Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “At this point, I surely think that is to their credit. Why would anyone in their right mindwantto be like us, West? Yes, we’ve titles and wealth and prestige. But what have we really accomplished with our lives? I spend all my days painting because I haven’t a single friend I’d genuinely like to spend time with. Father would prefer to sit in a hunting lodge than have tea with his children. And you’re about to propose to a woman you don’t even like.”
“I like Lady Martha.”
“What is her favorite color?”
“Why is that of any importance?”
Brynne rolled her eyes. “That is exactly as I assumed. You’ve only selected her because she will make a suitable countess. And once she’s given you an heir, the two of you can ignore each other for the next thirty years.”
“And?” he said, not seeing the problem.
“Shouldn’t we wantmorefor ourselves?”
His sister’s words struck a chord deep down inside of Weston. A chord he’d gone out of his way not to touch. Did he want more than a loveless marriage to a lady who invoked nothing more than vague stirring of apathy?
Of course.
He was a cad, not a fool.
And it was because hewasn’ta fool that he understood the merits of shackling himself to someone like Martha Smethwick. Someone who would never question him. Never challenge him. Never provoke him. She was going to be the perfect wife because shewouldn’trequire more of him than he was willing to give.
Frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair. The thick dark strands fell in a disheveled wave across his temple. What the hell did Brynne expect of him? That he marry a woman like Evelyn Thorncroft?
Nowtherewas a bloody brilliant idea, he thought sourly. Why spend the rest of his life in relative peace and quiet when he could spend it arguing with a stubborn black-haired beauty who derived pleasure from making his blood boil?
Good God, he’d rather die a monk than marrythatshrew.
“We are far more fortunate than most, Brynne.” He gave his sister a stern look. “We’d do well to appreciate what we have.”And never bring up this conversation again,he added silently.
“Idoappreciate what we have.” Her chin jutted. “You know that I do. But I also want–Ineed–a friend, West. Someone with whom to go shopping on Bond Street with, and gossip at a ball with, and share girlish secrets that I cannot divulge to my brother.”
“And Miss Thorncroft is that friend,” he said skeptically. “You’ve an entire city of eligible companions to choose from, andthatis who you pick.”
Brynne’s paint-smeared hands went to her hips. “It isn’t the same as a man selecting his wife. I actually want toenjoymyself when I am in their company.”
As he gazed at his sister, Weston was reminded of his one vulnerability. Namely, the fact that he’d never been able to deny his twin anything.
When she was fourteen and distraught over the loss of their beloved family hound, he’d immediately gone out to the nearest farm and bought her two basset puppies, Ellie and Emma, who were now fully grown and no doubt eagerly awaiting her arrival at Hawkridge Manor where they patrolled the grounds in between eating and naps.
When she broke her ankle at sixteen and was made to remain indoors for the entire summer, he’d stayed with her every day to keep her company.
And when she turned eighteen and desperately wished for a white horse with black spots for her birthday, he’d scoured the entire country before importing an appaloosa mare from a private breeding farm in New York.
“I don’t want to see Evelyn,” he said, setting his jaw, “for the duration of the house party.”
Brynne gasped in delight. “You won’t! Except for when we all dine together, but I’ll make sure that you’re at opposite ends of the table. Oh, thank you, West!” Flinging her arms around his neck, she hugged him tight. “You’re the best brother I have.”
Weston gave his sister an awkward pat on the top of her head before he stepped back. Having been denied physical contact as a child (his governesses had been under strict orders to never embrace him, or even so much as wrap their arm around his shoulders, even if he were crying–especiallyif he were crying), he did not like to be touched as an adult.
Accepting comfort was a sign of weakness.
And the Earl of Hawkridge did not permit himself to be weak.
“I am theonlybrother you have.”
“That’s right. Which is why I hope you’ll grant me one moreverysmall favor,” she said, squeezing her pointer finger and thumb together. “Miniscule, really.”
Weston wasn’t fooled for an instant. “What is it, Brynne?”
