“Limited.”
“You have honour.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“You also have obligations,” his father reminded.
Arch turned towards him. “To the Crown, yes. To the family, within reason. To every inconvenient young woman with an estate? No.”
Sir Percival’s gaze softened. “She has no one else, save me.”
Arch felt the shift in the room—the tightening of strategy giving way to sentiment, the oldest weapon either man possessed.
“She is alone,” Sir Percival continued quietly, “and clever. She is also proud—and will not see danger until it is upon her.”
Lord Upton added, “And if something were to happen to her—if she were ruined, or manipulated, or worse—her fortune would become a political weapon in very dangerous hands.”
“Why do you not look to her yourself?”
Sir Percival scoffed. “I am an old, gouty bachelor. She needs someone nearer her age, who can dance the night away if necessary.”
Arch exhaled slowly. “You are not asking for my assistance,” he said. “You are telling me that I cannot refuse.”
Sir Percival inclined his head. “You always were perceptive.”
Arch closed his eyes briefly. “She will despise me.”
“Almost certainly,” Sir Percival agreed.
“She will argue.”
“Constantly.”
“She will defy me.”
“Indeed—and with enthusiasm.”
“And if I attempt to advise her?—”
“She will ignore you,” Lord Upton said.
Arch looked at both men. “Then what conceivable good do you imagine I may do?”
Sir Percival’s expression grew solemn. “You will stand between her and men who would harm her. You will notice what she does not. You will intervene when she cannot.”
Arch laughed bitterly. “You speak as though I am uniquely qualified.”
“You are,” Lord Upton said quietly, “because you will not be tempted by her fortune.”
Arch’s jaw tightened.
Sir Percival rose with some effort and laid a hand on Arch’s shoulder. “You might enjoy yourself a little.”
“There is little chance of that,” Arch disagreed.
“You will do it, however,” Sir Percival said gently, “because it is necessary… and because you will help your godfather.”
Arch looked away, towards the window, towards the garden where everything appeared orderly and untroubled. It might have been possible, in a more rational world, to leave matters there. Arch would have withdrawn with dignity, arranged his calendar with grim acceptance, and met Miss Vale with a modicum of grace. Unfortunately, Arch’s life, like most lives thatinvolved fathers, godfathers, and the Crown, had never been improved by rationality.
