“I don’t,” Lyon admitted. “But I do care about you.”
At that comment, his father returned his smile. “That’s heartening. There’s no need for you to worry about me or my upcoming nuptials. You’ll like Miss Ballingbrand. It’s true, as no doubt you’ll recall, she had a miserable time of her first Season, but she’s older now and has put that behind her.”
Lyon couldn’t say he remembered her at all, so he stayed silent.
“She didn’t know how to deal with the crush of people at all the parties and idle conversation, but she is fairly intelligent. Not a young belle but she’s no weed on the shelf either. She’s not too fashionable as you’ll notice: quiet, pleasingly demure, and manageable.”
“Ah—manageable. Your favorite kind of wife.”
The marquis nodded. “The marriage will be an attractive convenience for both of us. Her uncle is old and wants to see her settled. She needs a husband to take care of her.”
“So she’s grateful, too,” Lyon commented, deciding not to be brash and mention that Cordelia had told himMiss Ballingbrand’s dowry had been generously padded with rich lands.
“For sure,” he remarked, giving Lyon a satisfied grunt. “I don’t know how I left out that admirable attribute when I was describing her. She’s all the thingsmostgentlemen would desire in a wife.”
Marksworth’s hint of a nudge didn’t go unnoticed by Lyon. Those weren’t the qualities he was looking for in who he married. They both knew Lyon couldn’t give a damn whether or not a lady was demure. He’d actually prefer she wasn’t. He wanted a wife who was passionate. About him, about their life together. Why would he want a quiet spouse who seldom spoke to him or didn’t seem to care whether or not she was married to him? He wanted a lady who was vigorous, brave, and forthright in all things, especially her attitude toward him.
Lady Wake came to mind. Wearing the provocative red stays. No, she wasn’t demure. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, either. Her passionate nature had been blatantly on display every time he’d seen her. She was headstrong to a fault. And he surely couldn’t say she was lacking in courage or a will of her own. She’d taken him to task with a vengeance when she thought he’d threatened the girls.
Marksworth laughed softly and said, “I’ve missed our visits, son. I’m glad you’re back.”
Brushing thoughts of the countess from his mind, Lyon gave his attention back to his father and said, “Me too.”
Lyon had little appreciation for London in winter. He’d rather be at Lyonwood riding across his lands,checking the barren fields and frozen ponds, and visiting his tenants to see how they were faring through the coldest days. Occasionally he’d have friends come for a visit to enjoy hunting, target shooting, and all-night card games. Winter life in the countryside had suited him nicely for the past few years.
Yet, he had to admit to himself—but not his father—that he had been thinking more about sons to tramp around the estate with him and a beautiful, loving wife to come home to after a day of plundering the land or hunting its game. Someone to dine with, play chess, converse, and laugh with in the evenings. A wife who wanted to be in his bed and actively share in the intimacies it provided. Fiery and zealous in his arms. He wanted her soft and warm snuggled next to his side when he went to sleep and awakened in the mornings.
And unlike his father, who left the tedious affairs of land holdings and business ventures to his accountants and solicitors, Lyon took great interest in checking all of the books and records of the various assets himself. It wasn’t that he looked for discrepancies because he didn’t trust his managers, overseers, or accountants. He did it because he enjoyed the challenge of going through each entry, cross-checking the debits and credits, and making sure all the numbers were correct.
“You may think otherwise, Marksworth,” Lyon said, “but I’m not against you having the companionship of a wife.”
“Yes, I know. You just don’t understand me keeping a mistress as well.”
“You have three.”
“I’ve known two of them for many years,” he argued as if that explained it, and then sighed ruefully. “I don’t have the heart to turn them off, and I do still enjoy going to see them from time to time.”
“It’s not for me to approve or condemn the way you choose to live your life. Nor is it any of my concern how a woman chooses to earn a wage for herself.”
“Thank you,” his father said sarcastically and then grunted another laugh. “You are just like your mother. Always trying to understand me—and it can’t be done.”
Lyon bristled at that statement. It wasn’t that he was trying to understand his father. He simply didn’t agree with him about love, ladies, and women. That said, Lyon would still rather have a conversation with Marksworth than anyone else. It was always a challenge.
“But, I loved her anyway,” Marksworth continued. “She never understood why I was never satisfied with what I had for long. She knew and accepted the time would come when I’d want more. Horses, land, businesses… women. I can’t explain it now any more than I could explain it to her twenty years ago. There’s nothing to say other than I gain a tremendous amount of satisfaction from obtaining and keeping whatever it is I want.”
There was no doubt about that. And, Marksworth was well-respected and envied for his business acumen. He improved his holdings in some way every year. Lyon wasn’t against acquiring more wealth. He appreciated it. Took great care of it and enjoyed it. But he had no desire to live his life trying to add to it.
Lyon noticed a server walking toward them, and his father said, “I’ll order us a glass of port.”
“I’ll have one later,” Lyon said, shaking his head.
“Too much of it last night?”
“Much to my head’s distress this morning,” he answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. He’d not paid attention to how many times his glass had been filled while playing cards.
Marksworth shook his head at the server. “I thought you were past those days.”
“So did I.”
