After shoving his arms through the sleeves and settling it properly over his shoulders, he walked over and held out a chair for Patricia. She smiled graciously, seeming perfectly happy now that he had donned his coat, and seated herself.
Zane and his uncles then joined her around the table.
“We wouldn’t usually bother you on the Lord’s day,” Uncle Syl said. “Your aunt Beatrice is in a dither. Her daughter, Thelma, wants to marry Mr. Aldrich Clark,” Uncle Syl said.
That didn’t seem like earth-shattering news to Zane. “Patricia told me she unfortunately didn’t make a match last year, so I would think that’s good to hear she found someone to her liking,” he answered, thinking this was easy enough to handle. “I give my permission.”
Patricia’s gasp, Hector’s grunt, and Sylvester’s harrumph left Zane no doubt that wasn’t the answer they wanted.
“Do you know who he is?” Patricia asked in what could only be considered a scathing tone because he’d said something so incomprehensible.
Zane sluffed it off as he always had. If he got upset every time he displeased his sister or his uncles, he’d be in a perpetual state of agitation. “I don’t personally know him, but if she wants to marry him, why should I have any objections?”
“His sister ran away from home over a year ago to become an actress,” Uncle Syl replied, as if that was the most horrible thing to have happened in London in years. “And we have it on good authority she was actually seen on stage at one of the theatres.”
Patricia sighed heavily. “It was devastating to all the Clarks. Not only his family, as you can imagine. You must go to Thelma and explain why he’s not a suitable match and insist she needs to choose a different man to marry.”
No. He wouldn’t do that.
Zane looked at the three stern faces staring at him, remaining silent as he pondered.
He could easily tell them how unreasonable they were sounding, but he had set a precedent with Robert—though his sister and uncles didn’t know about it. Was it unfair to allow Thelma to marry when he had prevented Robert from doing so?
But there was a difference. Robert was planning an elopement to a woman almost twice his age, and without an ounce of social standing.
Thelma’s case was different. Even so, he knew he had to handle this delicately.
“We are all in agreement that Clark is a well-respected name in the ton, are we not?” Zane asked.
“Oh, yes,” Patricia answered as if she adored every one of them. Quite so.”
“Then what Mr. Clark’s sister has or hasn’t done is no reflection on what he might or might not do. Thelma shouldn’t be punished for what someone else has done. Tell Aunt Beatrice that as long as he has adequate allowance to take care of her daughter in a style that’s fitting, I see no reason to interfere.”
“But what about the children?” Uncle Syl asked, looking at Zane as if he’d lost his mind.
Zane returned the expression. “What children?” Zane asked. “Does Mr. Clark have children by a previous marriage?”
“No,” Uncle Hector said, jumping into the conversation with a strong tap of his cane to the floor.
Sylvester raised his hand to assuage and settle his brother’s irritation. “The ones Thelma will have if she marries Mr. Clark. His daughters might have the same predisposition as his sister and think it’s fine to defy one’s family to run off and be an actress.”
“What do you know about children?” Zane asked. “You’ve never had any. You don’t know how they might behave.”
“That’s not to say I don’t know about such things as bad blood in headstrong children, my lord. And how it can be passed down from family to family much like freckles.”
Freckles?
What the hell was he talking about? Zane snorted. “I know nothing of the kind. And furthermore, neither do you.”
“Well, I do.” Patricia injected herself into the conversation. “I have children. And you know I take your side whenever possible, my lord, I always have, but there is such a thing as bad blood.”
His sister had never taken his side in anything.
A long string of silent curses entered Zane’s mind as Fulton quietly walked into the dining room and placed a small silver tray in front of him. A note. Probably an invitation to another party. He started to wave the butler away, but on second thought, he realized it didn’t matter what the correspondence was. It gave him a much-needed reason to be diverted from his family.
“Excuse me,” he said, rising from his chair. “This might be important.”
He walked over to the window, broke the wax seal and opened the note. Glancing down at the signature, he felt a jump in his heart rate and smiled. Itwasimportant.
