“A lady of courage like that, a lady of sense? She’ll do you a world of good. She’ll be the making of you, lad. Prudence Thorne is worth a thousand Lady Archers.”
For an instant Jasper’s mind went utterly blank, but then he let out a laugh—a peculiar one, rather high-pitched. “That’s very good, Grandfather! A very good jest, indeed!”
“I’m not jesting, lad.” His grandfather’s smile was gentle, and he gave Jasper an affectionate pat on the back. “Prudence Thorne is going to be the next Duchess of Montford.”
It was the gentleness that did it. The old man wasn’t the tender sort. If he was patting and smiling, then he meant what he said. Jasper gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s before, at last, he squeaked, “You want me to marry the lady whoshotme?”
“Yes. A bit awkward, that, but it was an accident, you know. Why, the two of you will laugh about it in a few years’ time.”
“In a few years’ time, she’ll have murdered me!”
“Take care not to give her reason to, lad, and I daresay you’ll survive.”
Jasper stared at his grandfather in horror. Dear God, the old man was entirely in earnest.
This was bad. So very, very bad. Bad enough he was having trouble catching his breath. “I didn’t think to marry for some years yet, Grandfather—”
“You didn’t think to marry at all, you mean. Come, Jasper, let’s be candid with each other. I’m perfectly aware you don’t wish to marry, just as you’re perfectly aware you must do so, regardless of your wishes. You have a duty to your title to produce an heir. Alegitimateheir.”
“But why are you so insistent I marrynow? I’ve only just reached my twenty-eighth year. There’s plenty of time yet, surely?”
“It’s nothing to do with your age, lad. It’s about finding the right lady. Miss Thorne is . . .” His grandfather paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough. “She puts me in mind of your mother.”
Jasper stilled. “M-my mother?”
“Aye. You don’t remember her, lad, but Eugenia was a lively one.”
His grandfather almost never spoke of Jasper’s mother. He had only the haziest memories of her and his father—her dark eyes, and her lips warm on his forehead when she leaned over his bed to kiss him goodnight. His father’s strong arms around him, tossing him into the air then catching him again. The scent of orange blossoms . . .
And laughter. So much laughter.
He’d gone to live with his grandfather right after they died, and he used to spend hours staring up at their portraits, a lost little boy in his grandfather’s silent portrait gallery, concentrating so intently on their faces, determined not to forget them—
“Eugenia never let your father get away with a thing.” His grandfather sighed, and there was a world of grief in the sound. “He grew to love that about her.”
That was . . . well, he didn’t know quite what to say to that. “But you can’t truly think Prudence Thorne is the right lady for me. Sheshotme!” Why did his grandfather keep overlooking that?
“On the contrary, Jasper, I’m convinced sheisthe right lady for you. You don’t see it yet, but she’s the lady you’ve been waiting for.”
“She won’t have me.” Of course, she wouldn’t, so there was no need to panic. The parson’s mousetrap hadn’t snapped closed just yet.
“Find a way to see to it that she does. You have a winning way with the ladies.”
“Not with Miss Thorne. She despises me.”
“No, she doesn’t. Far from it, lad.” His grandfather braced his hand on his walking stick, heaved himself to his feet and shuffled toward the door, but he paused when he reached it. “You’ve had your share of scandals, boy. I don’t deny it. But you’re a good lad at heart, and you deserve to be happy. Search inside yourself, Jasper, and you’ll see I’m right about this.”
Jasper spent a long time after his grandfather left staring at the length of headboard in front of him. It was an Italian monstrosity, with all manner of whorls and figures carved into the dark mahogany.
He reached out to trace one of the curves with his fingertip.
For years thetonhad been whispering about the day his grandfather would lose patience with him and cut him off without a penny. He didn’t need his grandfather’s money, of course—he was a duke, and the sole heir of his father’s title and fortune.
But it wasn’t about the money. It never had been.
He and his grandfather didn’t see eye to eye on most things, and he knew his grandfather was disappointed in him. Not that he blamed the old man for it. He’d been a wastrel since he’d been sent down from Oxford for brawling, and in the ten years since, he hadn’t done much to redeem himself, so perhaps he’d earned his grandfather’s disappointment.
But his grandfather was the only family he had. The only family he’d ever had. Since he was a boy, it had only ever been the two of them, and the thing was . . . if you failed the one person in the world who cared the most about you, the only person who’d been there from the beginning, who knew all your flaws and weaknesses and still believed in the goodness of your heart . . .
