two
If Grandmama said the word ‘lovely’ once again, Anthony would pack his things and return to Sandhurst to shoot with a rifle for another year.
“…a true English rose,” she said. “So well-educated. Among all the young ladies I’ve met and considered as the future Duchess of Gloucester, Helen is the best. Who would have imagined the daughter of an earl could be so perfect? I thought Margaret, the daughter of the Duke of Bradford, would have been my only choice, but goodness, she’s as interesting as a rock and just as bright. Helen is lovely.”
There again.
His brother, Patrick, hid a grin behind his cup. “Lovely.”
“Grandmama.” Anthony put down the ironed copy ofThe Timeshe’d been trying to read for the past half an hour. “I appreciate your efforts, but we agreed I would have the last word on the choice.”
“Of course. I simply spared you the long and tedious affair of searching for a suitable match.” She sipped her tea, gazing at him over the rim of her cup. “I interviewed over fifteen young ladies. Not a simple task, I must say. But it was worth it. I won’t allow an unprepared girl to tarnish the impeccable?—”
“Name of our noble and ancient family,” Anthony and Patrick said together.
Grandmama huffed. “You two have no manners.”
The Indestructible Duchess, they called Grandmama because she’d survived two cholera pandemics, a mine explosion, and a shipwreck. To him, she was a second mother. Oppressive at times but always caring.
“Why are you complaining, brother?” Patrick said from the other side of the table. “You have to do nothing but marry a beautiful lady. I wish Grandmama did the same work for me.”
“All in good time.” She turned serious. “Anthony comes first, and you already have too many ladies chasing you, and vice versa.” She shot a glance at the ceiling. “In my time, ladies never, ever showed any interest in a gentleman. We scorned every word the gentlemen said, and if one of them persisted, then we considered him as a possible suitor.”
“Charming,” Anthony muttered, pushing aside the newspaper.
He’d inherited the title for almost a year, but he was already tired of the ridiculous amount of responsibilities dropped on him. Least of all the pressure of marrying and producing an heir.
“You might show some enthusiasm.” She gave him a disapproving look.
“I’m busy, Grandmama. Between the meetings in Parliament and reading the reports from my stewards, I don’t have time for social calls. I’d rather be in my garrison than in the House of Lords.”
“Anthony.” Grandmama put her hand on his. “I understand your plans have abruptly changed, but you’re the duke now, and you can’t escape your responsibilities.”
As if he didn’t know that.
He slid his hand out of hers. Guilt soured his mouth.
Three years ago, Father had died of grief after Mother’s death and never had the chance to be the duke. Grandfather had grieved too deeply to prepare Anthony for his ducal role.
Then, less than a year ago, Grandfather had died as well, and Anthony had suddenly become the most unprepared duke of the House of Beaufort with enough duties to choke him.
Silence dropped for a few moments. If only they would leave him alone to work.
“Well, you’ll meet Helen soon,” Grandmama said. “Helen’s sister is a shockingly uninspiring woman. If you marry Helen, we’ll have to deal with Isabella as well. But anyway, I invited them to Dockerly Castle.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He controlled his tone of voice.
She stiffened. “I’m telling you now.”
He was the duke, and he wanted to be the one making the decisions.
They stared at each other until Patrick cleared his throat.
“Please don’t kill each other here. The blood would ruin the carpet.”
He and Grandmama turned towards him with matching frowns.
Patrick held up a hand. “It was a joke. A silly joke, but still a joke.”
