only want what is best for you,” Lady Armswell said.
“Which is for you to secure an heir before your next duel,” Scranton muttered with censorious force.
Henry snatched up a tart and stood. He stared down at his family’s upturned faces. The continuation of their titles was his responsibility. He knew this, which was why he’d decided it was time for him to secure his progeny almost a year ago. He just hadn’t found the right woman until now.
So far, everything had gone according to plan, except for the duel. But oh, if it had not been for his getting shot, he might not have met Viola, and that would have been a terrible pity. Biting into his tart, Henry absently wondered if she would enjoy receiving flowers.
Probably not, considering how she refused to be complimented in any way. She would not allow the use of her title, to which she had the right; she did not appreciate being told she was pretty or that her company was favored. Indeed, she would probably hate him for sending her flowers, which meant he obviously had no choice but to do so, if only to be the thorn in her side. Until she would let him be more.
“Let us remember that finding a wife was my idea,” Henry said. “I will do so at my own pace and only if you agree to stop interfering.”
“Fine,” Armswell said. “But I expect to see you trying.”
“And so I shall,” Henry assured them all, “As soon as my shoulder no longer pains me.” He shoved his blueberry tart into his mouth and turned away to admire his fireplace while the conversation behind him turned to other things. Another fifteen minutes passed before his family finally left, leaving Henry emotionally exhausted and with a headache that made him want to go outside and do something. So he went in search of some discarded clothes and stepped out into the mess his garden had become now that he’d asked his gardener to uproot almost everything.
Grabbing a fistful of some unlucky plant, he gave it a yank and tossed it aside. It came loose easily enough with a spray of dirt to go with it. Henry grinned and moved on to the next. It was simple work, easy enough on his right shoulder as long as he used his left arm, and immensely satisfying.
He slept well that night and felt better when he woke the next morning. Better still after eating a hearty breakfast. Most of all, after visiting a local hothouse and picking out the perfect bouquet.
He could not wait to hear Viola’s response to it.
Chapter 6
Viola looked up from the hospital ledger she was going over and carefully pulled off her spectacles when she saw what could only be defined as a piece of garden maneuvering its way into her office.
Good Lord!
“Viola?” Emily’s voice spoke from somewhere behind the bucketful of roses, gladiola, carnations, green leafy bits and whatever else had been combined to create what appeared to be an eclectic piece of shrubbery. “Have you seen this?”
Viola shot out of her seat and rushed to help Emily with the flowers. “Where did they come from?” Viola asked as soon as they’d found an appropriate spot for them in a corner.
“I’m not sure. The card was addressed to you.”
Viola took the card Emily gave her while eyeing a long leafy stem. “Is that...” She leaned forward and sniffed to be sure. “Rosemary?”
